Yesterday, I was taking an afternoon walk around the neighborhood and lake, and realized that there is this "imagination" phenomenon that keeps happening to me. I was walking down a flight of steps, when suddenly this vivid, ultra-realistic "flash" happened in my mind. I made a step down, and suddenly, my left leg buckled and completely fractured. A hideous compound fracture, complete with bone cracking sound and spurting blood. I felt it, experienced it, and my breath escaped my lungs. Then suddenly, I realized I had just taken a normal step down, and everything was fine. No tibia sticking out of my leg. About 15 minutes later, I was on the sidewalk, noticing the cars coming toward me on the road and passing innocently. Then, one of the cars swerved off the road, and before I had time to react, and dive into the bushes or take other evasive action, the grill of the SUV hit me full on and and I felt myself being crushed underneath two tons of metal. Of course, it was just a mental "twitch," and the SUV had actually just driven by on the road, with nothing so gruesome happening. Heading into the office as I do every morning, I got on the elevator and pressed "3." About halfway up, the elevator cables snapped, and I plummeted down the shaft and crashed at the bottom. Seconds later, I realized the doors were opening on my floor, and nothing had happened.
I have these little "waking nightmares" all the time. At least 5 or 6 times per week, if not more. They seem to last a while, but in reality, it's just a split second in my mind. Much like Picard in "The Inner Light," or the soldier in "Occurrence at Owl Creek." They take different forms and involve different types of horrific accidents (though the "hit by car" and "leg snapping like a dry twig" are pretty common). Is this normal? Does this signify some type of underlying paranoia or death wish? I was a psych major for a few quarters, but don't really recall covering this. And why can't these flights of fancy be more pleasant? Like a three-way with the Deschanel sisters and a bottle of Patron?
Does this happen to anyone else? Or should I just be looking for a comfy couch where I can pay $200 an hour to talk about my childhood?