In the past I had dreamed about my old hero and adolescent crush, my English teacher Parkman, to whom I had always intended to dedicate my first book. I did dedicate my first book to him and I sent him a copy in real life. Some months later, I dreamed that we were talking about it. “Your book…,” he said in the dream. “I know, well, it was just the first one, I published many that were much better afterward,” I said. Then we got in a car to go on a journey together and since he was now old, I was the one who had to drive. We kissed once and then I woke up, to my extreme disappointment.
The most recent dream of what I hope will be a recurring motif: I bring Parkman/Dr House an armful of dark red roses. (Is it Parkman? Is it my other hero/crush Dr House? It’s both, of course!) He accepts them and we dive into bed and are rolling around together kissing on top of the scattered petals of the red roses. My conscious brain pokes me and says, “ah see, it’s Dr House but he heals with stories instead of medicine, you got it? The healing power of story, got it? And note how excited you are about this, and how much you want this, you Really Love this….”
Right when Parkman House is about to tenderly and passionately grab my ass, I wake up, and grit my teeth with frustration.
But at least my career path is clear.