A few years ago I was in a pub in Liverpool just off Hardman street. We met up with someone who told me he was recording his dreams for a creative writing course. I had a couple of beers, so perhaps impolitely I told him that I thought that if you wanted to be a writer you should have something to write about.
Anyway all I have is dreams at the moment. I am glad that Psychoanalysis is out of fashion. One night I had a vivid dream of being in an elevator. It stopped and as the door opened a huge black cat stared at me. The cat looked hungry, so I woke up. A little later that night I was in the same blasted elevator. This time I ended up on a floor where a person was eating someone else.
My interpretation of these dreams is based on the fact that I don't actually do anything bad, but I am just a victim. It is other people who are scheming and plotting against me. I suppose if I was in Psychoanalysis my natural and well justified paranoia would be misdiagnosed as sex mania.