Two days and a Wake-up

That's the unique expression folks use around here to keep track of their time. The "wake-up", of course, being the day of your flight out.

This place reminds everybody of a prison. One in which the inmates are armed. When I arrived, I had 300 days, give or take, and a wake-up. Now, that time has dwindled down to less than 1 percent, and it's hard to imagine that I'll soon be going home. In a lot of ways, I've become accustomed to this place. Never enjoyed it, just used to it. Kind of like the old baseball glove you've had since little-league, which doesn't fit, was never comfortable, but you just kept using it and can't imagine ever throwing it away.

Only there won't be any nostalgia to hold me back from my flight. That's why I've taken so many pictures and written so many stories. If one day, deep in the future, I look back and naively imagine that this place was all fun, I have the stories and the pictures to remind what it was really like. Sure, there were lots of fun moments, and there were even times that I thought about extending here for a few more months. But in the end, what this place is and what it has represented for me is something I can never put into a photo, but perhaps can someday put into words: exhausting, hot and confining. Only now, with two days and a wake-up to go do I realize that I've had - other than leave - only two days off in the last 300. How I managed to get around and take so many photos, I can't even figure out myself. But when I could steal away time to do that, it certainly has helped me get through this process.

There's so much more I could do or see if I had more time, but right now, it's two days and a wake-up. That's all the time left and that's all the time I want.