I dreamed that I was working in California again at a place that was part VFX company, part GI-Joe style training/fighting force. Not everyone in the company was part of the fighting force, but I was a reluctant member of both sides of the effort. I and four others were given an assignment – we were each given a gorgeous sport’s car – a red mustang here, a black porsche there, and we all had to drive them from where we were (LA? San Francisco?) up the West Coast to Washington, where we had to chase five other cars driven by the bad guys, and try to capture them. I resented the man who gave us the mission – I disliked him as a VFX Supervisor, and even more as GI-Joe General-type. What were we supposed to do when we captured the other drivers? I complained to a fellow soldier, we were VFX artists, not trained police or fighters. I shrank from the responsibility. Not only that, they kept delaying our departure until the evening, narrowing our time window, so that we would have the opportunity to attend the crew party for the latest production that evening.
