Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was back at work after my mat leave, and we were running out of space in the office and had to put as much stuff as possible into storage. Where storage wasn't possible, we had to move everything closer together to keep it as compact as possible so that we would have more space.
In my dream, jugglepants was a packrat lawyer whose stuff we were trying to wane down. He had shelves and shelves of old plays and books - hundreds of them - not law books, but actual fiction and non-fiction type books such as we might expect to find all through the famed second hand bookstore. They were piled on bookcases throughout his office; the shelves were spread really far apart, and they spanned from floor to ceiling. So many books did jugglepants have that they were spilling out into the rest of the office. I was trying to convince him that, if he could put just eight of his other books into storage, one particularly prized collection would then fit into his office. But he could not bring himself to put eight of his books into storage, as he felt he might need them later. (Did I mention there were hundreds and hundreds of books in there?)
So it became my job to try to move all of the shelves closer together so that we could fit more shelving into jugglepants' office and thereby move more of his books in. But I did not want to take on the dubious task of unloading the shelves and then trying to reload them in the same order; (the order of the books only made sense to jugglepants). So jugglepants and I were arguing with our office manager as to whose job it was to unload and reload those shelves. It was determined that I had to prepare the office space for new shelving units and I had to move the shelves closer together, but jugglepants would have to unload and reload the shelves if he wished to keep the books in the same order.
Dreams are weird.