When I was seven years old, I remember walking across the playground at school and suddenly thinking of myself standing on an endless yellow-green field in a high wind, the sun is warm. Some moments, you know you'll remember. This was one of them. And that memory comes back to me. Because it wasn't imagination, necessarily, it wasn't something I was pretending. My memory is mostly narration, but sometimes I get recurring images that I'm not in charge of creating. There's another one of an endless purple universe all shot with silver streams of light.
I don't know where they are, or where they come from, or what they mean. They're vivid colours, but a world that I can't recreate like a picture, because I can see all of the horizon at once. The field is one I've come to think of as my own character establishing long shot in the movie (except that it's definitely an impossible crane shot). I just don't know what it means.
Since I don't wonder what the words in my head mean, this probably means that I'm primarily a logical thinker, and the images I generally get are the result of words, and these unbidden ones are the way visual thinkers experience the world.
I always identify with the protagonist. I didn't know for years that not everybody does. This explains why I keep waiting for the universe to remember it decided I was the chosen one. That's a slight exaggeration, but, really, get it together, universe. I've got things to do once you let me get through all these momentary obstacles.
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