Long Road Home

I wish I could talk back, tell you how I really feel. But there's no time for anger or drama now because I've got a non-optional date set for friday, a date for which I feel more emotion than towards these petty collegiate nonsense games. You're gonna ask me: "are you OK?" and don't even bother because I'm going to answer "I'm fine." But am I? For a people as scared of death as we; for a culture as terrified of growing old and dependent, we certainly do live with blinders. We convince ourselves that if we look fine, we are fine. We abuse our bodies- the majority of crops grown in this country are dedicated to making artificial products, we smoke like it's not a big deal (it'll take the bed-ridden years; a lie that is shamelessly parading as truth), we drink until we pass out. We don't excercise unless we look like we need to (and even then we don't). We watch tv instead of being with our families and friends. Life is so precious, why be bathed in television light when you can have sunlight? And if Friday is really so terrifying, I will embrace it with all the love I am capable of posessing, because it is a day that belongs to me, terrifying or not. Regardless of what Friday brings, I want to live my life with lights so green that they sprout leaves, under skies so open and blue they beg to be drunk deep, surrounded by people so beautiful in their flaws and their compassion that I can't tell where the me ends and the they begins. Because that's what this is all about, really. Living deep and sucking the marrow out of life. Drinking it all in till I can't possibly take it anymore. A bomb of ecstasy: not chemical, not spiritual, not physical. Just energy, just life.