I am taking the day off in remembrance of a momentous event that occurred many years ago and has special meaning to me alone. The day had great impact on a few others too, but even as great as it was my memory of it is poor, hazy at best, and I'm starting to believe the thoughts are a bit unreal, manufactured or fabricated, as if someone planted them there using a kind of mind probe or weird hallucinogenic drug. It makes me think that I'm not really me, but some film reel of false images, an identity stolen from someone else or completely constructed out of lies. But if that is so, then what is the truth? Who am I really?
It's hard to imagine that I could actually be someone else, because that would mean so many others would be in on the crime, lying to me, playing along with the ruse of a lifetime. My family, I always thought there was something odd about them, how they all seem to nod or wink when they thought I was not looking, how they would congregate in the middle on the night and hold short conversations full of whispers.
Now it all makes some sick sort of sense. I've been living a lie like in that Jim Carrey movie. It's all been some sort of big cult television program, with millions of viewers hanging on my every word, every action. It is just criminal how this could happen, giving everyone, every day, access to my innermost thoughts, my insights, my few moments of glory and eons of dull drab existence. I mean, no one would ever actually want to divulge this kind of information, to everyone in the world, would they?
But then again, I always tend to get a bit edgy every year on this day when I get to tick up the old counter, put an extra notch in my belt and add another candle to the cake.