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May. 28th, 2003 08:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmI've just had one of the longest, most horrifically involved acting anxiety dreams ever. Ugh.
Mostly it involved getting lost in a warren of underground tunnels leading up to different parks and yards (all filled with men playing muddy and violent sports), because I wasn't quite paying attention while following Mr. Really Cool Director through them to a fancy dinner with another member of his production team to talk about a role after I impressed him in a classroom setting during some sort of workshop or summer program thing I was at with a very, very odd selection of my somewhat disgruntled friends who it seemed were mostly there for moral support. Little kitty was also there, meowing loudly, roaming amongst the chairs, and wearing my eyeglasses, but that was a seperate problem entirely.
After forty minutes of running around in a panic similar to that of After Hours, I managed to convince a random rugby player to assist in showing me how to use an Australian payphone (there was some business about area codes I couldn't figure out) to return the message said cool director left for me -- which would have been easier if the batteries on my American cellphone hadn't kept dying as I tried to retrieve the message (that was the most vivid, horrifying part, holding the phone in my hand and cursing and praying at it to work long enough to retrieve his number) and if I had thought to go above ground when I got lost, instead of letting the message I couldn't retrieve while underground languish for 41 minutes (the dream was very specific about the time) that would have been good too.
Oddly, the message, as it turns out was highly bemused on his part and all was forgiven over the long delayed and boisterous dinner on a beach front deck. But can you say UGH?
And I'm not appalled I have acting anxiety dreams. I am appalled I have acting anxiety dreams like this.
Also the level of detail in terms of architecture in this one was just immense. And the image from it all I can shake the least (other than cursing at my phone) was the big house/estate we left for the dinner from, and the immense entrance hall with the floor stained a pale greyish green and a very odd geometric archway leading out the front doors. I saw it all from a distance, my back far up ahead in that archway, as if if the camera was standing back and to the side of the grand staircase that swept down on right -- and there I was in small shoes, ankle strapped, with perfect heel, a playfully delicate step, a black cocktail dress and a long pale blue pashmina wrap and a sparkling beaded necklace. There was this one moment, before I followed my benefactors out for dinner as they entered from the left, when I turned, mostly to defer to them and let them pass, and smiled back at my perspective point, knowing and coy, a secret shared with myself, before laughing and wittily responding to some point made, and then walking down the steps out the front of the house, right arm properly extended to the banister (a graceful lady always does this, does not bend her elbow and walk too close to the banister like a frightened cat), before traipsing over the gravel drive, past huge rubber trees and nearly prehistoric plants to climb into the back of a champagne colored Mercedes and drive off towards those previously mentioned warrens.
In dreams I am airbrushed, and never have freckles. My laughter peels.
Thank heavens I have yoga this morning, because I _really_ need to go clean my brain out.
Mostly it involved getting lost in a warren of underground tunnels leading up to different parks and yards (all filled with men playing muddy and violent sports), because I wasn't quite paying attention while following Mr. Really Cool Director through them to a fancy dinner with another member of his production team to talk about a role after I impressed him in a classroom setting during some sort of workshop or summer program thing I was at with a very, very odd selection of my somewhat disgruntled friends who it seemed were mostly there for moral support. Little kitty was also there, meowing loudly, roaming amongst the chairs, and wearing my eyeglasses, but that was a seperate problem entirely.
After forty minutes of running around in a panic similar to that of After Hours, I managed to convince a random rugby player to assist in showing me how to use an Australian payphone (there was some business about area codes I couldn't figure out) to return the message said cool director left for me -- which would have been easier if the batteries on my American cellphone hadn't kept dying as I tried to retrieve the message (that was the most vivid, horrifying part, holding the phone in my hand and cursing and praying at it to work long enough to retrieve his number) and if I had thought to go above ground when I got lost, instead of letting the message I couldn't retrieve while underground languish for 41 minutes (the dream was very specific about the time) that would have been good too.
Oddly, the message, as it turns out was highly bemused on his part and all was forgiven over the long delayed and boisterous dinner on a beach front deck. But can you say UGH?
And I'm not appalled I have acting anxiety dreams. I am appalled I have acting anxiety dreams like this.
Also the level of detail in terms of architecture in this one was just immense. And the image from it all I can shake the least (other than cursing at my phone) was the big house/estate we left for the dinner from, and the immense entrance hall with the floor stained a pale greyish green and a very odd geometric archway leading out the front doors. I saw it all from a distance, my back far up ahead in that archway, as if if the camera was standing back and to the side of the grand staircase that swept down on right -- and there I was in small shoes, ankle strapped, with perfect heel, a playfully delicate step, a black cocktail dress and a long pale blue pashmina wrap and a sparkling beaded necklace. There was this one moment, before I followed my benefactors out for dinner as they entered from the left, when I turned, mostly to defer to them and let them pass, and smiled back at my perspective point, knowing and coy, a secret shared with myself, before laughing and wittily responding to some point made, and then walking down the steps out the front of the house, right arm properly extended to the banister (a graceful lady always does this, does not bend her elbow and walk too close to the banister like a frightened cat), before traipsing over the gravel drive, past huge rubber trees and nearly prehistoric plants to climb into the back of a champagne colored Mercedes and drive off towards those previously mentioned warrens.
In dreams I am airbrushed, and never have freckles. My laughter peels.
Thank heavens I have yoga this morning, because I _really_ need to go clean my brain out.
