A Perfectly Ordinary Tuesday

I got up, made coffee, answered two emails, went to the workshop, glued a spine, ate a cheese sandwich at the bench, and came home. That was the dream.

The only thing that marks it as a dream at all is that I remember it in full, in order, with the texture of a real day, and it did not happen. Tuesday, in life, I was ill in bed.

There's nothing to interpret and I'm recording it because it unnerved me more than the ones with the houses. It was such a good day.