dream sequence - part 21

I was attending a one-day Creative Writing workshop. The class met on the stage of a large auditorium, cluttered with broken spotlights and discarded manuscripts. I sat next to a nervous young woman who was muttering incoherently under her breath.

A middle-aged woman strode confidently into the room. In a booming voice she announced “You are a female comic. Tomorrow you are headlining at ’Catch a Rising Star’ for the very first time. Don’t think — just write. You have five minutes.”

I wrote. In 24 hours I will be standing in front of 400 people I’ve never met, and I will be funny. I will be loose and relaxed, on top of my game. I’ve worked for this. I will leave nothing to chance. One-night stands: check. Late periods: check. The names men give to their body parts: check. I know I’m going to kill.

“This is impossible,” my neighbor said to no one in particular. I ignored her.

First things first — coffee. I know I should have woken up hours ago, but my hangover won that argument. That guy who was hitting on me last night was definitely cute, but I'm glad I left when I did.

My neighbor looked at my paper and asked bluntly “what are you writing?”

“I’m writing the story of your life.”

She was not amused.

“I’m writing the first thing that comes to my head before I have a chance to think about it.”

“But that’s bullshit.”

“Write that it’s bullshit. Write that it’s impossible. That’s what this is all about.”

A light went on in her head.

“Time’s up!”