I’m usually going somewhere, and I’m pretty determined about it, but inevitably I get lost. Most times, I’m in Cincinnati, in the hills above the Ohio River. There are highways, buildings and bridges that cross the river. I’m usually on foot, and as if I suddenly had a stroke, I find myself lost. Which way to go? Don’t know. I’m not sure I even know where it is I am going.

The other night I dreamed that friend Eric was about to commit suicide, but not if I could reach him in time. He left white notes with numbers attached to various objects like street signs, fences, etc., and all I had to do was follow those notes. Behind me were other friends of Eric; I think Dan, Adam and Mark Schreiber. I was leading the group, following the notes, when suddenly I’m in a mall; a series of stores not unlike the street mall Peter took us to in Honolulu. When I emerge, I’m back in the twilight trying to follow Eric’s trail. The guys are again behind me, but suddenly they turn left when they should have gone straight and that’s the last I see of them. And it’s the last I see of Eric’s notes.

Within the same three week period:

I’m hiking into the mountains. Mountains not unlike Yosemite Valley. I’m looking for a place to camp, a place to bring Matt back to, but I get lost.

I’ve climbed to the top of Mt Monadnock but now the summit is covered in round snow-covered boulders, and I don’t have any shoes on. I can’t get down.

I’m driving a truck a friend of mine stole and I find myself back at the owner’s house, as he is about to come out of the door. I want to run, but it feels like it’s too late.

I’m driving a flat bed truck full of junk that has to be tossed before I get onto the highway. I’ve stopped just beyond the dumpster, but the traffic is too heavy and the truck too long to back up. Should I attempt to back up or risk losing the load on the highway? I can’t decide.