I have signed up to write about routine every day in July. This is a routine in itself, I am attempting to feel the lethargy I had on Zylmor as a pampered prisoner, allowed to paint but only what we were allowed to piant, to speak but only to people on our allowed list. We were fed beautiful foods and drank delightful wines and fruit cordials but the tastes of these spectacular dishes were tainted - we were confined to quarters and unable to discuss the lingering scent of felicia blossom tempura as it danced across the tastebuds whilst Jenkul chillies flirted with the tongue's heat tolerance and sugary sweet fondant fluff encompassed the cheeks and jaws. What is point of eating without sharing it with others, at first i would transmit to my birth parents but the scanners inflicted a shock if even this form of communication was used inappropriately.
