Rendering by: VK WadeMy subconsious mind is very busy these days . . . er, I mean nights. Most of my readers probably will have picked up on the fact that there's been some turmoil in my little corner of the world recently and I've been working in my sleep to sort things through and figure out the best course of action. The result has been a fairly steady stream of anxiety dreams.
All of these dreams have been vivid -- with sound effects and technicolor. Occasionally, they have been harrowing -- as when I was asked to shoot a series of rapids with a group of other people, in a raft we'd constructed from a bedsheet. Did it bother me that I'd be shooting rapids in a craft that wouldn't float in swimming pool? Not as much as it should have . . .
Instead, I was scopelocked on the fact that I had been given charge of an infant. I was in the front of the "boat" and was terrified that, when we hit the white water, he (or she) would slip from my grasp and be dashed against the rocks and drowned. So I strapped the infant to me . . . but then worried that if I fell overboard, there would be no way to save the baby. Riiiiigggghhtttt. Anyone surprised that I was exhausted when I woke from this somnabulistic misadventure?
Sometimes the dreams were equally crazy but more literal . . . I spent one night in Dreamland trying to talk my real-life boss out of making a documentary entitled The Making of Footloose. (He kept saying, "But Deb! The music is great! And these things are all about the music!") I told someone about this and she informed me that there really IS a re-make of Footloose in pre-production. So I dearly hope this WAS an anxiety dream rather than precognitive . . .
But the best . . . the absolute best of the lot came a few nights ago when, it would seem, my subconscious decided that stress was no excuse not to have a good time and cast Martin Scorcese as the Albert Einstein-esque genuis-hero in a sci-fi flick wherein an evil villian was intent on obliterating the planet. Martin had to rush to the top of the control tower to save us all, with the Evil Lord in hot pursuit. (Dressed appropriately in a black robe -- the subconscious is not much for subtlety. Ask Freud and Jung if you don't believe me.) Martin wedged himself into a narrow corner at one point, and attempted to make himself invisible. But, for all his genuis, he was a self-taught wizard and this trial-under-fire did not go as he'd hoped.
There was a shower of green and blue sparks and then Martin emerged again . . . still fully visible. And now, with one leg and foot replaced by the thick club of a dragon (or dinosaur) leg and sporting a long, spiked green tail (of a dragon or dinosaur.) Did this slow our hero down? Not a bit of it!! He glanced at the leg and then muttered to himself, in that distinctive Martin-Scorcese voice that I'm sure earned him the role for its comic effect -- "Never mind. Never mind. Carry on. Just carry on. You can tend to it later." And lunged for the stairs leading to the control booth. He wedged himself behind the control panel, hindered only slightly by the fact that the dinosaur/dragon leg and tail wouldn't fit. He might be uncomfortable, by Jove, but what was that compared to saving the planet, after all?!?!
All of these dreams have been vivid -- with sound effects and technicolor. Occasionally, they have been harrowing -- as when I was asked to shoot a series of rapids with a group of other people, in a raft we'd constructed from a bedsheet. Did it bother me that I'd be shooting rapids in a craft that wouldn't float in swimming pool? Not as much as it should have . . .
Instead, I was scopelocked on the fact that I had been given charge of an infant. I was in the front of the "boat" and was terrified that, when we hit the white water, he (or she) would slip from my grasp and be dashed against the rocks and drowned. So I strapped the infant to me . . . but then worried that if I fell overboard, there would be no way to save the baby. Riiiiigggghhtttt. Anyone surprised that I was exhausted when I woke from this somnabulistic misadventure?
Sometimes the dreams were equally crazy but more literal . . . I spent one night in Dreamland trying to talk my real-life boss out of making a documentary entitled The Making of Footloose. (He kept saying, "But Deb! The music is great! And these things are all about the music!") I told someone about this and she informed me that there really IS a re-make of Footloose in pre-production. So I dearly hope this WAS an anxiety dream rather than precognitive . . .
But the best . . . the absolute best of the lot came a few nights ago when, it would seem, my subconscious decided that stress was no excuse not to have a good time and cast Martin Scorcese as the Albert Einstein-esque genuis-hero in a sci-fi flick wherein an evil villian was intent on obliterating the planet. Martin had to rush to the top of the control tower to save us all, with the Evil Lord in hot pursuit. (Dressed appropriately in a black robe -- the subconscious is not much for subtlety. Ask Freud and Jung if you don't believe me.) Martin wedged himself into a narrow corner at one point, and attempted to make himself invisible. But, for all his genuis, he was a self-taught wizard and this trial-under-fire did not go as he'd hoped.
There was a shower of green and blue sparks and then Martin emerged again . . . still fully visible. And now, with one leg and foot replaced by the thick club of a dragon (or dinosaur) leg and sporting a long, spiked green tail (of a dragon or dinosaur.) Did this slow our hero down? Not a bit of it!! He glanced at the leg and then muttered to himself, in that distinctive Martin-Scorcese voice that I'm sure earned him the role for its comic effect -- "Never mind. Never mind. Carry on. Just carry on. You can tend to it later." And lunged for the stairs leading to the control booth. He wedged himself behind the control panel, hindered only slightly by the fact that the dinosaur/dragon leg and tail wouldn't fit. He might be uncomfortable, by Jove, but what was that compared to saving the planet, after all?!?!
The Evil Lord entered the chamber, breathless from the chase. Four spectators (including, inexplicably, Liz Sheridan, who is probably best known for playing Seinfeld's mother on the sitcom) were seated comfortably in front of a wall of screens to the left of the control tower. Liz cordially offered the panting Evil Lord her seat, but he pushed her aside, looking wildly for Martin. Aha!! He spied him and headed for the stairs . . . but - curses!! - he tripped on the hem of aforementioned black robe and went down in a most undignified sprawl. Martin was pushing buttons on the control panel and . . . I woke up.
But don't worry. I'm pretty sure Martin saved the day. My sanity, however . . . that may still be up for grabs.
1 comments:
Of Course Martin saved the world...Somebody has to, right?
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