One habit from my former life that I brought into this one is running. I love running because it gives me time to think. It also gives me space to process some of the craziness that I experience here.

Sometimes, the need arises for me to invent nicer fantasies out of the crazy realities that I’m actually experiencing. Recently, that exact need arose during one of my runs at the local gym.

Delusions At Work – a brief story

From my panoramic view on the treadmill, I watch as a group of “sweepers” surround an elderly lady, who might also be a “sweeper.”  The old lady is sitting in the road at an unmarked bus stop. The others begin pulling, tugging and seemingly harassing her. The group, which is initially made up of only women, begins to grow to include even men. All are tugging, yanking and pulling at this woman, who clearly doesn’t want to be bothered.
I can’t look away as it’s all unfolding in my line of vision. Thus, I create a nicer story in my head. I tell myself, “These people are actually trying to help her. She is sad and ready to give up, but they are literally trying to pick her up and help her stand. Yes, that’s it. They are trying to help her to see that life is worth living and first you have to get up from the middle of the road. ‘You cannot sit here, it’s dangerous, and the bus can hit you,’ they tell her. ‘This is the bus stop.’”

I imagine she’s collapsing all over the ground because she simply can’t fight anymore, except to say she can’t fight. Her old bones fold neatly on the ground as she falls into roughly the same crinkled position every time they pull or tug. She swats and yanks always falling back into the pavement. “That pavement is not really hard. She doesn’t feel it when she falls into it. She actually has special powers and her skin and bones don’t feel any of the bangs or dings. There isn’t any banging or dinging anyway. See she falls so nicely and gracefully into the ground, no matter how much they tug, pull or snatch. Gee, these people are so insistent on her getting up to live. They are insisting upon her moving out of the road and getting on to a good life.”  My story is getting more ridiculous by the minute.

About 40 minutes into my make-believe story a professional looking woman disbands the group. With a fair amount of lively gesturing and speaking, she makes them all leave the old lady alone. She doesn’t move until they move with her, across the road, away from the elderly lady.

At 47 minutes the red-eye dog (pit bull mutt), trots into my line of vision distracting me with his evil look. 5 seconds later I remember the drama across the way and look back to the bus stop and she’s gone! The old lady is gone. I look down the road in both directions. I can see quite a distance away from my vantage point, but I see nothing. She’s gone. “One of her relatives drove here to pick her up and take her home. It’s a close relative, in fact. And she has coffee and biscuits. And they insist that she also stays until lunchtime. The end.”

It’s a strange way to cope, but sometimes a fantasy happy-tale is about all I can manage. And for another day, what’s left of my sanity remains.