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  • Last night, I dreamed we flew to India. It was scary.

    The plane we took was unnatural, covered in a crimson pillow top with golden accents. We lay on our sides on the top of the plane as it dipped over buildings, massive dystopian population centers stretching out below us in every direction. I had the feeling where you simultaneously know that you are going to die and also that you are not.

    We descended a staircase into what was the hull of the plane and also a world class hotel. Six people had formed a kind of half-hearted flash mob and were singing a song. I thought, "this isn't a very good flash mob" and at that exact moment, someone turned to me and said, "this isn't a very good flash mob."

    "Yes, I agree," I thought. But I can't remember if I said it out loud.

    You had retired to a bedroom down the hall and I stood alone thinking about how crazy it was that we had decided to go to India. I felt apprehensive and afraid. I wondered if you had remembered to bring that guidebook on India that my aunt had gotten us for Christmas. I worried that you hadn't. No, felt certain that you hadn't. Why had we done this?This was India, a big, crazy country with language and customs so far from our own, so separate from any comfort zone we'd ever created for ourselves.

    Quite suddenly, I relaxed. People have been traveling to India for a long time. Before the Internet and guidebooks and strange planes with pillow tops.

    "We'll figure it out, " I thought, "it's an adventure."

    But I didn't wake up just then.
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