Anthology of Snippets

I have resolved never to talk about camp minus prison anymore. A good friend noted that it sounded too negative. Well, it is – at some point. But it was, in fact, carefully chosen to fit it’s destined owner. Like most things, careful planning and deliberation must be done before names are designated – well, at least in in my case. For some, it is a Shoe Factory, a White Castle, the Pit, and some simply agree with what I deem it to be.

There are numerous definitions of “prison camp” defined in every encyclopedia. One’s view of the term may be swayed by whichever definition he or she has stumbled upon. In my case, I choose the definition “concentration or interment camp” from good ol’ Mr. Wiki.

An internment camp is a place where where people are detained for being political opponents, people with mental illness, enemy aliens, specific religious affiliations, or perhaps civilians who are in a critical war zone. It is also used to describe facilities where the “inmates” are chosen according to some specific criteria rather than those being incarcerated through lawful proceedings which is applied by a judiciary.

Perhaps it would be easier to read between the lines if one has walked that paths that we tread. It is not easy to explain how things become to people who at some point have a passing knowledge of the things that are.

At any rate, I believe I may have some progress regarding the rants and complaints from camp minus prison. Like I said in the previous entry, I now happen to like the Machine. *choke* It is far easier to swallow now compared to the past wherein I must always spit it out. And for all I care, the incomparable dementor deserves peace, and peace I give IT.

On a lighter note, what rhardo said, supposedly quoting Bo Sanchez (but I really could not find the text/link on the Internet), “If you do not like your job, stop complaining… why not quit? get out!” Simple words that ring oh so true. IMHO, it is relatively easy to be a floater* if you have people you can fall back on. Like what my grandmother said, she swore that if I did not have any family to support, I would sure as hell be outta camp minus prison in less than a month. I would definitely agree.

Day by day, I breathe to myself the words “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.” Could have fooled me, really. It is a place where I feel so trapped I swear my heart stops breathing. And yes, the incomparable dementor is right when she said, “if you don’t like it here… so quit.” I want to. Seriously. But from all the misery I’ve been through, I do not want to jump ship until I can see something good enough to land on.

So I grit my teeth, grin, and force myself to go through another day. I haven’t been complaining here lately, have I? If supervisors, administration heads, and other heads of state cannot stand it here, how much more of us weary inmates? But things are looking up. If not for the people here I think I would have gone even more insane. It may be dangerous for us to work on something we dislike, but the thing is, in order to put food on the table and survive, we cannot be choosers. We must stick with what we have and do what we can until something comes along. Or if some soul picks up our smoke signals and messages in bottles. It is no longer about my happiness, but of survival.

Like what we (inmates) told the warden and dementor, we may complain about the rations, the favoritism, the nitty gritty of our work, but it does not matter. We will do it anyway. We have to. So just let us be when we blow off some steam.

*floater - "a worker who moves from job to job"