Art (not mine) and other November things

I had the worst of all nightmares in a string of nightmares last week. My brother and I were sleeping in the same bed as if we were kids again. But that's not the bad part. My dad, feeling lonely and sorry for himself as he so often does, climbs in between us and holds me like he sometimes did when I was really little and still scared of the dark making me feel trapped and angry. Cut to, as if this were a movie, a nunnery under attack. And one young novice gets the bright idea of putting a big fish from the dining room table over her head to protect her from harm. Yes, a fish over the head is just what the manual says to do in just this kind of situation! So over her head the fish goes but the knight who reaches her first slashes her down anyway, fish and all. But, God knows why, somehow her clever fish trick works, though not in the way she had intended. Cut to the Mother Superior praising this dead nun for her quick thinking, and her sacrifice, which saved the rest of them from suffering the same fate. Cut to me again. My dad is now standing beside the bed, by the door, and I am relieved but also upset to see him spit on my brother, his saliva glowing in the dark.

In waking life this plays out as me playing go between for my brother and sister and our dad. Which is rewarded by my being the only one he treats with common decency. Which makes me feel good for having let go of childhood traumas and being able to have a somewhat peaceful and mature relationship with my father. Cut to my sister once again shutting him out of her life last week, just in time for Thanksgiving, and my dad turns on me with such contempt I feel like I have been spiritually attacked. Only to repent as he suddenly remembers I am a human being. Only to relapse the next time he loses patience. And so on. Making me feel what else but trapped and angry.

But, let's not think about that. Am not that kid anymore. No fish over the head panic attacks over annoying but passing occurrences like that. Breathe in. Breath out.

I am feeling way, way better this week. But have been reconsidering birthday trip to Paris, which is disappointing, but necessary. Talking things over with my sister she pointed out that what I was doing was looking for an escape, but Paris would be nothing more than a temporary one. The moment I come back I'd be in the same place I am now. Only without money. Much better to use money on some kind of brilliant career move like, literally, moving out of my puny apartment which I've been wanting to do for years. Or, as my brother advocates, upgrading to the latest super cool computer. Or... not sure yet.

Anyway, here's a few images from my November album...
three Doggie Diner heads. What were they doing there? I don't know.

Some artwork enhanced by natural light...


The Golden Gate Bridge...
and boats.

If Dashiell Hammett were around today he might look like this guy...

Kelly Reemsten's amazing artwork at the Caldwell Snyder Gallery...
Why didn't I think of that?!!!! Damn, she's good.

Buskers I should have tipped...
But didn't.

Nightmares and dreams

I've had nightmares every night this week. Can't remember Monday's but I did wake up with a start and had to take one of the anti panic pills the doctor gave me. Excellent stuff, I must say, but am trying hard not to rely too much on them. Tuesday woke up after a nightmare in which I'd been shoe shopping in this really nice boutique where I flirted like crazy with the cute sales guy. But as I was paying for my purchase and I was trying to work up the courage to give him my number, he suddenly seemed to lose interest in me because he'd seen that there was something physically wrong with me. Wondering what he'd seen I found myself in front of a mirror examining myself and I realized I'd lost a lot of hair on my left side (heart = left side = hmmm.). A neat row of it was just gone like it had been mowed off with sheers. Wednesday I woke up in a good enough mood to think I'd gone a night without a nightmare until later when the nightmare I'd had that morning popped back into my head while I was brushing my teeth.

I always have nightmares when I'm working through difficult issues. A few years ago, when I was on the verge of cutting things off with my brother, I dreamt I was flying through this black and white Sin City type place on my way out of there but before I could get away I had to find someone so I flew into a building, into this dark, dreary kitchen because someone in there needed my help. After an anxious search I found him and took him by the hand then lifted his sleeping or unconscious form into the air like he was a big sack of flour. Up and over the rooftops we flew while whoever it was we were escaping from slowly gained on us. And the closer this menacing figure came the heavier the man I carried seemed to be until his feet were nearly brushing the top of the street lamps and it took all my strength to keep him from hitting them which would have slowed us down even further. I remember getting so frustrated with him for not being able to help me, for his weighing me down and putting us even closer in harms way. Then I woke up.

