On tuesday night, I woke up at 2am and couldn't get back to sleep again. I'm not sure if was angry or anxious. I was at B's house, so I walked into the living room and picked up a book from the shelf by Carl Jung: Man and his Symbols. I noticed that when Jung reffered to people he called them "men". He also mentioned that he was afraid of tell Freud what he really believed about his own dreams. I immediately related to this:
"I soon realised that Freud was looking for some incompatible wish of mine. And so I suggested tentatively that the skulls I had dreamed of might refer to certain members of my family whose death for some reason, I might desire. This proposal met with his approval, but I was not satisfied with such a phoney solution...
My intuition consisted of the sudden and most unexpected insight into the fact that my dream meant myself, my life and my world, my whole reality against a theoretical structure erected by another, strange mind for the reasons and purposes of its own. It was not Freud's dream, it was mine; and I understood suddenly in a flash what my dream meant."
