I had what may be my first-ever commuting dream last night. I was trying to catch a 5:46 train, only it appeared to be an Amtrak, and the station wasn’t Grand Central–which I guess makes sense of it was an Amtrak.

The ticket lady gave me my ticket, a large, rectangular thing that had something the size of a stamp sticking out of the side, connected with perforated paper. I read it: It was a voucher for a free cocktail. (Yes, this is what I dream about.)

I remember I had several minutes to locate my track. I suddenly had an attractive travel companion who was looking for the same train. The concourse was filled with flat-screens that were supposed to show departures, but all had a Yankee game on. Adding insult to injury, A-Rod was rounding the bases after smacking a homer.

The clock ticked. I went from having plenty of time to anxiety creeping in. We flew around the concourse, looking at each screen, lugging our bags, desperately searching for a functioning departures screen. Complicating the logistics, I now had a giant cocktail in hand, spilling over the rim as I ran.

I approached several uniformed railroad workers and explained my situation. They smiled politely and walked away.

My travel companion said it was only 24 minutes to the next train should we miss the 5:46. I told her it didn’t matter, I had to be on the 5:46.  I had to be on the 5:46.

I missed my train and woke up in a cold sweat.

Think someone needs a vacation–one that preferably doesn’t involve traveling via train?