I’m at work – it’s one of those unexpectedly crazy busy weekday nights. We’re on wait, somebody has already spilled a glass of wine on me, I’ve messed up multiple food orders, and the manager comes up to nag me about something stupid like wiping finger prints off of the sink faucet handles in the bathroom. I’m holding a glass of water, mid-sip, and I start to set it down but then think again…. I toss the glass straight up into the air. The whole restaurant goes silent, watching the glass turn in the air above our heads in slow motion, the droplets of water like suspended orbs of clear, jiggly jello. And then time speeds up and it shatters on the ground. All eyes are on me. So naturally, I grab the bartender’s shoulder and hoist myself up onto the bar. Cue music. I break out into “Don’t Rain On My Parade” while expertly navigating around the glasses and food in a dramatic runway walk. The performance is excellent. At some point the bartender sets glasses under each of the draft beer taps, and I kick the handles (with my killer heels), handing overflowing glasses of free beer to everyone in sight. For the finale I’m lifted off the bar, flying Jesus style, by two very attractive men. The crowd cheers, toasts to me, and tosses $100 bills and roses in my direction. I curtsy graciously, collecting my gifts in one graceful swoop, and disappear into the night on the back of some beautiful stranger’s motorcycle.
I’ve always had a little bit of an overactive imagination. Sometimes I laugh out loud at the scenarios in my head, because they play out so vividly (and of course because I have an excellent sense of humor). But lately, it seems I only really live in my imagination. Whether it’s accidentally setting the restaurant on fire when I’m re-lighting a candle, or speeding on past work when I’m running late and having my bicycle grow wings – I can’t deny that life is far more exciting in my head. I’m not sure what to make of it, really. Perhaps I’ve hit that post-college depression… I thought I was going on this great adventure and it’s turned out to be as mundane and draining as can be. This is not at all what I had in mind when I moved here. And given that my medication doesn’t seem to be working, I may be here longer than I expected. No matter what, I’m taking my overactive imagination for a sign that I’m not satisfied… which I already know is true. Now what to do?