For instance, I once began to daydream while a professor bloviated about some topic he was an expert in, that I imagined him puffing up with air to the point he exploded. And I exploded in laughter. In class.
Even when my imagination wasn’t damaging my GPA, it would often make my parents a bit, concerned. I used to pretend that I was Cinderella when forced to do my chores as a child. I would even put on my most ragged clothes and smear dust on my face. My parents didn’t care for that much, especially when company was over.
But they preferred that to when I would hang my Barbies for treason and stick a plastic blade to my stuffed rabbit’s throat to make him give up the goods on the plot to kidnap Ken.
When pared with my hypochondria, however, my imagination takes an even darker turn. Through the years I have diagnosed myself with leukemia, early-onset Alzheimer's, male pattern baldness, and rubella.
Every now and then, though my imagination allows me to relax and escape from the world. For a long weekend, my husband and I stayed in the luxury of the Peabody hotel, and among the fuliguline floor shows and the fluffy robes, I was able to forget the student loans, crap job, and spoiled food waiting in the refrigerator for us at home.
My imagination has certainly been a tough one to wrangle and control through the years, but without it, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Jobless and half crazy with plotting and revision.
While much has been colored with creative license, something I've told you is an outright lie. Which one of you will be the first to correctly guess where my imagination has once again gotten out of control?