Keep it Brief
So, where did I leave that briefcase? I lay in bed obscenely early one recent morning trying to remember where I had left my attaché case. I was so upset. How the hell could I lose something so important? God knows what I had in there, but it must have been vital or I wouldn’t have put it in the briefcase in the first place. And now it was gone. It took a few minutes for me to realize that the attaché case I was so attached to didn’t exist, and that it was, in fact, the stuff that dreams are made of. I haven't worked in an office in years and even then I didn't feel the need to use a briefcase. Why would I dream about one now? My mother bought me an attaché case for my birthday—or was it Christmas? —many years ago, when I first started working. It occurs to me that I haven’t laid eyes on that thing in years. I’m reasonably sure that it is somewhere in my house, I’m just not sure where. But this was not the briefcase in my dream. I had this delusion a fe...