Should we be happy living in a fantasy land and is it healthy.
Married life has protected us from being afflicted by fantasy
since the reality of having a partner to keep reminding you what is real
and expected is for ever present. Much of life's daily chores are often
more important to one partner than the other
and their needs filter into your own consciousness, not so much by
osmosis then by continuous brow beating. The sound of the dentist drill
is nothing compared to incessant berating, the constant reminders that
this or that need doing 'and soon'.
On your own you are lost in a world of your own making with only ones conscience to guide and interrupt you.
This fantasy land is all too readily available, to slip in and out of at will and since the fantasy is of ones own
construction the pleasure of hanging out with your own best fantasy is
formidable. To close your eyes and slip into that dream world of
cool self adulation where the rewards which were missing in real life,
are waiting to be played without a price tag or any sense of reality.
The car, the trip, the good will, the hospitality the demonstrations of
ones brilliance are all at hand and require
not much more than a smidgen of imagination. The richer the
imagination, the richer the journey, the more rewarding the experience.
Our Victorian scruples will jar at this lack of any industry to
our everyday lives. Our Presbyterian Alter ego will rile at the
absurdity of slipping out of the straight jacket which their standard
driven forbear's placed us. The importance of hard
work and keeping your feet on the ground were an artificial connivance anyway.
To drift off into La La Land was a crime.
Having just woken up, the lure of turning over and drifting off to
sleep again is strong. Not the deep sleep but the light dream state
where one still seems in control, at least of the agenda to create ones
own fantasy island where who is invited and
when, is an import by your own imagination.
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