OH, THE HORROR

Pictured: Portrait of a working man pushed to his limits, Milton Waddams.

For months I've been teetering, tiptoeing, lightly skirting the fray of full blown workplace insanity. Oh, it would be so easy to have a meltdown, drop to my knees and begin screaming and shaking, spitting expletives from my froth-covered lips while simultaneously stapling paper and plant leaves to my legs. Could I get disability for something like this? How wonderful that would be. Though I'm sure my employer could find a way around that by propping me back up in my terribly uncomfortable chair, strapping me in and placing my heavy, seizure-frozen fingers on the crumb-covered keyboard. Oh, the horror!

Sure, I've unloaded my workplace frustrations on this blog before, but something feels different now. I feel more anxious, more antsy, more ready to escape than ever. Balancing life, work, family, and the unrelenting pursuit of my dreams has taken its toll these past couple months. I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years, no matter how hard I try -- and you must believe, I try so very hard to escape.

"I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years."

"Why vent now?" you may be wondering, "you've been shitting away your life at a plethora of desk jobs since you graduated college." Thanks for the reminder, but you see, I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit. The only reason this dream was striking was 1.) I remembered it; I never remember my dreams. And 2.) I was extremely lucid in this moment, seeing my future, having opportunity placed before me in a twilight world, only to have it hastily snatched away as my eyelids popped open to find my alarm clock hissing at me, telling me to, "Wake the fuck up, it was only a dream dummy."

"I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit."

In this dream, Michelle had a rich and eccentric uncle who was very excited about us (which in real life she does, but he's got no cash). However, in this dream, the role of Michelle's uncle was played by Martin Landeau. He was not himself though, rather, he was playing the role of antiquated Hollywood producer Bob Ryan, his role on the HBO series Entourage. As with most of the dreams I remember, only about five minutes were captured in my useless noggin. In this instance, Michelle's uncle drives us to an empty storefront on Forbes Avenue in Squirrel Hill. He invites us to come inside. Michelle and I are both wondering what the hell is going on, because her uncle is usually goofy, and we figure we're witnessing some sort of pyramid scheme or hustle unraveling before our eyes.

Pictured: Martin Landau (far right) as Hollywood producer Bob Ryan.

Once inside, we're caught up in the beauty of the space: two levels; hardwood floors; great lighting; tons of character; and spacious as fuck. As I'm walking around, taking the place in, Michelle's uncle (played by Martin Landau, remember) turns to us and says, "It's yours, here are the keys." And, as if that isn't reason enough for celebration, he then adds, "I just bought the whole building. I figured you could rent it out if your little idea doesn't work out."

The "little idea" that Michelle's uncle, or at least the wealthy bizarro version of her uncle, refers to in the dream, is a grand project I've had in mind for years: to open up a shop/gallery/workspace where I could centralize all my creative endeavors -- and do it as a fucking full time affair to boot.

Quickly, the sleep wore off as my alarm clock chirped its annoying chirp, and as I realized it was all a dream, I felt crushingly disappointed. It felt so absolutely real, I was actually holding the keys to the space in my fucking hand. But then, as quickly as it was handed to me, it all just evaporated. The disconnect between my waking and sleeping worlds is sometimes so very distant. But yesterday morning, these two very separate worlds of my concious and unconscious mind were co-existing in the same place. And they left that "place" a fucking mess.