Fantastic realities. Realistic fantasies.

I don't want to be part of someone's fantasy. I don't want my function in a relationship diminished in that way. Fantasy has a place. It's a release valve, of a sort. I have fantasies of my own, but I don't feel the need to drag anyone else into them. What I do wish someone would participate in is my reality. I guess that takes too much courage. Or, maybe my reality is too god-awfully drab and dismal - or just down right bizarre - for someone to attach himself to.
I'm an artist. I have a head full of whimsy - bright and colorful. I also know the Horror of Being. There's a dark and murky side to my dreams. Even so, I like the day in and day out. I like getting up, going to bed, taking care of chores and living life.
After putting all of the drugs and alcohol behind me, I can remember how it felt to suddenly be straight. I felt altered, like I was on something.
Reality is a drug. Turn on.