I dreamed last night that I had some kind of callous or skin-thing on my neck, and kept picking at it until I cut all the way through and separated my head from my body. The wound healed over nicely and quickly, and the space between my shoulders was quite bare and smooth, and my head mostly floated where it was supposed to be. I could, if I wanted, hold it in my hands, but I had some trouble pointing where I wanted to look. It was certainly harder to maneuver than it had been, with a traditional neck.
I wanted to ask Ellen to knit me a sweater with no neck hole, but worried about giving her more to do; she’s always so busy. I also wanted to build a kind of metal framework that would serve as a sort of artificial neck, just to hold my head still. I have quite a backlog of DIY projects as it is. Ellen wants a guest coat rack that can be folded up and put away, and an outdoor table. These are all steel pipe plus pipe fittings types of projects – not very hard, but you have to go out and buy the pipe and fittings. Without a neck, these things become tricky. Being able to focus your vision is very important for even a simple DIY project.
I thought I might do a standup routine, about having no neck. I did it, and heard people in the audience say, What is he, 75? And I thought, no, I’m just past 60… I know, my beard is quite white, but I don’t look 75, do I? I’m told I look like Santa’s IT guy. I thought that would be a laugh line, but it wasn’t. I haven’t done standup for many years. Last time, it was when I took that class with Lewis Black. He’s pretty famous now.
I had a little more trouble breathing than before, especially when I thought about it. I could feel my chest breathing, but pulling air through the skin that had grown over the wound was a little more difficult. I thought briefly about how strange it was that I could still speak and breathe with my mouth, but it seemed to work, so I decided not to worry.
All in all, given that it featured some pretty massive self-mutilation, the dream was refreshingly free of anxiety. I’ve had much more frightening dreams where I am completely healthy, but perhaps experiencing social anxiety.
I wondered if there would be a movie about that saint who is pictured holding his head. Turns out it is St. Denis, the bishop of Paris. Then I thought, no, they would use an established actor and CGI. It’s that kind of defeatist thinking that limited my acting career.
So I put some St Denis references into the comedy routine, but hagiographic references are a little obscure for most audiences. Same goes for heraldic references. Most people just don’t get heraldry. Or hagiography. Even though I discovered that there are two saints who are represented as holding their heads in their hands: St Denis and St Firmin. And there’s a word for that: cephalophore. I like finding cool words.
I was experiencing some regret, toward the end of the dream, for having removed my neck. The upsides, it seemed were few.