I set my alarms for 7:30 and 7:35 this morning. I think I remember hearing them — can't say for sure — but I do remember the dream I had.
In my dream, I went to my PCP's office. I either got there early or on time, either of which are unusual for me. I had to wait, though, which frustrated me. The staff made apologies for running behind because they were understaffed. Eventually, someone attended to me. It turns out, though, that I was not there to see my PCP as a patient. He had called me in because he knew I was unemployed and his office needed a receptionist, so he was hoping I could fill in short-term until they found someone permanent. He knew I was leaving soon. This would help his office out and give me a little extra income for England, he reasoned. Besides, I was already familiar with Boston Medical Center, and they assured me I could read on the job as long as patients got checked in and the phone got answered. I thought, "But you're going to want me to be on time every morning. What is that? 7:30? 8 o'clock?"
WAIT A MINUTE!
I opened my eyes in a sudden panic! Glanced at my clock: sure enough, "8:00"! Fortunately, I was reasonably clean, did not have horrible bedhead, and had clothes to wear already practically picked out. It only took me 5 minutes to get out of the house and a couple more to extricate my car from in front of Tubby's in the driveway. I arrived at the church at the beginning of the homily.
Whew! I'd have hated to miss flag football (11 a.m. mass) or Katie's performance (8 p.m. mass) due to sleeping in. I could always have gone to the 1 p.m. Spanish mass at the Prudential, but then I probably would have been late for call at the theater and would have to deal with the hassle of driving to and from downtown. No, I'm glad my subconscious woke me up.