I believe that there is no place like my imagination.
My imagination is not like yours. Your imagination is not like mine. How can it be that way when imaginations are ever-changing and inconstant? I know that mine is no exception to this philosophy. I can be focused in on the subject in class, but all the time subtopics and miscellaneous words put my mind somewhere else. When I say them aloud people don’t understand where I’m coming from, but that’s not what matters. I know what makes sense in my mind and it’s all right if people don’t understand how any of it is relevant. All of it is simple really, but it’s no less of an important part of my life; it is what I use to differentiate how my thoughts work from others’.
I suppose using my mind the way I do is working. I believe that my day to day life is practically drama free. Perhaps it isn’t, but I don’t mind being oblivious to nonsense of the teenage social body the rumors which are inevitable. Do I care who hooked up with whom? When? Where? No. I really don’t. If other people actually care about that bull, that’s for them to be upset about. Leave me out of it and carry on gossiping. I rely on my own thoughts to keep me busy when confronted.
I hate Sundays. Sunday is the day before Monday. I probably dislike Sunday more than Monday, which is unheard of. What’s worse than Monday? It’s the anticipation, the regret of staying up too late for two nights, procrastinating and then the dawning fact that I must get my homework done. And don’t forget waking up early the next morning. I usually calm the frustrated voice in my head by reading. My reasoning is to get as far away as possible. Especially after a week or more in company of the familiar, I-haven’t-done-anything-productive feeling. This is when my imagination really does me proud. When I need help, any fantasy novel will suffice; Harry Potter over-achieves.
Having high expectations as I do is not always fun. In reality there are endless opportunities for disappointment and an imperfection can mean failure. In my imagination I’m never disappointed. If I am disappointed at all, it’s because my reality doesn’t even begin to compare to my imagination. Why would it? I can’t see the point of having a shallow imagination. I assume it would be like having one of those stuffed dogs or cats that breathe mechanically; it can’t run or jump, or love you. Completely unbeneficial. Luckily, I am able to mold my imagination into any world I want, where anything is possible. Cliché; but it really is the truth. It wouldn’t be special if it weren’t only available to me.
Some people may believe that having an active imagination gets in the way of the important aspects of life. Those who think that knowing how your future is going to turn out, and that insuring that outcome is the most significant task anyone will endure are severely mistaken. Life is not about knowing what will happen. I live my life by the philosophy that I can use my imagination to make myself happy. I won’t use others’ ideals of life to plan how mine should be. Happiness is what matters, and like my imagination, my preferred brand of happiness is not going to be at all like yours’.
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