I was celebrating yet again.
I knew there would be a lot of talk about my drinking and my partying.
But I didn’t care.
I was the person I wanted to be.
I had accomplished what I wanted to accomplish.
And I thought it was my time to celebrate.
Why couldn’t they leave me alone?
Why did they have to follow me around and write about every little thing I did?
I didn’t understand.
Back then, as a young man, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to think about the things they wrote.
I wanted to be me.
And the celebrating, the partying, that was me.
That was how I dealt with all the stress of being among the best in the world.
I just wanted to be left alone.
I just wanted to celebrate alone.
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Categories: flash fiction