I dream about work. I think everybody does, and it's terrible. And there's no money in it.
I dreamt that my roommate/coworker/buddy Bryan and I were IMing at work, and that's 100% true-to-life. He was giving me flak for my performance on moderating our online guitar reviews, and I was getting flustered and defending myself via instant messenger even though he sits six feet away from me in a direct line of sight. That's yet to happen in real life (the flak part, not the cubicle location part).
When I worked for the TV station, I would have terrible, teeth-gnashing, super-stressful dreams. I think I owed a lot of that to the stressful nature of the job: one hour of calm, then thirty minutes of chaos, deadlines, and shouting, and then a live broadcast (usually with more chaos and shouting). The TelePrompTer dreams were the worst. The words on the screen would melt, blend, or turn to gibberish, or the anchor's voice would sound like a slowed-down tape recording.
And here's the thing: the anchors would have the same awful dreams, except they'd be doing a live broadcast and the TelePrompTer would start speeding up faster and faster.
Ugh, these dreams are insufferable. They should be outlawed, or at least there should be a pill I can take to keep my dreams from becoming stressful, unpaid drudgery. SIGN ME UP, DOC. I want to dream about margaritas on a California beach.
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