Vivian noticed, suddenly, that in her fantasy state, the feelings of ugliness and contamination had eased. This seemed important somehow. She should make a note in her phone, a note saying that she had successfully, and somewhat automatically, gotten myself out of the feeling of ugliness by imagining a performance that would make someone fall in love with her. But she was too tired, her body was heavy and warm. She closed her eyes, hoping she’d remember.
She won't remember… but she'll return to the same headspace soon, and will treat the new fantasy as an original. A new comfort for the new downspiraled moment.
