In my dream life I am a writer.

I daydream. A lot. It's one of my favorite activities. I let my brain run wherever it wants while I'm running, biking, driving (and paying attention to the road at the same time of course) and some times, for better or worse, in meetings, at dinner, while attentively listening to a friend recount a story.

There are schools of thought that think daydreaming is counter productive; wasted brain energy that gets you nothing and nowhere. Others say it could be almost magically good for you, helping you create through visualization the things you want for your life.

I desperately hope both groups are wrong. I don't want daydreaming to be a waste of my brain, but at the same time it better not be a visualization of what my life is about to turn into, because if it is I'm kind of... fucked.

My daydreams range from realistic conversations to losing my dog to dying of a mysterious disease to becoming a wildly successful author. So unless I'm going to become a wildly successful author it would be a terrible thing for these musings to come true.

Though, in other internal adventures I am a rock star. Not literally, but I kick ass. I run marathons. Ultra marathons. And I win them. There is music and tears and I dedicate my victory to the people I love, some of whom are there to pick me up, all sweaty and glowing in my mini running shorts (six-pack showing through the jersey that is clinging to my rock hard body). Or, I execute a ground-breaking marketing campaign that wins awards, sells ocean-crate after crate of product, and secures my place in the upper tier of desirable employees forever. (I totally get a raise.) Or I write a book. A book that people really love to read, that they pass on like crack (without the negative, addictive, you know, toxic parts) to their affluent friends, who love it and pass it on again. Oprah and I chat on an oversized couch in front of millions of viewers.

So maybe it would be great if daydreaming is a visualization of future events. But, if the consequence of daydreaming swings the other way, I die. All the time. Usually in pain and dramatic agony. (Don't ask me why this thought comes into my brain. I don't actually want to die. I just, think about it some times, in a romantic martyr sort of way.)

I'm on Oprah. I die. Oprah. Die. Hmm.

I'll take my chances. And share the possible future I create for myself while potentially wasting my brain waves with you.