I have trouble figuring out what's real sometimes. Yeah, I know this makes me sound crazy, but I'm not kidding.
Even as a child, I had extremely vivid dreams. I dream in such a way that it feels like I haven't slept at all. Sometimes I wonder if dreams are a writer thing, because I have friends who say they dream vividly as well. I'm not talking occasionally, either. I dream like crazy every night. At one point I tried to write them down, but there were just too many and I don't have time to record them each morning.
Yes, I remember them, too. And sometimes they are so normal that when I wake up I'm not sure if what I experienced was real or not. It certainly feels real. I have to lay in a bed and sift through what is real and what's not, what emotions are real and which came from a dream.
I was also (and still am, obviously) a chronic make believer as a kid. Everyday was a new story—pioneers, detectives, warriors, hunters, druids, whatever. And if I could rope someone into make believing with me, it was all the better.
When I was too old for make believe it became daydreaming, oh, the teenage angst-ridden daydreaming. I could spend hours concocting the most ridiculous things, and I enjoyed it immensely. As alone as I was for much of my younger life, I have to admit I never really felt lonely. I'm a hardcore introvert. Not shy, necessarily, just introverted.
It seems like at least half of my life has been lived in my head. Admittedly, it makes me pretty spacey. I am in my own world sometimes. I forget things, mostly because there is just so much in my head at any given time that things are bound to slip out. And when they do, they become like dreams. Did that really happen? Not sure.
I'm just rambling, I guess, but I've been thinking a lot about reality and what makes something real to me. I mean, there are many things that feel utterly real that aren't—like when I'm reading an amazing book (which I did yesterday and HOLY CRAP, guys). But there are many real things that feel completely surreal—like the fact that I've been with my husband for seven years, when it still feels so new and vibrant and simply NOT seven years.
Life. It's weird. And wonderful. Real and surreal.