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If dreaming is a drug, then I'm a junkie. 

For most people, sleeping is an obstacle. Something to get out of the way, so they can get back to their life. For others, it's an escape to nothing, a blissful break from the wears of life.

It's the opposite for me. 

I live so that I can dream; I work so that I can go home and close my eyes, awakening in the real world. My real world. After all, what is reality if not the place where dreams don't come true?

 Can you fight a dragon on your way home from work, or conquer a foreign land to save an oppressed people from their malevolent overlords after vacuuming the living room? Can you visit a land where mountains look like freshly baked phyllo dough, or live in a castle bigger than my apartment complex? 

Tigers instead of taxes. Monsters instead of men with too much power. 

Reality is just the word we came up with to accept a mundane life. A birthing place for grander ideas we wish could materialize. 

I choose to live in a world where they do.