I am in the cargo area of a blue van with no windows or seats in back, just a ratty old mattress with a couple piles of old blankets or rags. There were a few people with me but they have left and I am alone. At this point I do not realize that I am in a van; I believe that I am on a boat returning to the dock after a pelagic trip. As I pack up my stuff into my knapsack in preparation for disembarking, I feel a couple bumps as the boat nudges into the dock. Shortly afterwards a door opens and someone explains to me that we have stopped just 40 feet from where they will conduct the post-trip summary, implying that I will have no trouble walking over there.

I approach a group of 6 or 8 people standing in an open area on a little hilltop with some trees nearby. I ask someone how many year birds we got on the trip but they don't respond and I realize that they wouldn't know which ones I had already seen. Looking for someone I recognize, I see a man off to one side and walk over to him. Wondering what time it is, I look at my watch and see that we have come in a couple hours early because it is only 1:35PM. I ask the man why we turned around early but he doesn't respond. Wondering what we missed, I tell him we didn't see any jaegers, then I point out that we didn't see a Cassin's Auklet. Trying to remember what we actually did see, I can't recall any birds at all and I exclaim, "We didn't even see a fucking Sooty Shearwater! So much for our big year this year!"

Although anxiety that our upcoming pelagic trip will not be successful could be driving this dream, isolation and loss are the larger themes. I went out on the pelagic trip, but saw no birds and there is no one who can relate to my experience. The concern that someone expresses about my ability to walk establishes that the reason for my loss is ALS, and the primary manifestation of my loss is that I can no longer watch birds.
I associate the van with the blue Econoline van which I used back in 1983 when I was selling Quick'n Brite at fairs. That was a time when I was particularly alone, although I don't think I realized it at the time. The man I speak to in the second scene reminds be of Robert Lopez, a fellow Maniac with whom I was acquainted but never really got to know. Our one-sided conversation illustrates the isolation I feel, though perhaps do not actually experience, in my ALS-induced losses.