There are many side-effects of being a writer, but I’m talking specifically about one: imagination. This works in two ways, one good and one bad.

I tend to catastrophize. My imagination gets away from me, and I fill to the brim with anxiety about anything and everything. Going to a party: people will think I’m awful, I will say terrible things, I will make bad impressions and get into trouble! I’ll look like an idiot! I’ll never have any friends, ever, because I couldn’t talk to anyone at this one party, and then I’ll die alone with cats and cross-stitch (<– these things are cool seperately. Together, risky.)  My imagination gets carried away, and I picture the worst possible outcome to all situations, and assume that this will happen to me.*

Daydreams are far more fun and happy than catastrophizing. Yesterday D and I got accepted for a house we applied for. We’ve been at our current place for three and a half years, and it’s gotten to the point that I actively really dislike the property. It’s cold, it’s damp, the kitchen’s downstairs and the loungeroom upstairs, it takes a week to dry our washing, it’s mouldy, I’m scared my books and D’s camera gear will get eaten up by mildew, or that we won’t get our bond back just because the place is old (see? Catastrophizing!).

Anyway, the new place is a dream. Maybe this is just a result of comparing it to our current place, but I’ve been daydreaming wonderful things about it. In these daydreams, I’m a domestic goddess, all because I have an entryway complete with coat pegs and shoe-rack, benches and loads of cupboards in the kitchen, and a separate laundry where I can iron and dry washing (currently happening in the study and bedroom, respectively). The study has a door! And cupboards! And there’s space everywhere, and I will put books in all of that space. Last night I actually dreamed about where the couch will go. We’re not into the new place until the start of August, but my daydreaming will get me through until then.

So while my imagination helps me write pretty stories and be all creative and rad, it also affects my personality and non-writing thoughts. Writing and creativity aren’t self-contained things, they’re who I am. They’re present always.


*Even in the case of this blog post. “Over-sharing much? Nobody cares, you’ll lose readers,” says brain. Shut up.