Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

I could quite possibly be the biggest masochist I know.

Right now I'm typing from the beautiful oak desk of my very lovely room at the Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter. I'll be staying here for a few nights (it's a complicated story) and taking my own mini vacation...yes, a mini vacation in the beautiful and lovely hotel that became my own prison and nightmare for five days last August. I'm staying (by choice) in the same hotel where I was stuck during and after Hurricane Katrina blew through.

I've walked past this place a dozen times since I've been home. I've even gone to the Walgreens across the street that I nearly looted (yes, you read that right...desperate times...). But today was the first time I'd walked through those front doors into one of the most beautiful hotel lobbies I've ever seen. The marble floors and the stately grandfather clock and the oil portraits on the walls keep the place's secrets well. They don't talk about the desperation or the fear or the smell. They are silent, and I am glad.

As odd of a week this is going to be, I'm looking forward to it. I need some solitude right now...the chance to be alone and revel in that. I'm planning on taking a long, hot bath, painting my toenails, and lounging...and writing a ten page paper and preparing a five minute presentation for class. Not quite as relaxing as I would like, but I'll take what I can get.

Somehow Puccini makes biology a little easier for me...so it's time for me to get back to Turandot and my intelligent design paper. 25 more days...hallelujah.