I heard somewhere that the prime time for ghost sightings was in the 1800s. Some people think this is because the lack of technology and distractions opened their eyes to what’s truly around them; and some people think they were just so desperate for stimulation that their minds created things that weren’t really there. While ghosts may not be spotted as often nowadays, the delusions have stood the test of time.
When life gets rough and we feel incomplete, our minds fabricate fantastical solutions, filling in the blanks. I would know because I get them every time loneliness rears its ugly head.
You may be thinking “Alicia, that doesn’t sound healthy. I think you need to see a doctor.” and to that I say, “You sound like my mother.” We’ve all had the five second soulmate stare-downs in traffic and the unspoken bonds created with people across restaurants.
Our brains instantly assume it’s a budding romance waiting to happen, but sometimes you have to wonder if they’re just staring because you’ve been making full eye contact while eating a deluxe burrito.
Of course, recognizing this is easier said than done. I’ve been single and happy for a total of three weeks now, yet the visions have already begun.
The moment where Foxy Loxy‘s cashier and I finally confess our love and collapse into a sweet embrace has played in my head more times than I can count, becoming more believable with every repetition. (My favorite is when I order my fiendishly named drink of choice – the hot, dirty chai – and he gives me that look. You know the look. The best kinds of romance stem from perversion.)
My affair with the Spudnik‘s delivery man has had an infinite amount of opportunities to blossom and have already done so in the fictitious corners of my psyche. (We could have a wonderful life together, delivery man. A life filled with potatoes.)
Pete the Pizzamaker, The Dominos Tracker Man, has wooed me with his animated charm ten times over, filling my dreams with doughy splendor.
That last one was serious, but I digress.
Maybe I have an over-active imagination, but I’ve wondered about potential connections with every man that I have encountered, at least to some degree. No matter how hard I try to disconnect my need for affection, my heart strings continue to play power chords, shredding up and down my emotional state and admittedly creating some pretty sweet tunes.
As long as we keep our hearts safe, is dreaming really such a bad thing?