So it turns out Whiskey Kitty wasn’t sulking in that corner after all. She was simply parked in the sun like a tiny, furry solar panel, soaking up warmth where the light hit the floor. Cats have a very practical philosophy about life: if there’s a beam of sunlight, occupy it immediately. No drama, no overthinking, just pure sun-powered contentment.
Unfortunately, humans are not quite that efficient.
My main concern today isn’t Whiskey Kitty or where she chooses to nap. It’s the strange parade of nightmares marching through my sleep lately. They all seem to revolve around the same theme: the art events I’ve signed up for this year.
One of the reasons I’m not smoking is simple economics. I’ve taken the money I used to spend on cigarettes and redirected it into my art business. Booth fees, supplies, printing, travel costs for shows like WonderCon and other events… that money adds up fast. But there’s something psychologically powerful about it. When I think about buying a pack of cigarettes, I also think about the booth I paid for, the books I need to sell, and the paintings I still want to finish.
Between the art, the events, and Whiskey Kitty keeping me company, cigarettes don’t cross my mind nearly as often.
But the dreams do.
Lately my sleep has been full of those classic anxiety dreams, nightmares. The kind where you’re taking a test but didn’t study, or you show up to class and realize it’s the final exam. Except in my case, the dream theme is art events.
In one dream I arrive at a hotel and realize I they can't find my reservation. In another I’m entering the location and can't get in because I filled out the paperwork wrong. Sometimes it’s something simple, like realizing I didn’t read the event instructions carefully enough and now something important has gone wrong.
My brain seems to be staging late-night rehearsals for disaster.
The funny thing is I’ve had therapy for this sort of thing before. Years ago I struggled with nightmares, and one therapist suggested something interesting: keeping a dream journal. The idea was simple. When you wake up, write down the dream in detail. Over time you start seeing patterns, themes, and the emotions driving the dreams.
It actually helped quite a bit.
Unfortunately, I don’t remember the exact process anymore. I just remember that writing them down seemed to take some of the power away from them. Once the dream was on paper, it wasn’t just floating around in my head like some mysterious fog. It became a problem you could look at, analyze, even laugh at.
Dreams, according to scientists, are often the brain’s way of solving problems. During sleep, the mind runs simulations. It throws scenarios at you the way a chess player studies possible moves. Sometimes the dreams are bizarre because the brain is testing strange combinations of situations.
So perhaps my mind is simply preparing for the events ahead.
That actually makes some sense.
Running an art booth isn’t simple. There are logistics: inventory, display setup, pricing, payment systems, signage, shipping, and travel. There are instructions from the event organizers that have to be followed carefully. There are deadlines, forms, badges, schedules, and sometimes last-minute surprises.
Of course my brain is thinking about it.
But the dream theme that bothers me most isn’t the mistakes themselves. It’s the feeling that I’m completely alone and have no idea how to fix the problem.
That’s the real anxiety hiding in the dream.
The funny part is that in real life, that’s not actually true.
I do have help.
A few friends have offered advice. Some people have experience with events and conventions. Others are helping with encouragement, logistics, or simple moral support. Even my mother plays a role, whether it’s helping with transportation, planning, or simply listening when I talk through ideas.
And then there’s Whiskey Kitty, who contributes emotional support in the form of purring and random sneak attacks on my ankles.
When you think about it, that’s a pretty decent support team.
Sometimes the hardest thing for independent artists to do is ask for help. We’re used to doing everything ourselves. Painting the work, marketing the work, printing the work, selling the work, transporting the work. The artist often ends up being the entire company: CEO, janitor, shipping department, and creative director all rolled into one.
But no one really succeeds alone.
Even the great artists of history had patrons, assistants, galleries, printers, and friends. Michelangelo had assistants mixing paint. Picasso had dealers. Andy Warhol practically ran a creative factory.
So the idea that I’m completely alone in this venture is more dream than reality.
Still, the dreams do serve a purpose. They remind me to double-check the details. Read the notices carefully. Prepare for problems before they happen. Think through the logistics instead of just hoping everything magically works out.
Preparation is the artist’s version of insurance.
But it’s also important not to let preparation turn into paranoia. If you stare at a checklist long enough, your imagination will invent twenty new problems that probably won’t happen anyway.
That’s where balance comes in.
Plan carefully. Then trust yourself.
And if something does go wrong at an event? Well, artists have a long tradition of improvisation. Painters adapt. Musicians improvise. Writers rewrite. Creative people are problem-solvers by nature.
That’s practically the job description.
In the meantime, I might start that dream journal again. If nothing else, it could become entertaining reading. Who knows what strange midnight stories my brain will cook up next? Perhaps Whiskey Kitty will finally get stuck in the toilet again, which was a dream from a few nights ago that I still can’t fully explain.
Dream logic is a strange animal.
For now, the real world is actually going pretty well. The cigarettes are staying out of the picture. The art events are moving forward. The paintings are getting done. And the tiny tuxedo kitten continues to patrol the house like a miniature security guard with whiskers.
Life is messy, unpredictable, and occasionally ridiculous.
But it’s moving in the right direction.
Once again, I got this. 🐾🎨🚭
by Dan and Bonkers
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