In the most recent venture into my subconscious last night, I was in a post-revolutionary period where communist fascists were in charge and there was a protocol for doing everything. Since I was in a certain age bracket, I had to live and work with people in my age group and everything we did was watched over, controlled, and corrected, however I learned the people in charge weren't really paying close enough attention and I could get away with little things. I eventually built up the courage to just drive away.

The room was sort of a blocky cement deal but there were homey aspects like pillows and books in one of the rooms. At the beginning of the day we were supposed to clock in and get our chore list for the day. After that was breakfast and if you didn't finish it in a specific time period you got a mark on your record. Also, if you had food out on the tables or the chore list, a man would come around and scold you, write your name down, and tell you to put the food away. I learned to just throw the food on the floor or put it in my lap when he was coming, and I started shredding the little chore lists before he could see I still had them. I guess you were supposed to eventually memorize the chores (they were the same everyday for people in this group). At one part of the day, we were expected to hang out with members of the opposite sex and get to know them in the cozy room with pillows and books. It was creepy and annoying and I didn't like anyone there. I knew they were just trying to get us to have sex and make babies and it was repugnant. I actually liked a few people in my age crew as friends and identified with them in ways I couldn't identify with the others. I often worked with a short Puerto Rican guy named Diego, we would cry and talk about how much we missed our old lives and not being so structured and told what to do. We missed our freedom so much more accurately because we'd just recently possessed it. We also bonded over music, specifically all the punk, rock, garage, psych, and random old records we were devastated we'd never listen to again. Russian lessons were towards the end of the day and were mind-numbingly difficult. The teacher did not teach, just gave books, told us to study, and yelled out Russian words she'd written on the board. At dinner there were bottles of different drinks available and they'd always glare at you if you poured yourself wine, but you didn't get a mark on your record. I poured as much wine as I could when they weren't looking. I learned to be sneaky and surreptitious to get what I needed. The last thing I remember is Diego and I driving a utility van beyond the bounds of the facility and no one noticing.