You wouldn't think I'd have them, would you? I mean, I've gone out of my way to create the most stress-free life possible. But still my subconscious mind can find things to torture me with.
This morning I got a phone call from my optometrist, telling me my new contact lenses were ready and could be picked up Friday. I took down the appointment in my planner and went back to bed because I have to work until closing time at the bar tonight.
About an hour later, the phone rang again. I started awake. I was covered in a clammy sweat. I didn't pick up the phone. I was too disoriented from what I had just experienced:
I'm working at the bar. The sole has come off one of my boots, leaving one of my legs an inch shorter than the other. I can't see properly through my contacts--now that I think about it, they're like the testing lenses I had to put on at the optometrist's last week, which corrected only my nearsightedness and not my (considerable) astigmatism. I'm getting a blinding headache and can't focus on anything.
I'm working a special event upstairs. Instead of the bar I'm used to, there's a folding table with a money box. The credit card machine is unavailable. There are no soda guns or reach-in coolers. All of the products are unfamiliar.
A woman with a small child (!?) approaches the table. The woman says her son would like another cup of juice, the kind that "has red things on the bottle." He would like a lime in it. I search around and can't find anything, so I'm forced to stagger across the room to a stand-up cooler with some drinks in it. I blunder around and find a bottle of pomegranate juice (!?) labeled in Russian (!?) that fits the description and limp back over to my table with it. But just as I approach the people, it slips from my grasp and shatters on the floor...
I'm mighty glad to be awake again, let me tell you.