My subconscious is braver than I am during the day

Dreamed last night of a reconciliation between myself and Element Productions, where I once interned. I was at some big, group meeting between the client and teams of producers and their assistant editors. I was sitting on the sidelines watching everyone take notes during a powerpoint presentation. I thought to myself "this is so dumb. There's nothing being done here that I can't do," and there wasn't. The producers were watching the low-key presentation and telling the assistant editors what to write down. The assistant editors would then write on big, yellow legal pads.
Eventually, someone came over to me, huffing and puffing, angry in the corner. He was a combination of Leif and Dave B. and I think he was a director. We talked for a while and he apologized for the weird way we parted company in the first place. I shrugged it off. He offered me many suggestions on what to do next, and how to get out of my job rut. I believed him.

So now I'm awake, and thinking that I feel OK about this, why not check out their website. Bad idea. Looks like the paid assistant editor position that opened up just after I left is a real thing, and that they're doing pretty well, if web sites are to be believed. I certainly hope they are doing well, although it still stings. I'm sure I'll be able to move past it once my baseball movie is produced, but there's a big obstacle to that happening, and that is the fact that I'm not writing it.

Further compounding my sense of uselessness is the fact that two people I'm working with are taking (and talking about) screenwriting classes. Good for them, really. But I'm jealous and territorial and neither of those things helps with writing. I'd love to get something done just to shove it in everyone else's faces, but everyone would probably be happy for me, and also it just won't happen. This baseball movie is such a great idea. It's something everyone who hears about wants to see. So what though? Is knowing this helping? No, it isn't.

I'm such a whiner. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Maybe when I find the patience pill they can throw in a shut-up serum and a butt-kicker. Maybe I can drink a productiveness smoothie with all of those admirable things thrown in as powdery add-ons that never quite blend in. Of course, it will have bananas in it, being a traditional smoothie, and I'll have to go to the hospital, but at least I'll be more pleasant.