Dreaming in anatomical red

I'm at a drafting table with the heart of some creature I've never seen, and every time I finish labeling it, the lines rearrange themselves — one vein turns into a river, then a road, then a vein again. The surgeon in the corner keeps saying "more red," but there's no red left in the box. I wake up with the word "ochre" stuck in my teeth, and I can't shake the feeling that I was drawing a map of my own week.