Sometimes I dream

Sometimes I dream of being a castaway. Alone, on some semi tropical island with nothing but my will to survive and my own thoughts to keep me company. In this dream, I better myself. Without the distraction of modern, read lazy, life I can right myself physically and mentally. I have these little day dreams of foraging for food without a word in the noisy treeline, of standing still as stone in gentle streams to catch small fish, of sitting by the fire telling grand tales to myself for entertainment. There is an allure to this fantasy. The release of responsibility and of agent is what really draws me. I'd love to just focus on living, or at least I romanticize it. In this daydream, I live alone for about a year or two before casting caution to the wind and setting sail in a boat made by my own hands before being rescued at sea. The narcist in me wants to know how it would be if I were to come back from the dead. How would people react? Would they care I was gone? Obviously, those closest to me would be the most affected but what about those that are not? I think it's that similar to that budding ego that starts to develop in the young teens that is harboring this desire to be missed, to be worried about. It's the who would be at my funeral gag that so many people have explored in greater detail. Do old friends travel to say good bye? Do old lovers come to wish me well? It would be interesting indeed but the biggest draw is the solitude. I don't know how long I'd like it but the quiet sounds like dinner bells when you're hungry.

Oh well. Perhaps some camping in the summer will do me fine. Say thankee sai. That was an ordeal to write, thankee. My phone fought quite hard to eliminate that, I guess not all things serve the beam. Speaking of, I should reread that to get caught up for the movie. A gentle refresher.