Time has such tyrannical sway over my life right now. I have to break my days into hours, my weeks into days, my months into weeks in order to get through them. During lunch each day, as I sit at my desk eating my leftovers, I console myself that the day is half over. Wednesdays, of course, mean the weekend is fast approaching I have my eyes fixed on a scheduled day off next week. I desperately anticipate the trip to Amsterdam next month. Finally, in about four months, with a pirouette, a back flip, a middle finger and final soaring swan dive, I quit. But from the end of my trip to Europe to my final coup de grace, there are three, long intolerable months to slog through. Hopefully I will get mononucleosis, or be a sequestered juror on a long, fascinating, possibly televised Trial of the Century. Something has to happen–I must develop an emergency coping mechanism (besides my cocaine). I will have to consult with my angels. WWJD?

What WOULD Jesus do? Hard to say. We’ve kind of lost touch over the years. He would probably tell me some parable about dry seed husks and foraging crows. That may take awhile to sink in. Buddha would point at a tree in the distance and smile. And bow. And walk away. Form is emptiness, emptiness form. No attainment. See ya.

Though I am able to leave the jail each day, I feel imprisoned. I am serving this time–four months to go. It is a prison of my own making, of course, but still–I did a good motherfucking job with it. Right now, it feels like an impenetrable fortress.