I didn’t sleep much… I went to bed at 2am even though I was ready to crash before 9pm. The vibe at Jeff’s party was nice, nothing too crazy, just the right type of atmosphere… Until my sister Mary arrived and elevated the whole affair up a few notches. Oh, Mary… She’s hilarious. True, I’m a single child with a sister. I guess it requires a little context: my parents adopted her when she was about 20 years old. I know; you don’t adopt anyone over 18, it doesn’t make any sense. But if you are here reading this, you already know that nothing makes much sense when it comes to what is normal in my life — if it’s not abnormal, it’s clearly atypical. That being said; my sister… Let’s say she has a life story that started sadly. We met through social work activities, became close friends, and soon after became part of a larger group of friends. My parents grew fond of her and basically treated her like their daughter. One day, Mary asked my parents to change her name to Foster, to honor how they welcomed her, nurtured her, and took care of her when she needed it the most, when she was looking for a little bit of real love to be empowered enough to start building her life free from the deep bleakness of her childhood. My parents were incredibly moved… They’ve always taken care of my friends for as long as I can remember, without any form of judgment. My parents never saw our family as a trio, it was a varying entity depending on the circumstances. They were always ready to be a refuge. Some haven’t been that grateful, but Mary has been a blessing for them and therefore became a member of the family. It’s even more confusing for people who meet her when I introduce her as my sister, as Mary is half black-half caucasian… I told you, atypical is quite the appropriate word…!

Anyway, when Mary is into it, she’s the most entertaining person I have ever been around — and we’ve got a fair share of unique characters in our tight circle. Gives you an idea of how highly-spirited of an individual she is…! There’s no party until Mary’s in the house. I was looking for an exit strategy to get my exhausted self to bed when I heard a loud voice saying: “Is this a funeral parlor or Super Bowl birthday party?!” only to see my sister standing in the door frame, 2 bottles of tequila in her hands. “There goes any possible quiet and discreet escape,” I spontaneously told myself. “Brother, you’re so calm!!! Come on!!!” That not-too-subtle but wonderful storm could have turned into something “special”… But I was somehow relieved to realize that people were more into the game and specifically into laughing at Taylor Swift’s conspiracy theories more than in the tequila. Maybe nobody wanted to shamefully discover videos of themselves trying to twerk the next morning… which was a major win for all. No touchdown down needed… Thank God!!!

In fact, the reason I went to bed way later than I would have initially liked to was because of a conversation that took place after my mother and her partner left following the ending of the game. “The measure by which we are truly living…” That sounds like an interesting topic to join in at midnight, right? Especially when everyone is sober, and it becomes about the obsessions we use as cope outs to justify our unwillingness to truly live to the fullest, to cultivate enough of a pretension that it is worth believing in an alternate reality made of self-fabricated pieces where you’ve convinced yourself that any fulfilling lie is happiness. No muss, no fuss. Really?! I tried to understand the concept beneath it…. “If I can make you believe in my lies, then they become the truth, so I am no longer a fraud, and nor is my life.” What?! Sorry, repeat this, please? I realized that I should have gone to bed after all… When I reached my room, I felt sad for those having to reduce themselves to neon lights adorers for lack of desire to witness the wonders — yet engaging ones — of natural light. I honestly didn’t know what to make of it, I just found it very sad…