DREAM JOURNAL CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP.  I was at work.  Something was tickling my throat.  I coughed, and saw in my hand a tiny little flake of glass.  Within the dream, it seemed logical -- I cut a lot of glass at work; I could see where I might inhale or swallow the odd sliver.  But then I kept coughing, bigger and bigger pieces of glass coming up, until it reached conjurer's-trick level, with the pieces bigger than my mouth.

I'm sure this in no way reflects my feelings about my job.