Just my imagination?

When I was young, my mum used to tellme I had a good imagination. I guess it was something I was proud about. I loved to read, and creative writing was my specialty. As the years went by my talent has seemingly diminished, as did my love of books. I mean, I still love reading books, but, I just don't read as much as I used to for some reasons.

Nevertheless, a thought still occurred to me today as I was walking to uni. It seems that the good imagination that I had prided myself over a few years back, has become more of a curse than a blessing. What good is my imagination, if it allows me to run further and further away from reality, only to find that reality's caught up on me, leaving me breathless? What good can come out of writing fictional stories? Does anyone benefit from reading them?

Having a good imagination means that I can't watch horror movies because when I'm alone in bed at night, he freaky pschopath serial killer's face always appears everytime I close my eyes.

When it comes to BGRs (dunno what that stands for? You'll figure it out some day. If not then ask Oom Joe), picture a guy saying something nice to a girl, and suddenly the distant ring of wedding bells can be heard in her head. Girls, you probably know what I'm talking about. Guys, careful how you act towards girls, because one seemingly meaningless thing could send her imagination shooting off like a rocket (though I guess it goes both ways). Then when she realises she's misread the signs, she feels betrayed, because she's let her imagination go too far, and the reality of the matter doesn't fit with her understanding of it.

Hmm...... I wonder if having a good imagination is actually good afterall?