Tuesday, September 12 Weird Dream, Tailor Troubles

I had a dream that Jordan Bowman (probably because it was his birthday yesterday, the most awkward birthday I can think of) and I were five year-olds, bickering in the back of a Volvo. I tattled on Jordan to the dad, who turned around, as Dave Wolfe. Weird, but I woke up laughing. The AC in our room doesn’t work, and it’s about 97 degrees outside. As I was attempting to take off my t-shirt, I was so sticky that it ripped a hole in my seam. That reminded me that I had sent my pants to the tailor, and I picked them up, folded the next day and paid him, without looking at them. Turns out he didn’t even fix them, so they still had a gaping hole in the crotch for my entire trip this past ten days. It made picture-taking look like I had to constantly use the bathroom. So he finally fixed them and I picked them up today. Everything in India is a process, and never expect everything to work the way you want it to at any given time, because it plain and simple, just won’t. I went to Connaught Place to try and make train tickets for this weekend, and once again, the travel agent attempted to rip me off. So, he reserved for me a ticket to Madhya Pradesh, but not coming back. I’ll have to figure that out on my own somehow; that’s going to be fun. For the second night in a row, I ate at Sarawana Bhavan, and this time had two enormous thali, which were utterly satisfying.