make-believe is much too fun

[ontology]

Remember when you were, I don't know, seven, eight, nine, maybe older, maybe younger, and you used to spend hours daydreaming about the worlds you kept discovering? You used to go into your parents' wardrobe, maybe, and feel the back hoping it would suddenly turn out to be trees and snow, or you wondered about getting one of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's cures for your brother's habit of interrupting, or--a little later--you had this silly thing in your head where you pretended that the Fellowship of the Ring occasionally hung out at your house and went places with you (because Aragorn liked to read the Boston Globe and when you went to the New Bedford Summerfest Pippin loved the Tilt-a-Whirl but Sam threw up and Legolas and Boromir traded looks of utter disgust and kids ran up to Gandalf because they thought he was Santa.)

Yeah, well, I just wanted to let you lot know that I have absolutely and completely grown out of that phase and would never, ever, ever daydream about anything fandom related, ever.


In other news, I leapt clumsily onto yet another bandwagon and joined Facebook, pretending happily that my middle name is my last name and also that I was born in 1913 (thanks, Facebook's weird network thingummy that is prejudiced against people who never attended an official school).

Comments

:P

[anthon1.livejournal.com]

In response to, you know, the actual entry:

When I was around four to seven ish, I used to do that a lot; first of all it was Super Ted (with my best friend always winding up as Spotty, for some reason) and then it was, depending on who was playing, either Power Rangers or Narnia. :D I have grown out of that now, of course, honest, and to compensate my unconscious now does very strange things. The last two dreams that I recall having have been set in the Vanty Fair fandom, which doesn't even exist; in one, I somehow ended up tracking down some very bad poetry for a very specific and mysteriously unspecified use, and there was a man with a face that was sour and pinched like a lemon; in the other I ended up as a relatively senior officer in a Prussian regiment that was on its way to Waterloo, with my form tutor from school as the regiment's colonel. This doesn't seem quite as wierd without knowing very much about her, but she is very short, rather plump and really nothing like a colonel at all. (On the plus side she is often very grumpy and certainly bellicose, has a very loud voice and is a German teacher; on the other, she is often rather lovely, has no moustache, has a Facebook group in her honour and has been photographed smiling whilst wearing my hat.)

I wonder what Sigismund Freud would have made of that.