Dream-In the Weeds

I can always tell when I am under stress. I can have a very delicate constitution that is easily upset, so I lose sleep first.

It is stressing me out that I have a really bad cold/sore throat that is preventing me from the turbo-speed studying that I usually do. I feel like I am walking in quicksand. I just can't seem to stay focused or retain information like I need to because I have a bad case of "medicine head".

The stuffy nose was keeping me up last night for a long time, so I had time to fret about other stuff, which only makes it less possible to sleep. So at about 3:30 AM I got up and hit the dreaded Afrin nasal spray. I hate using that stuff because the rebound on it is so dreadful. But oh well. I ended up falling asleep around 4 AM.

Then I had stress nightmares. They weren't the "monster chasing me" variety. I dreamed about my relationships, but they were all convoluted and messed up. (More than they are in real life) I dreamed about a guy I am not even in a romantic relationship with, but in the dream he was not being faithful to me and I was confronting him. Stupid.

Then the dream shifted to me having to close down a restaurant for the night and tackle a huge pile of dishes and pots and pans. Obviously, as a former chef, I am very familiar with commercial dishwashers like the one pictured above. I was spraying the pans with that nozzle, I was in a big hurry for some reason, and the dishes just kept piling up.

I was "in the weeds". Any old professional cook will know what that means. I guess I feel in the weeds this week with school. Any time I am having work-related stress, I always default to dreaming about the professional kitchen: the heat, the sharp objects, and the screaming staff.

The good news is that being in the weeds is largely about attitude. You can be the only one behind the line and the tickets can stack up and it can still not be a problem if you are in the right head space. You can still crank it out and even have a little fun doing it. It is like watching a toddler run: they just put their heads down and barrel forward and you are sure they are going to bail, but they don't. Or even of they do, they just get up and keep running, because running is so novel that the fun of it outweighs the danger.

So I am trying to shake it off today and crank it out. I am made of tough stuff, even if I do like to be petted and coddled by people I love. I can live without it, but being cooed over makes me feel better. I know deep down that I will get through it, but I am coming to realize that while I like to be viewed as smart and competent, there is still a little child in me that wants to be babied. That is a little messed up maybe. My grandmother understood it, and even when I was nearly all the way grown she would pull me close and talk softly and pet my head. It was enormously calming. After that, I could tolerate the pep talk and then I would grit my teeth and get back to work.

Hee hee. Maybe I am the opposite of the high-powered CEO who pays a dominatrix to beat him up and call him names and make him feel helpless. I am fierce as a rabid wolverine sometimes, but I still want to be treated as if I were a delicate and rare porcelain doll of inestimable value.

I want to be protected sometimes, because usually I am the one that throws myself like a human shield in front of my friends when there is strife. I usually don't care what happens to me or my heart, because I am so used to feeling bruised. I would almost rather take the hits myself than see someone I care about get hurt. I think I give people permission to use my resources in ways that don't actually benefit me, just to see them a little happier even if it costs me. Hmm. Maybe that isn't too good for me. I guess that I just trust that there will be reciprocity, and there often is.

Note to self: channel energy through myself from above rather than out of my core. Yep. That's it. The universe is infinite and can take the drain better than I can.

David Bowie and The Bolivian Nose Candy

As I sit contemplatively chewing on a chocolate-covered espresso bean, I'm thinking about drugs and how creative people use them. David Bowie and many MANY others were pretty well known for snorting mountains of cocaine and still churning out some of the most amazing art. I was reading a book review of Angela Bowie's book where she complains end on end about his dysfunction as a person, a husband and father. But the reviewer basically said, and I agree, that if high Bowie gives us "Hunky Dory" and sober Bowie gives us "Tin Machine", who are we to judge? How can I really condemn him for his greatness while altered? I don't have to live with him, of course.

Twisted Fangirl love for the Thin White Duke aside, what does it say about me as an artist? I never did go in for that experimental drug phase that some of my friends, and countless Rock Gods, have indulged in. Going on a drug binge would be unseemly at my age, and I can only imagine how gross I would feel. Add the fact that Little A deserves sane and sober parenting and you can readily see that even getting drunk is pretty much out of the question. Am I missing out on some vital, visceral thing as a writer because I am prioitizing my family? Do you HAVE to be crazy to be creative? Its it mandatory? Or does it just make it easier to focus on one thing if you can take drugs to blot out that you aren't meeting all of your responsibilities?

I won't even go into all the artists who have gotten sober and their creative mojo dried up as they dried out. I'm talking to you Aerosmith/Van Halen/Duran Duran. Just as many musicians tank out or die trying to stay high all the time. Talking to you Curt Cobain, Keith Moon, Elvis, John Bonham and Jim Morrison.

But look at the writers who have shaken history with their words, and are just as famous for spiralling (sometimes literally) into the gutter. Jeeebus. Edgar Allen Poe, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Hunter S. Thompson, Kafka, Oscar Wilde, Dorothy Parker and the list goes on and on.

But drinking and drugging to that level makes you into a horrible person to be around. And I am trying to picture any one of those people doing a "corporate" reading at your local Barnes & Noble. The horrors! Who will think of the children? But my god, what is the alternative? Wholesome "Christian Rock"? *shudders* I'd rather explain the dangers of heroin to my kids than try and tackle that shit.

Now that Bowie is older and still makes art, he is seen as one of the survivors, a venerated elder statesman of decadant disco-style excess. The cocaine use seems almost quaint compared to the shit people are taking nowadays. Don't even get me started on the "sell your soul to the Devil" thing that is Meth. I'm seeing what that does to families up close, and it isn't pretty. The state doesn't even know what to do with it all.

But one gets the impression that Bowie was destined to be great as much as he was destined to get high and cheat on his wife with anything that moved, name his kid "Zowie", and ultimately end up becoming an arbiter of taste (albeit tongue firmly in cheek) in "Zoolander" and "Extras".

I'll always sort of love him, albeit from afar. VERY afar apparently if I want my vision of his genius to remain spotless like that suit in the "Modern Love" video.