Why, why, why?

About a month ago, I decided to fulfill a pretty unnecessary and long-held dream of mine to travel to India to practice yoga under the scrutiny of 90-year old Pattabhi Jois' ever youthful eye. I would have to do it alone because all of my friends and family have more sense than interest in rising before sunrise to do yoga faraway and without clean water. That is not entirely true; my mother expressed a keen wish to come and I said no.

I made the arrangements. And I leave in just under 3 weeks. I gave myself far too much time because India is a big place and I wanted to make sure that I am somewhere on that subcontinent and not on this small island for the remainder of my husband's contract with the Company. Since the Company operates largely as a sweatshop, requiring a commitment to 7-day weeks comprised of 10 to 15-hour days with very little concern for considering more efficient methods for fostering employee relations, we both decided it was best that we miss each other from afar.

I have the visa for India. I have new or renewed immunity to tetanus and typhoid. And I have a ticket. I go to Sydney first, for just two days, then to Mumbai, then to Bangalore, and from there to Mysore. Three days after purchasing my ticket, I learned that the place I want to study will be closed for part of the time that I had intended to study there. It seems they decided to take a family vacation. I can't fault them for that desire. I just wish I had known earlier.

I spent today trying in vain to find information about the schedule online. Finally, I called. They confirmed their upcoming trip. I confirmed mine. I'm working around it. Alright. Yeah. I'm still going to India.