Illustration by Börkur Sigurbjörnsson
The door slammed with such a noise that it woke me up. I looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was six. It had thus been a dream after all.
Even if it was a relatively warm summer morning, a chill went through my body. The dream had left me uneasy. I felt like an outsider.
I took a hot shower in order to try to get rid of the chilling feeling. I shivered under the warm stream.
“You’re up early today,” my wife said as I entered the kitchen. “What’s the occasion?”
“I had a bad dream,” I said with a blatant attempt at a fake smile. “I was at work. At first, my desk was below a leaking skylight. Then it was by an exit where cold air blew in as people came and went. I was frozen to the bone. My keyboard was rusty. I wandered around the office, trying to find a better place to work. All in vain.”
“Honey, you need to start looking for a new job,” my wife said. “This one is not for you.”