I had a vivid Barack dream last night that spoke to me of one of my ongoing internal struggles. I was at a campaign event for Barack, like a community BBQ. We sat at long picnic tables and Barack was on my right. It was like we knew each other and he was checking in to see what I was doing with my life. I said I was a filmmaker and I started going on about the transformative power of art. I mentioned Marcel Duchamp for some reason. Hearing that, Barack shook his head disapprovingly, asking me what it had to do with real folks like the ones at this BBQ. He thought I was wasting my life with all this artsy fartsy stuff and I should be doing something more pragmatic and political, be a lawyer like him, commit myself to service. I felt ashamed. My dream shifted and suddenly I was an indentured servant in some bizarre building complex surrounded by barbed wire. I was trying to escape, but it sort of felt like punishment for my self-indulgent ways.
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