Jack of My Domain or Time for a Tune-up

My mother says it’s time for a tune-up. A physical is a checkup. I’ve had one of those. During a tune-up, you get tweaked. Your battery gets charged, your fluid levels topped off, your brakes padded. What isn’t working just right gets some attention. A massage. Bio-feedback. A therapy session.

I post my just-average photos on Flickr, partially as a way for long-distance friends and family to keep up with what goes on in my house and measure the beautiful difference of my daughter today against my daughter then. I also post photos to enhance my blog. And I also do it, I admit, to meet interesting people. I’ve made a lot of Flickr acquaintances. We exchange constructive criticism, pat each other on the back, share favorite music and books and poetry, ogle each other’s tomatoes and cakes, cringe at the images of feet and blood.

One of my Flickr contacts asked, beneath a photo of my messy kitchen, “WHO ARE YOU!” It wasn’t so much inquisitive as it was accusatory—in a complimentary way, of course. She was saying: What are you, some sort of alien? The spawn of Satan? She was responding to the quantity—and maybe the quality—of what I do. I have a few blogs I keep up to date, I’m a mosaicist, a mom, a writer, a cake baker, a teacher. She was saying: ACK!

Trouble is, I’m pretty much a flop (failure is harsh; don’t you think?).

True, I’m better than average at some things. My mosaics are a source of pride, for example, but I’m not a success in the way most people define success. I don’t make oodles of money at it, and no one’s standing in line to have me do an expensive kitchen backsplash or pet portrait.
People want one, yes, but most of us (myself included) don’t have much disposable income, and to be able to allocate those funds to art is rare. (At long last, I sold my most expensive piece recently for $2,250, which is not a lot considering it is mostly quarter-inch-square pieces of glass and a $500 frame.) I’ve seen my public art go for $10,000 (for charity), and that has made me feel good. But something is missing. What is it? Money? The ability to pay my bills? Time? The feeling that I’m not in a race anymore?

I can be an excellent writer. But I, like most writers I know, have the devil on my shoulder. Every once in awhile, it sits there and tells me I’m a fraud, others are better, why bother, no one will publish my book, and, if someone does, no one will read it or it will get terrible reviews.

The devil is dangerous. He’s next to us all at times, unless we have a perfectly healthy mind, and who does? He’s the one telling us we’re fat, our thighs look bad, we said something stupid yesterday. Where’s the angel? Where’s the one saying, “You look great! Look at you! Forty-three years young, energetic, smart, talented! Others should be so lucky!”? Because there is no benefit, ever, to evil thoughts. They don’t make you strive to be better. They don’t encourage you. And they don’t discourage you, either! They don’t make us stop loving or doing the things we love; but they make us resent ourselves when we do!

Right now, I am writing two Spotlights for a glossy local magazine and doing PR for a medical institution and designing a calendar for a client whose products I love (you can buy them here, at More Organized Mom; order the To Shop pad, the best place ever to organize your grocery list). I’m also teaching two college courses and working on my MFA (which requires 50 pages of manuscript, 15 read books, and 25 pages of critical writing, due in quarters throughout the semester). I have read two and written eight pages of critique and five pages of the twelve due September 15th, in ten days.

I have two dogs that need walks daily (thank goodness the goldfish is dead; I don’t have time to change the water) and a daughter and husband who need things that daughters and husbands need, like love and attention and lunch and—you know.

I read an essay yesterday about a guy who was so stressed out that he drove his car under a jack-knifed tractor trailer. I’m betting he did it on purpose so he could rest up in the hospital. Have you ever felt like that? I mean, for a fleeting moment, have you ever thought that if you fell down the steps and broke your right arm, you’d have a pass? You could rest?

That’s how I know I need a tune-up.

And then there are the teeth dreams. The other night, I had a dream that one of my crowns busted, a piece of which was loose in my mouth. I couldn’t remember the name of my father’s dentist, but it occurred to me that I had my own. I called the number, and my dentist answered. “This is Kim,” she said. “Dr. Ford! Help me!” I explained that my crown had broken. While she was looking for an emergency slot for me, I stuck my hand in my mouth and pulled out this large contraption—some sort of brace. I realized, once I pulled it out, that it was the only thing holding in my two front teeth, which started to wiggle uncontrollably. “Help me! Dr. Ford! Dr. Ford!” I said, waking up.

Teeth
Dreaming about teeth is very common in all cultures and age groups. Most dreams about teeth leave people feeling uneasy and anxious. Consider the overall content and context of the dream and note if you are having dental problems before making interpretation. Teeth usually symbolize power and/or control. Animals use their teeth for defense and nourishment and show their teeth when angry. Humans often display similar behaviors. Look and see if you are losing or abusing power and control in any area of your life (especially if you are losing teeth in your dream). Old dream interpretations say that dreaming about teeth is a bad omen that suggest[s] financial difficulties.

Doctor
Dreaming about a doctor may represent a need for physical, emotional, or spiritual healing. Doctors are respected authority figures and we usually follow their advice and guidance in regard to our well being. Depending on your belief system, the doctor in your dream could also represent your higher self or inner guidance. If you are currently experiencing a health problem and doctors are a part of your daily/weekly life, this dream may be symbolic of real life difficulties. However, the dream is most likely based on a past event, a memory, or refers to a current need for healing, rather than a prediction of the future.

So I sometimes find that I am not the master of my domain anymore, that I’m really just jacking off, piddling around with many trades, never making much of myself. And even though it may look like I’m embracing the world and all I do with gusto, or that I’m blessed with some creative gene, I suffer from some occasional malfunctions that no amount of ego massage can cure.

I realize I shouldn’t share, that although the nature of essay is personal, it doesn’t have to also be intimate. But despite my temporary malfunction, I’m quite strong. I know that after a good workout and a good diet and some kind words to myself—and a little help from friends—I’ll be annoying the crap out of you again with my beauty and grace and perfection, my mastery of all my trades and domains.