Another time, when my father was still my number one least favorite person, I dreamt I was literally trying to escape from him by running through the horrible cookie cutter suburb we used to live in until I took off into the air and I was flying over a Pixar-like Irish landscape, a country so lush, vivid and breathtaking that everything else, all fear and hopelessness fell away, and what had started off as a nightmare had become one of the best dreams I ever had.

Last week my brother was the only person I told in person about my little heart troubles. He then told my mother who then told my sister who then told my dad (and an old friend who I was so glad to hear from) even though she'd sworn never to speak to him again. As soon as he heard he dropped everything and drove over to my place to see if I was alright. It really was heartwarming to see him so worried about me especially, I guess, considering how I spent most of my growing up years wishing he'd either disappear or die in order to spare us the misery that was his presence. Dad bought me groceries, took me to an excellent Japanese restaurant for lunch, then told me to drop my crappy health insurance for something better and not to worry about the cost cause he'll pay for it.

Tonight I'm hoping for more flying dreams, maybe one where I fly over to see the Northern Lights and because this is a dream I don't feel cold at all. Or maybe I'll fly over the Himalayas to see the Dalai Lama. Or both.

Later...
(Current work in progress. It'll be one of the illustrations in a book of illustrated short stories I'm currently working on.)

My heart is speaking to me

I've been meaning to write another post for the past week but I've been rather distracted lately. I open my laptop to write, get a few paragraphs done, then stop. I start to work on some illustration and I leave off half way through. You see, I've been having heart palpitations recently, some of them pretty scary ones. All, in a nutshell, because I want more than anything to pull myself out of the what am I doing here this is not where I want to be at this point in my career and life rut I'm in, I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself. A lot. And getting wound up whenever someone or something in the outside world (traffic tickets, internet loss, relationship drama) seems to get in my way of doing things. Forgetting that my outside world is only a reflection of my inner world. I can't do that anymore. Because...I went to the doctors this Monday and she confirmed my worst fears. I'd had a mild heart attack.

I didn't hear much of what she said after that, pills I had to take, a clinic I had to go to for further tests. The heart palpitations were panic attacks, things I'd experienced before a long time ago, but she wanted to know what had weakened my heart to the point of not being able to handle them now. My thyroid? A fever? (Could it have been the chicken pox?) Or something like that. I was pretty scared. Me? Thirty something too young me? Tears were streaming down my face as I left the office. I cried in the car. I went home, ate, cried some more, took one of the pills she gave me before noticing it's side effects were nervousness, nausea and heart palpitations among two very long columns of other scary things. Why give a pill that causes nervousness and heart palpitations to someone suffering from anxiety and heart palpitations? It was an anti-depressant of course. And though I wanted nothing more than to sleep away the afternoon, I couldn't, maybe or maybe not because of the pill. I put the rest of them deep in a drawer debating whether or not to chuck them into the bin instead.

Anyway, thank God my brother has been here over the last week visiting from LA. Seeing him every day has helped a lot. Every night we've gone to movies (This is it, Men Who Stare At Goats, A Christmas Carol) or out to eat, and a few bars here and there (I always limit self to one drink). Though he can get annoyingly competitive (must listen to heart and let all that go in one ear and out the other from now on). I told him all about it, weeping like a child, and his reaction proved , to my relief, that blood is thicker than competition. I hope we can become as close as my sister and I are. And today I'm not feeling nearly as frightened as I was Monday. It was a mild one. A warning. My body will recover if I will listen to it. Quit with the burgers and caffeine, run every day especially when I don't want to, but especially ease up on myself, have more faith that things will work out without my trying so hard all the time.

Because on the career front, my work has been getting decent notice on the industry forums (deviantart, conceptart.org) and am in communication with a few agents, one in particular. And though, out of habit I think one more image, one blow them out of the water illustration, I also think my work is already plenty good enough to stand among the best of them. I'm ready. It'll happen. Keep working but ease up on those fifteen hour days. Also, my plans for Paris are taking shape.

Anyway, in lieu of sympathy (well, maybe a little) tell me a joke, make me laugh, or tell how someone you know had a massive one and lived another hundred years so what's the big deal with a mild one? That would be truly and deeply appreciated.

On another note: A few pictures from my Halloween weekend:

November, by David Mamet, at the ACT.


A neighbor's gorgeous front yard decorations. He's a stage set designer I hear.