Still lots of chaos and confusion at the day job. Basically, we had a good discussion about how we could all work from home and keep our jobs -- three weeks ago -- and then the boss made some other comments that made it sound like h was just shutting down the company, but maybe not -- and then his wife got quite sick and we had some unrelated pressing issues come up and he really hasn't had time to get back to it. So all of us are in Limbo.
At this point I would rather KNOW that I'm going to be unemployed, so I could start taking some actual steps, than be in this state of uncertainty.
And in that framework ... last night I had a dream about Lin-Manuel Miranda. (Have I mentioned how much I love "Hamilton" yet? No? Well, I do. And I'm not even going to try to explain it to you Just got listen to it. Try this sample. Hamilton at the White House Almost all of you will be hooked. I promise. ) Anyhow -- quick history, Lin-Manual Miranda is a writer and actor who created "Hamilton", a cultural phenomenon and the hottest ticket on Broadway. He made our first Secretary of the Treasury interesting and compelling. And he tweets the most wonderful, affirming things every day.
Anyhow, in my dream I was on a beach near New York City and Lin-Manual Miranda came staggering up out of the surf. Literally staggering, sunburned, dehydrated, disoriented. There were lots of people around, but no one seemed to notice him, so I went and held him up, helped him to a bench and got him a bottle of water. He said that he'd been on his sailboard and got swept out to sea, and he'd been out there he thought two days. He was very confused and vague. He said that he had some bruises and jellyfish stings, but he didn't think that he'd been bitten by any sharks -- but he wasn't sure. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he didn't want anyone to make a fuss over him. He was sure ti would be a big deal in the press. So I offered to call his wife or a friend for him, but he'd lost his phone and wallet and couldn't remember any of the phone numbers. He kept insisting I not call 911; he just wanted me to drive him home. I explained several times that I didn't have a car and didn't know where he lived, but I couldn't seem to get through to him.
There was a little library branch just across from the beach. I decided to haul LMM there, because it would be cooler inside. I asked if I could use their Yellow Pages to look up the number to the theatre, but they told me they didn't have phone books any more. The librarian looked at him and said, "Oh, that's Lin-Manual Miranda." I confirmed that, and she said, "Oh, he was just in here the other day and made a nice donation to the library. He left his pen. We kept it, in case he wanted it back."
I really just wanted to find a friend or relative who could come and get him, and maybe get him to go to a hospital, because he was really incoherent, but the librarian insisted on getting the pen. They had put it in a safe that was concealed under the floorboards. It was just an ordinary drugstore-type pen, but a little thicker than most,
The minute I put the pen in LMM's hand, his eyes began to clear. He pretty quickly knew where he was, and what had happened to him, and where he lived. The librarian smiled and said, "See, you put a pen in his hand and he knows himself again!"
Then my alarm clock went off.
The minute I woke up, I knew the dream wasn't about Lin-Manual Miranda. He was my icon for The Writer I Currently Admire Most. And the message from my subconscious was loud and annoyingly clear: Stop wallowing around in all this worry and confusion, Pick up your pen, Let it remind who you are. The day job will be there or it won't, but you are a Writer and no one can take that away from you. Your Writing is kept safe for you. Go get it, and let it cut through the fog in your head.
I kinda hate it that part of my brain sometimes has to hit the other parts of my brain with a brick to get the message through. But I also kinda love that it's so good at telling me the story I need to hear.