I had gone on a trip, to a work outing of a sort; an offsite. I do not remember very much except a short plane flight on a very small, maybe a 16-seater plane. I had spoken with the pilot as though he were a bus driver. The plane was well-outfitted with pale lacquered wood and almond-colored leather; very 1980s millionaire chic. Yet none of us were millionaires.
We got to our location and I unpacked my suitcase. Inside my suitcase was a story I had written. It was a story of my own thoughts and feelings regarding a sensitive matter, except with all names changed. However, someone who was mentioned quite a lot in the story did skim over the first page, just by glancing in my suitcase. Recognized it. Wanted to read more.
I was torn between handing over the manuscript, thus revealing all my private thoughts, and keeping it to myself even though I thought what was said there needed to be said. It was a moment of no return though; no matter what happened after that, everything would have changed one way or another.
I can't remember what my reaction was.
I woke up and the moral from the dream, to me, seemed to be to pack personal items in your suitcase underneath your clothes.
We got to our location and I unpacked my suitcase. Inside my suitcase was a story I had written. It was a story of my own thoughts and feelings regarding a sensitive matter, except with all names changed. However, someone who was mentioned quite a lot in the story did skim over the first page, just by glancing in my suitcase. Recognized it. Wanted to read more.
I was torn between handing over the manuscript, thus revealing all my private thoughts, and keeping it to myself even though I thought what was said there needed to be said. It was a moment of no return though; no matter what happened after that, everything would have changed one way or another.
I can't remember what my reaction was.
I woke up and the moral from the dream, to me, seemed to be to pack personal items in your suitcase underneath your clothes.
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