It’s a fantasy. Like when I wish Voyager would get kicked back to the past, and land on Earth…
Janeway: So what year is it?
Me: 2025
J: We got caught is a spacial tear, and ended up here.
Me: How’s the Delta quadrant?
J: What?!
Me: What?
Me: I guess you’re headed to DS9?
Me: Fucking take me with you! Please!! I gotta get out of here.
Me: I can do… Stuff… I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I’ll scrub plasma conduits!
I hope I survive the jump to the Delta quadrant, and I get seven great years of not this.
Then I get to the office, and spend a day in the obnoxious heat doing stupid shit. Difference is I have an office to go to, and I do other stuff on the weekends for fun and profit. My fantasy is a minor diversion from real life, and I can do that while getting real shit done.