indesolution

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And again, prison. I weary of it. This time my plans to lay low were defeated by something beyond my understanding. This must not happen again. Nuwanda seemed to be maddened by the experience; I was bored, and I'm tired of my thoughts, which run like circles.

Still, I saw who else was imprisoned there. People to keep an eye on, perhaps; interesting people.

They are planning a parade, which means within a month it will be one year since I arrived here in this strange place. I think I have perhaps become too used to it. That is not something I want to celebrate.

The idea of finding a job is abhorrent to me and yet, I'm going to have to grit my teeth and bear it.

I still ache, physically, for the ocean.

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Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
oscar wilde - the ballad of reading gaol

Prison is still excruciatingly boring and I'm glad to be free of it, especially since I've now gained a second strike for something I don't even remember doing and had no hand in planning. I'm sure Sofer will be disappointed to know it did not drive me mad. I doubt it would have even after years and years. I think I am sounder of mind than that.

I miss adventure.