I was at a business that seemed like a bank or a post office. I was one of many customers there. I see at least five different areas where customers are being served. Each area has 3-4 different employees taking care of the customers at dark wood counters that are about 3-4 foot tall. Each employee has their own work station or work area. In the area where I am I have been in line there are 3 lines of customers and in between two of the lines there is a place that some customers can come up to and get taken care of before the rest of us. I some how know I am not supposed to be in that line but I get frustrated when someone walks up to that line and gets taken care of before me. She wasn't supposed to be in that line either but the employee just goes ahead and takes care of her anyway. As I'm standing there I realize that I should check on the progress of Bill C's book - to see if the next draft is ready for me to edit. Now I have a copy of the pages in my hand and I'm flipping through them wondering if they are all there. I check the last page number and think that they should all be there. I tap them on the counter to make sure they are all neatly together and then I hold them up to a bound, current edition to compare the size. The stack of new pages seems to be about the same size as the old edition. For a moment I wonder if it should be more - if Bill C should have written more. Then I realize it is just fine as it is. Now it feels as though I am at a hospital, because a doctor comes out and announces that he has some tickets to a football game that he is not going to be able to use and is willing to give them away to someone. He can't use them because a patient's care is going to have him working. He is a young doctor, maybe in his early 30's at most, tall with light brown hair. I don't ask for the tickets because I know I wouldn't appreciate them as someone else would. The game is between the Colts and the Bengals. A little while later another doctor comes out. This doctor is not much taller than I am, about my age, with dark brown hair and glasses. He's wearing dark rose-colored scrubs. He, too, has a pair of tickets to give away. These belong to a patient who will not be able to use them. The doctor is being very jovial. He is saying that whoever takes the tickets must also pretend to be this patient and assume his illness as well. I am now sitting at a table. There is a woman about my age, blonde hair and fairly small build, sitting to my left. She says something to me about the tickets. I say that it might be kind of fun for me because I grew up in Cleveland. I quickly correct myself and say, Well, just outside of Cleveland. Still, because I never go to football games, I knew I wouldn't enjoy it that much and didn't feel right taking the tickets to give them to Matthew, my dad, or my brothers. I was leaning back in this chair, not sitting straight in the chair at all, and reading a book. I just glance up from my reading every now and then to look at or listen to the doctor or to the woman to my left.