Illustration by Patric Tran / The Collegian

IN A MONTH I’VE GROWN POT, BEEN A HOUSEWIFE ON a cul-de-sac, become a serial killer, worked at a funeral parlor, and most recently, discovered I had superpowers — if only in my imagination.

You see, I have what some might call an overactive imagination and a really strange habit in which I want to emulate the television show I’m obsessed with at the time. (So, in order, that was “Weeds,â€Â “Desperate Housewives,â€Â “Dexter,â€Â “Six Feet Under,â€Â and “Heroes.â€Â)

I supposed it started with “Six Feet Underâ€Â when I became fascinated with the process funeral parlors go through to make deceased people look presentable to their families. I even picked up books like “Stiff: The Curious Life of Human Cadavers.â€Â At that point, I really wanted to work in a morgue.

Then I found pot.

Okay, technically I was in love with “Dead Like Meâ€Â after this, but fantasizing about being a grim reaper is a little beyond even my standards.

So “Weedsâ€Â introduced me to the wonderful world of marijuana growing and dealing in suburbia.
Though I would never actually start growing (or dealing) the stuff, I have thought of ingredients to put in my supply and what I would call it.

No, I̢۪m not telling because if anyone took my ideas I would not be a happy camper.

Coincidently enough, another Showtime favorite is “Dexter,â€Â and oh how brilliant that show is.

He is a serial killer, tagged the Bay Harbor Butcher, and works on the Miami police force as a blood detective. Of course, no one knows he kills people. With all the “CSIâ€Â and “Law and Orderâ€Â shows, it was inevitable that I would land on some type of crime-solving kick. Being the one murdering is different though. His trick is to line the entire room in plastic.

I think I would be more of a slip-some-arsenic-in-your-Gatorade kind of girl.

“Desperate Housewivesâ€Â is easy: a lovely house with a white picket fence with trouble-causing children and nosey neighbors? I already practically lived that life when I was one of the kids. Problem was, we lived on the highway and not a cul-de-sac.

Maybe I just like gossip.

Also exciting? Superpowers.

Admit it, you’ve thought about it; maybe once when you were five. With the help of “Heroes,â€Â I’ve decided on telekinesis and pyrokinesis. I just want the fire to come out of my hands though, not a Human Torch sort of thing. Telekinesis would make everything so much easier. And by everything I mean purely selfish things like moving people who don’t have 15 items or less out of line Like rearranging living room furniture. Like getting rid of others’ cell phones who like to text friends or whatever they do when they are watching films in dark movie theaters and I can see the light illuminate them and everyone around them.

There are other shows too, but the point is that I’m all in my head, where the world works in scripts and catch phrases. I think up random scenarios, like the other day when I was pondering how awkward it would be if you and a friend were laughing about something and a random person came up and asked what was so funny. I also have a hearing problem where I seem to invent what people are saying, like when people answer the phone and say, “Helloâ€Â and once I went, “Did you just call me a ho?â€Â

This habit I̢۪ve developed keeps me sane, if that makes any sense. Who knows where I would be if I saw the world how it was. What a depressing existence it must be.