There are days when I have extremely vivid daydreams all day long. So much so, that when asked to remember the day, I have little to no idea of what happened.

For example, this morning while walking the dog through the park I saw a garbage bag on the ground, inflated by the wind. I imagined that inside that garbage bag was a dead body, blue and frozen from the cold (but not terribly gruesome, just so you know). In my daydream, I call in to work and say that I’ll be late, as I found a dead body and the police will want to speak with me for several hours. (Though, why it would take several hours is beyond me. Such are the meanderings of my mind.) Upon letting my boss know the circumstances of my tardiness, I was promptly notified that I was fired. I then proceeded for the next five minutes to postulate whether or not someone could actually be fired for that sort of thing, and were it not to be legal, what would be the recourse, and if it was legal, what, exactly, would I do?

And so it goes, all day long. I make things up, something else shiny catches my attention, and off I go on another tangent. As you can imagine, it is very productive.

I’ve looked at productivity websites, I’ve researched and applied the techniques that are supposed to turn you and your nasty procrastinating ways around–MITs (Most Important Things), doing the worst first, makings lists, giving myself rewards, breaking tasks down, building tasks up, uninterruptible periods of work time and daily goals—all with the glorious result of: nada. I got nothin’. At least nothing more than I would’ve gotten done without all the productivity proselytizing.

Someone once proposed to me that perhaps I was actually especially productive, and could get more things done in a shorter period of time than the average person. And while it’s true that sometimes I am capable of remarkable exploits of seemingly laser-guided concentration, it is also true that I am equally capable of mind-boggling feats of complete and utter mental absence. I think what it comes down to is that I’d rather be daydreaming.

Back in Olde Tymes, there was an entire class of people who were free to idle the day away in reverie. Idlers, slackers, layabouts, and dandies. Sure, no one really liked them much, especially the people who worked, but they did it anyway. And I, for one, commend them for their courage. Yes, I said it: courage. Who else would be able, in the face of being shunned and humiliated by society at large, pursue their daydreaming, and wear their badge proudly? Who else would sit idle while others toiled and sweated around them, conjuring up cockamamie schemes to further avoid labour? Only a true daydreamer, that’s who.

The chosen few, who, when asked “What the hell are you doing?!” proudly rise up and say, “Huh? I wasn’t paying attention."