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<p> Jen Rogue writes about how our work life infiltrates itself into our dreams and technically amounts to unpaid labor. </p>

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<p> A blaring alarm clock interupts my restless slumber. Damn it! Time to go to work. And do what I’ve been doing in my sleep for the last few hours, unpaid. In the shower, I wonder about how much space in my brain are taken up by produce codes. Are bananas (4011) edging out my memory of the first time I rode a bicycle? </p>

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I already spend so much time at work, it seems unfair to be robbed of my sleep. </div>
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J. Rogue </div>
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<p><a href="http://libcom.org/blog/clock-13042012" target="_blank">read more</a></p>