“I was in a tangent once”

Dreams fascinate me.

I don't necessarily mean just the dreams I've had specifically. I'm talking about the act of dreaming in the first place; the fact that your conscious mind is unaware of what your subconscious is doing during the night unless your sleep is disturbed or you are startled awake in the aftermath of a particularly vivid nightmare. Maybe it's the fact that I like to be in control over myself and my actions, and my subconscious is one thing I have very little control over. This lack of control really freaked me out after what happened with my dad a few months ago, because I had woken him up inadvertantly by a scream I couldn't control. But, aside from that negative side effect, I've always been intrigued by dreams.

The reason I'm bringing all of this up is because I recently read a short story by an actor named Valentine Pelka. He played Kronos in Highlander: the Series, and his story is part of a collection called “An Evening at Joe's,” a book of Highlander short stories given to me by lizalou. This particular story has nothing to do with the Highlanderverse, but I found it so fascinating I stayed up until 2am Saturday night reading it. It's a story about a man dying from cancer who has no will to live. His doctor sends him to a hypnotherapist, and though he is more than reluctant to undergo the therapy, he eventually concedes. The dream symbolism and techniques involved in the hypnotherapy were really interesting to me, and though parts of the story were undeniably cheesey, it kept me hooked.

It also brought to mind the most disturbing dream I have ever had. For those of you who have already had to listen to this story several times, I apologize. I had this particular dream a couple years ago when I was reading a book called the “House of Leaves,” and I can say with little uncertainty that the two were related. It was one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had, and though it involved a lot of creepy imagery, the most disturbing part was how it ended. My family and I were standing outside of our old house (the one I grew up in) and we had this feeling that we needed to leave. We didn't know why, but it was urgent that we left before something happened, though we had no idea what that something was. Then, we heard a knock at the door. But we were outside the house, remember, so the knock was coming from inside. Then, the door opened and the entire house from floor to ceiling was filled with dirt. Suddenly, a box comes sliding out, and I realize it's a coffin. We catch it and the lid pops open and I am staring at my own decomposing corpse. Now, I did a lot of amateur dream analysis on this one, and came up with some theories that I think fit pretty well at the time, but I can't discount the fact that the creepy house from “House of Leaves” might have had more to do with it than anything.

Finally, to close, I will explain the title of this post. It's a quote from an episode of Alias titled “Conscious.” In this episode Sydney goes through an experimental kind of dream therapy created by a really cooky, druggy doctor. The quote is from his assistant, Kaya, who spends the entirety of the episode high. She says it to Jack, who replies, “How nice for you.” I almost went with, “Facon, anyone?” but in the end I decided this one fit better since it deals with dreams more directly. Luckily, unlike Syndney, I have not ever dreamt of cutting someone's hand off of fighting myself in a room full of plastic, but I have had quite a nice dream about Sark. I'll leave that one to your imagination.

Cleaning Out the Cobwebs

I spent most of the day cleaning. I'm not talking about the mop the floor, dust the cobwebs kind of cleaning. I'm talking about the drag out all the crap crammed under the bed and stashed in the corner of closet and throw away those papers you still have from high school for some unknown reason kind of cleaning. The kind of cleaning that leaves you standing in the middle of the room and staring at the final pile of crap dumbfoundedly as if you only have half brain cell left . . . for fifteen minutes. Then, you realize that you've been standing there for a very long time but you haven't even blinked.

So, yes, it was exhausting, but also strangely revitalizing. Everything is in a different place and looks so organized and neat. It's exciting in some kind of obsessive compulsive, Adrian Monk sort of way. And I'm sure I will glean hours of enjoyment from this experience in the weeks to come when I need something and can't find it in the place it used to be, though I know it's got to be in a very logical place because why else would I move it except to put it in a more logical place? Unfortunately, I won't be able to find it until much later when I decide to clean again and relocate it to an even more logical place.

Anyway, it's about time for the KU game (I don't want to hear it, Math Buddha, so you can keep your comments to yourself), so I've got to get going.

The Perfect Problem

I absolutely, completely, more than anything else, HATE making mistakes. Like, a lot. Really big time. Especially when I make the mistake at work.

I am a perfectionist, though my bosses may not realize it because I…drumroll please…make mistakes. A couple of considerations: first, I haven't even been at this job—my first full-time position in my field—an entire year yet (almost, but not quite); secondly, I am the youngest person in my office by at least fifteen years; third, when I feel a lot of pressure on time constraints and perfection, my brain tends to freeze. Some people work well under pressure. I, in general, do not.

I found out about another mistake I made today.

Now, I can think of several reasons why this particular mistake was made, but I don't want to make excuses. The fact is, I should have caught it and I don't know why I didn't. Granted, no one else caught it either on the first printing or before the second printing, and granted, I picked up the project from the other designer who had been working on it before me and the mistake was originally his—

Dammit. I just made excuses.

Anyway, my point is that things like this absolutely drive me crazy. I have a hard time letting them go because I want to be perfect. I want to be the best I can possibly be all the time without exception. That's just not possible. And the more I want it, and the harder I try to achieve it, the more I slide backwards, scraping and clawing at the rocky mountain of Success in desperation. Remember how I said I don't work well under pressure? That includes self-inflicted pressure. I need to feel a measure of security and pride in my work, so I don't feel like I'm being second-guessed every step of the way. I need to prove that I can consistently complete tasks without mistakes, and, just as importantly, that when I do make a mistake—as everyone does eventually no matter how perfect they may seem—there are processes of double-checking in place to catch my mistakes before it's too late.

I'm not looking for a scapegoat. It would just be nice to know I had a little backup, a little leeway for those idiotic brain-lapse mistakes you make when you're trying to make a brochure from start to finish in a few hours and get it sent to the printer by the end of the day. And it would be even nicer to know that I'm not at risk of being treated like a two-year-old who didn't clean her room when I do make an honest mistake.

I'm not perfect. But does that mean I can't be treated like an intelligent human being?

Everything old is new again

So, here we are, in a place with the same name at a different address. My new old blog. It occurred to me that I would probably update my blog a lot more frequently if I could access it anywhere, anytime. Hence the reason I'm using a blogger account now. I think I'll go ahead an copy and paste my tiny selection of blog entries from my website, just to have them archived. And I also plan to make my own template for the blog so it looks more like my website as well . . . but that will have to wait until later.

"First" post. Check.