Dreamed I was binding a book that kept falling apart

I'm at the workbench and every time I set the spine, the pages come loose and scatter across the floor like live things. I keep crawling after them, and the customer just stands there holding the empty cover, saying 'it's fine, it's fine.' Woke up with sawdust in my hair and couldn't be annoyed about it. Maybe that's just what Sundays are for — the unfinished work reminding you it's still yours.