fucked up dreams

i am at some kind of work function like a workshop or all-day session, pitching clients in a hotel / store amalgam. i am feverishly making decks for the presentations, including one for a client who openly dislikes my company. at some point, one of our clients brings backk a laptop they had borrowed, which i open to discover porn playing loudly. this startles many of our clients and the random customers who are now shopping in the store.

i am driving driving back to boston in an enormous tractor trailer. at first driven by a young attractive girl with glasses and dark hair, then by a hispanic man. the highway is crowded with traffic and we barey escape an accident. the truck is equipped with a refeuling apparatus in the center that let's us gas up on the fly. the cab smells like gas.

i am home, a successful artist. son of a famous deranged artist mother. she is clearly on drugs / insane / possessed. she begins acting erratically - at first hysterical and childlike, then attacking me and incuring self-inflicted injuries to her face, which swells and distorts into a grotesque mask. i yell and sob and plead with her to stop and realize my art is some kind of coping mechanism. i wake myself up yelling out loud.

i am sketching a sarah palin halloween costume. she is holding a new baby, but the umbilical chord is still intact. they are both dressed as nuns or pilgrims, but the baby has a pink plastic bag over its face.