They Can Never Take Away Our FREEEDOMMMM!!!!

red-wineI drank away my desire to write, so you’ve been spared for another day!

Salud!  Enjoy your freedom!

Results Not Typical

I was checking my Hotmail earlier today and I looked at the top of the screen at the ad that was there.  This is what I saw:

results“Results not typical” it says.

Well, isn’t it convenient that Marie’s results just happened to come out the way they hoped they would.  Because I’m certain that they put her through the same paces that Betty Lou Boyd in Boise goes through as she attempts to do this program all on her own.  I’m certain that Marie Osmond didn’t have any special guidance or assistance of any kind while she was on the program.  And I’m sure the photo used for this ad wasn’t doctored in any way shape or form.

Obviously, certain people are born to be stars, and if you can’t identify them any other way, just get ’em fat and then put ’em on a commercial weight loss program and see how they do.  If their results are “not typical” then sure enough they were born to be a star.

I know I’m cynical, but come on!  Marie didn’t lose 40 p0unds all by her lonesome, simply by following the NutriSystem program without any guidance or extra hand holding.  She probably had (or has) a personal trainer to put her through the paces on the exercise side of things.  And by it’s very nature, she didn’t learn anything from NutriSystem while in the process.  Sure she got her food preordained, possibly even blessed by Joseph Smith himself.  And yes, she probably took note of the fact that the portion sizes were smaller than what she was accustomed too.  She might even have noticed that exercises (if she didn’t get it already) helped speed things along.  But did anyone actually teach her how to keep the momentum going after she got off the preordained, prepackaged, presumably preservative laden meals?  Was there any emphasis on why these items were better and how she could stick to it after she was finished?

The reason why the vast majority of weight loss programs ultimately fail (Kirsty Alley) is because people deprive themselves of their favorite items, their comfort foods, having been told “Starch bad – protein good.”  But nobody taught them what that means or how they can incorporate both into their lives and live a healthy life style.  So they follow the “simple” plan that the weight loss guru du jour laid out for them and one of two things happen.  Either they burn out early and give up before reaching their goal (that’s me) or they reach their goal maintain it for a little while and then slowly start creeping back up to their original weight (anyone seen Oprah lately, God love her?)

Just once, I’d like to see an ad like the one above where the person is still puffy, but not as big as the used to be and the ad says, “I’ve lost 20 pounds of the 60 I’m shooting for and it’s only taken me 4 months to do it!  This program is slow as hell and it drives me crazy but I’m learning and it’s getting easier….  Results completely typical”

Is that really so much to ask?

Everything Ends Eventually

radioactive-happiness-face

It was my plan to write today about happiness.  How sometimes, happiness is a choice and one that can be very hard to make and how frustrating it is to have to make that choice over and over again.  That was my plan.

I just got some news that upset that plan and, of course, me.

I’ve written in the past about my dear friend, who for these purposes I call “Eve”.  I met Eve when I worked in retail 12 years ago.  I liked her and enjoyed our friendship but some things happened along the way that for a time we weren’t as close as we once had been.  When I moved to California, I assumed I’d never see her again, indeed, I never thought I’d speak to her gain.  I don’t think I realized then, that her grandparents live in the bay area and she has a long-standing tradition to come to the bay area to visit her grandparents the week of Thanksgiving and when the time came for her to come visit the first year I was here, she contacted me and invited me to come hang out.

I was really glad she did, and with the trappings of our previous work relationship, and with all the rumor and hushed conversations of others out of the way we had the opportunity to really grow in our friendship and our love for each other.

Earlier today, I logged on to Facebook (evil site that it is) and found that I had been “tagged” in a note by Eve.  I looked at it to find that it was one of those “25 random things about me” lists.  (Random thing about me #1:  I’ve been dreading being asked to complete one of those!)  As I read her list, I noticed that number 15 said this, “My mother and I have an amazing relationship, I die a little inside knowing I have less than 12 months to spend with her before she moves to the west coast.

“Awesome” I thought, “Now maybe she’ll make more trips out here and I’ll get to spend more time with her.”

Eve told me years ago that her mother was planning to retire to the Bay Area so she could be close to her parents.  I always secretly hoped that Eve would move with them, or shortly after them, and we could be close again.  A few years ago Eve’s mother took a huge hit when the stock market faltered and she lost a significant amount of money.  Apparently, that’s when they decided to move west, but some place a little less expensive.  So today, I asked Eve about this:

Self:  So I didn’t realize your parents were going to move here so soon. Where are they going to live?

