A dream with Bob Dylan

I don’t remember my dreams that often anymore, but when I’m particularly anxious, or there’s a lot going on, they tend to stick.

Last night, I dreamt I was in a hostel of some kind, and I was feeling threatened by a man-child, who was also my host. A boy crawled into a jacuzzi with me, and there really wasn’t room for him, but then Bob Dylan arrived and started warming up with his band. I expected a raspy, older voice, but he sounded young, even though he was an elderly man. His people closed off the section, saying he wasn’t ready, and I spotted a snack on the floor, some sort of gooey cake, but there was something metallic in it, like a nut or bolt. I would have eaten it anyway, but I heard the music start up again in the other room. I’d lost my place, and while I knew the performance was good, it all seemed very far away.

It wasn’t a sad dream at the time, but I feel sad recounting it now. I spent an hour working it through over coffee this morning. I’m anxious about the coming Christmas holiday, and I feel defensive, distant, and easily distracted. If I’m not careful, I’m going to miss the band.