How is not the problem. Doing is!

When I first retired, I had a bunch of nightmares about the job I just escaped.  Mostly, they were emotional rants at various people who had slighted me through the years.  Nothing complicated.  In them, I finally told off a few people whom I thought were my friends but who turned out to be worse than enemies.

In the last few weeks, my dreams have taken a more disturbing turn. I dream about going back to work.  

Here’s an example.  Two nights ago, I dreamt of a kid I knew in elementary school, Steven Fredericks.  Why him? I hardly knew him. We were never friends.  I don’t even know if he knew my name.  The only reason I knew his name is because he used to play Lady of Spain  on the accordian during school assemblies and once I overheard him telling another kid about some adult who had dragged him somewhere and told him if he ever told anyone what he’d just done, he’d kill him.  

I must’ve been only 9 or 10 years old when I overheard this and, at the time, had no idea what he was talking about or why he sounded so frightened, but the desperation in him deposited itself right into the permanent memory bank of my brian.

So in my dream, there was my 10-year old classmate sans accordian. He was some sort of mogul and I was pleading with him to let me work for him.  By the time I woke up, I was positively begging for a job. Huh?

There is the play.  I worked on it for over a year. The best part about it was how much fun it was to have a collaborator. So much better than than sitting alone in front of a blank computer screen waiting for inspiration which rarely comes, especially now when I finally have the resources to do what I’ve always said I would:  write.  The worst part is that the play is probably not very good.  

It’s not like I don’t have ideas.  Unfortunately, those ideas are mostly of how to do it.  I can’t seem to work out what.  The hows, though, are great distractions.  For instance, yesterday, I tried to urge podcasting on a shy young friend who is formulating a business plan for a web hosting business.  

In retrospect, selling his services in a podcast is a ridiculous suggestion for someone as shy as he.  Well then, I thought.  If it’s wrong for him, what about me? Ruminating for a while, I came up with: For the love of my pug.  Wow, what a great idea!  That’s as far as I got.  Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with any content for that brilliantly-named podcast.  

Like I said upfront.  I know how, but I don’t know what!