My Life, my story, my sense of being in control is gone or at the very least temporarily on hold. I stare at the big monitor hoping to see A340 appear on the screen. instead A323 flashes, followed by R17 and then much later E112. Four more numbers pass before the next one starting with A appears. Finally we've reached A324, yet it is a far cry from my desired 340. This is suffering.
Strangely, I take solace in the fact that I do not suffer alone. A room of us sit in uncomfortable plastic chairs, fixated by a screen. hungry watching, we wait for our secret number to appear. Bingo, eyes light up when someone learns it's their turn to escape, in that moment they are the big winner. the rest of us are left to wait. the only ones seemingly enjoying themselves are the children among us; running between the rows of chairs, dancing in the open space or finding some curious wonder to play with.
to me it's just a dirty hair-tie but to the tiny being before me that nasty piece of garbage is a world of entertainment. I'm also annoyed with the little girl running, round and round and round again. pushing and bumping her way past the rest of us who dutifully sit, waiting out the rest of our sentence. In fact, even the dancing boy bothers me. Perhaps I'm just jealous of his freedom, all of their freedom. Their willingness to express themselves despite my judgments makes me re-examine my perception of reality.