Number One

I almost never remember my dreams unless I'm jarred from them, and then they're bizarre landscapes in narratives of the weird. Last night, for example, I dreamt I was in on a heist for rare books in the nation's capital that resulted in a parachuting and then a subterranean fire that burned half of my face to melty pizza cheese and left me fighting a Tyrant-esque composite of soft tissue and ash.

But anyway I bring it up because I'm left wondering how many ultrafucked dreams live in my (and our) head(s) that we never even notice because we sleep right through them. What the hell is wrong with us? If I could I'd probably dream nothing but space opera but instead I get like, surgical operations performed while small dogs bite at my ankles or truck driving while unable to look out the windshield.

It's Friday here at Horse Academy, which means my new co-worker is here teaching a review class I used to have to teach and nobody else has made it in. It's okay, because at least a fifth of the time I'm the one 45 minutes late, lodged in traffic or in my own hazy sleepiness. What are mornings like where you work? Do you find the expectations for your punctuality to be accommodating or stranglehold tight?