Et en arcadia ego. First it is in high school and we are doing two musicals in one night after which the middle school is doing a play based on India and the main appeal and thrill of it is all the Indian food that is smelling up the auditorium. And I have to be on book but the book is totally rewritten and people are beginning to arrive to watch the shows all three shows on a unit set. And then A moment right before graduation where I am trying to figure out what to wear under my robe for the post bacc ceremony and my warp skirt will  barely make it all the way around my body and complaining because I want to march with my friends and I want to march with my boyfriend, but not his friends, and I also kind of wanted to march with my freshman unit – holding onto this romantic poetic idea while though in reality I am not very close to my freshman unit- but liking the poetry of the idea. And calling m best friend several times asking her if she’s getting ready and with whom she’s marching with and she ends up wearing gym shorts and a t shirt and helping me get ready and girls from my unit burst into my room which is really the living room of my current apartment asking if they can stay here and I start talking to one girl who’s hated her four years it sounds like, truly miserable, but still attains it was worth it and she was happy. And I then arrive at the steepest hill ever and mom’s already there in a great spot, and I arrive with Dad and all the parents are already there and I am worried that they’ve gotten the memo and mine didn’t and then my mom is there waiting for us to march, camped out and waiting. And my best friend is helping me change, helping me change, and I just want to hold onto her as this inexplicable thing comes closer and closer.  And I tell her, I ask her if she still dreams about graduation, ebcaus eI do, a lot. And then I wake up from dreaming about graduation. End Dream.