I have an overactive imagination. A blessing and a curse.

I hear a name, there’s a crazy story to go with it. Someone says something that’s just a little bit funny, I’ve embolished it so that it some how includes a mutated tiger and a few monkeys. I see something, or just think I see something, BAM ! 5 million explanations for it pop up. Now this works wonders for writing and even just saving myself from boredom, but there is something it is not good for. Dealing with him.

He sends a text with an unclear meaning, he doesn’t like me any more. He doesn’t call me when he’s supposed to, there’s someone else. He doesn’t answer my calls or e-mails or letters, he thinks I’m pushy, annoying, and possesive.

Worse is when it thinks up good things. He’s going for a walk, he’s going to surprise me by coming over. He’s bored, we’re going on an African safari. He misses me, we’ll be married by the end of the week.

I could deal with it. If it didn’t tear me up everytime the good things didn’t happen.