Dreamed I was back in Iceland again last night. This seems to happen every couple of months. I don’t know whether this means I need to go back, or whether, because it’s the only place I’ve been to overseas, my subconscious latches on to it a lot.

Of course, you’d think if I were going to spend the night in Iceland, I could do something more interesting there than packing and repacking my suitcase to make my luggage fit as efficiently as possible.

I know I need to go back, really. I just keep feeling like I ought to go somewhere else first, so I have some real basis of comparison, before I do. (And that it also wouldn’t hurt if the exchange rate were better than about 65 kroner to the dollar.)

Within another year or so my Iceland novel may actually be ready to be written, too, if other projects don’t bump themselves ahead of it. At that point I’ll need to /h/a/v/e//a/n//e/x/c/u/s/e/ to go back, too.

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