As I mentioned, I have wrapped up my time at Sling, and had been looking forward to being forced to take some time out from the workforce while I waited for the arrival of my green card (without which I would be legally prohibited from doing any paid work for any entity in any country in the known universe — yes, even Canada, where I remain a citizen). But then our green cards came on Monday — so my official hiatus was not quite the shortest it could possibly be (the green cards could have arrived on Friday or Saturday), but just about. And though, consciously, I am not in the biggest hurry to become a productive member of society again, it seems as though my subconscious is pretty anxious about my not having enough to do.
Evidence #1: Tuesday night, I dreamed that I was back at Sling. It was one of those dreams that’s realistic in its banality: I was running an editorial meeting revolving around the actual work that would actually be taking place had I still been employed there this week. And I was pretty far along in my spiel before I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be there, though I woke up before awkwardly taking my leave. Everyone was pretty polite in going along with my delusions of ongoing authority over them.
Evidence #2: Last night, my dream found me on the set of House just as the day’s shooting was wrapping up, and running into Hugh Laurie, who in my dream was a friendly but not especially close acquaintance. He’d heard that I’d quit and, as I walked him to his car, offered me some advice as to my next career move — none of which I remember, of course. What I do remember is that Dream Laurie parks his car a surprisingly long distance from the set. Oh, and even in my dream I had the presence of mind to congratulate him on his recent Emmy nomination, fortunately — proof that he clearly didn’t need me to return the career-advice favour.
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I hate dreams where I’m given revelatory advice or struck with amazing knowledge that I promptly forget when I open my eyes.
It always reminds me of that Simpsons episode where Homer dreams of inventing the greatest thing in the world, but no-one will show it to him.
“You are the inventor of…the device in question.”
Alas, dream or not, Hugh Laurie notoriously doesn’t drive a car but rather a motorcycle, much to the chagrin of the production’s insurers. And I think he parks it in his dressing room.
The thought of Hugh Laurie riding a motorcycle (while wearing the leather jacket he wears on the show, of course) is delicious. Though I highly approve of the Black Adder photo as well, which isn’t delicious, but makes up for it by being hilarious.