less encouraging

a bad dream about facing reality,
sitting down on the couch with my
huzbin and breaking to him the news
that i am not capable of being a
good doctor and i will be obliged
to take a hamster-wheel job in rural
wisconsin, processing patients
like they were widgets, and taking
home the six-figure income to which
every doctor, even those who flunk all
their tests and can't even speak english,
is entitled.

i can't have a happy life as a useful
integrated member of a sympatico
community, but i will have health
insurance and be able to send everybody
to college and get a new car.

i will not live amongst the ocean shores
or mountain trees, but i can pay everyone
back and there will be no doubt in anybody's
mind that i am a very normal doctor -
not, by my lights, a good doctor, and
certainly not a creative one - just a
normal one.

a bad dream about facing reality,
facing the music that says, you're not
good enough, you're not good enough,
what do you think you're trying to do,
you're definitely not good enough, who
do you think you are?

and when i woke up, i couldn't remember
if it had actually already happened
last night and was a memory-dream, or
whether it was something i'd been planning,
steeling myself to do, and so was a
planning-dream.

dreams, reality. dreams,
reality. dreams, reality.



that was just a dream.