Sometimes, when I get really consumed by my daydreams, I start to behave as if they are actually plausible. For example, I'll work up a scenario in my head where I confess my true feelings for a crush, she reciprocates with her own hidden emotions and dreams, and then we ride off on a motorcycle that was willed to me by Bill Gates (along with 50% of his Microsoft shares).
It looks something like this:
With this image in my head, I decide to act on the dream. I prepare myself for the coming romance by dressing in my most fashionable attire, shaving any possibly-accumulated scruff from my face, and perhaps a small spray of my favorite cologne.
Thus properly dandified, I set out to call upon the object of my affection. Along the way, I run the coming bliss over and over in my head in an endless loop, finding myself absolutely giddy at the prospect of finding such happiness.
Then something peculiar happens. About ten feet from my crush's front door, an alternate ending somehow makes its way onto the projector screen of my imagination, and it goes something like this:
Or
By the time I actually reach the door, my confidence has completely evaporated. I no longer hold even the tiniest sliver of hope that it might all turn out alright, yet I am stuck in an autopilot that continues to move me helplessly towards the inevitable fiasco of creepiness.
Before I even know what I'm doing, it's too late to stop myself, and I've knocked on the door. It opens, and there she is.
It is at this point that my mind is literally screaming at me, "SAY SOMETHING!!! ANYTHING!!!" My eyes flit rapidly about, looking for some sort of clue that I can use to extricate myself from the awkward, uncomfortable silence. By now I am willing to carry out any plan other than the one I originally pursued, no matter how ridiculous. And then, right when I figured the earth was about to swallow me up, it comes to me. The perfect thing to say. The way out.
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