Eve:  In Portland, OR or Vancouver, WA.

Self:  Oh. I thought they were moving here.

Eve:  No.  And, my Grandparents are even moving up to Portland or Vancouver, too.  So this Thanksgiving will be the last time I head out that way

Self: Oh, no.

Eve: Yup.  So I’ll get to see you in Feb and in Nov and that’s that for awhile

Self: Well, you’ve just totally bummed my day!

brokenheartThis is tragic!  My heart is absolutely breaking!  I don’t know what my life would have been like without her in it.  I don’t know if she had any real impact on my existence, other than to have been the one person I knew I could come out to and know there’d be no negative repercussions.  But I know that these brief, and few and far between, visits that we’ve shared over the last 11 years have meant the world to me, and they’ve been the life’s blood of our friendship.

I feel like our relationship is ending.  Is that silly?  I mean, in this day and age with Instant Messengers, and Facebook and iPhones with text messaging, is that silly?  The problem is, I’m doing what I always do.  I’m thinking about this a few steps ahead.  Yes, I’ll see her, however briefly, when she comes out to visit next month, and I’ll see her again very briefly in November.  The visits will be fun, but they’ll go much too fast, and there will be a cloud over them.  And in November, when she walks me to my car (if she walks me to my car) and hugs me and says good-bye.  It will be for the last time.

I haven’t been to Tulsa in five years.  My sister and her family have moved to New York.  I’ve lost touch with all of my other friends besides Eve.  I love Scornful Mother, but I can’t stand to be around her for long.  Going back to Tulsa, really isn’t in the cards.

Ultimately, I’m only a very small part of Eve’s life and I don’t fit into the rest of it.  I’ve met her boyfriend twice, but I don’t know him, I’m not completely comfortable with him and I don’t think he’s completely comfortable with me.  I’ve never met his two children but I know they’re troublesome and I don’t really feel like I should be involved in that.  And despite the way I speak of Eve, we don’t really have the kind of deep connection where I would be welcome and convenient as a part of her every day life, however briefly.  Therefore, going to Tulsa, with the purpose of visiting her doesn’t seem likely.  And even if I did, I couldn’t get away with being there and not seeing/visiting/staying with my mother.

So, I’m doing what I alwasy do.  I’m thinking about this a few steps ahead and what I see happening is, our interaction will dwindle.  Eve is never on Instant Messenger any more.  Occasionally, I talk to her via the chat function of Facebook, but it’s not very convenient and it’s very infrequent.  We exchange one line comments and topics on Facebook but it’s all very superficial.  We don’t spend much time on the telephone.  And text messeging is no way to carry on a conversation.  Soon it’ll be nothing but comments on each other’s Facebook activity.  I don’t imagine I’ll ever see her again.

funny-pictures-sad-cat-blackandwhiteIt is at a moment like this, when I’m faced with difficulties and sad things that are not within my control, which really aren’t about me, that I remember just how much of an effort it is, how much hard work it takes to be happy and at this moment, I can’t put forth the effort it requires.

Prayers for A Drunk

Today has been a bit of a mixed bag of feelings and somehow I don’t think it’s done yet.

As a part of my efforts to reclaim control of my life I made the conscious decision to go to bed at “a reasonable time” (is 11:30 a reasonable time?) last night so that I could get up at “a reasonable time” (is 7:30 a reasonable time?) this morning.  My routine tardiness at work has not gone unnoticed and has gotten quite a bit worse in recent months as my general motivation to attend has been dismal at best.  Part of the problem, I realized is that I have a hard time getting up early enough in the mornings.  So I thought it wise to attempt to adhere to the recommendations of so many “experts” and try stick to a regular sleep schedule, even on the weekends.  Now, I’ll grant you that sleeping from 11:30 to 7:30 is probably not the best sleep schedule to have when you work a theoretically 8-5 job, but since I’ve been getting out of bed between 7:30 and 8:00 for the last few weeks it seems wise to start rolling that schedule back at a gradual pace.

