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I grew up in an imaginary world. I made it myself, although I doubt I was aware of it at the time.
See, I was working on an art journal page last night with the prompt “pretend” and I wrote down “’let’s play pretend’ were the three most magical words of my childhood.” I hadn’t even really thought about that before.
In literary terms I read and re-read and re-a-zillion-times-over read Alcott, and Wilder, and Spyri (for a bit of foreign flair?!).
I am comfortable in gingham, in petticoats, in aprons, and bonnets. Hell, I’d rock a dirndl if I had one!
But where does that leave me in the modern world?
You know that scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Collins rushes up to Mr. Darcy to introduce himself and witter on in that gauche way? I totally understand that look Mr. Darcy gives him because OMG WHO IS THIS PERSON ADDRESSING HIM WHOM HE HAS NEVER BEEN INTRODUCED TO!!!
I wish I knew why this moment resonates so deeply. I wish I understood how I’ve absorbed such weird outlooks about interpersonal relationships.
I spent so much time in these worlds where there were rules (for good or for ill) as I was growing up. But I live in a world without them, and I think its part of the reason I often feel so lost.
Yeah. I don’t know what all this means, exactly, just mulling over some thoughts in my head.
IMAGINARY WORLDS. I HAZ ‘EM.
