Reality Check.

Whenever there was nothing to do I always drifted off into my own dream world. It's amazing how my world could look so foreign after I see that reality is far from my make-believe life. How I wish my life was just as I'd ever wanted it to be, just like everybody else does. Everything has always been so ordinary, just like I am. I don't even know why this bothers me. Maybe because all the fairytales use characters that are amazingly good or exaggerated. I'm not sure. I used to think that I could make my next story about someone ordinary, but if she was, what would happen in the story? I would have bored myself by writing it. So I stay content by dreaming of myself being someone other than me.

I guess dreams are my roads to happiness.