At any rate, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my decision to work on my sleep schedule and when my second alarm, on the other side of the room went off at 7:00 this morning, I only snoozed it three separate times before I forced myself not to get back in bed when I turned it off.  I put on my robe, (it’s much too cold for my not at all uncommon state of undress that often meets my mornings) and went for my morning pee, after which I went into the kitchen to feed a very demanding Scared Kitty.  He still had a bit of food in his bowl from last night but if you ever needed a lesson in how to act as if you’re starving, Scared Kitty would be an excellent coach. grand-marnier After feeding his royal highness, I went on to make myself a pot of coffee and sort out breakfast.  I finally decided on the Gladware bowl of orange segments I had in the refrigerator.  The segments are lefter over after using the peels to start my own batch of homemade Grand Marnier last weekend, for which I found a recipe a few weeks back.  It takes seven weeks and I’m not really all that optimistic about the outcome but I thought it would be fun to give it a shot,  you should pardon the pun.

I brought my carafe of coffee and my bowl of orange pieces into the living room, sat down in my recliner, threw a blanket over my legs and propped my feet up to watch some television.  My DVR tends to build up during the week and I try to clear it back out on the weekends so I don’t get too far behind.  Three episodes of the much maligned and barely watched General Hospital, one episode of Ghost Whisperer, five episodes of The Click List: Best in Short Film, and a misnamed movie all awaited my attention.

Natalia Livingston

Natalia Livingston

Tyler Christopher

Tyler Christopher

I actually just started recording General Hospital again this week after many months of freedom because Green M&M told me there’s some weird event happening at the beginning of each episode that I wanted to investigate and because I read that Natalia Livingston, who played Emily Quartermaine for several years until she was murdered about a year ago in a “very dramatic” story line, has returned to the show but supposedly not as Emily Quartermaine.  Her character has not really been explained yet, but whoever she is, she does seem to have a considerable fascination with Nikolas Cassadine, played by Tyler Christopher, not that I can blame her.

Since I’m on the subject, while looking for a good picture of Tyler to include here, I happened across this rather unexpected gem:

tyler-christopher-nekked-02

Anyway, I don’t watch very much of General Hospital because I’m really not all that interested in most of the characters and I don’t want to get sucked back in, therefore I was able to watch all three episodes pretty quickly.

Jennifeir Love Hewitt

Jennifer Love Hewitt

Then it was on to Ghost Whisperer.  I enjoy this show and I have been a fan of Jennifer Love Big Tits– er, Hewitt since she first showed up on Party of Five.  I’m a bit tired of the current, on-going story line, since they killed Jim off and his spirit is now inhabiting the body of another man who died and crossed over.  But I’m still watching… for now.

The Click List: Best in Short Film doesn’t show episode descriptions in the on-screen guide and I think I may have seen all of the current shorts, but I record it anyway, just in case something new comes across.  I “watch” that on four times fast forward and there was nothing new so I was done with that in five minutes.  And that left me with just the misnamed movie.

The play list in my DVR said the movie was called “The Killer Condom”, but the movie that was actually aired in that time slot turned out to be “Dead Serious.”  If you haven’t seen it, I strongly encourage you not to.  It’s about vampires and it’s lame as all get out, but had a sexy hero so I watched it anyway.  Two hours of my life I’ll never get back.

When the movie was over it was only 11:00 and I decided to go out and get my shopping done early.  I made a list of things I needed and wanted from Target and the grocery.  I also needed cat food and gasoline.  With my list made, I hopped in the shower and then got dressed to head out.  I decided to take a second look at my finances before I left and it’s a good thing I did.  I just got paid yesterday but I have to pay my rent and car insurance and after those things happen I only have about $185.00 for the next two weeks.

So much for my positive feelings about myself and my new leaf of better money management.  Yes, I’m essentially up to date with my bills and my rent and car insurance are important, but I was starting to feel like I had things more under control and I wasn’t gong to be hurting for money and then this realization.  I went back over the list and eliminated everything I didn’t need and pared my trip down to just the grocery store.  I forgot about the gas station and the cat food and now those will have to wait for another day, but I spent $90.00 at the grocery and put $40.00 walking around money in my pocket (I only had $5.00 before that.)

I also sent a text message to Green M&M and canceled our plans to go into San Francisco tomorrow.  Wheeler Dealer Landlady lives in The Haight and I have a couple pieces of mail for her so I thought I’d go in and drop those off along with my February rent check and then we could go and play after.  Now I realize I do not have any money for that and it reminds me that I’m not really so well off after all.  Now I’m going to have to spend the next two weeks trying not to spend any money.  I’ve got $50.00 left in the bank that isn’t already spent on paper, and I have to get food for Scared Kitty and gas for the vehicle with that.  I may have to use a credit card (which I’m trying to pay off) for one or both of those things and I hate that idea, but I guess it’s better than having my account overdrawn again.

