I woke up this morning sweating with my lips burning – the night was as cold as ever. Sweating because I had a bad dream about making a film in Bolivia. Lips burning because my lower lip had finally burst from sun blisters in Uyuni that I never mentioned. The dream mostly surrounded this fictitious president who had scales of bones over the curvatures of his body like his forehead, eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. He was a former miner and said that he was not going to kill me but haunt me forever in my dreams if I miss lead anyone in the films I created. This brought even more anxiety to the film I was currently trying to finish where a huge fight stirred up on the set that I was leading. For some reason El Huaso hadn't concluded its filming. Finishing off some scenes in my old film-school’s studio, I had hired some students to volunteer to ease the stressful load. One of them was an old classmate from grade school named Tim Duncan. The entire Duncan family were fighters and if they thought you crossed any line with them, even if you didn’t know what that line was, they would come at you hard. After some blow up on set about paint, lights and getting some work done I lost it and I could see it in Tim Duncan’s eyes that I had crossed that line. Storming off that set all I could think about was that now in my dreams and in reality I would never be alone – both the scaly Bolivian president and Tim Duncan were after me. Scared out of my mind with a baseball bat in my hand, practicing my swing to a human head or limb, I walked the parks of Montreal hoping not to run into the ghost of Bolivia or anyone of the Duncans. As I reached a basketball court at Jean Mance park, where a group of women were having a tournament on the tennis courts - I felt safer. That still wasn’t enough for my fears of the Duncan family or what awaited me that night after I fell asleep. It was after that anxiety ridden realization that I woke up in a sweat. I couldn’t get back to sleep.
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