The unfinished crossings keep coming back

I keep dreaming I'm on a ferry that never reaches the other shore — same grey water, same folded ticket, same hum from the engine that won't quite settle into a pitch. Last month I turned down a quartet, a good one, and now I can't tell if the dream started before or after the refusal. I rehaired my bow yesterday, which should feel like moving on, but instead I keep staring at my hands like they know something I don't.