Back to the Past

 

I did not sleep well last night.

Perhaps it was because of the rain (which I love) or because my neighbors sump pump was on overdrive and dutifully emptying their 1920's-built root cellar from all the excess water. I also love my neighbors, so I'm not going to say anything.

In any case, it resulted in many stop and start dreams.

Lately Ms. Muse and I have been comparing our dreams. That's when I began to notice that while her dreams were about a panoply of things and, more often than not, forward looking things, mine were distinctively rooted in the past. With an unusual preponderance of work-related dreams.

I've written about this before but it's starting to bother me. 

For instance, take this morning's flight of REM fancy. 

I was set to go on a camping trip to Colorado. Why Colorado? Perhaps because my daughter went to school in Boulder. But ostensibly it was to go star gazing. I was going on this trip with an old Chiat/Day colleague whose name I won't mention.

We were also to be accompanied by my old art director partner from J. Walter Thompson Recruitment. I hadn't thought about this fellow in more than 30 years. Then suddenly he pops up in my dream. And not just pops up, he arrives while driving his DeLorean. 

It should be noted that way back in 1987, he actually had one. It wasn't in mint condition but hell, it was a Delorean!

Now here's the odd part about that. I know another fellow, also from Chiat, let's call him Adam. I won't give his last name because I didn't secure his permission. But, he's also an art director, and he also drives a Delorean. And he often posts about it on Facebook.

I don't know how or why my mind cobbled all that together. But it did. 

And I wish it would stop. 

Because two days earlier, I was in another dream about a new business pitch dream. And like a bad re-run, my old boss Lee Clow was not happy with the work we had presented and wanted to see more. 

More work. 

More pressure. 

More brain hurt. 

All at a time in my life where I think I've earned the right to less of each.

It has me wondering if I've let my career, such as it is/was, become an undue part of my identity? Has it consumed me like a fat guy at an all you can eat pasta bar? 

All of which would explain my excessive self loathing. Especially since I've spent a lifetime pimping overpriced cars, shitty TV shows and sugary, brown fizzy water.