Secret Fantasies
By Josie from Sleep Is For The Weak
Hello.
I like this. It feels like a little secret opportunity to write about anything I want. Because we all know Heather doesn’t hold back. Maybe that means I can be brave here too, away from prying eyes… So thank you Heather, for a space to write something different.
I want to write about fantasies. Those little imaginings that take root in your consciousness and take on a life of their own. Because it can’t just be me that has them, right? Not just me that when it is dark and quiet, retreats into the space in her mind and lives other lives.
I do you know. I live a thousand lives. Power, sex, money. I have it all, anything I want. Lack of confidence doesn’t exist in these worlds, a less-than-perfect body doesn’t exist. Husbands don’t exist. Children don’t exist.
It’s just me. Me and whatever I can imagine. Nothing holds me back.
I have always done it. Ever since I was a child, when then I would dream of stepping in to magical wardrobes, or swimming under the sea, or living high in the trees. They’ve changed as I have, grown as I have grown. Become more explicit and daring as I learnt more and more about the world.
Now I watch my best seller hit the shelves. I fill a studio with priceless works of art. I seduce, and am seduced by, any man I choose. It plays like a film-reel in my mind. Full colour, sound, vivid in its lustre. Time slows and speeds up, pausing on those moments to savour, replaying and perfecting every moment, polishing, refining.
They are dark things these fantasies.
They scare me sometimes, how alluring, how pervasive they become. I seem to go through a couple of days every month where they pull me in and don’t let me go. I find myself going to bed early so I can lose myself in them. They are often sparked by dreams, dreams that don’t seem to stop when I wake up. The images staying with me, the plots twisting and turning in my mind as I change a nappy, make breakfast, kiss goodbye to my husband.
And yes, on some days they are a far more attractive reality than the one that stares back at me from the mirror, the tired looking mum with banana smeared on her shirt, the messy too-small house…
I long to step into them. To become that woman in the film star’s bed. The woman signing autographs in the lobby of the swankiest London hotel. The woman stepping off the plane into rich, tropical heat. I want her clothes, her attitude, her sensuality, her power.
I think it is these fantasies that push me to write. They are fuelling the novel that is taking shape in my mind and in the first few tentative scribbles of words. I hope they will continue to feed my writing, provide a dark and rich pool to draw from.
But still, they do frighten me some days, they always have. Because I’m not sure whether I am always in the driving seat. I’m not sure where they come from, or how to control them. And sometimes I love that, love that feeling of being carried away, and other times it feels terrifyingly like being pulled by an undercurrent that might just take me somewhere I don’t want to go.
And I wonder. Do you do it too? Anyone out there? Do you immerse yourself in fantasies and dreams?
Do they take over you a little too?
I'm Heather, an ex expat, now back in blighty and living in Lancashire. Which is just like Lapland only less snowy...and stuff.
I could be corny here and say I used to dream of a fantastic life but now I live it, but I know what you are talking about. These aren't things that we live that we want these are things that move us along make us want more and more and more…
Of course my problem is that my mind is always thinking, always looking for another angle. And the one that always pops up when talking about dreams is of course how do we know that what we think is our real life isn't really our dream life and our dream life is actually our real life…
My favourite fantasy involves porn. Property porn. I can gaze for hours at online property sites and select the house I will buy when I get that money that I'm sure to get one day; I take the dog for long walks past big houses and decide which one will suit us best. Then I set about planning the new kitchen and bathrooms, furniture etc. All in my head. Lovely. And not a naked man in sight.
Have always done it and hope I continue to do so. Like you they fuel my writing – stories, novels, poetry, blogs – they also relieve the tension from days when I'd like to batter my boss with a flat iron.
I thought I was quite an imaginative person, but I don't think I come anywhere near you, Josie. How amazing that you can keep a fantasy going for hours, and live yourself in it so deeply. I can understand why they might be frightening too, since they are so powerful. I have occasional dreams like that, but only at night.
They must be creative, if they are pushing you to write a novel.
Like you have no idea! Most of my friends will tell you that I barely visit reality, I spend most of my life in my own little world, it's mostly safe there.
It's great that you're able to use them though, and by the sounds of that post your novel is going to a real page turner! I can't wait!
It's always been how I put myself to sleep at night. Since early childhood I've told myself stories – involving me as the heroine – of course – to either go to sleep or while away boring hours.
I didn't realise other's didn't do it until one night when my husband couldn't sleep and I told him maybe he should change his story. He had no idea what I was talking about. I guess some people don't. Or they do have fantasies about having more money or rescuing a bus-full of children or some such but they don't actually live out entire stories in their head.
Sometimes my family are in my fantasies but lots of time they're not. I'm also taller and much, much thinner in my fantasies. Although sometimes I fantasise about when I'm old or revisit my childhood, too.
Anyway, I also talk into the mirror pretending my reflection is another person – especially when getting ready for an interview or some such.
That I figured no one else did, but it turns out most do.
I don't do that. I'm worse. I frighten myself sometimes with the blackness of my imaginings. I see doom and disaster everywhere. I lose myself in the misery of illness, of death, of loss. I imagine every detail of how the worst news would be broken to me. I see my children, motherless, fatherless, both. I sicken myself with these imaginings, and I have no idea why I do it. And nor do I know how to stop.
It's not all the time, but every now and then. And every now and then I come back to myself. Tired and miserable. But thankful that, so far, we are safe. And then I send up a little prayer that we will remain so.
Weird? Me? Sometimes, very.
I think I've lived half my life in my imagination. Less so now as don't have the time. But god when I was young it was all I had sometimes. Kept me sane through the nightmarish teenage years. And yes I was always thinner, prettier, richer, cleverer with loads of friends and admirers. I have had so many different professions in my head it's scary! And a lot of amazing sex….
How very well put. I too have a rich fantasy life, and occasionally miss freeway exits while lost in them. There are laws against driving while on the phone, but maybe there should be lawas about daydreaming?!. I think it has actually help me achieve some of my goals in life too though. A type of visualization, an 'if you believe it you can make it happen' type of thing. Thanks for sharing yours!
That does sound amazing but I can understand why sometimes they would seem scary.
I am looking forward to seeing your work in print. With your imagination it will be amazing
I suppose the closest I get is imaging life as a character in one of the various books I've just read, this is normally while I am doing a dull household job. I'm not that imaginative unfortunatly.