mazirian - We're concerned about your appearance

Hot of the neurons: I dreamt that there were computer problems at work that involved cat5 cabling growing out of control in the walls. I was "hacking" the cables to pieces with a machete and pulling them from the walls. Because it was messy work, I was wearing jeans. It became apparent to me that I needed pesticides to deal with the cables, and I left the office to procure some. My dream didn't cover buying the actual pesticides; instead, it just switched scenes to the point where was I returning to the office. We had an office manager who was, bizarrely, Michelle Forbes—who I always of think of as Miranda Zero—and she sighed when I walked through the lobby.

She said: "You know, there have been a lot of complaints about your appearance lately. I'm not supposed to tell you, but we just sent a letter to your father."

This completely threw me for a loop. Sure I was wearing jeans, but I was ripping these cables out of the wall and it was messy. Did they really expect me to ruin an expensive suit? I argued with her for a while before demanding we take the matter to the managing partner. I stomped angrily down the hall to the managing partner's office. I could hear the cat5 cabling writhing in the walls and I kept looking at the can of pesticides, which had all sorts of inscrutable writing on it that I couldn't look at closely because the letters moved and swirled and generally made my head ache.

I enter the managing partner's office, Michelle Forbes close on my heels, and the partner is, for some odd reason, John McGinley. I start raving at him. How dare he write my father about my appearance without even talking to me first. Then I realize he can only communicate by moving his eyebrows, and I say, "Damn you and your stupid eyebrows." He responds by scrunching his eyebrows up emphatically, then raising the left one once and the right one twice. I have no idea what it means.

I storm out of his office and go to my own, intent on sending a series of series of angry email messages about the affair, but the cat5 cabling has completely overgrown the place and I can't even get to my desk. Somewhere along the way I've lost the can of pesticides and now the whole trip to the store has been wasted. I started shouting in the hallway, screaming into my office, which makes the cabling writhe only harder and I realize it's feeding off my anger. I begin to suspect that the cabling somehow engineered the entire situation for the purpose of making me angry so I could feed it. Just then I catch a glimmer, through the cables, of my new air conditioner (which is, in waking life, located in my apartment) and there is a "holy" light beaming on it.