Ok speaking about how fantastic the power of imagination is - I have a little trick I like to use. I use this in all kinds of situations when things aren’t bad per se but they’re not great either - when I’m under-stimulated, when I can’t motivate myself to study, when I hate whatever social situation I have to participate in, when I’m mildly dissociating, when I feel unhappy to be around a bunch of people, when I’m feeling huge discontent from what I’m meant to be doing, when I feel I can’t be myself or otherwise have to hide (homophobic environment etc), when I’m hyperactive but still might just get something done, when I’m just really bored -
It’s called I am the con artist. It goes like this.
You are the protagonist of a camp high-flying fantasy/spy/steampunk/cyberpunk/swashbuckling novel, and you’re about to pull off your biggest heist yet. Everything before this was leading up to this one. Your people are in place, waiting for your signal - your fingers brush against the hilt of your sword - a smile, disconcerting, plays at the edge of your lips. Everything is ready. If you can just get through the next ten minutes, the next hour - it will all be worth it. The stakes have never been higher. Until then, you just have to blend in.
And you look around, and think: how can I pull this off?
It works a treat. Yes, you’re still disillusioned writing your essay - but you are a disillusioned scholar, pen weary in hand by the light of candlelight, hearing the rain battering against the panes of glass. Underneath the library are vaults full of riches you can only dream of. You just need to wait, quill scratching, until the stroke of midnight.
Bored of learning vocabulary? That’s not a luxury you have. The king’s eldest heir you will kidnap speaks fluent French; and if you will pull off the pretence for even ten minutes at the masquerade later tonight, you need to convince.
Feeling overwhelmed, an imposter, like you don’t belong? Well, as a member of the underground syndicate masquerading as a noble, you are. You have flattered and talked your way into the highest circles of society, and the decadence of the ball-rooms and the ever-flowing wine makes you sick. They will rue the day they ever crossed you.
Hate making small-talk and dressing up? Of course you do. You’re the city’s best squid tamer, and you know poisons like no-one else. And under your dress are poison daggers strapped to your thigh, dipped in the venom of the squid. All you have to do is wait for the signal: the code-word from the man to your left, and the mark’s life will be cut short.
Can’t be arsed to work out? There is no other option if your plan to infiltrate the ambassador’s elite bodyguards is to succeed. You can scale buildings, sure - but if you are pretending to be a graduate of the kingdom’s best school for martial artists, you need to be more than that.
Why not use your imagination for protection and fun? If your workout is running up stairs and you pretend you’re chasing a dragon, why shouldn’t you use the same logic for studying or social situations?
I am the con artist. Melissa is a lie. Evil Chenxi out.
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