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    A short kinda sorta journal entry about my mortality.
Me and reality have a tumultuous relationship. We go from mutual understanding, to not communicating at all. It's my fault really. It tries to bring me back down to Earth but I refuse. My head is in the clouds, primarily to avoid getting rained on if I was on the ground. Or at least that is what I believe at times.

However, I am starting to come around to reality. I am starting give certain ideas credence. I am starting to realize, or understand, that I am not Superman and I never will be. I'm only 20 but as I approach the legal drinking age, I am wondering how I'm not driven to drink. I am noticing how human I really am. My life isn't composed of scenes, and I can't ask the director for another take and I am not even acting. I became the character that I enveloped myself in. I could argue that I did this better than Deniro in "Taxi Driver", or in "Goodfellas".

I just read a Sports Illustrated piece on dunking and it still disgusts me that I never once threw down on a regulation hoop. I only have myself to blame though. I'm about 6'2'', I have dunking in my genes and I had the time to do leg presses, squats and whatever else their is to strengthen my legs. I didn't. Thus, I have no hops.

What am I getting at? Well, I suppose it is this: you make your reality! Life is not a Disney movie, but you can make your life one that someday inspires a Disney movie. Happy endings have costs and for many, the only place you can seem to find them are in "massage" parlors. So, take it from me, enjoy your youth. Don't end up like me, old, 20, and full of lost potential. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but you know what I mean.