This is my penultimate day, unless they decide to keep me longer. It was grimly satisfying. They didn't interview me, speak to me, it was a day like so many others in the last forty. It encapsulates in twenty four hours the last six weeks of my life.
I haven't been able to think about anything but tomorrow. If they let me leave, when will it be? Will they bother to keep me until a minute to midnight? Where will they let me out?
In fact, I'd love to claim that I spent the day examining some higher purpose, or reflecting on those lessons I have learned over the last six weeks. That in a rejection of all that has happened I will go out and fight for freedom, that I have come to know my 'true, inner self'. I don't think it has been like that. The last six weeks have been boring - very, guilt inducing -when interrogated, and frustrating - in short but extreme bouts. I don't think that there are any take-homes from this.
I wonder what they do to those they don't treat so gently.
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