I told him that I was tired and was going to lie down and asked him if he'd like to join me for a nap. My 37-year-old husband would normally jump at the chance, but the 11-year-old looked at me and said "What would I want to do THAT for?"
I went into the bedroom and lay down anyway, and he came in. He stood by the side of the bed, pretending not to want to climb in. He said "I was just looking for a book." Then he found one and sat down on the bed.
Then the dream shifted to my having to go to an appointment. I was meeting with an agent at his office. I was trying to determine which of several agents I was going to choose. The office was strange. The usual configuration is that in a building, each business has a suite of rooms with its own door. This was more like a cube farm, where each business had a cube on a big, open floor of a huge building. The literary agent cubes were all up against the wall.
They had big, poster-sized photos on the outsides of the cubes of the agents doing other things, showcasing what they did outside of agenting. One was active in sports, one did a lot of charity work, etc. I was walking down the row of cubes wondering how any of this information would ever help me narrow down my choice, as it was really NOT HELPFUL.
And it's true. Finding an agent isn't any easier than that.