work it out there, subconscious
Two real-life friends who are also improvisers sat me down and told me “for my own good” that the audiences have not been liking my performances lately. Two helpful criticisms: I’m getting old, and no one cares what I’m talking about.
I caught a ride to San Diego in a friend’s friend’s SUV. She worked the gas while I steered. I drove us onto the Santa Monica Pier and asked “should I be driving here?” She answered “uh, not really” just as all four tires exploded and both axles snapped. As we waited for the cops and passersby noted ominously that I better have good insurance, I stood in the soggy air and thought “this would be a really good time to realize this is a dream.”
The upshot? Waking up and being flooded with relief that these were, indeed, dreams. Puzzled and trying not to be mad at my real-life friends about that first one.