I completely wrapped myself in a NyQuil coma and slept the whole day away!

I love it!

I dreamed I was offered a wonderful job in New York. I was very excited to be back! The energy of the city, getting up before sunrise and buying fresh bread at the market. Central Park. The Guggenheim. Chelsea. Greenwich Village. Walking past Stanley Kubrick's old apartment. Seeing Trump walking in public. Getting tickets to Letterman or Conan. The Algonquin Hotel.

I didn't even know what the job was, but the people seemed nice, caring, giving and welcoming. The workplace was in an old flat iron building and the offices was like something you'd imagine the writers of The New Yorker worked in back in the 30's. In fact everyone was dressed that way. As I questioned my boss about these things as he showed me around and it became very weird and the people began fading away. Suddenly I was in an empty building where squatters and crack addicts were living in until demolition took place.

I had been hired by ghosts. Hired by people that didn't know they were dead. Now what was I to do?

I woke up wondering what it all meant. Is my ideal job, history? Is the kind of employer I want no longer around? Is the industry I love dead?

Dreams are so amazing sometimes. It's like puzzles. But who is the puzzle-master? Who makes these puzzles up? Why are they puzzles? Why aren't dreams just straight forward? Do they have to mean anything? Do they predict anything? If they do predict things, why can't I dream up the winning lotto numbers?