I love my life, however, that's not to say I don't have problems, frustrations, and flat out trials--with a capitol T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Portland.
That's right; Portland.
This is where I go in my mind when life get so overwhelming that I just want to chuck all the great things I have in it. I close my eyes and I imagine that I live in a studio apartment in Portland, and it's raining, and my shift at K-mart doesn't start for two hours. I'm hungry--and guess what? I don't have to feed anyone but ME! If I want the last piece of cake from last night, I can eat it all by myself and not have to give a bite to anyone, much less eat it in the bathroom so that no one sees me. Guess who's clothes are in the dryer? MINE! and they are clothes that need to be ironed because in my fantasy world I buy that kind of clothes because I have time to iron them! And guess what my couches look like? Floral patterned. Yep, great big peonies and daisy's and stuff. They are girly, and they are cute and I love them and that's all that matters. Not a single other person made decorating decisions. Just me. My TV uses one remote, I wake up when I want to, and I read all night if I feel like it. My calendar fits in my purse because only my appointments are written on it. I keep chocolate out ON THE COUNTER and save up my money so I can take cool vacations which are cheap, because it's just me! I don't go to amusement parks out of obligation; I don't spend all my money on school clothes while pining after a new pair of jeans for myself. I watch The Scarlet Pimpernell over and over, saying the dialogue with Percy and Margarite. No one makes fun of me for it. I have three bills--gas, power, and car insurance. I drive a VW bug that never breaks down. Food costs me $100 a month and I don't buy chicken because I don't EAT chicken, which means I never have to touch the gross slimey stuff just to make someone else happy. I go barefoot because there is never sand on the floor and I can't tell you how much it costs to enroll a kid in high-school because I don't care about that stuff.
My husband is well aware of my fantasy world. He has one too--but his involves a New York City apartment that overlooks Wall Street and Central Park. He's a billionaire that doesn't worry about homeowners insurance claims or incidental expenses like shoes for the kids instead of new tires. He never eats at home and works 16 hours a day. He owns about eight cars--but pays someone to drive him around in a Bentley.
I mentioned this fantasy world to my friend Julie Wright once; I thought she'd tell me I was unstable (though it's probably not a good idea to tell unstable people that they are unstable--maybe over the phone, but not in person) and she admitted she had a fantasy world she escaped too as well. We're both unstable!
And so I'm curious; are we the only ones--Lee, Julie, and I? Or does everyone have this 'escape' in their mind that serves to allow them to re-appreciate what they do have? In your fantasy world can you leave chocolate out on the counter instead of hiding it in your sock drawer?