I was outside in the back yard of a big country house which sat in the middle of a huge yard filled with trees. I was setting up my computer on a card table. I had first tried to set up the computer on something else, but I hadn't been able to stabilize the computer there, so I had moved it over to the card table. A television was also sitting on the card table and I positioned the computer so I would be able to watch the television at the same time I was working on the computer.

When I had finished setting up my computer, my sister (probably in her 30s) came outside. She and I got on a little golf cart which I began driving. I drove from the back of the house to the front yard, as my sister sat beside me on my right.

I was surprised when she began talking about my dreams because we hadn't spoken of my dreams in a long time. She quickly expressed some concern that many people were reading my dreams and that some people weren't happy with what they were reading about themselves in the dreams. For example, her husband (my brother-in-law) had been bothered because apparently in one of my dreams I had called him a "socialist." I turned to her and told her people weren't happy with some of my dreams because I told the truth. People weren't accustomed to hearing the truth about themselves. Even though I sometimes felt uncomfortable about what I dreamed about some people, I still wrote the dreams truthfully. She said she was concerned because so many people were reading them, and I said, "The more the better."

She then mentioned someone named "Bobby Clayton" and she said, "Bobby Clayton is a bullet for you." By her statement I inferred Bobby Clayton was angry at me and wanted to hurt me. I wasn't completely sure who Bobby Clayton was. I thought, however, that he had been a schoolmate in high school and that I had recently written a dream with negative remarks about him. I told my sister I thought I recalled having written something about him, but I couldn't remember. I told her the problem was that I couldn't remember most dreams. I explained that I was like her, that I also forgot my dreams. The difference was that I had written the dreams after I had had them and so I could go back and read them. I also said I could remember my dreams "a tinge" better than she because I had written them.

My sister seemed genuinely concerned about my safety. I was surprised. The last time I had talked to her about my dreams she had been upset because I had dreamed of having sex with her and she didn't want me to write those dreams. Maybe she thought I had decided to censor out those dreams because lately I hadn't published any dreams of sex with her. The truth was that I simply hadn't had any sexual dreams about her lately. If I were to have any, I would publish them.

At least she seemed more accepting of the dreams now and apparently she had been discussing them with a number of people. I was glad that at least we could talk about them, and I turned and kissed her on the cheek.

We were now far down the lane in front of the house. My mother was standing there. Yesterday the computer had been set up out there in front and my mother was looking for the place where we had been yesterday. I turned around and headed back toward the house. I called out to my mother that she should go to the back yard. I thought I would take my sister out back, drop her off, and return for my mother, but then I thought I might just let my sister go back and fetch my mother. That way I could start doing some work on the computer out back. 

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