As soon as I hit publish on this post, I’m going to put the computer down and watch the Lifetime movie Prayers for Bobby.  I made up my mind to watch this movie after I read an article about it in the most recent issue of The Advocate, however, I suspect, unfortunately, that this movie will be difficult for me to watch as, from what I already know about it, I would expect to be able to relate to it pretty closely.  I too, am the son of a “devout” woman who is convinced that to be gay is to be damned.  It’s an issue that is very difficult for me and it wouldn’t really surprise me to find that the movie is a hard pill to swallow.  I guess it’s time to find out.

The Most Surest Way Not to Post a Blog Entry

writers-blockjpgIf you’ve ever wondered how to make sure you don’t post a blog entry at any given period of time, I have the answer.

It’s actually quite simple.  TRY!  Try really hard to come up with a blog post.  Think really hard about it and put lots of pressure on yourself to write something!  And sure enough, you’ll go days and days without writing anything at all.

😦

Better Left Forgotten

Today is an anniversary of sorts. Not one that I’m proud of by any means, but one that is somehow unavoidable and unforgettable.

Five years ago this morning, I walked into my managers office, very nervous about what was going to come of our conversation.

The previous Saturday, Green M&M and I had gone to a club in San Francisco to meet up with some friends. There was some sort of event that was supposed to be happening there. I can’t remember the name of the club now but it was some sort of arctic theme which was tremendously ironic to me, because it was hotter than hell in there. Green and I had a couple drinks while we surveyed the crowd trying to find the group of people who were supposed to be meeting there. Forty-five minutes later, when we still hadn’t found anyone we knew, we decided to bail and go to another club we knew of that was likely to be less crowded and not so hot.

We spent four hours at the other club, closing the place down and then it was time to go home. When it was time to go, I did something, for which I remain completely ashamed and disgusted with myself and would give anything to undo.

The club was in San Francisco and Green M&M and I lived in Richmond, California, roughly 20 miles drive. The club was also in the South of Market (SoMa)/Mission Districts and while not a terribly frightening place to be, it was not a place I felt great about leaving my car over night, either. Plus a cab ride home would have cost a considerable amount of money.

I believed that I was fine to drive home and opted not to leave my car behind to be vandalized and broken into. At first it was no big deal. I used to subscribe to the old, “I drive better when I’ve been drinking” philosophy. I now know that the only reason why anyone can say that is because they know they’ve drunk more than they should and they’re afraid, and therefore are far more focused and “present” while behind the wheel… Sometimes.

The problem was, that as I was driving on the highway, and across the Bay Bridge I became increasingly drowsy and was having difficulty staying awake. I was on the bridge though and had no way of pulling over or exiting the highway. And then, for just the briefest of moments, I fell asleep. Fortunately, I was driving in the far left lane of the one way bridge and my car drifted to the left until my wheels hit the curb shocking me back to awareness and causing a surge of adrenaline that woke me up. Sadly, it’s likely that, had there not been any intervention, I probably really could have made it the rest of the way home safely on the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins.

Fortunately, there was intervention. The ruckus that was caused when I drifted into the curb was enough to attract the attention of the highway patrolman that I had passed a few minutes earlier and when I looked up again there were flashing lights behind me.

I was asked a number of questions I couldn’t possibly repeat. I did the “usual” tests. I’m not sure that I failed most of the tests. I never have been able to walk in a straight line, even when stone sober. No one can say the alphabet backwards. But I had no problem touching my nose. After going through all that I was given a breathalyzer test (which I kinda thought they shoulda done first). I blew a BAC of .18 (later lowered to .17 by a blood test) and was hauled off to jail.

I spent five and one half hours in a jail cell before being released “on my own recognizance” on the streets of downtown Oakland, without my wallet or cell phone, both of which went home with Green M&M who was not driving and therefore not arrested. I had to call Green from a pay phone and waited inside the front door of a local movie theater for her to pick me up.

The following Monday morning, I told Douche Bag as little as I had to and still feel like I was being honest. I had no idea what the outcome of the situation was going to be. I didn’t know if it was grounds for termination, but I knew it would be worse for me if he found out some other way. I also, didn’t know what was going to happen with me legally. I was terrified I was going to go to jail.

