I forgot to write about the dream I had the night before last. I can only remember a small snatch of it. It involved this woman’s hand-writing. I was tracing its trajectory with my finger just before I woke. It felt like it was etched into the paper, so much so that I could feel its grooves. Was this prompted by my interview and then writing up of the interview was S? Possibly, my subconscious does appear to play out what I either watch, think about or encounter through my day. He says that that’s never the case with him. Does that make me more of a sponge? Sometimes I do find it tricky to establish a boundary between what I am and those I come to know, with their concerns (or what I imagine to be their concerns) become mine. You care too much, he said last night. Do I? I said. Can one ever care too much?
