Pure Imagination

My imagination is a little too powerful. Once it is on a certain track, it can be hard to stop or intercept. One moment, I'm researching a grad degree––reading the Prospectus, getting all hopefully-not-too-tragically-excited-and-hopeful––then BAM! youtube distraction, and I've created an entirely new world that should probably never see the light of day. My brain is fun, but also . . . weird.

David Tennant reference on a Facebook page. So, I type in his quote, find the specific youtube video interview. I get distracted from the internets and find my brain making up for it by putting me in the hot seat.

Dear Readers, I know you have all done this. I am not the only one who suddenly found herself being interviewed because some blah-dee-blah-ed thing she did at one point in her life. Of course, in the daydream, I'm graceful and eloquent, haven't tripped up the stairs yet, and people are laughing with me, not at me.

So, this daydream. One moment, I'm wondering what the real youtube video could possibly be about. Then, I'm in the hot-seat, wondering with one half of my brain what the heck I could even be wearing, and the other half of my brain decides to throw in the swimming pool from the Prospectus. So I'm talking about how I make a regular habit of swimming (lies! my imagination lies). Also, in my fake, successful future, I keep my hair nice using one of those rubbery swim caps, it seems.

The talk show host, who looks like Caesar Flickerman of "The Hunger Games," laughs (at what again?) and says "And you do this because your hair is dyed. But you dye your hair a lot, don't you?" I then launch on to how I do indeed dye my hair, since I prefer to be ginger rather than a brownish-y brown-head. Caesar Blue-face (his entire face is now blue, dear Imagination) pats my hand, and I think we cut to a commercial break––or did we?

Somehow, we get onto why I'm actually in the hot seat. I'm a writer; I've made it; people do like my stuffz. My "dreams," as it were, have come true.

Blue-Face: "And you went to school in England?" (Leave me alone, grad school. Don't break my heart)

Imagination: "Yes, and then on to the BBC. But they thought I was weird. I was a weird American, with all these weird ideas and sense of humor. After a few great years, I came back to Hollywood." (and they took me, just like that *snaps fingers*)

BF: "And then?"

I: "Well, they thought I was weird, too. 'You've spent too long at the BBC, your stuff is all weird.' So I plan to head to the middle of the ocean now and go scuba-diving, drag up Atlantis, and make my own filming company."

BF: "You have the Archaeology specs for that, at least."

Pause. Then we had a pause. I don't know what the transition was, per se, but––the conversation changed.

BF: "And your sister? What does she do?"

I: "She is an art therapist." (No, she isn't.....)

BF: "As a writer, do you go to her for your therapy needs?"

I: "Noooo."

BF: "That was emphatic."

I: "I don't even think that's allowed. *shifts uncomfortably on chair* Anyway, when you pass the turkey plate during Christmas dinner, and then the butcher knife that cut it, do you want to know the thoughts that are going through the person's head that is holding the knife? I don't think so."

BF: *crickets* "I guess not."

He smiled suddenly and turned to the audience. "Thank you, Sfisaohafsohg;v;hsf!"

My distraction was ended. So I wrote this.

I think I need to cool it on the Prospecti or the planning or the––coffee. Maybe the coffee.