I think I figured out what “moving” really means.
It doesn’t mean getting from one side of the room to the other, or turning 3 or 4 times to soften your bed pillows. It means being shoved into this plastic tomb, put in the car, where you stay all freaking day. Not just for a little while, but from sunup until it’s dark. The people get out every once in a while, but every time I try they tell me no, I have to stay, they’ll let me out “later.”
And I tell you what—those plastic tombs are impossible to dig one’s way out of.
I may have figured something else out today. Instead of talking to them all day—and yeah, I did that yesterday, thinking that if I asked politely they would take me home—I just curled up after a couple of hours and went to sleep. Since I’m well rested, tonight while they try to sleep, I’m going to run around the room at top speed, howling my head off.
That’ll teach ‘em.