I have always had a humdinger of an imagination. As a kid, I loved to make up stories. As a teenager, I loved to lie about my whereabouts make up stories, and as an adult, I still love to make up stories. The kids were excited last night because they knew a night in the tent meant a really long bedtime story from me. And I told a good one. It had dragons, blood, witches, knights, poisonous plants, bald horses, and more. I was falling asleep with them at 10:00, thinking how great my imagination was.
And then at 4:40 AM that same damn imagination woke me up. I was convinced I heard footsteps on our deck and then the squealing of tires. So convinced that I could not fall back asleep. So I laid there, on the ground, freezing my butt off, while everyone else slept soundly. And my eyes, of course, began to close around the time the the birds were insisting we wake up. And so we did. And now I’m tired.
But glad that in the daylight I can reason with myself and remind myself how vivid my imagination really is.