Eenie, meenie, miney, mo: jail, convent or rest home?

jailA recurrent idea often comes into my mind. When l am very stressed -almost every single day-, I feel an urgent need to go to jail or be enclosed in a convent or admitted to a rest home.

To be put in prison I have to commit a serious crime. I have downloaded a list from the Internet, crimes punishable by imprisonment in Spain. I like none. I don’t have a criminal soul. Some of them horrify me. The only idea that comes to my mind is robbing a bank (with a toy gun) wearing the same clothes I am wearing in my Facebook profile picture. I will be recorded by the bank’s security camera system and the cops will arrest me easily.jail

Once in jail, with my eReader, I will submerge myself in the silence of my cell. I will do my duties, of course. But in my free time I will stay at the library, reading or watching Netflix on my Android tablet, in silence. The idea of retreating into a convent really appeals to me. Nuns don’t scare me as much as female prisoners, at least the ones that are not crazy. I think that, some time ago, many nuns entered the convent (or they were forced to enter) without a true vocation. As for me, a secular nun. It is OK if I have to wear a habit, like them, although I would rather wear something simpler, just a tracksuit -one hundred percent cotton- and comfy, warm sneakers. In the silence of my cell I would do exactly the same things as I would do in prison: reading, watching Netflix and working out. And walking around the cloisters hearing my own footsteps.jail

jailjailAnother option is to be admitted to a rest home, provided there are not too many people around bothering me with all sorts of ailments. The purpose would be the same: a quiet, isolated room for one person, where I could read, watch Netflix and work out in silence. No Asiatic luxuries. Excessive luxury nauseate me. Whenever I browse one of those photographic reports on Hello! magazine with hyper- sumptuous mansions that belong to tacky opulent people, I always feel the need to vomit. Not in a figurative sense, but real: bile comes up my throat. Riches scattered about in profusion make me sick. I am so minimalist, so austere regarding furniture! I just want wood and plants.

In short, I am still  doing “eenie, meenie, miney, mo” not knowing where my weary bones will rest. Whatever the case may be, and from any of the places above mentioned, I will keep on telling you my stories. Catch a tiger by the toe.


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