“We are forced to live as if we are free.”
John Gray in the movie “Straw Dogs”
Journal Entries, Dreams and a Poem
All day on applications online. I am officially unemployed.
I went out around town to Head Start. Talked to some of my friends there. Mary has her job and is feeling safe again. I am unsure of what I want. I have to let go and push on. I cannot figure out all the variables involved.
I went out to look at the Waldorf school. They are in an early 1900’s public school building. The administrator described their early 20th century curriculum. Though it is probably far ahead of where the public schools in this town are. The 6th graders practice marching. Where is the individual in this system. I see “enlightened” ideas from long ago being forced fed to students. There is music, art and science though.
A maze or labyrinth fun house with shifting walls and waterways with boats and tracks for various sized trains, some small carrying messages, pneumatic tubes some large enough to carry people, slides and shoots some for balls and some for people. The road is in motion, escalator, moving belt, catapults and trapdoors abound, dimension “Doorways in the Sand” accessed by intravenous crystals living in the flowing body, submarines in the blood stream off the Islets of Langerhans.
Another busy day of pulling things together. Eyes checked and applications dropped.
We will be on our way to Seattle for my job interview with NW Center in Queen Anne. I have been unemployed for less than a week, but I feel like I have done more than 3 weeks of work, networking, applying, visiting, and thinking about what I will do for a living. All is in flux and swirl. Life is a cauldron stirred, bubbling up who knows what in the coming days.
The interview went well. I definitely felt like I had them nodding and thinking about my responses and a few brief conversations and clarifications, some definite agreements.
Mary and I went to Uwajimaya. What a spectacle of culture and groceries.
I up early, alone, on a Friday morning, not at work. Strange, thinking about what to do, the future for this day wide open, nice!
1. In a small apartment watching TV at the kitchen table. Mary comes home from work.
2. Painting lists in watercolor.
The first time you read something, you should just read it to get the feel of it, the second time to know its subtler nature, and the third to discover what is hidden. How many works are made this way. That’s the kind of writing I would want to do. Subtlety is not hidden. What is hidden is hidden from the author, when he produces the work.
Let me sleep all night in a dream kitchen cooking something hidden and steamy. Put the lid on and simmer gently. No pot boiler for me.
Another interview, so much easier than the ones I had with Head Start.
I am thinking about novels. Why do I have to work?
Two friends, stupid men played by Jim Carrey, who come to truly love each other in a fraternal way, but are convinced by someone that each is taking advantage of the other. So they fight and separate and, finally, fatally shoot each other in the head. I was a witness to final scene but turned away hearing the pop of the pistols.
I was writing a Disney Channel sitcom about a hotel ghost whose brother comes to stay.
Finding out that the guest is the handyman’s brother because the ladder walks through the doorway and falls. When someone asks, “I wonder how he felt about his brother?” A vase falls off of a pedestal.
It all resolves with the brother and the ghost reconciling. the live brother had swindled his dead brother out of money, but somehow they work it out with a lot of zany breakage en route. Kind of like a funny episode of Ghost Whisperer (my odd little review here).
I have a trial class day in Seattle on Wednesday!
How can I be a preschool teacher and a writer and not write about preschool. I don’t know if I have enough space in my brain. Adult life is important to my sanity, but I am inspired by teaching. I am also not very good at writing for anyone but myself. I read slowly and am so easily distracted. If I do both what about the rest of my life? If all I do is teach and write is that living?
Queen Anne is a maze of tiny streets, but I found my way to the center. I am 35 minutes early listening to Dave Matthews in the car. I am not nervous. Though I did not sleep much last night.
Another Visit to Dreamtime:
I wore a white t shirt in the movie I wrote that won an award for best screenplay. They called my name in the crowded hall, “Mike!” I did not go up immediately because I did not recognize that as my name. Slowly I realized they were calling me up to receive the award.
I am trying to make sense of all this chaos of jobs and edges. Where will it all end up?
I was in a car under a shelter, covering my head as bombs fell all around. Deafening.
The clothes and stuff are spinning.
I am losing and finding things
Nothing has dropped out completely,
I spent today not worrying, just doing. Tomorrow I go and do much more.
Days are dragging. I have to wake myself up and get some things done before I go back to full time work. Everyday there are little things that need to be done that distract me, but also somehow remind me that my time is running out.
More Strange Dreams:
Dustin(my youngest son) was collecting all kinds of interesting junk to make presents out of (steel tubes, rods, old clear plastic containers) and dumping them in a pit.
There is a white and gray house of odd angles up on a cliff of dirt that crumbles into a pit. Vague buildings are around the rim. A woman sat behind a long table with a white table cloth looking off where I can’t see.
She smiles nervously and says, “Oh my! What an erection!” And, almost falls backward in shock and embarrassment.
One Last Dream:
I was hanging around waiting for a child to be picked up from daycare. I wanted to be helpful. Someone was watching me from behind a sliding mirror door. I could see me being watched and feel both nervous and oblivious at the same time.
Sometimes I feel this way when I am not dreaming.