I think I made a huge mistake

I was reading Wigfield last night and a particular passage struck me:

Dreams are funny things. Some say they are windows to our subconscious, others a foreshadowing of the future. Still others say that those first people were right with that thing about the subconscious.

That reminded me that I'd written a post that contained details of a dream I'd had. I felt lousy almost instantly.

To sum up: I really don't like it when people tell me their dreams. I'm in the "windows to our subconscious" camp of dream interpretation, and since you can never really know what's going on with someone, it's just silly to expect others to be interested in whatever personal weirdness is going on in your subconscious.

Don't get me wrong, I love people, and I love my friends, and I love a good story. But when people start telling me their dreams, I get really bored and frustrated. Usually when someone tells a story, it's something that's happened to them in the corporeal world, and usually the story has a beginning and an end and if in the story something really weird happens, you're like, "Whoa! Real life is crazy ... and I just made a Keanu sound!" But when someone tells me about their dream and something really weird happened in that dream, I'm like, "Yeah, it's a dream. Weird shit is the norm."

["the norm" is not to be confused with "the bomb"]

In defense of writing about my dream:

1. It was part of a larger post. It was roughly one-third of that larger post. If you go by the math that you spend a third of your life sleeping, then my post was a brilliant bloggerific microcosm of everyday life and the human condition.
2. I tried to add structure to the largely structure-less nature of dreaming by writing about all the elements of the dream in the same format, ie

   "Then [something happened]. That was [adjective] (parenthetical comment)."

   Of course, "trying" and "succeeding" are two different things.
   
3. My dream distillation (it's hardly lengthy enough to be called a "story") covers all the bases: familial obligation, sexual intrigue, and the Pinter-esque way people are unable to communicate with each other.
   
4. Wow, when put in those words, I am tempted to write about my dreams more often.
5. But I won't. My dreams are usually quite short and disjointed -- they're less like windows to my subconscious ("tap-tap-tap; what's going on in there?") and more like postcards from my subconscious ("Having a wonderful time, wish you were less fucked up") -- so any dream description I do is bound to be short. Good Lord, this post about writing about my dream is, like, a million times lengthier and more tiresome than any dream play-by-play I could manage.
   
6. Writing about writing about dreams is way too meta. I'll quote from Jack Kerouac's dream journal (published with the unironic title Book of Dreams) and get on with my day:
   

   At the present time I have nothing else to say and refuse to go on ...