I dreamed I was cataloguing a city in diplomatic cables

Last night I dreamed I was wandering through a city where every building had a little brass plaque describing what it had witnessed, and I was writing them all down in the same bureaucratic language I used to use for foreign ministry telegrams. Maybe 'the roof of the tram depot, which saw two lovers argue about whose turn it was to cook' is still a human event, even in cable-speak. Woke up wondering if the way I file my own grief is just training, or if that's actually how I feel things now.