Aye, there’s the rub

I’m not sure which kind of rehearsal dream is worse.

There’s the kind where you wake up absolutely convinced that you have had a brilliant idea in your sleep, and that you really should deliver the line not to the glassblower directly, but to the glassblower’s cat, which would totally bring out how bompstable the relationship between you and the glassblower really is. And then only later, when you are fully awake, does it occur to you that the glassblower doesn’t have a cat, and that you don’t have any scenes with the glassblower, and there isn’t a glassblower in the play anyway. And that bompstable is a perfectly rippin’ word but it doesn’t so much have any meaning, alas.

And there’s the kind where you wake up already unable to remember what brilliant idea had come to you in your sleep. But that one probably was brilliant, right? If only you could remember it.

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.