Untitled Freedom

Is freedom the breaking of physical bonds which restrain a person from running away? Is freedom the opportunity to leave without notice and maybe never return? Or can freedom be the glow of a plain white untitled window on a computer screen? seeing as how I've been limited and trapped between two moral rocks with regards to my physical presence, I choose to take refuge in the third version of freedom. This mental, intellectual, and imaginative freedom coupled with a seemingly ancient jazz record playing in the corner can satisfy me for now.  Granted, the physical limitations of not being in possession of a glass of wine, or a bottle of Smirnoff and a cigarette do put a considerable damper on my ideal state.  However, the hum of my semi-stolen laptop and scratchy undertones of the spinning record serve to sooth me just the same.  This time of solitude I'm given, or force-fed rather, are decidedly better spent calmly and introspectively rather than pacing and fuming about the fact that I have been bound to the confines of my house for yet another day of my Christmas break.  “Seven months,” I tell myself, seven months until I leave here, leave the only walls I've known since childhood and achieve what I can only hope to be at least semi-physical freedom.  A time in which I won't be obligated to up-date a higher power on my location twenty-four hours a day and jump through hoops while standing on my head spitting fire to get in my car and drive away can not come soon enough. Oh what I would do for a smoke right now!  Maybe this is why the powers-that-be have suggested in the most guilt-ridden and anger-provoking manner that I stay in for the day? They have secretly discovered my secret and simmering addiction to nicotine and are punishing me by making me do without! Well a hardy laugh in the face to them, for my second addiction is writing followed closely by music (and alcohol of course, but that indulgence falls under the same category as smoking and is even less accessible at the moment) so my refuge and fuel remain intact and driving despite the obvious limitations of being a mere 18-year-old living at home, facing seven more months until college. What kind of freedom is it I long for? Mental freedom? Emotional freedom? Physical freedom? All of the above? For now I'll consent to go quietly and content myself with untitled freedom.