Why is it…

…that I never manage to pack a lunch on the cold, rainy days, thus forcing me to make a miserable (albeit short) trek for bagels? After lunch I felt paranoid about my hands being wet (they weren’t) when I touched letters that had been given TLC by the conservators.

Which reminds me of a dream I had several weeks ago, in which I was reading some of those letters over lunch at my kitchen table. Dream-me felt very anxious: what was I thinking, taking them home and then risking spilling something on them? This is not the first work-related dream I’ve had—a few times I was working in Perl while I slept—but it’s the first I’ve had in a long while.

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