Dreams And Fears

After having lost a night of sleep at Thunder Valley on Saturday, I've been having a devil of a time catching up again on sleep. No help anywhere: work is a matter of triage with irreconcilable deadlines, DMTC is edgy with "Pajama Game" rehearsal, and even Sparky is obstreperous with his walking demands. So, as a consolation, it's nice to have vivid dreams.

I dreamt I was at Steve Irwin's Australia Zoo, and reached over a small fence into an enclosure to pet an excitable wombat. Suddenly deer sprang by, and I was off in hot pursuit after the deer, running along mountain paths after them, until I was deep in the Sierra Nevada wilderness. Suddenly I heard the keening growl of a mountain lion just a short distance ahead. I turned and started running the other direction.

Suddenly, for no discernible reason, Andrea St. Clair briefly appeared, then disappeared. I was puzzled by this, but figure in crazy dreamland context - pursuing dangerous felines, and being pursued in turn - that it might make some kind of "Freudian" sense to have a woman make an appearance, however briefly.

I tried to take a shortcut across a steep canyon by running along the top of a dam that happened to be conveniently placed for the purpose, but then the dam top narrowed to a razor's edge, with thousand-foot falls on either side. I was hugging the knife edge, which was fuzzy, like the interior of a turntable, or a velvet Mexican-style Elvis Presley or John Travolta painting. (This knife edge, may represent an actual location, the "Shield" on the west face of the Sandia Mountains in New Mexico, quite a dangerous place, which does really narrow to the dimensions of an exposed rocky path, with thousand-foot falls on either side.) I shimmied off the knife edge as fast as I could.

Then abruptly, I was hunting for my old green VW Bug on the northwestern outskirts of Woodland. The neighborhood had supposedly been ravaged by a wildfire a few years before, and giant olive-looking trees, but tall, like Texas-plain water towers, and sporting green grapes, had grown to replace the almond orchards of that locale. The trees looked like a Dr. Suess fantasy, and had galls amongst the leaves the size of sofas. What a place!

Then I discovered a trove of tools and literature aimed specifically at theater strike - they were to be used for no other purpose but strike. The literature featured interviews with the tool inventors, and I was filled with admiration for their clever inventiveness.

Then I woke up.

So, I figured I covered most of the important fears: fear of carnivorous animals, fear of women, fear of falling, fear of Woodland, fear of Elvis paintings, and fear of theater strike.

I hope I catch up on sleep soon.