By Sophia Yakumithis

We’re reaching a point in the pandemic that feels less tolerable than anything we’ve experienced thus far. I don’t know if other people feel that way, but I certainly do.

While I’ve always had an active imagination — perhaps too active — I’ve never looked to escapism to cope with whatever demons are troubling me. Right now, though, I find myself wanting to escape because there’s nowhere to go, both literally and figuratively.

My thoughts are struggling to detach from actuality, and accessing the inner depths of my imagination has become a greater challenge than I ever would’ve expected it to be. 

But regardless of my mental state, I’ve managed to muster up — while in the car, on a run, between Zoom classes, etc. — some fantasy lives I’d rather be living than my own.

This is one of the unhealthiest coping strategies, but as soon as my head hits the pillow at night and I know I’m not getting any sleep, these thoughts are at least entertaining and offer a nice alternative reality I can explore when I need to fill blank spaces of thought. 

An Icelandic farmer

I blew all my money on a hiking trip to Iceland a few years ago, and I totally should’ve stayed there. I spent one of the seven nights sleeping in a farmer’s guest house and let me tell you, it was the most peaceful night of my life. 

One of my fake realities is that I just live on a farm in rural Iceland. I already wake up before God, so I can’t think of a better way to spend my life than tending to happy little farm animals to the backdrop of the most beautiful mountains and rivers on Earth.

I would probably marry a viking and birth very tall children. Plus, I could eat ice cream whenever I want to and no one would dunk on me because it’s one of the country’s national treasures. 

So catch me drinking goat milk with my miniature pet horse named “Guðmundur,” listening to the band “Svartidauði” while the sun is out at midnight. I’m there for it. 

Dating Harry Styles

As someone who spent hours on WattPad as a horny teenager, I already know what kind of boyfriend he’d be and what our relationship would be like. And since our intimate life is our personal business, I’d rather move on and keep this one to myself. 

Thank you for understanding. 

A plague doctor

Have you seen their uniforms? These guys didn’t f— around. If you were so lucky as to treat victims of the bubonic plague, you got to wear oiled leather head to toe, along with a beaked mask that featured crystal eyepieces.

Basically, every day you dressed up like a human-sized crow who worked at The Leather Company and got paid to treat people who were going to die anyways.  

I know, I know. It’s really inappropriate for me to include this in the middle of a pandemic. But all I’m saying is that these uniforms are pretty cool. 

Also, I found out this uniform didn’t emerge until the 17th century’s plague outbreak, but that’s okay because this is my fantasy life and I get to live it however I want.

An old-money socialite

I didn’t know how else to describe this, but I’d love to be an elderly woman living in the lap of luxury in her Upper East Side penthouse in New York City because her rich husband died and left behind a chunky inheritance. 

Each finger on both of my hands would have a fat diamond ring on it. I would wear Chanel espadrilles around the house. My chefs would cook anything I please and I would never have to think about anything except my next botox appointment and society gala.

Does it get more fabulous than that?

Not ugly or depressed

This goes without saying. 

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