March 20th, 2003


Morpheus and Orpheus.

I hate when I dream of spreadsheets.

But last night took the cake. First, spreadsheets. Then, hairy spiders and a white millipede the size of a dachshund that I chopped into wriggling bits. (This actually caused me to wake myself up and turn on the lamp for a few hours of broken sleep.) Finally, the worst dream of all: as I'm sitting in my cubicle at work, I feel a presence at my left shoulder. When I look over, this blonde bint is pulling a chair up to my desk and wedging herself in between me and the window--a space of about two feet. With a stunning display of audacity, she starts rearranging the things on my desk. Yanks a lamp from its place with a cheerful, infuriating smile and says, "Do you mind if we use this one?" Replacing it with her own. As the dream unfolds, I discover that this is my manager's daughter, that she's going to share my cubicle for an indeterminate length of time, and that she's assigned to watch everything I do because there's a mole in the company. My Internet use suggests that I'm the mole, or that something I'm doing is facilitating electronic espionage. I spend maddening minutes of dream time on speakerphone with my manager trying to get to the bottom of this insanity. (Me, in a fit of rage: "It's like you're *trying* to get me to quit! Is that what you're trying to do?") Meanwhile, the annoying girl assigned to watch me has plastered posters up over my whiteboard and filled my cubicle with tchotchkes. Though I'm supposed to start work, I flee the building to get an iced tea and end up waiting fifteen minutes for it because the morons in the burger joint keep fumbling the order.

By comparison with this surreal trial of my patience and nerves, the day ahead, filled with war and work, looks rather pleasant.

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