I am the type of person that plays out scenarios in my head. Whether it be recollecting or anticipating a conversation, preparing my reaction to some said event, or, more often than normal, placing myself in a total daydream-esque fantasy rundown. I fully and readily blame my wondering and creative mind for the times when I walk down the hallway muttering to myself. (No doubt considering my rebuttal, were I to run into a debate-ready Obama or Letterman on my way to the girl’s stall.) If that were the extent of my physical reactions to mental situations, I wouldn’t complain. But my body has no boundaries of subtlety when I am in daydream mode. I flinch in preparation to fall of a cliff as I descend in the stairs in the morning. I bat my eyes and play footsie with the extension cord of my World history class; if only it were the boy sitting across from me at the café I am in, in my head. My daydreams keep my true state of lonesomeness at bay, as I snuggle up on the couch and offer a piece of popcorn to my extremely pillow-like boyfriend replacement.
I'm hardly phased by my actions of this nature anymore. I barely notice as I throw my hands up in italian-styled expression at blank computer screens and twirl my foot out of it's imaginary rope coil. I am who I am.
dwell on it, my free-expressing followers.
I'm hardly phased by my actions of this nature anymore. I barely notice as I throw my hands up in italian-styled expression at blank computer screens and twirl my foot out of it's imaginary rope coil. I am who I am.
dwell on it, my free-expressing followers.
