I dreamed I was still digging that quarry I quit

The light is that flat grey before rain, and my hands are raw from the trowel. I'm chipping at a nodule that keeps growing, no matter how much matrix I remove—it's like the bone is infinite, and I'm chasing a skeleton that doesn't want to be found. I wake with my fingers curled, and for a second I'm not sure if I actually quit or just dreamed I did.