My mother played that album nonstop when I was a little girl.

The other night, Walk the Line was on television. A few mornings later, I met consciousness, in that place-between-asleep-and-awake, believing I was in solitary confinement in Folsom Prison. In that state, I began to break down the nightmare.

I wouldn't end up in prison, because I don't commit crimes. Duh. I especially wouldn't be in solitary, because I am not a troublemaker. If anyone chose to throw me in the Hole, I would promptly work my scared-of-the-dark-and-claustrophobic self up into a cardiac event and die. Problem solved. Luckily, at that point I recognized the whirr of the ceiling fan, and was pretty much awake.