I didn’t lose my job (dammit) and I didn’t go to jail. I’m tempted to say that everything turned out alright but that’s taking things too lightly. This was a trying and difficult time for me and it has definitely not been worth it.

When I appeared for my court date, I was sentenced to “2 days in jail with time served.” The 5 hours I spent in jail after being arrested counted as one day. The second day was commuted to Community Service, which amounted to six hours on a municipal work crew. I had to pay a $1750.00 fine. And my automobile insurance skyrocketed. Before the DUI, I had an impeccable driving record. I had the very best rating possible with my insurance company, “E”, and after the DUI my insurance rating was “7”, the absolute worst rating. Every July, my record is reviewed by the underwriters and every year that I have no additional blemishes on my record that number decreases. Currently, my rating is “3”. Thankfully, my insurance has gotten far less expensive, but the blow to my pocketbook at the time was substantial.

Five years is a long time, and much of the time, it has felt as though the DUI was a lifetime ago. I’ve become accustomed to the insurance rates, and am only grateful when my rates go down each year. I have done my community service. I have paid my fine. Until last year when I applied to be a Big Brother, I had mostly put it out of my mind. Big Brothers and Big Sisters requires that you not have had a DUI within the last five years, and only have had one in your life. That’s when I did the math and realized it had only been four years.

So today, it is with mixed feelings, that I tick off the five year anniversary since my DUI. I’ll be paying for the damage to my record, by way of my increased car insurance premiums for three more years, but as I stated, I’m accustomed to that. Otherwise, I can finally put this thing behind me. There’s nothing left to stand in my way. I’ve learned my lesson. I know better than to take the risk. I’m glad it’s over.

Maybe now this anniversary can be forgotten after all.

I Just Wanna Scream and Lose Control, Throw My Hands Up and Let It Go, Forget About Everything and Run Away

Seven years ago, I was a scared little boy, lost in the woods and searching for a safe haven.  Suddenly a seemingly friendly, grandfatherly type stepped into my path and offered me candy and a ride.  “Don’t take candy from a stranger,” my tired mind told me, “Don’t accept rides from strangers.”  But I was scared and all alone and didn’t know where to go.

So I accepted the candy and I climbed into the back seat of the grandfatherly type’s vehicle and he started driving.  The candy he offered me, turned out to be stale and inedible, “I’m sorry about that, little guy,” he told me, “There’s more candy where we’re going.  And ice cream and cakes as well.”  So I sat back to enjoy the ride and thought about having the delicious food in my belly.

Grandfatherly type drove for what seemed like an eternity and I was starving when we arrived.  He pulled up in front of a beautiful, big mansion.  “We’re here,” he told me, “Let’s go inside and get you settled in.”

I climbed out of that car and walked with the grandfatherly type to the front porch.  As we climbed the steps to the porch, I noticed some chips in the paint and the boards creaked a bit as we tread them.  One of the steps felt like it might give out beneath my feet, but I didn’t think about it or worry about it because I knew there was good candy, and ice cream and cakes in side.

Grandfatherly type produced a set of keys and turned them in his hand until he found the correct one, placed it in the lock and turned.  The door swung open slowly, revealing a dark room that smelled of must and dirt.  “Don’t worry; someone’s going to clean that shortly.  Let’s go get you fed.”

“Don’t accept gifts from strangers,” the voice said again but all I could think about was the candy, ice cream and cakes, so I stepped across the threshold.

“This way,” grandfatherly type said, gesturing toward an archway.  As I approached the archway, I heard skittering and squeaks and thought I saw something moving in the corner.  I looked up at grandfatherly type, now somewhat disconcerted.  “It’s OK.  Someone’s going to take care of that very soon.”  He gave me a little nudge and I walked forward again.

Finally, grandfatherly type brought me to a large steel door and told me to stand aside while he opened it. “This must be where the candy, ice cream and cakes are!” I thought.  The door swung open and I felt a push.  As I stumbled across the threshold I realized this was not a refrigerator or a pantry, and then before I could react, I heard a loud CLANK as the door swung shut behind me.  There was a small window up near the ceiling, but it didn’t allow any light because it was dark outside and then a single naked bulb illuminated over my head.  I turned around, and around, and around.  I was alone in the room.  Grandfatherly type had not followed me in.

