I'm a better actor than I thought I'd be.
I smiled,I laughed,I played my "pretty little part" and the whole thing went just fine: awkward and with that unmistakable hint of family bitterness that every holiday seems to have,but fine.
It's most peculiar to celebrate somebody (or something) that you no longer consider to be "real".In fact,it feels less like a celebration and more like a mock play about forgotten gods and nauseating conceptions.
The feast that usually serves as a background for this whole emotional ordeal didn't manage to save the story-it never really does...
As I was saying,I did the best I could with a fork and a painfully fake smile,then went backstage.
Oh,my little twisted world!I cling to you with such force that I fear one day you might shatter and reveal yourself in a damaged nakedness nobody would have ever presumed beforehand!
Even so,my mask was marvelously crafted and my madness fully concealed.
Maybe I'll soon be able to fool everybody.Including myself...