Last night I dreamed I was archiving my own fieldwork

I'm in a basement archive with no ceiling, sorting boxes of index cards that keep turning into teabags. Each card has a place name I kind of recognize — a village I once wrote about, a dialect word I've forgotten. The boxes have labels like "the year I almost got malaria" and "things people said instead of goodbye." I wake up with the feeling that I forgot to file the most important one, and honestly, that's just fieldwork in a nutshell.