The room was long and narrow, with rock walls and a cement floor.  Against the back wall, was a small cot with no pillow and one thin blanket.  The door stood, ominous before me.  It was a solid wall of steel, with no handles.  Even the hinges were on the outside.  The only thing preventing this from being a smooth surface was a rectangular panel in the middle of the door.  As the panel slid open, I heard grandfatherly type say, “Here.  Eat this.  You’ve got a big day tomorrow.  You need to keep up your strength.”  Then he passed a small tray through.  On the tray was a small metal plate with a hunk of stale and molded bread and a bottle of warm dirty water.

“But what about the candy?  The ice cream and cakes?”  I asked nervously.

“If you’re good you’ll get them later.  Now eat your dinner and get to sleep,” he said, no longer any hint of the kindness in his voice.  With that, he slammed the rectangular panel shut and turned off the light bulb, leaving me in complete darkness to eat my old bread and drink my dirty water.

The next morning, the sun still low on the horizon, he turned that light back on and opened the panel.  “Give me the tray,” he ordered.

I was barely able to make sense of my surroundings, let alone the instructions.  “Wh-what?”

“GET UP!” he shouted, “Give me the tray from last night.”  I stood up, picked up the tray from the floor and passed it back through the door.  “Here.” he said, shoving it back to me, now with a bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal on it.

“I– Um, I don’t like oatmeal.  Can I have something else?”

“No.  Eat it.  You’ll need your strength.  I’ll be back in ten minutes.”  He closed the panel again and left me to try to eat my oatmeal.

Ten minute later he returned, had me pass the tray back through the panel and told me to go and sit on the bed.  Watching me though the panel to make sure I did as I was told he waited till I was seated and then opened the steel door.  He told me to stay seated as he approached me.  In his left hand he held a chain with a ring on either end.  In his right hand he held what looked like a dog collar, which he held out to me.  “Put this on.” he said.

I was frightened now and afraid not to follow his instructions.  While I put the collar around my neck I heard a click as a mechanical lock sealed making it impossible to remove the collar.  Then he held, in front of my face, a small device resembling a car alarm remote and said, “Do you know what this is?”  I shook my head slightly.  When I did, he pressed the button and I felt an agonizing jolt of pain shoot through my body for a moment.

“Remember this.  If you do not do exactly as you’re told, you’ll get another jolt.  The longer I hold the button the stronger the jolt will become.  The collar is connected to an invisible perimeter outside the house.  If you cross that perimeter it will automatically trigger the jolt and the farther you get beyond the perimeter the stronger it will get.  If you try to run away, it will kill you.  Now, put the shackles on your ankles.”  While I did as I was instructed, he continued, “You will never leave this place.  You will do exactly as I tell you.  If you behave, you’ll be rewarded.  If you misbehave, you will be punished.  Do you understand?”

I really didn’t understand what was going on and the pause before answering was all he needed to shock me again.  “DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?” he repeated.  I simply nodded as I could not get the breath to speak.  “Good.  Now get up, you’ve got work to do.

As he lead me out of the cell, I could see, by the risen sun, the mess and disrepair of the place.  He set me to work cleaning, scrubbing, repairing things.  Everyday, I saw the rodents in the corners.  They chewed through the boards.  They ate through the packages with the food.  The left their refuse throughout the house.  “Don’t worry,” he’d always say, “Someone’s going to take care of that soon.”  But they continued to destroy all the progress I made in cleaning and repairing the house.  Every time I cleaned a room, they drug trash in and tore it to bits.  Every time I prepared a meal, for grandfatherly type, of which I was never allowed to partake, they came and ate the remnants before I could have a chance.  Every time I replaced a damaged board, they came and gnawed through it.  Continually creating more work for me.

It has been 2483 days.  Every day is the same.  Grandfatherly type lied.  He punishes me even when I do behave.  I do exactly as he asks of me and he punishes me.  I rebel against him and he punishes me.  I have never gotten candy, ice cream or cakes.  Every night, grandfatherly type, puts me back in the cell, passes a hunk of old bread and bottle of dirty water through the panel in the door and leaves me in the dark to eat and sleep and save my strength for tomorrow.

I’ve read about Stockholm syndrome.  After a while, the prisoner comes to care for his captor, even trust him.  The prisoner starts to feel as though they belong with, or to, their captor and the captor can trust the prisoner not to run away.  Maybe Stockholm Syndrom isn’t real, or maybe I’m not your average prisoner.  I’m still being held captive, but I don’t love grandfatherly type.  I don’t trust him.  I’m just waiting for my chance to escape him.  In the mean time, he treats me just as badly as ever… and I’m trapped.