Dedicated to P.B. Thank you for the education and the inspiration.
The imagination is a convenient mechanism for amusement. I use my imagination all the time. For instance, I imagine myself living the life of a nefarious criminal, like a bank robber or a pirate queen. Its called Escapism and I do this when life gets me down, when there's nothing good on TV, or whenever I take the time to mentally prepare for the circumstance of being stranded on a desert island without a young Jeff Goldblum. Escapism is how psychologists explain Dreams.
I can assure you, I'm not a Crazy person, and I can guarantee you that everyone participates in this activity at one time or another. **Note: I did not write Psychopath. The Crazy I'm reffering to here is the cut-loose, uber-adventurous, slightly alcoholic Crazy that we all wanted to hang out with in college, but couldn't count on to show up.**
It would be awesome to be Crazy. To really let loose and do whatever, whenever, with no consideration for the consequences, and no care in the world for what anyone thinks of you. Crazy is impulsive and extreme. Crazy is wild and unihibited. But Crazy does not come with a retirement plan.
Crazy is a dream. A dream like being a famous actress is a dream. Attainable, but to make such a dream a reality takes a serious gamble. You have to put your trust in the hands of fate. Or marry someone rich. You have to have a certain abandon. You have to have a f%$k ton of faith in your talent and your rightness at being in the right place at the right time. You have to be ok with having nothing.
I went after The Dream. I had the rich guys and the nothingness. I abandoned reality. At one time, I actually tried out being The Crazy Face in the crowd. The I got a toothache. Crazy doesn't come with dental either.
So, since I've been there and done that, I'm back to square one with a stack of stories under my bum and the awareness of one adamant truth: I am a total wuss.
A wuss with a champagne taste, but no longer amused with her beer budget. More importantly though, I know now that I want stability. Maybe not stability in the form of a white picket fence and a minivan, but definitely a nice fluffy cushion.
And so I've adapted. My dream has changed. My real dream. The one of the MLK variety. I want comfort and security, and I want the independence that comes from earning it for yourself. I want to be able to afford generosity, and spontaneous travel, and aging. I want a job that satisfies me. Something stimulating, interesting. And well-paid. (To much to ask? What can I say?! I'm dreaming here!)
Life may be a game of chance, but I'm not in the mood to gamble. This round is for keeps.
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