It’s taken me 62 years to figure out that fantasizing is fatal. It kills your relationships and friendships. It distracts you from your career and your housekeeping. Everything in the daydream is a version of perfection. I say it’s a version of perfection because you lose every concept of what real and attainable perfection may be. I know. I started daydreaming at the age of four when I realized that I was being raised by lunatics. Don’t get me wrong, they had the best intentions but they had absolutely no idea how babies were made and thus ended up with two, which they were incapable of handling. The insanity got really bad when Mom was forced to go to work. She blamed my father for not providing enough but she was very clear that we cost too much money to feed and clothe. So I started dreaming about Roy Rogers rescuing me. Then Zorro and the Monkees. I only came out of my dream state when my Mother told me that I was crazy and the only future I had was as her caretaker, so I transferred to the farthest State College available. But I fantasized and married a man who didn’t love me and was probably Schizophrenic. I left college when they cancelled my major and started taking any job to take money and support the husband who, surprise, was not able to support two of us, just like my Father. Back on the East Coast, I left him and said “yes” to any man who asked for sex because I was daydreaming and fantasizing. I ended up in another live-in relationship with a man who did not love me and was also probably Schizophrenic. He ended up saving every can, box and bottle he ever used and finally the junk moved me out of the house and into relationships with married men and celibates which were never consummated or fulfilling. This pattern continued until lately, when I found myself fantasizing about a man who was…wait for it…destroying everything in HIS life by fantasizing. Relationships. Career. Future...because he fantasizes about the ideal woman, who is younger and prettier and naughtier than I could ever be even if I wasn’t sixty-two years old. I love you, Kid, but I don’t want to be your type because your type uses, abuses, and abandons you and I love you too much for that.
SO, ENOUGH!!!!!!! I put many of the fantasies on paper as plays, but it takes reality to get a play produced in this economy and I am running out of time. I have gotten my life under control and I am going to get this apartment under control and keep this disease under control. I’m old and fat. Perhaps that is a blessing because there is no fantasy that can come true now. Prince Charming would need a Clydesdale to carry me off and he probably doesn’t have a job to pay for a castle.