December 9, 2010
Hey, where’d that week go? It’s amazing how busy one can become in a controlled environment. Sorry, I know you were expecting another letter, but I got two bonus days of college (make-up classes) all crammed into one week, thesis paper, poetry exam, drama exam…exhausting.
It’s over and I’m on winter break, but I‘m dead tired tonight. I’ve received your letters and will respond. Just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you, but running on fumes. Yawn, yawn.
Fondly,
 |
| Breckenridge CO |
December 15, 2010 8:19 p.m.
Won’t put writing this letter off for another day! As great of a pen pal you are, I must make time for you, no exceptions. So here I am. (: Skipped the work out today—I needed to write you and my body needed a rest.
Of course, the cakes have been keeping me very busy. But on top of that, I went to physical therapy Monday and it was canceled because “someone” had an accident. Uncool. I care about those gals almost as much as I care about you. I’ve been worrying and praying, hoping it was minor, but it’s been canceled all week. So I’ve kinda withdrawn, done a lot of reading, keeping my mind tied up in other things, but I guess I have to give it to God, and carry on. (I use too many commas because I write like I talk.)
But, on to responding to your letters. (:
The dayroom is a concentration of
hatred, ugliness and ignorance.
Yes, the dayroom is a concentration of hatred, ugliness and ignorance. You know, I have flashes of fury in my mind, which is a blessing, because that usually allows me an opportunity to remove myself from a bad situation before I blank out. I’m sure you’ve heard of berserkers? Well, that’s what I am. Calm on the surface, calculating, analyzing, but as soon as I feel threatened, I go into a fit of rage, uncontrollable. I know it doesn’t seem likely, because you know me, but it’s true. I can be a very dangerous person when pushed. Rest assured, I’m never the antagonist, and often times, now that I’m older, I’ll catch a glimpse of what I’m about to do to someone and scare myself into action. It’s not common and it doesn’t happen often, especially out there, but this is such a hostile environment… Still, I won’t do anything to keep me here a moment longer unless I feel a sincere threat. Like when I beat up that officer on the other cell block. He put his hands on me, grabbed me, and the rage took over. They gave me the minor punishment because he put his hands on me without cause, but that’s my only case in the system. I do try to stay out of ill situations (like the dayroom).
You keep my mind and my heart
in a positive place.
The Riding On The Cool (R.O.T.C.) bunch are really a gang of cowards, and they are the major threat, because they jump and stab people who stand up to them. I get along fairly decent, still I stay to myself and avoid all of that mess. Because if one of them ever pulls a knife on me…may God be with him. Trust me, you keep my mind and my heart in a positive place, and when I think of all the people who’d be hurt and let down, I swallow my pride and move along.
The doctor I saw was a real jerk! What he told me was they don’t know what’s wrong with my knee, so the scope may find the problem and it may not. Basically, live with the pain or take a chance under the knife. Not a good set of choices.
I’m glad that your husband reads the letters and flattered that he admires my intelligence and writing ability. It’s important to me that he knows I don’t have any ill intentions or perverse motives. His trust is very important to me. You’d be shocked at how these morons think. When I get mail from you and I happen to be in the dayroom, they ask, “Who wrote you?” So I tell them, “My pen pal in Colorado,” and they always say, “She got some friends?” Like I’d hook them up anyway. But I tell them, “It’s not like that. She’s my friend. She’s happily married.” And every single time (after the looks of disbelief) they say something stupid. Home training. Fortunately, I was raised by good, intelligent people. (: Everything in here (to these guys) is sex, drugs, money. Anything outside of that doesn’t make sense to them. “Why don’t you ask for money?” “She send naked pictures?” I mean…I usually wait until I’m in my cell to read your letters if I receive them in the dayroom. It’s truly the land of the lost.
Yeah, Mommy sent money. And yes, it does suck how the prison system treats us so poorly. And they aren’t even ashamed. They taunt us and dare us to use the grievance system because they know that it doesn’t work and they get away with murder. Literally. They hang inmates all the time then call it suicide. It’s sad. Really, they are the worst gang of all, and most of them take pleasure in ruining our lives, writing bogus cases that mess up our chances at parole. It’s really a corrupt system, hatred breeding hatred.
I am a gumbo of races.
Ahhh…prison. You know what? People just love to hate. That’s what it boils down to. I am a gumbo of races, how dare I hate any part of it. I grew up with friends. Not white friends and black friends, just friends. I dated girls. Who cares if she’s purple, long as she’s pretty. My mom is educated and traveled, so I guess it missed us. It’s a major factor in here. Sometimes it’s unbelievable and obvious, sometimes subtle.
Like this dude I’m airtight with (he’s sort of a redneck, but I know his son), he draws Christmas cards. So last year, he showed me a card with some kids building a snowman. I told him that I wanted to buy one. The card I got had some little black kids with Afros and big lips and noses building a snowman. And he didn’t mean any harm, but what the hell? My kids aren’t even black. You know? Or if a good looking black female guard works our cell block, the white guys will go out of their way to tell you that they find her attractive, as if to say, “Hey, I’m not that bad, I like black girls, too.” You know. They’ll say, “Oh man! I sure would like to tap that sweet chocolate!” Like….come on? Who even talks like that? If a white female works, she’s a “snow bunny.” And they treat the Nigerians unspeakably! It’s all stupid.
My extended family is pretty close. Growing up, I was everybody’s favorite. So they expected more from me, still do. They won’t let me give up on myself. I have to be thankful for so many positive influences. (: Yes, including you.
