I had been traveling from city to city with two young people – a man and a woman (each about 20 years old). The three of us had won a contest, and the trips we were taking were part of our prize. The trips weren't simply for leisure; the trips had some political purpose, such as for a political campaign, and all three of us had certain responsibilities which we had to perform during the trips.

At present we were standing outside a building where a large group of people had gathered for a political event. The thought occurred to me that sometime at one of these events I might want to show up with a protest sign. Or even if I weren't at a political event, I might just like to go somewhere like the front of the old ornate Tarrant county courthouse in Fort Worth, and walk around with a protest sign. I might have a sign which said something like "Government Sucks." Who could stop me? I had the right to march with such a sign. But thinking further, I doubted I would do such a thing. What would happen if someone attacked me? Would the police come to protect me? That might prove to be a problem, especially since the police were employees of the government, and I would be carrying a sign which said the "Government Sucks." No, I doubted I would be doing any protesting.

As I looked out over the crowd of people gathered in front of me, I noticed someone carrying a protest sign. It had quite a bit of writing on it, but the part that stuck out were large letters saying "Going to Hell." I also noticed in the lower right corner a little picture of the face of Jack Nicholson, made out to look like a devil, complete with horns. It appeared it was some kind of religious fanatic carrying the sign, and I thought it was a bit ridiculous. At any rate it certainly seemed ridiculous to someone like me, who didn't even believe in hell. But at least I had to admire the fellow for having the courage to carry the sign.

***

My two companions and I were inside a room where, again, people were gathered. There was a podium at which some people were going to speak, as in a news conference, and everyone was waiting for the conference to begin. As part of our duties, the other two and I were sometimes responsible for lining up people to speak at these events. The fellow traveling with me (who somewhat resembled a step-cousin of mine named Harry) stepped up to me and told me he had arranged for president George Washington to speak.

I immediately realized we had a problem. I knew my companion didn't have as much experience as I at arranging these kind of affairs, and I knew he had made a mistake by arranging for George Washington to speak. I thought that Washington was old and senile, and that if Washington tried to give a speech, it would be a disaster. I quickly told my friend that if there was one thing I had learned about arranging these kind of events, it was that we didn't have someone like Washington speak.

Before I could do anything to stop it, a man with a burr haircut walked up to a podium in front of the room. When I looked at the man, I thought he must be Washington. If so, I must have made a mistake, for this was a strong healthy man in the prime of life. This was no feeble person. But I quickly saw my error: this man wasn't Washington. Instead, another man, an old, feeble-looking fellow walked up to the podium. The poor old bloke was so disoriented he was looking up at the ceiling, as if he were going to speak to someone up there. This was exactly the kind of thing I had feared. The only thing I thought we could do now would be to try to help him from the stage.

***

The young fellow with whom I was traveling had walked up to me as I was sitting on the side of a bed. I reached up and pulled his face down close to mine, leaning back at the same time, so he was over top of me, although our bodies didn't touch. I began telling him how much I liked traveling with him and the woman. I felt as if the three of us had established a working relationship with each other, and as if we were actually accomplishing something together. This was a bit of a surprise to me, because he and the woman were much younger than I, and I hadn't thought I would enjoy working with people so much younger than I. But I had been pleasantly surprised to discover it was precisely their youth which I found invigorating and enjoyable. Trying to describe the feeling I had of working with them both, I said, "Its like being in a rock and roll band."

***

I was standing outside, again in a crowd of people. This time I was standing with the woman who was in our little threesome (she also resembled one of my step-cousins, whose name is Sussie). I was standing behind her and she had her back to me. I had my right arm around her, with my right hand resting on her stomach, touching the soft pink sweater which she was wearing.

As we stood there, we both watched a bird fly down from a tree, pick up a piece of something which looked like pink fiberglass insulation, and fly back up to a branch on the tree. Obviously the bird was going to use the insulation as part of its nest.

The woman and I had developed a close relationship – I knew when she saw the bird, that she was thinking the same thing that I was, and I whispered into her ear, "I want to."

She knew exactly what I was referring to. She had been trying to convince me for some time that she and I should have a baby together. I had been resisting this idea, but nevertheless I had been giving it some thought. Now, seeing the bird building its nest, it just seemed it somehow all fit together, and the decision to have a child seemed to naturally flow.

***

The woman, and I were lying together on our backs on a bed, she on my left. Although she still looked like the woman I had been with, I knew she was actually Carolina. I also knew everything which had gone before had been a dream, and I was lying there thinking over the dream, trying to understand it. The one thing which stuck out in my mind was when I had said to the fellow, "Its like being in a rock and roll band." I knew I had used a similar thought in reference to something else, and I now saw how it related to this dream.

I was thinking of the small group of people with whom I had been exchanging dreams on the Internet. When we had formed our little group, I had compared the group to a rock and roll band. And indeed, what we had been doing in the group had seemed much like the kind of thing a rock and roll band would do, and I had liked that imagery. Now as I thought back over the dream, I had to conclude the two people in the dream had actually represented two people in my dream group. The woman in the dream must have been Donna Griffiths. But I was still unsure who the fellow had represented, because there had been two fellows in my dream group. Had the fellow represented Barford, or had he represented John Jacobs?

As I continued to ponder the dream, another question came to mind. When I wrote the dream, how much detail would I go into about the scene where I was thinking about having a baby? I was particularly thinking about Donna in this context, wondering what she would think. Should I relate how that Carolina actually had been trying to convince me to have a baby, and that I had even gone so far as to consider having my vasectomy reversed so we could have a child?

Suddenly we heard a knock at the door, and my mother opened it. But she was only opening to let someone in: the fellow with whom the woman and I had been traveling. He strode into the room, and without being asked, hoped into the bed between me and my wife. He lay there on his back, nudging us aside to make himself comfortable. I noticed he touched my wife on the leg with his hand, but it seemed to just be a friendly touch and nothing to be concerned about.

I didn't mind seeing the fellow, but I didn't particularly want him there in the bed with us at the moment, and I said to him, "You might have called."

He seemed unconcerned about what we thought. He picked up something to read and made himself comfortable, apparently with no intention of leaving. I asked him several times why he was there, and what he wanted. But he paid me no mind. I was a little exasperated because he had interrupted my thinking about the dream, and I knew I needed to get back to thinking about it before I forgot it. Finally I simply told him that I had to write my dream down, and I turned to a nightstand beside the bed and picked up a journal which was lying there so I could make my notes about the dream.

The first thing I wrote down was, "Its like a rock and roll band." As I wrote, I thought this might make a good title for the dream. But it seemed a little long. I thought I might have to shorten it to simply "Rock and Roll Band."

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