Dangerous Daydreams

To daydream is a dangerous occupation. But I find that it is the only desirable thing to do anymore. Daydreams bring a small glimpse of happiness to an otherwise depressing state of boredom. They also tend to make reality that much worse. For that small taste of bliss, they bring a whole lot of pain. Yet I daydream on. Boys, friends, memories, excitement, adventure, danger, all my ideal situations played out in my dear little brain. Yet I would never really want these dreams to become my reality. They always start the same. I am at peace in my life going about my business, something awful happens, someone (normally whoever I currently have a crush on) comes and saves the day. They typically end happily. Or they end terribly. Sometimes that is more exciting, you know. If the hero suddenly falls and breaks his neck, and I am whisked away to a life of terror, slavery, endless pain...somehow there is a romantic justice about it. My sick little mind comes up with the absolute worst situations at times. Perhaps in coming up with such stories, my pathetic little life seems so much more pleasant, certainly much less dramatic. This theory is quite contradictory, considering that just a few moments ago I claimed that my daydreaming creates a far worse reality, but perhaps both are correct. I sometimes daydream wonderful things as well. Instead of slavery to man in pain I end in slavery to love in peace. The hero doesn't fall, he carries me away into the sunset with a passionate kiss. Pathetic romantic that I am. My mind never fails me to entertain when all else does. What a pity it works so well. I find that these thoughts lead me nowhere good. Believe me when I say daydreaming is a dangerous occupation. Although if it paid, I would be filthy rich.