There must be an answer to all my weirdness

I was a weird kid, but I haven't gotten much better with age. My eccentricities have only deepened and mature with age like some obscure vinegar. Strangely, I managed to get married to someone who either tolerates or perhaps appreciates my lack of common sense and imaginary friends. I also have somehow acquired a decent cast of real-life friends who seemed to laughingly put up with my quirks.

There are some things I tend to filter for real life people. For example- I really, really like cats. It's almost unnatural. As a kid I thought I could read their minds and they could read mine. I'm still not completely convinced this isn't true. Also, I really love the smell of their fur- if they are near me, my nose in undoubtedly pressed into their little cat-heads. This makes me happy.

Another thing that's weird is how obsessed I am with my stories. I've been this way since I was little- before I could write them down. I've always had other people, other worlds and other lives going on. Generally those lives re-appear as soon as I'm alone or at least out of ear-shot.

I'm pretty sure it's not psychosis, as I know it's not real. I'm ok with it not being real. Every once and a while, though, it feels like they cross over.

I've got to finish this book, folks. I'm no a strong writer- I have no dream of becoming famous as a writer. I just want to write a few book about these people in my head. And I want to do my best.

A couple nights ago...I had a dream about a guy...it was too foggy to get a sense of what was happening or where. But it was one of those things where I woke up half expecting it till to be going on. It was visceral- like I could smell him. I think...and this is weird...it was John. Yes...fake John from my story. No real person...no one my husband has to beat the tar out of or anything. It was just like he was in my head but super-real. Not some Robert Pattinson-inspired conjured cloud of an idea.

I was starting to separate myself from Blood Freckles, as a way of giving up for a while, at least. It's just not strong enough. But then..this... This weird thing that seemed to say..."No! Don't stop!! Make them real!!! Keep going!"

I really have a lot of housework I could be doing. I should be painting, since thats an much more realistic way for me to succeed at something, but...I can't. I'm too weird. Too obsessed with why John would have left Nina in San Francisco and disappeared. And why he would come back...