Bad Dream

Woke up Monday morning and remembered my nightmare: John Calloway, whom I haven't seen for ages, is a musician who directs the group I went to Cuba with. Anyway, I think his presence was totally random. But in the dream, I was in some sort of class he was teaching, and he had passed out a flyer with notes on music careers. I read it, and it started off with a story of a woman musician who had failed due to various professional missteps. The second story was about me, and it went something like: "Another example is Alexa, a promising Latin Jazz singer who is on fire when she sings in Spanish." But it went on to explain that I, too, had failed, for two reasons: I had refused to record the dance tunes that would have been necessary for world domination, and I had never really "dressed the part." Bizarre, huh? I woke up feeling really bad, but in the middle of the night I remember being in that sort of lucid state where it all seems real and there's nothing I can do about any of it. My husband said it was an example of how I hold myself to too high a standard, plus your usual artistic insecurities. Fascinating how the mind constructs these stories that can be quite creative and unforeseen.