Dreams are embarrassing to write about. They're so intimate when they are as clear and compact as was the one I had last night. It "hung together". There weren't flights into the bizarre. It was "real" yet of course not. Nothing like Suzy's confession of love happened, or ever happened to me. I know who she was in my dream, I know just who she was, but I never had those feelings for her and she never confessed love for me. So how real was the dream? Did I sublimate my feelings for her? Umm, I don't think so. I never really had those feelings for her; I did not have a "crush" on her. The judge, I know just who he is. I pseudonymized him as Shepherd as I did Suzy. I know who the judge is, I can see his face in my dream. But he never said the n-word in chambers and never commented on the record on Suzy's "boobs," his word in my dream. The dream was rational, that is the story was linear, but yet how intimate was it that it didn't happen? How much should I be embarrassed by revealing so intimate a dream if so much of it never happened. I feel that one takes a risk writing about dreams but I can't pinpoint the risk. How much was risked that it was unreal, and can't I chalk up any embarrassment with "It was just a dream?" A perfectly story-like dream but those things never happened. I wrote about it because it was so compact and story-like, highly unusual. I don't know, I'm left uneasy about it, that's all I can say. Good night.