Sunday was Father’s Day. It was an intense day in an intense week in an intense month in a freaking intense year. Very early in the morning, during the hours when I was supposed to be subconsciously processing the intensity of the day before, I had a thought: what would I do if I was in solitary confinement for a year? Would I go insane immediately? If not, what kind of games would I play with my mind in order to protect my sanity? I imagined myself getting tortured with being woken up every 90 minutes for what felt like an eternity. Each time, I went through the roll call of my family members names so I wouldn’t forget them.