Ever since 1984 when I first saw Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom I’ve dreamed of going to India and riding an elephant in the jungle. Done.
Life is pretty good. Despite the fact that I feel like I have a balloon full of sandpaper exploding in my throat and I’m creating more mucus than a pug with an upper respitory infection and feel like shit yeah who the hell cares? I’m in India fulfilling life long dreams–what do I have to complain about?