Last night I dreamt that I was plotting to fake my own death so I would not have to go to work.

The dream involved moderately exotic locations and drama and intrigue, but I can’t exactly remember the method by which I’d meet my faked demise. 

Not exactly a master of subtly, I was pretty clearly telegraphing that something was amiss by ramping up a give no fucks attitude across the workplace – particularly in meetings, one of which I chair and hadn’t prepared a pack and was really lax about the agenda and actions.

In the end I decided not to go through with the faked death because I’d miss Don too much. 

Then I was left with the consequences of my bad meeting behaviour and trapped at SML for the rest of my days.

What’s all that about?