Once again, I was running late to catch a flight and hadn't packed.
I was playing chess in the kitchen (I remember the board and it was completely improbable...) when I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly 9:15. I realized that we should probably already be on our way to the airport, and I wasn't even dressed, let alone packed.
In the bathroom, my contacts were in what looked like a small, shallow, petri dish--and there were probably 10 of them. I knew that only two were my correct lenses, but figured that the others were old lenses that could work in a pinch. I got my right one in, but then couldn't find the left one. I tried on a couple that turned out to be soft lenses instead of hard ones; one was a gigantic blue lens that was way larger than my iris. At one point when I looked down at the petri dish, the contacts were all folding over on themselves, and some looked like they were made out of red rubber.
When I went to the bedroom, my suitcase was open but basically empty, and the closet was full of stuff that needed to be packed. I wasn't dressed, though, and I couldn't figure out what to wear on the plane. I tried on my new pair of striped gray slacks, but they looked funny. Then I realized I'd put them on over jeans. I took them off and decided to wear the jeans. I found an awesome sweater, a slim little scoop-neck, with wide horizontal stripes of navy and lime and narrow emerald ones, and half-length sleeves, which I thought would go perfectly with my new green trench coat.
The whole time I'd been dressing, I'd been trying frantically to do the math in my head on exactly how late we were. My flight was supposed to leave at 10:24, which meant I should be there not much later than 9:24. Then my sister said it would take 29 minutes to get to the airport! Dream math is not my forte, but I finally realized we should have left at 9:04. That's about when I woke up.
I'm halfway through my exams; apparently lateness to catch a flight is my subconscious' most accessible anxiety theme!