June 10, 2011
When I go to sleep at night I have nightmares about being a basic man. In the dream I am usually wearing cream-colored slacks, a tie, a collared shirt, and a v-neck sleeveless sweater. I’m working a 9-5 in some large building with a lot of other people. When I come home all I can think about is work, and when I meet people on the street I give them my company card. During my free time I only hang out with people from my job. Our idea of having fun is going to a trendy bar during happy hour to have cocktails and talk about work.
In one variation of the dream I have one drink too many and I begin talking about how foolish I was in my youth. How I used to think I could change the world through writing. I laugh hardily and all of my coworkers join in. Then we argue for about 15 minutes over whose turn it is to pay the tab. That’s when it becomes too much and I force myself awake.
I don’t sleep much and this is one of the reasons why. I fear what I will become if I don’t make it as an artist. I am frightened by the prospect of being yet another cog in the machine. I hate that I may have to sacrifice my passion for a consistent paycheck. I might have to pawn my dreams to feed my child. Some say that’s life but I think that’s death. We shouldn’t have to bury our souls while our bodies are still alive. We are all born pure yet it is only the artist who fights to stay that way.
I don’t want to be normal. I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to go to sleep.