I've missed my imagination…
For over a year, I've been so obsessed with mundane matters of an emergency nature that my fantasy switch just shut off. And I missed it terribly. I hated revolving my entire mental life around lawyers and doctors and paperwork and packing! Even falling asleep or in quiet moments to myself when all the work was done I thought about more work.
It made me unhappy and rather frantic.
My constant imaginary worlds are what keep me sane. I escape into other characters and existences to deal with ordinary stresses, and it serves me very well… usually. This last year– and a half actually!– I have been unable to access this aspect of my consciousness and I can't recuperate the same way without it.
My imagination makes me laugh, and cry, and think, and wonder, and — well, I'm the star, director, and editor of my fantasies. I get to be goddess in my own mental places and it restores a little of my equilibrium to have that escape valve.
I live for story.
And I long for the meaning and message of a well-told tale. Real life is a place where shit happens for no real reason at all and things are very often left unexplained or uncommunicated. Not so in realms of my choosing! All the loose strings get tied up. Evil is punished and good rewarded. Justice is served and there are always happen endings– at least eventually! Things make sense in a story.
At last that habit of mind is being restored and I am beginning to compulsively imagine things again. I hop from story to story, which is normal, even if for short periods. It gives me hope I'll soon be engaged at my previous levels again at some point in the future!