I enjoyed the poem a lot. Actually, it reminds me of a Christmas poem I did years back that was published in “The Echo,” the prison paper. Coconut cream pie sounds wonderful! I miss coconut. ):
It has been an unpredictable winter, cold then unseasonably warm, like today. It was 75 degrees. It’s still hot and muggy. Personally, I enjoy the cold. Not bitter, painful cold, but crisp, refreshing cold. I like winter wardrobes, winter scenes and foods, and the holidays. My philosophy is, when it’s cold, it’s easier to get warm than it is to get cool when it’s stifling hot. I kept my condo at 68 degrees, comfortable, cool, relaxing. Now, I don’t mind standing in a hot kitchen, because then, I’m in my element.
So, so very glad you enjoy my letters. I try to be me. Editing doesn’t sound like fun. I’ve avoided editing my books. It’s boring for one; two, I’m like you, who cares? As long as the text is comprehendible and interesting, people overlook the small errors.
I know your letters bring a smile
to my face and my heart. (:
We both love getting letters from each other, I guess it’s a pretty good arrangement. I know your letters bring a smile to my face and my heart. (:
I do try to be creative enough to set myself apart from the norm.
Like today, I melted a peppermint stick and flavored the chocolate and the icing with it. Everyone said, “Tastes like Christmas!” If they’re happy, I feel appreciated.
No I don’t have a cellmate. I must have forgotten to mention that. I’ve been in a cell by myself since August. I complained to the doctor about my stress level and headaches, living with a pervert/proud murderer that I’ll kill before I let him kill me, and the doctor put me by myself. He said that it would be impossible to pair me with someone who is my height, my weight and has my I.Q. (: Keeps me out of the dayroom and yes, it makes it easier to cook, workout, write, read, study, pray, clean…the cell’s a six by ten, about the size of a small walk-in closet. Not enough room for one human, much less two! Having to step over, around someone, urinating a few feet from someone, smelling their breath, cleaning after some weird man, having stuff come up missing, not knowing if your celly is some molester who looks at pictures of your kids while you’re gone….I could go on forever. I’m not like them, it’s bad enough that I have to live around them, you know?
(Broncos) Coach McDaniels had it coming. I knew that when he chased off Brandon Marshall. John Elway would be good for that organization. I heard he had some dealerships and a football team up there.
Houston needs to fire their loser coach. There’s talk of Bill Cower becoming the new coach. That would be awesome! He’s an aggressive, in your facemask coach, no nonsense.
Well better bring this to a close. Always thinking of you! (:
Blog
On the Ropes
So exhausted.
This is no longer a match of skill or strength. I’m running on fumes, heart and stubborn will. Beyond blocking, bobbing and weaving, this fight has simply become a slug fest, jab for jab, haymaker for haymaker, blow for blow. Head, body, soul, no calculation, just wildly launched fists landing where they may. I feel like Tre shadow boxing helicopters at Sidney’s house in Boyz in the Hood.
And damn, the canvas looks so appealing, so inviting. If I could only rest there for a moment…but there is no guarantee that my opponent will let up if I fall. We are more than opponents; we are arch enemies, fighting to the death. Surely, if he/ it falls first, my onslaught will take on an unearthly viciousness, renewed fury pummeling my oppressor’s corpse like a man possessed. My demons urging me on, anger and adrenaline providing me superhuman strength. There will be no mercy from me and my opponent is the vilest of foes, so surely I expect less from him/it.
Prayer must come in fragments, between a left hook and a smashing straight to the nose. I must ask forgiveness of my sins even as I commit them, unable to repent or relent. Blood lust making me smile a crimson sneer while bombing its bastard countenance. I cackle maniacally in defiance at a jab that jars something loose in my soul. My soul is what we are fighting for, if I can’t have it back, he/it will only procure it over my dead body, but then, useless to him…it.
The crowd, a congregation of family and “friends,” (a bloodied smirk at that) stand, captivated, critical of every counterpunch, admonishing every move. “You disappoint me, son! Just like your father!” shouts my mother, her words like liquid daggers in my back. “Go down! Just go down! Your life is over anyway! Your kids have a new father! Whooo!” cheers my ex-wife, clapping wildly. Guys I sold drugs with make wagers against me. My children are ringside, heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer. My best and only true friend and her husband are in my corner, encouraging me to never give up. Feeding off of the negative and positive, I battle on, determined to prove the doubters wrong and refusing to let those who still believe down.
Liberty or death. There are no alternatives. All of my ribs feel like they are broken, but what good is flesh and bone to a memory? The pain is a constant reminder of what’s at stake. Thirty rounds are only a heartbeat compared to eternity.
Palpitation…shortage of breath. Left. Right. Right. Left. Darkness on the horizon. Traps screaming, triceps numb…switch to southpaw, coil then lunge. Connect.
Intense scarlet leering masks my suffering but betrays my pleasure in the pursuit of his…it’s agony. I surrender to the primal need, pounding butchering the fiend, a blitzkrieg raining from my shoulders. Cue the theme music. This is my moment.
But I know…I know deep down, it’s far from over. Still, this time it’s not me on the ropes, I’m in control. There’s hope. Yeah, it always boils down to hope. Keep standing, keep swinging, envision the end, imagine the glory of victory. Taste freedom.
Pray, fight, endure, hope…freedom.
Freedom.
“Fight!”
Bring it on.
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