As part of my ongoing series on FASCINATING INSIGHTS into the life of an author, namely me, I present to you this insight:

For three nights in a row, I have dreamed of celebrities who have seen better days.

Night 1, Johnny Depp: ‘Tis been a long and valiant career, but gone are the days of Benny and Joon, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and Ed Wood. And yet, Mr. Depp found a starring role in my dream, revealing to me a check for over $200,000 dollars he received for acting in some film (another indicator of fallen starhood – chump change for any in-demand actor). Funny thing about the check was, where the amount was written, there were no numbers, on letters grouped in twos (example: AO KE JO…).

Night 2, Paul McCartney: I only say Paul McCartney has seen better days because, well, he has. Anything after the Beatles has to be a little less-than-best. In my dream, I went to my Nanny’s old house in Memphis. There I found 75-year-old Paul, spooning with my grandmother on the couch. Spooning might not be the correct term. It was more like they were lying on her couch and he was attached to her back like a silent howler monkey. Other than that, everything seemed as it had always been at her old house.

Night 3, David Crosby: Now that I think of it, these might actually be David Crosby’s better days. He’s not in jail, not addicted to anything that I know of (but really, why would I have any clue about his current state). I’m sure he’s still making music, just not with The Byrds or with Crosby, Stills, Nash or even Young. But in my dream, he was making music, or at least, discussing music choice with me. That might seem odd to some, but I like to think I’m quite handy when it comes to picking songs out.

So there it is, laid before you, the unconscious mind of an author. Perhaps the dreams are a reminder that I too have seen better days, but I doubt it. Who’s to say what is to come? I might dream tonight of some up and coming star. One who actually has numbers written on his checks. One not shacked up at my grandmother’s, clinging to her back. One who isn’t desperate enough to ask me for musical assistance.

Who knows, maybe I’ll wake up a Belieber.



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