I am at an intersection. I take a left turn but have to go back and return. Then I am at a place en route to Boston. I take a left turn and there I come up to a crossing where each street is one way the wrong way, so I can't continue. At my right there is a gray-haired woman, a depressed patient I saw in a mental hospital for a while. She is on a bicycle as I am trying to turn to go back. I bump into her slightly and she becomes completely hysterical the way she'd be on the ward. She shrieks, "To think that you believed that you would get a Nobel Peace prize!" "I never thought that; you always said that," I reply. She is now my mother, very irritated. My reply shuts her up because it is true. "But where do you have to go?" I ask. We are on the side of the divided parkway where I'm traveling back home. "I have to go to the bar mitzvah of Robbie." She means the other boy who was called Robbie in my childhood. I ask her where. She tells me. "So maybe you can go straight, but it is a long, long bicycle ride." She says, in an irritated voice, "Just let me be!" It sounds like my mother in the dream with my father's bon vivant brother, annoyed and martyrish. She becomes my depressed patient again. She is with a friend, an older woman who is trying to calm her down. I'm in the car with someone; it seems to be one of my children. The passenger asks, "Is she crazy?" I say, "Yes."