It’s a thing, isn’t it, a well-known-thing, that people who write about their dreams in great detail, and then expect the public at large to be interested, are deeply and gratingly tiresome? I think that’s totally a thing.
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So anyway, I don’t understand it very well, which is to say I couldn’t actually explain it to you the way a neuroscientist would or anything, but I gather, I’ve heard, I’ve been told by reputable sources, that dream activities are just like their corresponding awake-activities, in the neural sense.
Like, whether you’re having a dream about dancing or you’re actually dancing in your awake life, the same parts of your brain are firing – except that when you’re asleep, the communication with your muscles is inhibited. And that’s super-interesting to me, that inhibition, because obviously it doesn’t work all the time. People sleep walk and all that. Liz Lemon sleep-eats cigarettes, even.
This morning I dreamed that I was having a phone conversation with lots of static. I was talking with Jessica Robinson Love, the person who runs CounterPULSE, and she was going to try to hook me up with a grant or something.
And I was all, “Hi, I’m Jessica Ferris.”
And she was all, kind of shouting, “I’m sorry, remind me, what do you do? Do you have a dance company?”
And I was all, “I do theater.”
And she was all, “WHAT? YOU’LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP! THERE’S TOO MUCH STATIC.”
And I was all, “I DO THEATER.”
And she was all, “WHAT?”
And I thought, I have to speak up. Jessica, speak up. You’re not really making sound here. Speak up.
And then I said, clearly and loudly and actually using my real vocal cords, not just their mental correspondents: “I DO THEATER.”
I woke myself up by talking, and it really did feel like I’d found some portal – willed myself to use my real body, and not just my imaginary one.
But anyway, as soon as I spoke up for real, it wasn’t that useful anymore. Jessica Robinson Love became imaginary-Jessica-Robinson-Love, and the grant became imaginary-grant.
I needed my real voice to be my imaginary voice, back in that imaginary world again, but good luck finding that portal, right?
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Then there was the dream where I was at a John Mayer concert and there was a deer in the front row.
[Trivia! I have never been to a John Mayer concert, except for that one time when I didn't know I was going to see John Mayer in concert, because I didn't know who he was, because mostly no one knew who he was, because he was playing my college coffee house on his first tour, opening for a woman named Michelle Malone. There were no deers in the audience.
Real John Mayer didn't do a whole lot of banter that night. He said before one of his songs, he said, "I'm not very bright." And then he played the song. After the song was over, he said, "I've found that if you say you're not very bright, then people are more willing forgive you when you say something stupid." Then he played the next song.
At the time I just thought "Well, works for you maybe, but prolly I shouldn't be going around telling people I'm not very bright just as, like, a matter of introduction." And then I thought nothing more of it until just this moment, actually, when it seems sadly prophetic!]
Anyway, Dream John Mayer sang a verse to this deer in the front row. And then Dream John Mayer thought he would be clever, and made the deer sing the next verse. That last bit was just too much for the poor deer, and it died from the effort.
The deer was a decent singer, though.
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I’ve got this show, which I created slowly, over the course of a couple of years, and then I let it sit on my imaginary shelf for a couple more years. Finally, just this last winter, I decided it wast time to actually brush it up and produce it.
I’ve been doing a lot of administrative work to that end: finding venues, finding designers, signing contracts, all that good stuff. I’ve been avoiding jumping back into the actual art of it, though, the actual rehearsing of it, and I’m not quite sure why.
But there are fewer than four months before the July show! It’s time to rehearse! So on Tuesday I got out my trusty folding chair, to try out the choreography I’d created lo those many years ago, and OH EM GEE. “Rusty” doesn’t even begin to describe it. And I’m not talking about the chair.
I got out that chair expecting to relate to it just like I did when I was twenty-two. But I’m not twenty-two. I have a different body now. I, um, have to come to terms with that fact that I will be using my real body, not my imaginary one.