October 3, 1990
Weird dream, just woke up from it, 8 in the morning
I am in a public room with maybe 20 people. An old black man comes in, very thin, very old. Everybody knows him, the famous blues guitar man (I forget his name) from the South. He plays wonderfully. My violin appears in my hand, I play wonderfully with him. He says, “Tony Bennett is looking for a violin player, he would love you.” The other people in the room are all strangers, all women. Time passes; I am in my glory. Suddenly my son Tim Vargas appears. I say to him, “Hold my violin for me, I’ll be right back.” He picks up the bow, wrapping his hand around the hair, I leave, come back, the violin is all cattywampus, the bridge not in place. I fix it, try to tune it over the music because my new friend keeps on playing his guitar. He has now hooked up to an amp and somehow my violin has gotten hooked up by the same wire and nobody can play. We try to fix it, give up. I unhook and leave, down in the dumps.
Switch. A bigger room with more people, men and women. We take turns playing music, and a big woman gets up to sing. Suddenly my shunned lover, Michael, is lying on a couch. He is not dead, but he can only talk and wave his arms. He tries to get me to sit next to him on the couch, I keep my distance. I do not like him coming on to me. But he is young and handsome, as when I knew him in the 70s. He tells the women who are gathered around him, “She was my student. Not bad. I gave her a B, but she got an A in Violin playing.” He seems crude. I want to go off with the crowd of women and my guitar player friend, because they, like me, are involved!!!