Before I left work last week, my colleagues urged me not to think about anything relating to the job. I did a pretty slick job of it, though it manifested in a dream last night.

I headed back to work post-vacation and struggled with amnesia at every turn: I woke up a couple of hours early and left home in the dark. I got on the subway at Central instead of Porter. I couldn’t find my office and wandered corridors until I found it. I sat at my desk without any clue as to what I should be doing. I was famished and realized I hadn’t packed breakfast or lunch. I started to go out to Au Bon Pain to get something to eat, but some coworkers stopped me and asked about my time off.

I kept strugging to remember my manager’s name — Susan? Was it Susan Something? I flipped through my notebook to see if the to-do lists I’d made before I left would help me get reoriented, but I’d already completed all the tasks listed. I dug through my bag to see if I’d brought any knitting in case Terri, Amy, and Rebecca wanted to meet up after work. My coworkers convinced me to hop in a car and go to a McDonalds, where one of them ordered a Gibson. There were instructions for making several classic cocktails scrawled in Magic Marker on poster board behind the counter to help the teenaged staff fill orders. The sun started setting; I was still hungry. I didn’t know where to go.