Reality

is not this. It's not blogging, or Robot TV shows, or funny movies or rides or sweet foods or anything that makes anyone happy. Reality is that we're dying. That every single day we're dying and that we take years like pills that are making us old.

I am a person that is in a perpetual state of distraction, filling my life with happiness, in anyway I can find it, in a sucessful effort to avoid the fact that I am dying and that it petrifies me. If it weren't for death, I would be euphoric most of the time.

I love life. I love living and what is quite possibly a chemical imbalance allows me to experience thrilling highs and bitterweet lows...and the feeling is so addictive, that at times I force them to happen. But even that, as real as it seems, is a continual effort to mask the reality that I'm dying -- even though I still feel relatively young.

This morning, while Emmett was eating his bagel, I pushed his high chair close to the door, allowing myself a gigantic dance floor. I turned on the polyphonic spree and starting singing and dancing and showing him the gushing excitement one of their songs brings out in me...I held nothing back and let myself go as I have done only when compleley along, kicking and dancing and jumping and punching -- feeling compleley engulfed in "reaching for the sun"...and Emmett watched me and started getting into it. When I was finished, he clapped.

To which I bowed and thought....

You're the only one that gets that this is a preformance.