I believe that my ability to have vivid daydreams, has not extended from boredom, but alas from a very quiet and arguably isolated childhood. Although I have siblings, they are a lot older than me, and I've never really lived with them. For a long time, it was just me and my dad, which although produced some of my most happy memories, also foretells of the lack of social life I had as a child. The few people that I was surrounded by, were adults, and as a young child, the talk of adults is of little interest to one so young. Hence, the need to fill in the boredom of listening to adults chatter. I've always had an extreme imagination, which makes me rather fantastical at times, perhaps a little too optimistic for my own good really. I daydream of other worlds, people, cultures and so on and so forth. Daydreaming is an escape from the dreariness and difficulty of reality for me at times. I try to use my daydreams to help me write stories, yet alas, they are all incomplete. Perhaps this is a sign that my life is missing something, and my daydreams are my subconcious way of trying to discover what exactly it is.