Weaponized Daydreaming
Ain’t no rest for the wicked. Money don’t grow on trees. I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, and ain’t nothin’ in this world for free. – Cage the Elephant
I was on the treadmill, my brain skimming through the day’s to-do list while mulling over post titles, when that song came on.
Instant flashback. Bills. Mouths to feed. No rest... until we close our eyes for good.
And that’s when it occurred to me that this thing I’ve been doing to survive the grind and stay productive finally had a name.
Because life doesn’t slow down. The grind doesn’t quit. And sometimes the only thing that keeps me from flipping a table is leaning into some controlled, deliberate delusion.
Maybe it’s the movie tangent I’ve been on lately that brought this all into focus. The training montages, the sweeping scores, the main character energy... it reminds me of how much I rely on narrative to move through life.
Honestly, I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. I used to dance and lip sync in front of my bedroom mirror, my yellow and white Ambassador curling iron serving as a microphone (or sometimes an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony). I’d lose myself in those little reveries in hopes of escaping my own reality. I think a lot of kids did that. For me, it stuck.
Is It Delusion or Intention?
I once heard someone describe a concept that immediately clicked: Live with unapologetic goals—like you’re already living your dream.
Not "manifestation" or vision boards. (No judgment if that works for you, but it’s not my style.) More like: Reality is a suggestion, and I’ve got shit to accomplish.
I can work with that.
After a decade of surviving snow-covered Midwestern winters, I’ve decided that I’m absolutely going to live somewhere that doesn’t even sell snow shovels. Not maybe. Not hopefully. It’s happening.
I’m working toward it. I plan around it. I picture the grocery runs and beach walks. I make choices as if that version of my life is already underway.
Same with weight loss; act like the version of yourself you’re working toward, and eventually, reality catches up. Wear the clothes. Practice the habits. Stack the proof. Do the damn thing. And I dropped both mental and physical weight in the process as a result.
That’s the trick…they don’t crown you, you crown yourself.
Living with absolute certainty that your goals are just on the other side of your effort rewires your entire system.
FYI That’s how this blog got started.
Before It Was A Hack, It Was A Lifeline
But let’s rewind.
There was a time when daydreaming wasn’t a productivity tool for me—it started as a tool for survival when I was a child.
After years of silent damage (the kind you carry alone because explaining it makes people uncomfortable), I did what I’ve always done when reality stops making sense: retreat into story.
That kind of trauma rewires your coping mechanisms and teaches you to move through pain like it’s normal.
So I defaulted back to what I knew: theater-kid survival mode. The imaginary scenarios, the internal monologues, the epic soundtracks for boring tasks. It wasn’t about running away anymore. It was about building something solid in the middle of so much unknown.
It was about endurance and, eventually, healing.
Because apparently, I never outgrew escapism. I just taught it how to work for me.
When Boring Becomes a Blockbuster
Some days, it’s small and functional, like folding laundry, which turns into a race against time, or my workout, which turns into a cinematic training montage. My brain prefers storylines to checklists, so I give it one.
When I used to run marathons (ok, mostly half marathons), I wasn’t just chasing medals. I was proving to myself I could do it. That I could finish something huge. That I could push through the suck and still show up for myself.
And while the actual race was just me versus my joints, anxiety, and dehydration, my brain was crafting action thrillers.
Every runner ahead of me became a character. A rival. A spy. A stranger holding the last piece of the mission. I fed my brain drama, and it kept me going every time.
Also, somewhere along the way, I became someone who can casually drop “when I used to run marathons” in conversation, which is just... obnoxious. I’m aware. I’m trying to be cool about it.
Other days, it’s bigger and bolder. I imagine the future version of me, the one with sun-warmed skin, her peace intact, doing life somewhere where the palm trees outnumber the snowplows.
I work backward from her choices like she’s already real. Because, in my mind, she is.
It’s the same mechanism. Just pointed in different directions.
I use stories to survive the hard days and to build the life I’m heading toward.
Because when reality gets heavy, a little delusion doesn’t just help. It gets things done.
Clean House? Aaaand, Scene!
My husband, the absolute saint that he is, hired cleaners to take some weight off my shoulders. Very thoughtful and very appreciated. But I still do a lot of maintenance.
And when I clean, I’m not just wiping surfaces and picking up debris; I’m preparing a luxury suite before VIP guests arrive. Those VIPs are me and my family.
And honestly, why shouldn’t we treat ourselves like the important people we are?
Everything somehow becomes easier when it feels like a scene.
And yes, I’m fully aware that saying "even vacuuming can be cinematic" sounds totally unhinged. But in my defense, I’m a trained musician who spent childhood toggling between music practice, dance recitals, beauty pageants, and a one-time theater production before I even had adult teeth.
I’m also an Aries with caffeine issues. I was raised for the drama.
I realize at this point I probably sound like the most exhausting person to be around, but I swear, this all stays in my own head. Outwardly, I look just like a completely normal, functioning adult.
I make eye contact. I pay taxes. I even hold doors for people. I'm fine.
The Soundtrack That Built Me
Music isn’t just background noise for me; it’s the one language my nervous system always understands, even when nothing else is making sense. I studied it. Lived it. Built parts of my identity around it. And even now, long after the performances, I still play for myself because music has always been my safest place to land.
It’s my therapy, my escape hatch, my reset button when the world starts closing in.
So, of course, it’s part of this system.
From Rammstein to Shostakovich, Missy Elliott to Disturbed, Duran Duran to Johnny Cash, Marvin Gaye to Lady Gaga, whatever the task, there’s a sound for it. The genres span from metal to classical, and the vibes shift depending on the day and the mood.
I’m fiercely loyal to many things. Music genres ain’t one of them.
Every. Damn. Day.
Here’s the part no one really wants to talk about: This isn’t a once-in-a-while trick or a cute hack. It’s daily. Constant.
If I want to be strong and self-sufficient in my 70s, I have to show up now and every day after.
If I want peace and stability in my home, I have to build it every single day.
If I want to stop generational trauma from repeating itself in my lineage? That’s a daily, deliberate choice.
And on the days when all else fails, I keep going out of sheer spite. I have people rooting against me, hoping I’ll burn out.
Let ‘em wait.
They’re not obstacles. They’re plot devices. They sharpen my focus and feed the story.
And nothing fuels a good comeback like a few real-life villains, right?
And if you’ve ever caught yourself falling out of love with the stories that used to save you, I wrote about that too: It’s Not Me, It’s… Actually, It Might Be Me.
I’m honestly humbled by the attention my little blog has already gotten: readers all over the world, people I never imagined would find it. So, if you’re reading this from your own weird little corner of the internet—thank you.
I don’t know how you got here, but I see you, and I’m so glad you’re here.
Let this post be your official permission slip to be a little unhinged today.
Be weird. Be extra. Be the main character.
You might just get more done.
Or at the very least, have a hell of a lot more fun doing it.
Next week, I’ll be talking about turning 50 and what it really looks like to let go of old myths while standing firm in the truths that actually matter. Whether you're 25, 35, or 65, it's a conversation about growing up, waking up, and doing life on your own terms.
Hope to see you there.
💭 Related Reading: Still trying to figure out why the things you used to love don’t hit the same anymore?
Read next: It’s Not Me, It’s… Actually, It Might Be Me