Get Me Rewrite

I woke up this morning some time before dawn convinced that I had lost my job at the Associated Press.

I had completely bungled an assignment, a fact that not one, but two, editors drilled through my skull in a pair of royal reamings that made me feel like I was back in Catholic school.

I lay there in the dark wondering how I had destroyed my only chance to work with this prestigious news organization and if there was any possible way to undo this disaster.

Gradually I calmed down. I became more aware of my surroundings, and I suddenly came to a startling conclusion.

I don’t work for the Associated Press.

I have never worked for this company. I haven’t applied for a job there since the early 2000s, when I Amtraked up to Albany to meet with the bureau chiefs and discuss a position that sounded more like SWAT than AP.

They described a monstrous workload that involved racing to all corners of Upstate New York anytime day or night to cover every kind of catastrophe.

Back then I was convinced I was too old for the job. Now I exhausted just thinking about that train ride.

No, this AP gig had nothing to do with reality. It was just me having yet another one of my patented, screaming, four-alarm bat-crap crazy nightmares.

And this was the second hideous head trip to come roaring out of subconscious mind in three days. What gives?

The first bad dream involved a childhood friend I had not seen or spoken to in ages who had just been told she had Covid and would have to cancel her plans for Christmas.

Bulldog edition

My friend began to sob uncontrollably, as if she lost a loved one. It was terrible and I’m extremely glad that it never actually happened.

A short time later I was standing in a new apartment that was far too small for me, listening to my friend’s parents—who passed away years ago—having a terrible argument.

Okay, let's see if we can figure this out.

I suspect a big factor in this sleepy time sturm und drang is related to my upcoming trip to Los Angeles to visit my uncle and his wife. I tend to get twisted about long trips in general and long trips on airplanes really crank up the cuckoo.

I’m also concerned—hypochondriacal--about getting sick, so clearly my childhood friend is a stand-in for me and my fears.

The battling couple could be connected to a manuscript I’m working that includes a similar scene. I’m just not sure why my friend cropped up as my avatar.

As for the Associated Press, that could have something to do with my current job. I filled in a colleague on the early shift last Friday and I’ll be doing it again this week, one day take before I take off.

Things happen very fast at this time of the day, but that kind of pressure can be exhilarating if you play it right.

And there’s also a bit of the imposter syndrome going on, where you doubt your skills and abilities and live in chronic dread that you’ll be exposed as a fraud, a fake and a loser.

This affliction can creep into your mind like a ninja and hack your self-esteem to pieces.

I don’t have much in the way of plans yet for my L.A. trip, other than seeing some of my West Coast family and friends. I also intend to catch up on my sleep.

And if the AP calls while I’m gone, tell them I don’t want the job.