Daydream Believer or Hell Is Other People

Hey, monkies. I've got a Trek story ready to go and will post it this weekend.

So, I have ADHD and sensory possessing issues.  It makes me impulsive and socially ham-fisted and physically clumsy -- even though I have strong ankles and good balance. It's pretty cool.

I live in my head and only emerge when I absolutely must.  But my job dictates that I have intensely emotional interactions with people. In order to remain sane, I need periodic breaks from reality. Actually, I need to not be checked into reality very much at all.  I daydream all day long. Lush, time-traveling daydreams. Filled with sex.

So deep is my internal preoccupation, that right up to the moment before I have to give a talk or interview a family or write a report, I'm daydreaming about

...being at a party in Cary Grant's Bel Air mansion in 1967. I'm wearing a strapless, cream satin gown that skims my body and pools at my feet. My only jewelery is a half carat ruby solitaire pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds on a fine platinum chain. I'm there with Dean Martin and I'm laughing and having a fabulous time because he's my best pal but everyone thinks we're lovers. The air smells like cold olives, gin, cigarettes and sliced oranges. I look across the ball room and see Peter Graves and he's leaning with one wide shoulder against the wall and he's wearing a slim, black tuxedo with the bow tie undone and his hair is the color of moonlight and I can see the blue of his eyes from where I stand and I think, how does a man like that happen? And because he's my best friend, Dean walks right up to Peter Graves and says, hey Pete, take care of my girl for a minute, will ya? So Peter...

See what I mean?

I daydream about everyone: Spock, Matt Dillon, Abraham Lincoln, Brian, Peter Graves and some real people, too. I'm going to write these down an post them.

See you tomorrow and as always, thanks for spockjonesing.