Far worse than being in solitary.

Often, I like being ignored. Not always. But often. Gives me the opportunity to be alone. Not bothered. Sure, I like attention, too. But only from a special, elite few. My very good friends. Or people that arouse my curiosity. I could easily go days without human contact. Except for my true love. When I'm alone, I do a majority of my thinking. I carry on conversations. With myself. Uninterrupted. I suppose that’s when I most appreciate being ignored. If I were in prison. In solitary confinement. I could survive. If I had books. And pen and paper. So that I could write. I’d occupy myself. And maybe even forget that I was in solitary. I suppose I wouldn’t be completely solitary. The guards would bring me my meals. I probably wouldn’t need a radio. Or TV. But I’d certainly miss my true love. I’d try to write to her every day. To deny me the opportunity to write and think – well, that would be cruel and unusual punishment. Far worse than being in solitary. –Jim Broede