Attempting To Laugh At Myself, Non-Fiction Writing

Writing of the outside world. Origin story for A Year in Provence. Mayle moved to France to work on a novel. “Months later, he wrote his agent a long letter explaining his lack of progress on his fiction by detailing the tribulations of dealing with the French. ‘Do another 250 pages of that,’ his agent replied, ‘and I’ll find a publisher.’ “. The Guardian: Peter Mayle obituary, 2018.

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Achievement Unlocked! Anxiety dream about work.

This was a first. I’ve had anxiety dreams. I’ve had dreams where I’ve had to scream myself awake. I don’t think I have ever dreamt about work in any capacity.

I share this with you for two reasons.

One. For your amusement, because dreams are weird.

Two. In the hope that by exposing this hideous creation to daylight, it will turn to ash and blow away.

Setting. I had a phone interview earlier this month. The night before was restless. When I did sleep, my brain dropped this on me.

Enter dreamland …

I needed to take someone (person unspecified) to the airport before the interview. No problem. Everything all set. Standing at the ticket counter, we calculated that the flight for the (now present) third person, who turned out to be my college roommate(?), was several hours later. Because of the timing, I would not be back home for the interview. (Why couldn’t I leave her at the airport? I have no idea.)

… still in the dream …

I would have to conduct the interview from what was now the train station(?) without my notes. Do-able. I found something to write on. I found a quiet, distant corner of the waiting room, that was immediately occupied by a series of large, loud groups. (Because of course it was.)

… still in the dream …

Due to the futzing around, I was 8 minutes late to make the phone call. (I am not late. My writing may be pedestrian – professional evaluation – but I am reliable.) The person answered, along with their adult child(?) on a conference call(?). The call immediately fritzed. My phone began all manner of digital gymnastics. The answer was to reset with control-alt-delete. Since it was a phone, this was not possible.

… still in the dream …

I was then treated to, subjectively, 20 minutes of madly pressing buttons on my phone, chanting … no … no … no … and watching the clock on the wall sweep inexorably forward.

… wake up.

So restful.

Onwards!
Katherine