Asked Jay, an inmate across the hall. To which I responded, "Yes." He didn't know what to say after that, admittedly. His room and mine were assigned Sunday chow hall duties, which is much longer and more annoying than normal chow hall duties, involving the moving of tables and the wiping down of windows and the bathrooms (and cleaning thereof). Combine that with a) no visitation due to inclement weather, b) cold reality that 7 more weeks is close but still far, far away, and c) I suck at Risk, all combined for an overall shitty day that even a close Chargers win couldn't assuage. Ooh, you liked that one, didn't you? Literacy Camp is fun!

So close. So very close. I'm fortunate that my current set of bunkies are two really cool dudes. They don't snore, and we all share a common interest in terrible jokes. We're all subpar poker players, which is probably good, since it keeps us from playing all the time, opting instead of root for our favorite football teams (Mike: Browns; Me: Chargers; Page: Raiders). The 10 o'clock hour, instead of the months past where it would be spent with either musica latina blairing out the clock radio, or Q104.7 playing the same 8 songs for the 14th time that day, is spent where the three of us are busily reading (Mike: an autobiograpy of an LA gangmember; Me: The Silmarillion; Page: Playboy), so it's nice that there's some real quiet time once the room door is closed. The smallest refuge is refuge nonetheless.