A Year in India

I dreamed I was in India with my friend Alex. We were inside an apartment that was full of open windows with long pink (light pink and magenta) curtains blowing in the breeze. Several rooms in the apartment were round, or maybe hexagonal, and lined with these windows. There was a big white bed in one of these rooms.

We left the apartment and stood out on the street, looking back at the door through which we'd just exited. It was at this point that I realized I'd committed to spending the next year in India. I immediately felt anxious, mostly about things like finding a cell phone and appropriate cell phone plan, and paying my bills back home. Later, I realized the big picture problem; I also didn't want to spend a year in India. I spoke out loud to my mother (who wasn't there physically) "I'd spend maybe a month here, maybe two. I want to go other places too - like China."

Alex and I stood on a street together. The street was gray and filthy and full of trash. There were bits of garbage in the gutter, like the red and white cardboard from a case of Coca Cola, and flattened aluminum cans, and bits of old newspaper. It felt really lonely and desolate and scary. Alex was about to leave. "Wait, which door do I go through to get back to the apartment?" He looked back and I followed the path of his eyes, and saw a sign that said something like "Beautiful Babies" or "Bathing Beauties" or something like that. Double Bs.

I was so relieved when I woke up this morning, and had to remind myself about six times that it was a dream and that I didn't have to go to India.