Camouflaged Delusional Insanity

58. I’ve mentioned recently that, although I don’t base characters in my writing off of people in my life, I do on occasion “cast” people in the “roles” of characters when I hit a wall (and then let them improvise in my head for awhile… which is probably a really weird solution… and seems vaguely like a creative form of cheating). My main character has, at this point, seven love interests (she’s flighty and boy crazy), and so I’ve cast several people in these roles (and most of them are double or triple-cast, so that I can try other possibilities if I don’t like where something is going). Anyway. I don’t really want to cast my friends in those roles, because it’s weird for me to view them in romantic ways. So instead, I’ve resorted to mentally casting a bunch of fellows with whom I’m barely acquainted (i.e. if you’re reading this, you’re male, you’ve met me in real life on one or more occasions within the last 6 months or so, and you barely know me, there’s an EXTREMELY good chance that I’ve used you. So, um, thanks for the help). Since I don’t actually know them, I can project the personality of the character onto them more easily. It’s working out rather well.

But I’ve been writing scenes in which I’m mentally casting one guy over and over in the same role. And even though I barely know him (seriously, I think I’ve conversed with him more on Facebook than in real life, and even that isn’t much... the occasional wall-post exchange), I’ve grown completely infatuated with him in this role. Today, he asked out my main character (and she accepted), and I felt this strange wave of jealousy. Essentially, I’ve made up a man that’s perfect for me (and, coincidentally, wrong for my main character), and I keep thinking that it’s this guy I’m Facebook friends with… But I know I'm just being delusional. He's probably not quite as stupendous as I imagine him to be (although, from my limited interaction with him, I know that he's a lovely person and I wish I had the opportunity to know him better).

I think I gave him the address to this blog, actually. I wonder if he reads it. I doubt it. And even if he does, and is reading this very passage (um, hi… awkward…), there’s a good chance that he doesn’t even realize it’s about him (because why on earth should I be thinking about him?). And he doesn’t know that if he asked me out completely out of the blue, I would say yes (I almost want to change my Facebook relationship status to single, just to make sure he knows… but then I’d get all those random creepy Facebook people asking me to be their friend all the time… which is why I took down my status in the first place). And I would probably pass out because of my excitement. And then be melancholic when I awoke because it’s so unlikely that he’s actually the person whom I’m imagining him to be. *sigh* Having a crush on a fictional character is never a good idea (I’ll never get over my infatuation with Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan from the Harry Potter books, who was not as hot as I wanted him to be in the movies. Thank God for Oliver Wood.), but it’s particularly unsatisfying when you’re the one writing the character. And also when you keep confusing the character with a living, breathing human who barely knows you exist.

59. When I was in kindergarten, I saw the top of a lunch bag, and said, “Look, Mommy. It’s a parallelogram.” When I was in first grade, I was reading a book aloud to my mother and came across the word “camouflage”, and I read it correctly. My mother loves to retell those stories. They’re from the collection of moments from my childhood in which she knew that I was precocious and held great promise. Sometimes, I worry that I’m disappointing her by not going into brain surgery or rocket science. And I think my dad wishes I had gone to medical school. They’ve always been supportive of me in my artistic endeavors, but still I worry. Maybe one day I’ll be cast as a character who is particularly brilliant (give me thirty years and I’ll be Vivian Bearing in W;t), and then I’ll feel like I’m living up to their expectations.

60. One of my coworkers laughs at me throughout the day. I make a lot of comments in earnest that she thinks are amusing. Usually, it’s because she missed the first part of the conversation. Sometimes, it’s just because she doesn’t understand my logic. Like last month, when I said I’d rather be insane than have fleas. Because if you’re crazy, you don’t KNOW that you’re crazy. Just because you’re crazy, doesn’t mean you have to be miserable (I've seen Girl, Interrupted). But fleas? That would make you miserable AND drive you crazy.