I should start out clarifying that I do indeed love my life. I have a very good one and I’m very blessed and fortunate. That being said, I also really like the life that plays out in my imagination.
Like I’m a famous writer and living (autocorrect refuses to let that be a word!?) on both coasts and all that. Being in grad school doesn’t allow much free time to live in this dream world so you take it where you can get it.
Except in these situations where you accidentally get caught or are dramatically brought down to your average, humbling life.
Like when I am envisioning myself marrying Chris Evans and suddenly I’m reminded of my eye twitch I get when I am tired or stressed out because some man who does not look like Chris Evans winks at me because he thinks I winked at him first. Which is technically correct, except not on purpose.
Or when I was picturing my NYC penthouse apartment as I walk to catch my bus with my huge bag because I do not travel lightly, I take a wrong turn, realize the error of my ways, twist, and land on my face. As it happens, a tall, dark, and handsome man does help me up but I don’t think the swears, cringing, and twitching does me any favors because when I look up, no sparks go flying. He doesnt serendipitously turn out to be my seatmate for a bus that old ages 45 minutes late, and tell me his deepest, most prolonged secrets as we waste away in traffic.
And now I’m hungry.