Last night I had an interesting and vivid dream:
I went to a writers conference for women. A veteran shepherded each new attendees. I got Tina Fey.
We walked among the new and veteran writers; all women, many of performers from Saturday Night Live. (Maybe they’re all writers; I don’t really know. It was a dream.)
“Oh my,” I said under my breath. “It looks like she really gained weight.”
I nodded toward a comedienne who had grown in girth since the last time I saw her on SNL.
“Let that be a warning to you,” said Tina. “She tried to break into the good-old-boy network by going out to lunch with the guys.”
I looked at her puzzled.
“Those guys eat a lot of french fries,” she said.
“Ahhh…” I said, understanding and appreciating this gem of Fey wisdom.
We ambled through the day, returning to our room to get ready for the evening revelry. I put on a Spanx-like undergarment that whittled my figure down to a svelte size 4. The black dress I slipped over my head fit like a glove. I turned sideways to look in the mirror. Not a single belly or thigh bulge.
Tina and I partied with the conference attendees until 11:00 PM.
“I’m sorry, I said. “I’m not used to staying up so late. I have to go back to our room and go to sleep.”
“No problem. These parties aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
I continued to apologize for cutting the night short. Tina continued to reassure me that really, it was okay.
“You’ll see in the morning,” she said. “You made a good choice.”
In the morning —the dream morning, not the real morning—I apologized again. I felt sooo bad that I cut the evening short. My internal critic shouted: What a wet-behind-the-ears-country-bumpkin, Tina Fey must think you are. You blew it. You could have stayed up late one stinking night. It wouldn’t kill you.
“Really, trust me,” she said. “As soon as you open the door, you’ll see that you made the wise decision.”
I opened our hotel room door, and there in the hall, trying to make their way to our farewell breakfast, were new and seasoned attendees, holding their heads, moaning in pain, and retching on the floor. Everyone, reaping the folly of their night of partying.
Tina and I walked arm and arm to breakfast.
“See,” she said. “What did I tell you?”
Tina Fey is the best. She really knows how to guide a gal.
That’s when I woke up to NPR in my ear. (The clock radio.) It was 4:54 AM.
I love dreams. My dreams are often vivid and humorous. Sometimes I wake myself up laughing. I believe our dreams tell us something. But, what does this dream mean? I do love Tina Fey, especially her writing in “Mean Girls.”
I don’t consider myself a humor writer, although sometimes I make readers chuckle. Still, if I could pick a counselor on my writer’s journey, who better than Tina Fey? If she can advise me on the perfect undergarment, that would be icing on the cake.
Do you like to analyze your dreams? What do you think mine is trying to tell me? A dreamy gift waits for the best interpretation. Please leave a comment.
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- Feel Good Friday | My Girl Crush on Tina Fey (pearlandtheoyster.com)
