When all our needs are met yet still we're not quite free...

It is a funny time to be reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett, the story of a dinner party taken hostage by terrorists. It is a pleasant kind of capture as the guests are held in the vice president's mansion and are bothered by monotony and confinement rather than cruelty or torture. It is funny because as I write this, I am sitting in a motel room, wedged in the corner next to an air conditioning unit on the floor, holding my book just under the drapes so it catches the seeping late evening light. I sit here because Silas can't sleep and has asked me to come in enough times that I've conceded. He has run fevers on and off for two days, not been hungry, and has needed his mom. So here I am, held hostage by the bed, waiting for his sleep to set me free.