One month has past.

At first it felt like unbridled freedom.

Liberation of the most exciting sort.

First one week -- then two-- of sleep alone.

Upon the arrival of week three the chains have slipped themselves back on.

This must be the feeling a fish has when it has escaped its watery prison only to discover it has jumped into much worse.

Yet, boredom is hardly worse.

I once wrote on a blog, seemingly forever ago, that I felt that I was floating helplessly in a vast ocean. Waiting for a shift in the current to drag me to wherever it may.

That haunting feeling has begun to creep its way back into existence.

I must remind it of direction and purpose.

Those two words muddled in anger, wrath, pain, and hurt. Each layer of anger removed only uncovers a layer of pain or wrath. I am unsure how far to dig for purpose.

I am told it is there, waiting dormant for its re-discovery. As if buried in Pompeiian fashion by a sudden burst of fire which tore my world apart.

Maybe to discover the world is to be released from one cage at a time.

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    A conglomeration of thoughts at any given moment.