I was on a high floor in a hotel, looking out to the sea below. Big drops of rain were falling, making ripples on the surface.

I came to work and saw that the wall was already filled with work for me to do. I went to my desk but fell down for some reason. I thought it might be comical to stay there, on my back, and tell my neighbor—actually someone from my previous job—I was taking a nap and could he bring me a blanket and a glass of water. He played along and soon returned with them. Then I got up to begin the day.

We drove up a winding road that unexpectedly became snowy. We were going a bit fast but I felt like I was in control. The road got narrower and eventually we could see we wouldn’t pass. It became a footpath leading into woods. We stood outside the car and contemplated it.

The last words someone shouted in my dream, the moment before the alarm went off: “Bring out your dead.”

A complicated trial was going on. I had been the victim of some chicanery in a foreign country. My dad was managing the process. I left work to meet with him, but I was anxious to get back in time for a meeting at 3.

Was listening to a demo cassette of someone’s songs with J. T. The first one was incredibly beautiful. Like Nick’s songs, but someone else.