When fantasy is better than reality

I haven’t left my room in two days, been wearing the same outfit since Saturday, and have taken up smoking again. Welcome to 9^th Week at Oxford when everything is due for the term on Friday.

I have so much nervous energy, fuelled by the ciggs and incessant caffeine abuse. The only thing that has been able to get me through this is my upcoming weekend in London—seeing old friends, and hopefully, a former lover--and popping some valium before bed whilst watching episodes of LA Law off of www.alluc.org

There is a part of me that hopes I run into my former lover. It’s the same part of me that knows emotional closure comes from time, and acknowledging that the only way you could be over him is that you aren’t the same person when you first fell in love with him. It’s closure that can only be ascertained through the great accomplishments that end up changing you as a person. I’m a very different person now then when I last saw him. Much more in control, taking less shit from people, much more confident with my sexuality as a woman—just happier with me.

But I think I scarred him from the last time I saw him about two years ago. If only he knew I’ve moved onto better things such as rich older married men, writers, musicians, and Artists—men who captivate me with both their words and actions. Plus, it’s always much more fun seeing someone since when you’ve lost twenty pounds and are on your way to receiving a degree from one of the world’s leading universities.

I’m not that juvenile to want to rub it in his face, the perpetual American talk show topic of “Look at me Now”—it’s tacky, and unwarranted, and doesn’t address the real reason why things never could work out. The things I’ve accomplished in the last few years are symbolic of just how much I’ve changed as a person, and are more for my benefit than his. Think about it, isn’t it pretty fucking great when you don’t see someone in years and they tell you how well your doing?

You know that is the real reason we facebook and myspace old friends from secondary school and university. I’m just saying.

It’s an acknowledgment of how far we’ve come from the awkwardness that characterizes the difficult times in our lives.

So, it’s times like this when I am bored of the work that I’m doing where I retreat into the haven from reality that is my mind. Thinking of schemes, envisioning a fantasy built with aspects of my reality—it’s why it can taste so vivid to me at times, where I end up believing most of my half-wit schemes.

Because writing a 4000 word paper on survey methods addressing such interesting dilemmas like “What to do when a respondent doesn’t answer the door?” or “If I stray from the interview questions, will I lose the integrity of the data collected?” It’s moments like this that make me wonder why I took a year out of my life. But then I think of my old friends/frenemy’s seeing I’m at Oxford on my facebook profile and recall the reason—they don’t realize it’s all smoke and mirrors.

Really metaphorical for other aspects of our own lives, don’t you think?