Delusional

By now it should be clear that I am crazy. Certifiably insane and more than likely bound for 75 cats’ companionship for the rest of my life. If you are one of the few lone travelers sitting on the fence between my insanity and the possibility that I may still be allowed to interact in society, sit tight. I’m about to remove all doubt.

I have a bad habit of perpetually living in a day dream. My mind exists in a different reality than the rest of my body. I spend a lot of time alone these days, for good reason, I would avoid me too. I am so often lost in my own thoughts, that I think I may have forgotten how to come back. 

If the world were as I imagined, it would be beautiful, but not because there would be unicorns and rainbows running rampant. It would not be a world filled with chocolates and red roses (mostly because they are the worst flower known to mankind). It would not even be a world free of fights and sadness. It would be filled with perfectly-timed clever comments and unselfish truth.

Alas, the world is not like that, nor am I, but that doesn’t stop me from crying every time my night does not go like I imagined it. My imagination is the Molotov cocktail to the reality of my life.

In my head I know exactly how I want every interaction to go. My imagination uses a delicate balance of wit, sarcasm, compliments and cinema quality scenes to create the perfect evening…which never happens. Okay, so maybe getting caught in a rain storm while strolling through the park one evening isn’t common, but it’s not like I’m asking for a lot.  All I require is a boo (that’s slang for male companion), a quaint park, waterproof mascara, a cute outfit, and some precise atmospheric conditions. 

I wish I could say that I was normal and only planned big moments, like engagements, first kisses and meeting my Hollywood crush (Paul Bettany, we are soulmates), but that would be wrong. Oh so wrong. I was going to give you a classic example from a few nights back of a bacon cookie expedition that went awry and derailed my entire day, but why go three days back when I am being a psycho right now? 

While sitting at my favorite table, at my favorite coffee shop, I have become best friends with the guy sitting by me. He is studying biochem for a final that is on Monday. He’s on chapter 12, the chapter about the bicarbonate buffering system. He was in the military before starting college and is just about finished with his undergrad.  We bonded over our mutual hatred of the music coming over the speakers. Then, we both slapped a mosquito at the same time, causing some giggles which have blossomed into a friendship. We both come here on a regular basis, so it was bound to happen. He has a tattoo, which has been a recent obsession of mine. I want one really bad, so we started talking about the least trampy place for girls to get tattoos, and how bad it would hurt.

It just so happens that this guy, Michael, really enjoys sketching, so after I described what I wanted, he doodled a bit and is randomly holding them up for me to rate. Right now we both have our headphones on which has eliminated conversation…but that’s fine…because we’re best friends. 

Did I mention that NONE of this happened? We actually haven’t spoken apart from the, now two times he has been polite enough to utter a quiet ‘bless you’ when I blast the serenity with a sneeze (I have allergies..back off).

This specific incidence of crazy is tame. I don’t even like this guy (duh..I don’t know him apart from my obsessive musing). I am not overly attracted to him (two words: cargo zipants..okay so like 2.5 words), and he is totally not my type (note: no fanny pack or other outdoorsy paraphernalia apart from a Nalgene. But everyone has those. And he has Oakleys on the back of his head. I bet there’s a visor hidden somewhere in the depths of his trunk, right next to an O.A.R. album and his Corona logo laden board shorts equipped with a wax comb for the surfboard he inevitably does not have).

If I can create such extensive delusions from a polite glance, imagine the worlds I can create for moments that actually mean something. I have lost more pleasant evenings to the funk of misdirected hopes than I care to admit. I place unrealistic expectations on people who have no choice but to fail miserably at a task they were never privy to. 

Have I allowed my romance-driven fantasies to so far skew my perception of a ‘good-time’ that I will no longer be satisfied with the simple joys of a night in? I continue to set my hopes on these compilations of my girlish fantasies. It’s like a drug addiction. As I am shooting up with another dose of false hopes, my head is screaming to stop. Stop setting yourself and everyone else up for failure. Stop allowing your thoughts to control your emotions. Stop putting the world around you on a pedestal that is bound to crumble. And yet I pick up the syringe again and again, a serial emotional masochist living in a haze of regret and disappointment, allowing the empty joys of the unreal to steal the uncharted joys of the present.