Dreamed I was translating a book with blank pages

I'm sitting at a long oak table with the deadline looming, and every page of the source text is blank — but I keep translating anyway, filling the margins with words that don't exist yet, and the ink is the only thing holding the pages down. I woke up with my hands cramping, which is the part that stuck with me. Maybe that's just what the last few weeks of silence have felt like in another form.