Artist Dreams

They have started.

Not good ones.  Anxiety riddled ones.

The scene was my childhood bedroom, Mountain Street, Carson City, Nevada.  Strangers were ringing the doorbell and pouring into the ranch-styled house, down the hall, and into the room.  I was not ready, but they came anyway.  I scurried around, stuffing a dirty clothes pile into a corner.  My half hung art awaited the crowd along with a small bowl of Cheese Nips for appetizers.  A couple approached me and pointed to something they wanted on the wall.  It was not my work.  They wanted a copy.  It was supposedly a painting of Michelle Obama, but it was really an abstract of a red hat on top of a three dimensional white heart shape.  I tried to no avail to talk to this couple about size and price.

I have lawyer dreams.  Stuck in a law firm like Hotel California.  Appearing in front of a judge with no legal argument.

I have teacher dreams.  I open my notebook at the podium.  Nothing so say.

I have student dreams.  I go to my locker but cannot remember the combination, or I am in finals week but have forgotten to go to my classes all semester.

But last night was my first art show gone awry dream. In a weird way, it makes me smile.