“Listen, buddy. If you’re gonna drive me insane and tell me lies, I might as well write about you and have some fun with it.” — Me to my Imagination (yes, with a capital I)
A couple of weeks ago my therapist told me about this series called “The Affair” that tells the story of a couple through diverse narratives and perspectives of the same events. I haven’t watched it enough to tell you much more other than the fact that it absolutely baffled me.
Have you ever tried to recall a story with an old friend and realized your interpretation was a complete opposite of what the other person lived? If not, let me tell you about that a bit.
I have. Numerous times. But particularly one night: the night me and Mr. BFF (he asked me to call him Jacob here, but fuck it, he doesn’t get a say on this yet) had the infamous conversation about our future together. Correction: “Future.” “Together.”
Spoiler alert: it happened in my head. (Are you as shocked as I am?) Or maybe partly in my head and partly in someone else’s head — someone who, I came to find out later, was so high on ecstasy or whatever he took that night, didn’t remember shit. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, please go to this shitshow I like to call my first post on this blog.
Before that night I had lived with my Imagination with a capital I for about 25 long years. It had always played a role in many of the most relevant events in my life. What I didn’t realize is that my interpretations of the real facts were — maybe — a “bit” different than the ones of the other people involved. And by a bit I mean substantially different. In summary: I fell in love with people, gestures, and moments that were not real outside of my head.
“I have to write about it,” I thought, mid shower, just a couple hours ago. “I need to know if other people do this shit too. If there are other crazy ones like me out there.”
So here I am trying to find a crazy imagination equivalent of a AA. IA? Imaginative Anonymous? Is anyone out there? Anyone else also fantasize about things and make them so pretty and awesome only to then find out they are only good for a funny blog post or maybe a chapter or two of a book you might wanna write in your late 40s?
Let me know, guys. Comment on this, hit me up on social media (don’t), send me a fax, telegram, a snap, tiktok, just let me know I’m not alone in this. Just kidding, I know I’m not alone, I live everyday with my fucking Imagination.
PS: Update on Mr. BFF and I:
We have a shared calendar event now. Dated November 2050 (yes, you read it right), that says “I don’t wanna live without you in my life anymore.”
So I gotta say, things are pretty well, controlled and rational around here. But it’s 3 am on the third electoral night of 2020, so we have more pressing issues to worry about.