It seems my subconscious is worried about the part where I am trying to get to Russia.

Last week, or maybe it was the week before, I dreamt that I left, traveling with the group of the other students who were going on my program, except we were traveling on a bus on a six lane highway, and parts of the highway went straight up, and the bus had to have enough engine power to go straight up those parts, and at one of them we were also trying to pass an 18 wheeler that was coming down in the other lane, and I was worried that one of us would tip over onto the other. (On the other hand, this might be more related to the fact that I hate being anywhere near giant trucks while driving.) Then we got somewhere, except it wasn’t actually Russia, it was Paris. And we were checked into this hotel, and all the luggage I had was a soft guitar case stuffed full of laundry. And actually it was more the size of violin. But, I was thinking, I would have a lot more stuff when I came back, because look what happened when I went to Finland, look what’s happened when I’m at college. Then I went out of the hotel to walk around Paris and it was sunny, and there were canals, so basically it looked like Brugges, which I have been to, but I’ve never been to Paris.

Then last night I had a slightly stranger, more anxiety-based dream. I was, again, travelling to Russia, except this time for my summer travel, not for the semester. And I flew through, umm, I think it might have been Afghanistan? I’m pretty sure it was somewhere in the Caucauses. Anyway, I had somehow ended up as the second wife of this guy, instead of getting on my continuing flight. I was in this apartment, and I was trying to figure out how I could keep a diary without the man and his first wife figuring out. There was something else, but I really can’t remember… Then the husband said we were going for a walk, and I had to get ready. And he and the first wife went downstairs. And I was trying to get ready, but I didn’t know where my socks where or something, or I was also trying to take advantage of the fact that I was alone for a minute, when the phone started ringing. I wasn’t sure if I should answer it, but after the second ring it started making little short rings, and I suddenly remembered the husband telling me that for every second that I was late something would happen, so I ran downstairs holding my shoes, with one sock on. Then we were all in the airport, and I was thinking that now was my chance to try and escape. The other wife and I were riding down the escalator, and she had taken off her shirt, and she wasn’t wearing a bra, just some sort of straps around her bosom which were somehow supporting her breasts, which were perfectly round. And she and the husband were looking eye to eye, as we rode down the escalator. She was obviously doing this entirely for his benefit, and as long as she only looked at him, it didn’t matter that we were in an airport and there were all sorts of other people looking. Then we were in the parking lot and she had her shirt on again, and some guy said something to her about how nice she looked. He was speaking English and sounded American, so I asked her who he was, but she wouldn’t tell me. He got into a car, so I went up to it and said, all slinky-like, “what’s your name?”

“Ford,” he drawled.

“Like the car?” I asked.

“You betcha.”

Then I leaned right into the window and hissed, “You’ve gotta help me, I’ve only been here for a day, and already I’ve become this man’s second wife, but I don’t want to be, I need to leave!”

Ford looked a bit nonplussed, and I don’t really remember what happened after that, I think I woke up, but I don’t think Ford made me any promises…

It seems stranger now than it did a minute ago. The issue here, I think, is that to get to Vladivostok, it looks like I will probably fly through Seoul, Korea. And really, who wants to spend any substantial amount of time in Korea these days?