Vivid dream this morning, indestructible through several periods of waking: I drove to a small rural college in Ohio in response to a call for try-outs for a professional basketball team. I told them on the phone I was overage, but they said, “This is another kind of basketball team.” When I got here, the place was crowded with young men in baggy shorts and singlets. I decided not actually to try out for the team, but to wander around for a while, and as I did I kept running into people from my past. Some seemed to be functionaries of the basketball team, or the college, and sat at immense desks. Cathy Casey was there with her mother, who looked exactly like her except for wearing a red bandana. She had come from the dead to warn me of something. A gigantic swimming pool seemed to surround the whole campus, and sent forth little coves and inlets toward the offices.
Decent workout in the chill before dawn. Good day at the studio. Some work on the McKinley play.
Another Valentine’s Day with no valentine. Too disappointed even to comment. Another of my great talents kept in secret. . . .