I had the oddest dream. It was the first day back at the Creative Pulse. I was one day late. It had been moved to the UCLA campus in Westwood, and I didn’t know that. I spent the longest most anxious time trying to find out what building we were in, and with a surge of relief and a measure of joy I finally found my way back.
I had to jump right in to - you guessed it - personal performance - without the benefit of one day to have mental transitions. It was - jump out of car (parked illegally of course) - run around campus in a frenzy - personal performance. Talk about a “cold reading”.
Nor was anyone was thrilled to see me. There were three or four first year students that were hypercritical of everything - and they had already formed the “critic’s claque” in record time. I was up on their chopping block after my personal performance, which was put through a critical wringer, in which I had to defend nearly every aspect of myself, including my right to breathe the same rarified air as themselves. It was as if the personalities from the judges of American Idol or Project Runway were being channeled through these members of our group. [ Of course in the dream, I didn't ask myself what 1st year students would be doing in the 2nd year performance group anyway ]
The dream progressed from terror to worse - until I had to wake up. I can see the face of this one young woman so clearly - she had made it her mission in life to prove that my whole premise for art and life was a cop-out for the untalented, undisciplined, and undeserving. Most of the time, I get anxious about what all is left to be accomplished in this field project year. This time I was glad to wake up and still be in Dela-where?.
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