I just had a moment of fantasy in which I imagined my hair enveloping my face and no one ever seeing me (my face) ever again, as I am instead a fortress of cascading gold hair from head to toe. I wouldn't need sunglasses, or, well, any type of glasses then. I don't know why that image came to my mind, but I'll accept and treasure it as one of the many weird, fleeting imaginings I have that feel comforting despite the often unappealing nature of what they actually contain.

Sometimes I almost feel like my entire self is composed of those sort of fantasies. An endless series of nonsensical fictional scenarios. That's all I am. A huge part of me looks forward to when I lie down to go to sleep, because that's the most concentrated time of indulgence for them. I lie down and become a woodland fairy flying through clusters of mushrooms, or a close personal friend of Taylor Swift, or a woman with great physical strength, a beautiful rural cottage, and nine children all named Clarence.

Good times!

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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.