Fictional little world.

I always seem to be living in a certain plane that is outside my life. I Don't know how that really works yet, but in someway its an outside perspective; but not quite. Almost like a chicken eye view to everything I do. It is quite possible that my thoughts seem to interrupt me getting on with my life.

A bit of fiction infused in the day to day reality is cool I think, but this seems to be getting out of hand at this moment. I seem to be deriving greater pleasure from my idea of my life rather than itself. Its not confusing in the least, just misleading.

I seem more happier in my head than I possibly could be. But then isn't everything about how it looks between our ears?
The problem occurs when I realise the discrepency or choose to see what other people seem to be percieving.

Should it bother me? I am not even sure if it does right now. I am sure if I dwell in this middle plane for long enough they will have to ship me somewhere where they know how to control other people's traffic jams in their brains.