Last night did not give me one of my more pleasant dreams. It was a variation of a theme common to my uncomfortable nightmares: too much to do, not enough knowledge or time to do it. The details on this one are fairly fuzzy, though.
I do recall being in a long hall lined on one side with dozens upon dozens of small (1' x 1' by 4' tall) tables. Each table represented a project for which I was responsible. Some tables had just a scrap or two of paper, or even just a post-it note. Some tables were piled with papers and folders and binders, the contents stretching to - and beyond - the ceiling in some Looney Tunes-esque rendition of the overflowing inbox. There was also a window at the end of this hall, where new jobs would be passed to me, generally by having a pair of hands shove things through the window at me, and a low voice mumbling vague instructions, and a big red flag on each pile printed with the due date, usually sometime very soon, or even in the past. Some of the projects were things I could do, and that were within my realm of knowledge and ability (migration tasks, travel planning, scheduling appointments, documentation tasks, basic programming). Other tasks were so beyond my realm of experience as to be in a foreign language (profit & loss statements, mortgage papers, kernel programming, corporate management). But they were all my responsibility, and it didn't matter if I didn't know how to do it or not, since I never got time to actually work on any of the projects. All I could do was watch this ever-growing line of tables, receding down the hall, a new one popping up next to the window for each new task that came through the window.