I was going to write a post this morning about the dream I just had, in which I had to turn down a job as a violinist in a Tim Minchin concert, during the concert. But, I just awoke to discover, I had written the blog post about the dream while still sitting on the steps of the balcony during an intermission in that concert, so ... this is attempt number 2.
This would have been (in the dream) the second time I'd played violin for Tim. The first time would have been a few years prior, on his previous tour. (In reality: I did see Tim Minchin in concert, once, but I didn't play violin in that concert. I do not, in fact, know how to play violin.)
I arrived at the concert, with every intention of quietly enjoying a show performed by a musician whose work I admire. I sat down, while people were getting ready to start -- the house was already open, the show was to start in a few minutes. Somebody got my attention, and I was moved to a new seat. During this move, I was also given a violin. At the new seat was a packet with lots of papers, and it became clear that I was expected to perform.
I had no idea where in the show my parts were to be, what else was going to be going on, whether I could fake it, whether somebody else was around who could pick up the slack.
I frantically leafed through the stack of papers, looking for the music I was supposed to play. It wasn't there. It really, really wasn't there. I'm sure. I checked tearfully again and again, and the show's beginning was growing closer and closer.
Then, it occurred to me -- email! They would have sent me the music in advance, to practice. I checked, and there it was -- not just the music, but the invitation: from at least a week prior, from Tim himself, asking me to perform. The music was attached, and there was even a point in the email where he said if I couldn't do it, it'd be fine, Minna would do my part.
I checked, frantically, but I couldn't see Minna anywhere on stage.
(I don't know who Minna is. (I do know a Minna in real life, but they don't play violin. (As far as I know.)))
I went to the music, and it turns out I was only asked to do two pieces -- one halfway through the show, and one at the end! I checked the set list, and the show was at least 8 hours long -- I had ages to learn these songs! (Dream concerts, it seems, drag on a bit.)
I opened the files, started trying to sort through them, and they were some of the most complicated music I had ever seen. (Reminder for folks keeping score: I don't actually play violin, in real life. I'm not 100 percent sure I've ever been in the same room as a violin.)
And I remembered I have another option:
I shut my eyes, and resolved to awaken. And I did.
And then, for some fucking reason, I decided to go back into the dream.
(End of part 1.)
This is when I sat down on the stairs and started to write the story. Some of the details in this draft are a little confused because I'm not sure precisely what was in the previous draft versus what actually happened in the dream.
Anyway, I had decided to go back into the dream to explain to Tim that I was giving up, because apparently despite knowing that none of it was real I still felt the need to make sure the concert went well. Or maybe I just thought it would be good practice for difficult conversations? Anyway, I knew my career as a concert violinist was basically over before it began at this point, and I thought I might at least be able to preserve my friendship with Tim. (Reminder: None of those things exist. Additional reminder: At this point, in the dream, I knew it was a dream.)
It took a while. I almost got the opportunity to talk to him at the first intermission. (Remember, 8-hour show: the first intermission was still hours before my part was supposed to happen.) However, he went to the bathroom, didn't come out until moments before he was to go back on stage, and there was somebody else camping in front of the bathroom who also had urgent bad news for him, and who, in my opinion, was being far more obnoxious and unpleasant about it than me.
At this point I ran into some ghosts from an earlier dream, but that's not important.
During the next act, I went upstairs to where a room full of people were preparing gift bags for the gaming convention that was maybe also going on as part of this concert? And I sat in the corner, trying to bring myself down from a panic attack, when one particularly tone-deaf volunteer came over and wouldn't stop asking me to tell them what was wrong. I remember explaining, in a monotone, "Don't worry about it, I'll explain later," over and over, at which point I remembered my trick from earlier, and woke up.
So, that's how my day today is starting: With a stress-dream that I volunteered to re-enter in order to try and have a terrifying conversation in which I massively let down one of my heroes.
Things are only gonna go up from here, I guess?