The Gothic Teenage Wannabe Actress

There is a Gothic teenage wannabe actress inside me who doesn’t want to clean closets, but, nonetheless, I’m pretty certain she is trying to get out. This I know because of a recent dream I had, the night before last, to be exact. I dreamed that I entered a completely strange hair salon and climbed into the chair of a male hairdresser. He draped a black nylon cape over my shoulders and proceeded to transform my 55-yr-old, short, fine, nearly white, moussed-upward-at-the-roots-hair into … hair that belonged on a 15-yr-old female Goth’s head, jet black, cropped and spiked, with straight black bangs and black fork-tongued swirls of hair licking my face. Not bad, the fifteen-yr-old-inside-me-wanting-out thought to herself, as I exited the salon, except I looked in my planner and saw that I had an appointment that same day with my hairdresser for my 55-yr old hair, whom I’d been going to for the past seven years. Oh no! She couldn’t know what I had done! Could I just stand her up? What about next month? … Then I woke up.

The night before that I dreamed I was in a play. I was a western female character who appeared in the second half. All during the first half I was sitting on a set of bleachers in broad daylight watching the show with a batch of ex-co-workers (specific ones I knew from my ex-job who formed a tight clique). Some were members of the cast (in larger roles) and some were there to support the others.

So there I was hanging off the far right corner of the bottom bleacher assessing myself and coming up way short – my home-made ‘western’ costume with my corny ill-fitting skirt and droopy blouse that wouldn’t stay tucked in, my long mottled neck sticking up through the collar like an aged telephone pole. Damn! I should have brought a red kerchief or something to tie around my scrawny neck! Oh why hadn’t I spent more time on my costume? Because now I am embarrassed to show myself.

I tucked my chin to hide my face under the brim of my straw (not even western-looking!) hat and peered out from under it just enough to witness my ex co-workers three bleachers above me, sharing jokes, laughing uproariously (at who or what I couldn’t guess), looking right in their element, being soooo cool.

But, oh my, do I even remember my lines? Where’s the script? Wow, I can’t remember where I put the script! Can my character be up there on stage holding the script, reading her lines?

By now the first half of the play was over and it was intermission. A stage hand or someone came running up to me to tell me I had been cut from the play and replaced by … ‘Bill?’ … and she pointed to a lanky, white-faced boy standing by the stage who looked to be all of 17, and who also, I guess, liked playing female characters in plays.

Then I woke up. What was I supposed to do with that dream to jump start myself into my day? Enroll in acting classes? Whatever. I wish just once in my life I could fly in my dreams or even do exercise routines in my dreams, that would be a boon. Something to add positive and useful energy to my day. How about dream that I cooked a fabulous meal, or grew an incredibly awesome flower garden?

Unless I discover at age 55 that all I really wanna do is become a Gothic 15-yr-old wannabe actress.

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2 Responses to “The Gothic Teenage Wannabe Actress”

  1. Rene Miller Says:

    I loved the dream of “cheating” on your hair dresser. It sounds like fun. I can’t believe you can remember so many details. I only have a vauge memories of my dreams.

    I can’t even keep track of my remote! I got up early one morning to exercise. After riding the bike for five minutes I decided I need to change the channel, but the remote was suddenly no where to be found. I spent the next twenty minutes looking all over for the remote. I never did find it or get much exercise in that morning. Not a good way to start the day….

  2. joddy123 Says:

    My advice there would be to avoid your exercise bike. It sounds evil.

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