In year ten I had a history teacher who messed with our minds. I think he enjoyed the power of it. One day he was teaching on nuclear bombs and what actually happened to your body if you were near one that went off. The part that freaked me out was the melting of the eyeballs. Honestly, who needs to know?

He once posed a question that has messed with my imagination ever since, “Are we really asleep now and the stuff we see around us is a dream? and are our dreams reality?”. To a mature mind, it’s a no brainer. But sometimes, my mind wanders back to that classroom and I ask myself the same question. For example, my kids are awesome, not perfect, but awesome. Are they that way because I’ve imagined them, or are they really real and I’m one skilled homemaker? I’m not mental, but on those days, when life is slow, I like to imagine that things are not really as they seem and freak myself out. I think it’s the long held desire to be a secret agent, or the need for adventure.

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