In my dream I imagined writing country songs, very traditional ones, like George Jones or Willie Nelson songs. They were very beautiful. The right chords and steel-guitar riffs just drifted into my brain. Great lyrics too. I saw the songs being played in a bar, but on the PA, not by a band.

Had a dream about some over-the-hill singer-songwriter, a James Taylor–type, except maybe a little darker. He had decided to officially retire, to declare that he was done with it all. In the dream this seemed both poignant and somehow heroic. His name was Ben Crenshaw.

He was listening to some of his old recordings, ceremoniously, maybe for the last time. His songs were great. One of them had the following refrain:

Cryin’ and gettin’ high

Cryin’ and gettin’ high

I was trying to seduce Meryl Streep. This involved visits to her home—maybe we were dating, or we were friends and there was the possibility we’d soon be more than friends. I was highly conscious of her brilliance as an actor, and when I was near her I felt something like electricity. In the dream she appeared young and slender, the way she looked in “The Deer Hunter” maybe, although I was conscious of her as an older woman, as she is in real life.

I found myself in Manhattan looking for a record store, and of course there are none anymore. I took a walk around the block and took the train back home.

Buckles was describing to some people the chronic shoulder pain he suffered due to a Little League pitching injury. He now had limited mobility in his right arm and found it very difficult to jerk off.

Had band and music dreams too. I’d written and recorded a reggae song. The band had just played a reunion show. We heard back that someone in the audience had said we should not be so “wry.” I took this to mean we should take the music and the audience more seriously. I said that was certainly true. Jake agreed.

J. D. had been organizing baseball lessons on Saturdays for our kids, Theo and Jackie and a few other friends’ kids. It was pouring rain, so I figured it was canceled this week. I found myself at his place anyway. There were open boxes of donuts. I realized the lesson was not canceled. Everyone was already on the bus that was to take us there. I climbed on board with Jackie. Someone handed out beers but skipped me. I was annoyed.

Vexing work dream. I’d been demoted in some weird way. The result was that I was moved from my cubicle to another one that was not equipped with a Mac nor two monitors. I protested, but apparently nothing could be done about it. On the other hand, my monitor was expandable, like a window on a touch screen. The actual physical object grew and contracted as you gesticulated in front of it. So that was something. Still, I felt slighted, marginalized.

Had a dream featuring Robert Duvall. He was in charge of some kind of operation and I was a part of it, but sort of a remote part of it. I wasn’t close to him in the logistics. But at a certain point I encountered him and had the opportunity to address him. I needed to refer to a car for some reason. A car that was in use during the operation. All along, I thought it was a BMW. A convertible. White. But upon closer inspection I noticed that it was an Alfa-Romeo. “Bobby,” I called out to him. I said something about the Beemer, no, sorry, I mean the Alfa-Romeo. I was wondering all the time, is it OK to call him Bobby? I was a little bit worried that he wouldn’t want me to call him Bobby.

Dreamt that I attended a kind of immersive theater experience set in a bar. The performance entailed zombies attacking the bar. No one knew when it was to begin, so no one knew when the zombies would appear. The tension was agonizing. I was watching the main floor of the bar from the second-floor balcony when they burst into the crowd. I saw one lunge at someone, leaping over people and riding their bodies like a crowd surfer.