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.