Bad, restless, sleepless sleep. Woke up asking myself if I really got any sleep at all. No time for dreams. Have a sore throat and do not know why. Slept with mouth open, I suspect. Had trouble with the shower, too. Somehow caused the drain to stop up by accidentally knocking the metal pipe mechanism that is found next to bath tubs in pre-war buidings. I’m not sure why but I could not get the drain to unstop.
Busy days ahead, it seems. Yesterday I felt desperately bored at work, then later read an account of someone who has been in solitary onfinement for over 20 years and who, for much of that time, has absolutely nothing to do. He was shading people who talk about being bored when they have their freedom. They know nothing of boredom. So it took me down a notch, I guess. The job can be boring as fuck but I’ll put myself in the hole (mentally) next time I start to feel that way and see how long it takes for me to appreciate my circumstance.
Been reading some prison books. Oral History of Rikers. Hell Is a Very Small Place. One other about solitary that I can’t remember its name now. Remembering reading Terry Anderson’s account of solitary many years ago, not long after college. I guess this is a subject I return to. But why? Is it a fear of mine? That I will land in solitary for the rest of my natural life? As unrealistic as that scenario probably is for the vast majority of us I would think it is a relatively common fear.
Everyone can feel like they are in confinement. Trapped in your life, your job, your relationships. And how know when it might happen? You could be whiling away on a park bench when a case of mistaken identity has you kidnapped and trying to claw your way out of a tiny, clammy cell.
