One high-priority action output from last week's Brand Me retreat is that I Found A Project. When my dad came home at night, the first words he said to me were always some variant on "What's your project? What are you working on?" On those rare days that I was fed up with business and rebelled by Not Having A Project, my assigned project would be Finding A Project.
I didn't take my holiday in Romeria last week looking for a project. And it's not like I found Tony Robbins out there to coach me to a breakthough. (Though I'd have a hard time faking surprise if I did.) It just popped into my head one night. I had spent the whole day in a dry, grassy clearing about 20 yards in diameter. Wandered in. Sat. Went to sleep.
One of they things they never mention on so-called "reality" shows like America's Next Top Model is that all a Body can dream are nightmares. I don't know if Romerians have dreams at all, but if they do, they must really, really suck. Because ours suck. Until they don't. They actually stop being unbearable after the first few weeks. They don't get any less ugly. They just start to be, what's on.
I was watching something about skin just before I woke up and discovered that the hissing sound from my dream was actually seven or eight "residents" wading through the grass pool in the moonlight. It was like a slow-motion rush hour. There were a few fender fractures, but nothing deambulating. I was narrating the traffic report when one of them, a female, broke down and was still and staring right at me. She looked kind of embarrassed, like one of us was indecent.(7) And that is when I Found My Project. I'm going to look for Ibu.