My time

Yesterday I woke up at 5:45 am and started reading a novel that had been assigned as homework. My girlfriend still slept, the house was quiet. It reminded me of my time in county jail, but it was a good memory. At Inverness waking up early gave me the closest semblance of privacy to be found in that 78-person open dorm. You get used to the thundering snores of strangers and the wretching of the dopesick. Save for the tormented few and the handful of early risers, most people slept in the early morning and that’s why I was awake. It was the only time that I felt like was “mine”.

I wasn’t too hungry or cold and I had a good book. Life was good, or as good as possible for the circumstances. No matter how long I’d been reading my book I never had the invasive thought of you, “you should check your email.” Jail is a lonely place, but never did I feel lonely at that time—my time—I felt grounded.

I rarely feel that grounded anymore.