I'm never late to anything. In fact, I'm one of those people who shows up a half an hour early to everything, waiting in your driveway with my radio on, killing time. I leave room for error when going to new places, and old. Waiting is my specialty.
And then this week happened. I've been late to work every day this week, sometimes by as much as half an hour. And my commute is literally 10 floors of a building. There is no excuse except for the near catatonia I've been in during sleep lately. I've been completely zonked out, but I wake up knowing I was dreaming; something was happening in a story line.
I wish I could remember my dreams, but I know they're troubling. I don't wake up refreshed and ready to go. I wake up confused, late, and panicking. I don't like that feeling one bit.
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