I think I’ve slept through my first night, but with no way to check the hour without exposing myself to light, I can’t be sure. At first losing all sense of time seemed terrifying, but now it’s rather blissful. The uninterrupted, guilt-free rest feels like warm honey working its way into every achy, burned-out part of me. So I roll over and sleep some more. When I open my eyes, I just shut them again. The dark feels less scary that way.
When finally I rise, I create a routine. I change into shorts, do some push-ups, and make the bed, all by feel. Learning to navigate the room boils down to touching things in a certain order. Bed-corner-doorway takes me to the bathroom. Doorway-sink-wall puts me on the final approach to the toilet. Sit-cuss-stand is how I remember to put the seat down.
Breakfast. I feel my way over to a cushion on the floor, next to a low wooden bench. Above it is a box built into the wall linking the room to an outer vestibule. Doors on either side allow two-way access with no light coming through. For now this box is my only link to the outside world. I can leave at any time, but I promise…
