Do I Tell My Dreams?

Last night I had a dream about a woman I’ll call Kasey. It seemed significant enough that I wanted to share it with her. If it had been bad news, I probably would have kept it to myself. Since it concerned another woman with romantic overtones, a scruffy male friend, and a surprise announcement that her roommate was going to move out, I decided to write to her.

It could have gone badly. Maybe it wasn’t my business, even though she’s a client. I tried to figure out my ethical stance on it, and I even tried to research how I should react. I found nothing to guide me but my own moral code: when in doubt, help a friend out.

She was pleased to hear my dream-take on what had been happening in her life, so my information was well received. The next day a bit of heartbreak arrived for her, and she asked if I could recall any more details of my dream. Void. My memory had flown like a new wind.

I dream every night, often two or three times, but I usually remember one. I seldom talk about them since I think dreams are truly personal. Last night I had a dream about a warm and inviting cabin. The interpretation in my dream book is that I can look forward to happiness in domestic affairs. Was that a portent that I would find those three pairs of jeans at the second hand shop this morning? Or did it mean I’d find the energy to spring clean my house? Dreams are perplexing. Decisions concerning friends are perplexing. Ice cream selection is not. I guess I’ll have chocolate.