Last Tuesday morning I awoke from a vivid dream. A gentleman asked me, "Would you like a job? "Oh yes!" I said, and he led me to a spartan room containing only a table and chair. "I will need a computer," I said. He glanced at his colleague. They seemed to think this was unreasonable. "It will have to be a Mac, though. I never understood DOS." They left me there with some papers. Was it a test?

Wednesday morning I awoke from another dream: I was newly employed, late for my orientation as new employee, entering the small company headquarters, settling into my seat in the small auditorium where the talk was in progress already.

Thursday morning, in what passes for my reality, I received in email an inquiry from a publisher who wants to give me editing work (I had sent round a volley of resumes about six months ago). Two dreams of new jobs two days in a row, and then my first offer of work in 10 years.

But, inasmuch as it has been 10 years since I felt well enough and competent to do editorial work, I have lost all my contacts and references from the decades before, and I have no recent work to point to other than an edit I did last year for a friend who self-published her book. Thank heaven for that, because I was able to show that edit to the inquiring publisher. They responded with two elementary tests they said were being given several candidates, from among whom they would choose one to offer work. After three sleepless nights and days laboring in a state of mild panic, I turned in the tests. Now I wait.

I reassure myself: even if they do not choose me, this proves my resume can get a response, and so I must prepare another volley. It's autumn, when publishers must gear up to get their titles in print before the holiday season. They're panicking, too.