My cereal danced right out of my pocket last week. I watched the flakes on the floor, circle themselves and they got so dizzy they fell back onto my couch and I sat beside them once they caught there breath and we watched all the shows that were on for 21 minutes. And the world didn’t exist in that time and everything big was small and the small things, like cereal flakes, were the happiest biggest things that life was made up of. I got syrup out and I poured it on the tiled floor and we slipped and slid and bumped the fridge door open and the butter fell off the shelf and the milk did too, and we laughed and lay there with plum sauce on our lips and we were fine. We were fine because I wasn’t dying. I was living. And so was my cereal.