The thing is I live in my head most of the time. I’ve grown up always living in a story in my head. Of course, I was the heroine in every one of them and I got the good looking, bad boy, who everyone lusted after, in the end. I have Mills and Boon to thank for that. For all you X, Y and Z generations, that was the equivalent to Fifty Shades of Grey, when I was young. I wasn’t allowed to read these books of course, because there was kissing involved and how can a young girl read a book where there was kissing. Ah! The good old days!
But reality has always sucked. I had the woes that most girls, or maybe every kid goes through. My mom doesn’t love me, I have no friends, I mean the entire gamut, so reality had no lure for me. I sat in class, on the bus, when I was supposed to be doing my home work and pretended to live in reality, but in truth, I was actually living out the current story in my head.
That was one side of it, the other was books themselves. My other fantasy world, where I could sneak off to, when reality got ugly. And in those days I had the queen of them all, Enid Blyton. No wonder I got on the yellow brick road, so early in life.