You may say I’m a dreamer

Sadly, though, not  dreamer in the John Lennon sense of the word. (Though that’s admirable and maybe even preferable.) Nope, I just tend to have vivid dreams on a fairly regular basis. However, when I’m really stressed or when I’m facing major changes, my dreams become my constant companions and even start making demands on my waking hours as well.

For instance, when I was fuming mad at work, I was having multiple involuntary daydreams per day. When the guy who took my old desk asked me for my designs and background documents, I’d see myself going downstairs and dumping the still-boxed contents of my old desk at his feet—papers flying everywhere.  I’d then go upstairs to collect my things and, for good measure, send some more papers flying. Then (and this is the most joyful part), I’d finally tell that lady from accounting what I really think of her loudly forcing her opinions on everyone in earshot. (Hint: Not good things.) I’d walk out the door, my head held high, into the loving arms of new employment.

Then I’d snap out of it and find myself still at my job…sitting at my desk…making labels. The clarity of the daydreams only made my reality more pathetic and gray.

Eventually, though, my anger dissolved, and I progressed along the other stages of grief. My daydreams became less frequent and more voluntary. Now I’m down to a single work-related daydream. It’s short and simple. As I’m walking back to my desk, labels in hand, I crouch down and crawl in the small space near my filing cabinets. I stay there, in relative peace, until the workday ends.

Look at the serenity acceptance has given me.