Been A While

So........ it has been a while. I have completed the torture of the Interstate Compact Process, and am now in my cozy, little apartment in North Tonawanda, New York. The moving has gone slow and comfortable. My father is coming with his truck on Sunday morning to complete the moving of the larger items from my sister's garage. I am finally comfortable. I am ready to resume my writing.

I have been reading through my prison journals, and thought I would pick a few excerpts to share. Of course, I will post them as originally written. No editing. Raw, insider's view, cutting edge journalism. Or something like that.

Here we go.

Monday. 4/15/2013. A bomb exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, and right away I am thinking religious wacko. Probably a Muslim. Is the reason I think this-- the second after finding out about the bomb --because religious people (Muslims in particular) are more likely to blow things up? Or is it because the media picks these things to sensationalize and force down our throats? Or is it because I have a prejudice against religious people? That would be tied in with the first question, because my prejudice against religious people stems from the fact that I really think many of them like to be hateful and kill shit and use their faith as an excuse. I guess I have my answer. But is my prejudice founded on anything or the result of an overzealous media? Don't know. More later.

Tuesday. 4/16/213.  Forgot to sign the recreation sheet, and I think I made the officer's day. He is new to this dorm, though I have seen him around the compound. He s a dick. He yelled, "Four twelve, no rec. Forgot to sign up." There was a detectable amount of happiness in his voice, even when trying to play the "Just Doin' My Job" consummate professional. I don't fall for these things.

Still no word on the Marathon Bomber. I am placing my bets on a Conservative Christian, NRA wacko. It was Patriot's Day.

The Marathon Bombers has now replaced Theater Massacre as least tasteful band name.

Wednesday. 5/1/2013.  Caryn's birthday was yesterday. I assume she is hungover right now, probably she has taken the day off work in advance. She was always a good planner for these things, whatever her other faults may be. Not that she has too many. She likes to have fun. I hope she had a good birthday. I hope her head is not giving her too much trouble this morning. Maybe she will have a Bloody Mary.

Monday. 5/27/2013. Memorial Day.

"The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them."      Albert Einstein.

I am going to try and implement some better time divisions. I sit around and don't do anything. I need to have time for work, recreation, reading, and writing. I am setting a goal of 500 words a day.

Wednesday. 5/29/2013.  The guy who slept diagonal from me, above my neighbor, is gone. Normal release days are Monday and Thursday, so maybe he had court or something. I thought he had a little time left. Maybe he went to the hole? Maybe his big mouth finally got him in trouble? Maybe he was abducted by aliens? Anyways, I won't miss him. He was pretty obnoxious, and had some annoying little friends who would crowd around to talk to him, invade my area, disturb my peace. I never knew his name, but goodbye. Bon Voyage.

Saturday. 6/1/013.  Filled my commissary order form out. I ordered a peanut butter, a box of oatmeal, a bag of rice, four packages of black beans, two packages re-fried beans, a bag of coffee, a bar of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. A grand total of $18.87. So far, the highlight of my day.

The Dungeons and Dragons boys are at their table and the game is in full swing. A guard is walking around shaking people down. People are still sleeping or lying in their bunks watching Rawhide. 11:30 am is not terribly exciting.

I am going to try and get some writing done after lunch. I need to get something done before the September 1st deadline for the PEN contest.

Tuesday. 6/11/2013.  America's Got Talent is on and I don't care about any of the acts. I just stare at Heidi Klum. I am a pervert now. Four years of living with men, and I can't look at a television show or commercial or magazine without perving out on the women. I am forty-one and I feel like I am sixteen. I have to talk myself out of masturbation twenty times a day. You would think it would get easier, but it only gets worse. If only I could focus on my writing as much as I do on lusting.

Thursday. 6/13/203.  New class starts today. "Developing a Winning Attitude!" The doctor told me my blood pressure was up, and I needed to lose some weight. I have never been in the position of someone who has to lose weight. This is new.

Sunday. 6/16/2013.  Some people who work here really seem to hate the people who reside here. They seem to believe they are better, and treat everyone equally shitty. Even the people not in custody uniforms, the laundry workers, the food service staff, they all act like this. It is especially weird coming from the Aramark workers in the kitchen, since it appears none of them have ever had a job or could pass a GED. They still hold their noses in the air.

GOTHIKA is on and Halle Berry has an incredible body.

Monday. 7/1/2013. First day of the pallet shop switching to two shifts. Up at 3:30 am. I think this will be a good thing for me, once the initial shock wears off. Time to read a little, drink coffee, write in the journal, and get ready for work. Work will be from 5:00 am to 11:00 am from now on, but for the first week a few of us are working some overtime. So exciting at $0.90 an hour.

The pallet shop has been good to me, though it is slave labor. I have been in a position of some authority, and I try to stay responsible. If anything, I act like a dick, then go back out of my way for people who don't appreciate it anyways. But it is good to have something like a real job in here to keep you from falling into the despair that has so many of my fellow inmates in its grip. Nothing to do all day but get in trouble, tattoo, argue with the cops or other inmates, sit around and complain. It is really a terrible life if you let it get to you. I am trying to keep myself focused, dividing my day into sections for all the things I want to accomplish, and give all my attention to the task at hand,

Tuesday. 7/2/2013.  Good morning. put the laundry out. I wonder if I will ever be able to stop letting insignificant things bother me. Something will happen, usually something someone else does, completely meaningless, and I will dwell on it. I will tell myself that it is stupid to sit there and brood over this minor thing, then a week later this same thing will pop back into my head and I will dwell on it some more. I wish I could have the strength of mind to be a Stoic or a Buddhist, but it is so difficult. Especially in here. There is no way to get away from people in here. I live in a small area with 250 other people. When I get out of here I would like to go somewhere and sit by myself for a couple of days. Maybe get drunk and smoke some cigarettes.


Friday. 7/5/2013.  Wednesday we had no work because our dorm was quarantined for treatment against the scabies epidemic that is sweeping the prison. They claim it is under control.

Yesterday was the Fourth of July, but there were no parties or BBQs or fireworks. Pretty boring, actually. Worked out, ate, slept a lot. got three stories ready to retype today at work.

The old man next to me is loud. He is sixty something and hangs around with a bunch of twenty year olds. He acts worse than they do. He tells the same stupid jokes over and over, and acts like an idiot all day long. He has the most fucked up toes I have ever seen. His big toe is huge and curls up over the tops of his other toes. I wonder how he can stand, but I guess it doesn't bother him. He had to cut the sides of his boots to fit his toes in. It doesn't stop talking about methamphetamine and having sex with sixteen year old girls. He can do that all day long.

Tomorrow is Christmas in July. The church people come in, preach for a few minutes, and give us a bag of food. The Amish sing Jesus songs. It is the one day out of the year that I don't mind religion.

Monday. 7/8/2013.  The morning drive calls for sixty-eight to seventy-two degrees. Perfect. Eighty-nine degrees later. It's 4:30 am, and no breakfast yet because they forgot to put the potatoes in. Fake potatoes. A shooting investigation in Evansville. A plane crash in San Francisco. There are worse things than forgetting to put the fake potatoes in the oven.

I wonder what Laura is up to? Still in Cali or back in Jersey? We had some fun, and then I could only concern myself with the drugs and getting high. Sorry, Laura. I didn't mean it. But that sounds cheap. If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have done it.

When you become overwhelmed with the vastness of the universe and the smallness of yourself, it is easy to feel insignificant, easy to feel that there is nothing special, and it doesn't matter if you are here or not, and you are here so it is special. The paradox of trying to be existential. It is a tough job being absurd.