I drove a convertible. There were two dogs who wanted to go to Vancouver. One was a golden retriever, and the other was a different breed, smaller. They got into the car, then the golden jumped out and went to go sniff a fence, and I worried that the other one would jump out, so I reached into the car and rolled up the window on the side where he was sitting.

I asked the dogs if they knew how to get to Vancouver, and they didn't, so I said I guessed we'd just start driving north and see what happened.

My cell phone rings, and when I open it up, the caller i.d. says "French Brothers," and I know it's DK. But when I try to press the button to answer the call, I press the wrong one. I finally get the right button, and the call is still there, and it's him, and he's in Atlanta.

William Shatner had something to do with our business, and he didn't like JB. He said that it was okay if she worked for us on a freelance basis, but she was going to have to be laid off as a regular employee. No one was happy about that, but I was thinking that maybe she'd make more money working freelance anyway, so it was sort of like defying him, but not really.

One of my readers sends me a scrapbook that she has made. Most of the pages are greeting cards that she has pasted into the pages, with the bottom halves of the back of the cards cut off to remove the signatures and personal messages. Some of the pages hold pockets, and in one of the pockets is a folded-up $100 bill. I'm stunned, and pleased, but feel I should give it back--she shouldn't have sent me so much.

There is a man walking up to people on the street and attacking them. He looks familiar--Fred Gwynne? Maybe. Someone like that, anyway. I'm trying to walk by and avoid attracting his attention, but then he attacks a woman, and I feel I have to step in and try to help her. I'm carrying this huge cashew nut half, the size of a plate, and I throw it at him, hoping to distract him so we can get away, and we turn and run, although I seem to actually be kind of clawing myself along the grass, or a carpet, pressing my fingernails into the nap, then moving the rest of my body, like an inchworm . . .

I dare to look back, and he's disappeared. I've either hurt him or frightened him with my mighty cashew nut.

I had gone to what was billed as a "mini concert" by Eric Clapton--just five or six songs. I was following along from a list of the songs he was going to play, and he played a few more than were listed.

Later, I was in a room with him and two or three other people, and he was talking about how it was very important for websites to be updated frequently, and he was complaining mildly that his wasn't. I was just sitting back and listening, but at that point I asked, "Do you have someone to work on your website?" and he said he didn't, and I said, "Do you want someone to work on your website?" and he said he did.

I said, "That's what I do." Not wanting to have a business discussion in front of other people, I said, "We'll talk about it later."

I noticed that a ten-or-so gallon fish tank that I had had in the dining room for years was full of fish, when I knew that the last fish had died a long time ago. There were several small fish with long sweeping fins, and one HUGE koi, orange and gold and white.

I imagined that they must have grown from spawn that had been left in the tank when I thought all the fish were dead, and I panicked, thinking I hadn't noticed them for so long, and while they had obviously been eating something, suddenly worried that I didn't have any fish food in the house, and started running around trying to find some.

This one is interesting. Most of my dreams don't really bear interpretation, but I think this one might have something to do with some thoughts I've been having lately about the creative direction of my life and career, and the fact that there may be things that I've failed to nurture, but they've been growing nevertheless, and I need to wake up and start taking care of them before it's too late.