Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, but that night is by far the worst night’s sleep of the week. I know I’m anxious because of the work week ahead of me, but no matter what I toss and turn – my mind moseying about the daunting halls of Park Avenue South.

Last night I had a dream that I hadn’t ordered stamps for an event invitation yet. I was sitting at my computer, trying to format the logo onto the little miniature space between the left side of the stamp and the $.41 marker. Wait, $.41? Our invitation is square, it surely weighs more than an ounce and worst of all it’s being sent domestic and internationally!

It’s 4:30AM and I’ve awoken, sweating in secure flannel sheets.

This dream parallels others about my teeth falling out (and having to serve hot dinner plates to 30 tables simultaneously) which I haven’t had in several years. On the one hand I am happy that I no longer fantasize about my teeth breaking, crumbling or being pulled out of my mouth, but for some reason or another, I am not sure that having nightmares about stamps, staplers and spreadsheets is all that more assuring.

On Saturday I dreamt about a grey puppy that lived in my apartment with me. Sunday? Well, proof enough.