Yesterday around 5 am I needed to bring a table that was eating beef stew and drinking a Newcastle-like-beer, another Newcastle-like-beer. I was distracted when a cat brushed up against me. The cat made me realize that my bedroom curtains were not fully shut and that I needed to pee. I immediately fixed the curtains on my way to the toilet.
The brewhouse does not serve beef stew nor is it operational at 5am. I was dreaming about work. Again.
I hate waitressing dreams. They are far worse than the performance dreams.
Many moons ago when I was regularly employed by the Las Vegas entertainment industry, I would have performance nightmares. I would be at the show and just as I would hear the first notes of my musical intro, I realize I am standing in the back row of the audience out of costume. The dream is horrible and awful and despite my efforts to rectify all that is wrong, I fail.
I would wake upset because I was passionate about the job.
Waitressing dreams are a completely different type of nightmare. Someone needs a diet coke refill, someone received the wrong meal, and I have to oversee the service of 20 tables though the only table I’m able to visit is the one eating the entree we don’t actually serve.
I wake, upset because I realize I’m loosing sleep over a job I’m not passionate about.
The brewhouse is a difficult place to work during my waking hours and instead of relaxing during my time outside the workplace, I am forced to relive all the horrible aspects of it in my dreams.
I lay back down and a cat settles down atop of me. I remind myself somewhere between barely awake and peripheral dream state that I am not needed at the brewhouse until my next dinner shift and that I should just try to get another solid 4 hours of heavy, healing, relaxing sleep. That thought is fleeting however. I am distracted by the table with the beef stew, they are demanding their Newcastle-like-beer.