Living in Photos.
Fabricated Reality
I have come to the conclusion that my life is moderately paced, risk-free, and pretty absent of conflict. Some might consider that a boring existence. I disagree. I have made my life that way. Don't get me wrong, I am a highly stressed-out individual, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the actual proceedings of my day-to-day activities. I create oodles and oodles of irrational anxiety because there really isn't too much for me to worry about. Sure, I could screw something up at work, like delete a file I hadn't planned on deleting, and that wouldn't be too good, but in the greater scheme of things, that is kind of minor, and somewhat recoverable (just do it again). I don't plague my mind with those sorts of trivial matters. And, I don't bother to lose sleep over them...too much.
What I do lose sleep over, however, are things like dying from hydrophobia—outcome of rabies contracted from bats, being instantly cooked by a nuke right before election night and right before I can vote for Obama, going septic before I reach the age of 30, getting my head crushed by a random object careening down from the sky that strangely and precisely entered via sunroof of my Jetta, and falling victim of a severe stroke before I reach the age of 29 and it leaves me fully paralyzed with my brain perfectly intact so I can watch my husband struggle to take care of me. The likelihood of any of those things happening is pretty slim. Mainly because I don't put myself in any danger, I am pretty healthy, Obama was elected president (without nukes going off), and I no longer drive my Jetta because the muffler is rusted through.
My fears are make-believe, concocted from an over-reactive imagination because it doesn't have real drama to worry about. But, no one can see my fears and so no one is aware of how interesting, creative, and slightly psychotic I am. I will only be remembered as an average person, living an average life, and having average fun. I don't want that to be my legacy! When people look back on my life (if they ever do), then I want them to see a glorious history of one of the most interesting species of humans that has never been documented in any reputable history book, newspaper, magazine, etc. But, what a find!
So, my plan is to fake it all. Because let's face it, when I am dead and gone, the only records of me will be faded photos, scratched up digital files on CDs, obscure and outdated Web sites, and old stories told by old people (and no one even listens to old people—just kidding Grandma!). None of those records will truly be able to paint an accurate picture of the person whom once was Kristina Drobny. So, even if something appears out of skew in the retelling of my history, who will be able to tell? Is someone going to argue with an old lady or a picture? So, as long as I throw in enough convincing photos of my "crazy life," then I can forever be an immortal risk-taker who surrounds herself with handsome, reckless men (see image above).
It's quite safe, living in photos. I have found this to jive pretty well with my risk-free approach to life and the simultaneous dream to be someone important. I can always look back at an image and think, "Wow, it was really fun pretending to get swallowed by a mega-death wave." Or, if I am in mixed company, I could easily state with pride, "Yeah, this was during the typhoon of 03'. We totally picnicked on the beach. No big deal until this 2-mile-high wave interrupted our dessert. Forest wasn't scared. He was angry because the cobbler got salt water in it. Ahh, what a day."