In the dream, I have a sore throat and I can’t figure out why.

I don’t get the milk or the orange juice and worry that I will immediately regret it when I get back home.

No milk. No orange juice.

Masala chai and lots of conversation.

I step over the blue bag containing the paper that I never seem to read.

Down the mountain, up the mountain. Down the mountain, up the mountain. Down the mountain, up the mountain.

A little bit of much-needed laughter.

There is a benefit to being able to just get the work done.

She reminds me of the message of The Nap Ministry.

A win.