My nightmare last night:
I had to play a gig, but I woke up late and found myself in a run down shack made of plywood. I threw together my stuff in a panic. Morty was with me, and I didn't want to leave him in the shack, so I leaned in and said:
"Morty, could you make yourself smaller so you can travel with me to the gig?"
Morty obliged and morphed into a tiny newborn baby, about the size of my hand. I propped him up in my sports bra (it made sense in the dream) and we took off in a fancy borrowed car. When we reached the venue, the brakes seized and I crashed into someone else's parked car. No matter... There was a show to play! I left the wreck behind and made a mental note to deal with the carnage after I was done singing.
At this point, Morty morphed into a small mouse, because I was getting weird looks from people for having a miniature newborn in between my boobs. I was thankful that he could change forms so easily.
I finally got on stage and realized that my guitar was out of tune, there was no strap, no pickup, and I didn't know the song I was supposed to sing. The gig was sold out.
In contrast to my creepy dream, the weekend wedding kicked ass. Funny, it's been raining for two weeks straight, but the sun came out on Saturday and made the ceremony a huge success.
It was a really chill event, and everyone (including the wedding party) wore funky comfortable clothes. My BH and I unintentionally wore matching outfits - I wore a scandalously low-cut pink dress, and he wore a nice pink dress shirt (HA! No, he wasn't wearing a scandalously low-cut pink dress too). Actually, cleavage seemed to be the theme of the wedding, with myself and most of the bridesmaids sporting outfits that threatened to let the "party" out with any sudden movements. I later put a top on under my dress so that I could dance without fear.
Sunday was also a success, but for a different reason. I decided to do something about this whole writers block problem. My folks were out of town for the weekend, so I went to their place for some peace and quiet.
Dudes? I was only there for an hour and a half, and I wrote an entire song. ON PIANO. I don't even really play the piano. And even better, the song is great. It's recordable. It's fun and interesting. I has a chorus that I've been humming since I wrote it. It's going on the next album.
This all makes me insanely happy.
This means that I can stop fighting it - I have trouble writing songs at my house, but I can write elsewhere with no problems. I can work with that. I can stop trying to force myself to write at the apartment. It's officially worth it to wait for an empty house somewhere else. My folks are leaving town again in the fall, so I'm going to hold down the fort while they're gone. Maybe I'll get another song out of it!
This week is already immeasurably better than last week. Woot woot!
My nightmare last night: