Tag Archives: dreams

Cheaper than therapy.

30 Nov

Last night I was fairly stressed out about work when I went to bed. The result?

Nope. You weren't there. Whew.

A never-ending dream that I was one of the finalists on American Idol. We had thirty minutes to choose a song (from a selection of ten options), practice it, then perform it live on television. Unfortunately, I didn’t know ANY of the song options. I’d heard a few of them before, but not well enough to even guess at the lyrics convincingly. And also? All the songs were originally performed by men in falsetto, which put them out of range for my limited voice.

I sat bolt upright in bed at 2am, heart racing and sweating.

Know how I calmed myself down? By replaying the dream in my head and realizing the Simon Cowell had been no where to be found, so it couldn’t possibly have been THE American Idol. Oddly, that put me at ease – at least enough to fall back asleep.

Two hours later – I sat up in bed again. Because Simon wasn’t on the last season of Idol. 

But rather than panicked, for some odd reason, this realization caused me to feel like I’d solved an Encyclopedia Brown mystery. (Remember those? A squirrel can’t BACK down a tree! Ah ha!)

And yes, I realize this post violates two rules of interesting writing: 1) It makes no sense; 2) It bores you with a dream.

Sorry. What can I say? I didn’t sleep well.

I never claimed I could sing the phonebook.

And in my next life, I’ll come back as a…

25 May

Last night I met my old college roommate Karen at Millenium Park to watch a concert and enjoy the gorgeous weather. (Getting to see Karen more frequently is definitely one of the up-sides of a crazy travel schedule.)

The band was very loud and the lead singer’s voice sounded like someone was squeezing his testicles with varying degrees of pressure. (I’m thinking the event organizer might not want to invite them back next year.)

Even so, the people watching was fantastic. I was obsessed with this girl who looked like she was about eleven and fancied herself a ballerina. She was transfixed by the music, doing all kinds of leaps and pirouettes and kicks in the grass. She clearly takes lessons (she wasn’t that bad) but it was her willingness to show off her moves in front of strangers that struck me. She had a look of such fierce determination on her face, I felt like I could read her thoughts: “Please, God, let someone here be a talent scout who will discover me and invite me to dance with a professional troupe!”

The reason I felt confident about her thoughts is because it wasn’t *that* long ago (if you consider 25 years ago a blip in time) that I was indulging in similar fantasies. Note: I said similar. As a child, I would choreograph ridiculous moves on roller skates and cruise up and down my driveway, pretending I was a rollerskating dance instructor. Because A) That’s a real job and B) There’s clearly a labor shortage in that area. Note: I said fantasy.

Sigh. If only that’s the way my brain worked these days. Instead of fantasizing about an amazing career doing something utterly creative, I spend my nights tossing and turning under the stress of an all-too-real job. The fantasies I have are more about clients suddenly expressing a willingness to truly partner with me instead of trying to score the best possible “deal” for their company.

Alas. It’s probably too late for me to resuscitate my dreams of being a professional rollerskating dance instructor, but maybe I should not have been so quick to smirk at the girl dancing wildly in public. Dreams are a good thing.