Dreams figure large in my life. I firmly believe there's a message in them, some I just can't puzzle out. Last night's dream packed some wallop.
In this dream, I had problems with my boss, a dubious, shadowy character in a vague company somewhere. I went to human resources and met with the woman there who showed no support whatsoever.
"Why the venom?" I asked.
She pulled out a folder and showed me a wad of receipts from my business expenses. "There!" she said.
I peered at them and couldn't fathom why she was so upset.
"Look at this," she cried out. It was a credit card receipt for a $20 lunch with tax and tip included.
"What's the problem? The fact that it was expensed?"
"No, the tip!" I looked at it again. I left a $3.50 tip. "You gave her 32 cents more than you should." She was enraged.
"You're giving me grief for 32 cents?" Astounded, I said, "Here, let me give you 32 cents back," and I reached into my pocketbook.
She disappeared. I was on a crowded train, raging about 32 cents. A woman said something to me about the change. And then I was in my cottage, opening up my bedroom window. That same woman told me someone important will arrive shortly.
And then I woke up.
What the hell was that all about?
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This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.