I never had an imaginary friend growing up (two brothers; too busy beating each other up**), but I imagine that chuckling quietly to oneself at one’s character’s remarks isn’t too dissimilar to laughing at one’s own jokes, and that constructing entire conversations as a way of recording the voices in one’s head (each with their surprising insights) has got to represent at least a mild foray into a dance with psychosis***.
* This seems a useful blog title. Expect me to re-use it.
**or forcing those around me to perform my very serious and important dance choreographies, which often involved somersaults around the horizontal bar of my garden swing, and later morphed into one, excellent**** interpretation, aged 10-ish, during which my friend and I premiered a duet in a dance competition to the song ‘How Deep is Your Love?’ by Take That. Our art revolved mainly around literal demonstrations of the lyrics, step-ball-changes, body rolls and the odd hand clap.
***as does the fact that I have been dabbling with the effects of what I have discovered is called ‘drone music’ – exactly the sort of thing I might hate in any other situation, but it seems to make me write at double speed. Thanks Eliane Radigue for messing with my mind in your subtle, one-note-for-sixty-minutes, sort of way.
****Really quite awful, in all reality, from all approaches; and with all appropriate regret (our costumes were quite good though; we GENIUSly colour-matched each other’s tops to our own bottoms. It was fetching. We were proud).
I’m sorry about all the stars.