nunoncastors

I’m resigned to the fact that my neurons and synapses fire off on their own accord and tend to live a completely separate life of their own, unencumbered by any form of rational process or accountability. It really isn’t so bad; there are worse things to put up with than intermittent depression and a tendency to create clichéd worlds in your head.

In a way I’m grateful for it; so many people seem to lose their imagination as they grow up, they become unwilling to embrace the fantastical and fun. Though, obviously you can go too far and begin claiming you’re a druid or, in my mother’s case, a clairvoyant. Well, I say claiming; claiming is going a bit far, but informing people you ‘do readings’ and can see spirits is pushing the boundaries of reality a little in my opinion.

Still, if it makes her happy.

My problem isn’t belief, indeed I’m somewhat devoid of faith in the existence of things that I can’t see or touch or taste or feel. No. My problem is desire, a quiet longing for the worlds of my imagination to – well, exist. It’s not an unhealthy desire, I don’t actively seek to bring them about or dress up at the weekend and call people sire, nor ask thee, prithee, where art thine robes of ermine fine. I’m not a nutter. Not yet. I do however; spend a lot of time amusing myself with worlds that aren’t real when I should be spending more time focusing upon this one.

Is too much imagination a bad thing?