Dreams

I have really distinct dreams all the time. They probably have no significance.

I had a dream last night I was going home. It was nice, I was happy. Then all of the sudden while I was talking to my friends on a train, discussing classes I was trying to take, my laughing turned into to crying and I yelled out, “where is the nearest direct train to Spain?!” I didn’t like everyone speaking English. I didn’t like the lifestyle of Rexburg. I didn’t like being away from Spain. It was very sad. There were only one or two things I was happy about being home. Then we looked at pictures of Marrakesh on this magical train we were on that resembled (in the dream) something of Hemingway’s stories. Then I woke up.