Nightmare: 'I Work At R&R!'

I was shaken awake this morning in the midst of a horrifying nightmare. I took a job working at R&R! Technically, of course, I was just laid off from said company, but in the dream, I had gone to work in an office full of dark wood cubicles, neatly aligned in endless rows, working directly with the crew of half-wits that I used to edit—but in real life, was neatly protected from working with directly, since they are located on the West Coast to my office here in New York.

Most of those in the dream were anonymous faces—except for the mag's overall manager C—the woman with sixth-grade journalism skills that ultimately engineered my demise. She was frighteningly present. My NYC editor P and anyone that I had worked with in NYC were nowhere to be found.

In my dream, I was going through my desk, wondering what the fuck had led to such a diabolical decision. Why had I taken the job? What was I going to do? How could I return to a place that I was relieved to have off my back, editing unskilled hacks again?

I awoke with a start, amazingly without screaming, and shook my head to make it all go away. Thank god it was all an illusion. I still shudder at the mere thought. Mercy! No more white wine at 2 a.m. for me!