Couple of years ago I was at a party full of people I hated. I didn't know I hated them until it turned two in the morning and I was the only one drunk and was getting shit for it. I hadn't known that thier talk of binging and acting stupid had just been talk. That's what I get for drinking with kids.
So some time in the morning, it was still dark, I decide to head home. I lived about ten kilometres out of town at the time, but I was pissed off and have this thing about sleeping in familiar places. It was pretty cold but I didn't have the balls to go back and beg for somewhere to sleep so I just kept going.
Somewhere along the road I started thinking that it was all an illusion. I convinced myself that I was already at home, in bed, asleep and warm, that I was already where I wanted to be. The road and the cold and the humiliation were just like the bad part of a movie I had to sit through to get to the good stuff, and I could fast forward through it if I just didn't think about it.
I think I'd had the seeds of the attitude in me for years, and that I've been living my life kind of like that ever since: thinking that somewhere in the future I'm already somewhere I'm happy and comfortable and I just have to sit through the shit to get there.
I was right in the end, though. I did end up somewhere I wanted to be. I forgot about the bad stuff that didn't teach me anything and went to sleep. The sun was up by the time I got home.