Anthony vs. Ramblings about Celebrating Life

There's a song: Life is a Song Worth Singing.

There's a movie: Life is Beautiful.

There's a million poems, moments; thoughts, avarice conversations, amoral wonders; lustful, pregnant, pauses; tear stained laughter, crazy twisted body movements of dance, experiencing the pleasure of the pain of a twisted nerve, a side stitch; gasping for air because you're worn out, warmed over, hurting, feeling. Life.

They ask me, what the hell am I doing. Why am I still peeling off dollar bills to drink, and to dance, and to be stupid and pretend that I have no pain in my back (because, really, for the mostpart, I don't...but sometimes), no pain in my feet (cramps, cramps in the feet), burning calfs and sore cheeks from smiling, SMILING, wide, wide, wide, like a grinning idiot.

They ask me, and I just say:

"I'm celebrating life."

In the morning, my boss asks me, politely, becuase she does, how I'm doing.

"I'm alive," I say. "It's a good start."

And it is. Just happy to be alive. Even if from time to time things bite, or some things aren't working out. I fuss, and then I just go and smile, and laugh, and tears, and don't worry about it. I just celebrate.

Good luck, bad luck. It's all worth celebrating.

And that's the great part of it all. Life is a song worth singing. So I'll sing it.