Alas I have one more day of freedom. In my head, I toss around the idea of surviving another 90 days. I imagine myself laying down, somewhere I can watch clouds and make pictures out of the completely random shapes that clouds are. I could lay there for the entire 90 days and see if I don't get hungry. Could I live on air? Possibly not. I can't even explain why I think another 90 days will work. It's never worked before, yet this time it feels slightly different. Perhaps I can change the way I think about things, close my eyes and let the thoughts spin around and around. Sometimes one of the thoughts overrides all the others and becomes an obvious point of contention battling it out with my conscious mind, each one trying to win. But I see myself laying there with little white socks and red patent mary janes. Yet I cannot see how old I am.