I meet a woman with a buzz cut and want her advice on my clothes. I want to wear only black suits with black T-shirts, even though I am currently wearing a grey T-shirt.

I am standing in front of a house. F. comes out. We hug. I want to let go, but he keeps holding on, and we continue to embrace. I say, “Once a year.” But he says we see each other twice a year, once in summer and once in winter.

I am preparing for a performance in a room. I go to a table and urinate into a container. It splashes everywhere, so I have to clean everything up and wipe it down.

I am driving in a car with my wife. I am driving far too fast and running red lights. I am late for my therapy session. My wife says that the session will go well today. I get out of the car. I am wearing only fabric trousers pulled up over my knees and a black T-shirt. I walk toward the house and have an erection pressing through the fabric. I hope it will go away. At the front door, the intercom panel is damaged and I cannot find my therapist’s name. Eventually I find the doorbell and go into the building. In the elevator I have the same problem, but I simply go up to the fourth floor. I roll my trousers back over my knees so they sit properly again, and my erection has disappeared as well. I will arrive a few minutes late for my therapy session. On the fourth floor I get out, but then have to go down one floor. I walk along the corridor into an open room where my therapist is sitting with other people at tables covered with architectural plans. He looks at me but makes no attempt to stand up. I am holding a small boy by the hand, as if he were my son, and walk towards the door of the apartment door of my therapist then on to a large window. I look outside and point out a large artificial waterfall to the boy. The boy wants to give me a sharp candy from a small tin. My therapist still does not come. He has probably forgotten that we moved the appointment to this Saturday. I hope he does not think that I have simply come here unannounced and am intruding into his private life. I fear he might get upset. I need to clarify this. He is further back in the room, holding a woman by the stomach while she is bent forward, dancing. I am standing in front of the tables with the others, who are still bent over the plans. I do not want to explain to them that I am waiting for my therapist. It would be very embarrassing, and I am afraid I might blush.