Life with a celly is so unpleasant

July 13, 2011   HAPPY BIRTHDAY!  10:25 PM

Dear Birthday Girl!

Well, I hope and pray that you had a great one! You see, I know the birthday of someone I love was coming up but I wasn’t sure so I asked for the calendar. At least you know that my heart is in the right place.  I’m sure you did something fun and pleasing.

Seems like time is flying by so fast.  No, not the day to day, but the overall.  Once the summer is past, only the festive months remain in the year.

Life on your end sounds as if it’s keeping you busy and weary, which is good.  Nobody cares about your hard earned money like you do.

The kids had a blast, so that’s a plus. It always moves me to read about how active your grandkids are, although it pains me some because I miss my own so much.

More of the same this way.  HEAT!  Intense, stupid, hateful heat.  It was so hot today that a guard came by checking to make sure everyone had a fan. I guess they’ll provide one for those without fans.

And while I‘ve tried to deal with my celly and we’ve had our moments where it seemed like it could work, he is still a moron and if I had to live with him too much longer, I would end up beating the hell out of him. Yes, I know it sounds violent and harsh, but hear me out.

I told you about the talk we had. He made a bunch of promises and quoted scripture and all that. Then when I came back from visit, he’s pacing the cell, cursing like a sailor. Yeah, the “lying bitch” who was working the cellblock had taken his ID card because he was masturbating on her while she swept up in front of our cell. Wait. She is only the fourth woman in the past two weeks to tell this “lie” on him. According to her, he was sitting at the foot of his bed, right at the bars, waist eye level, “naked, stroking an erection.” Now, this is common behavior in this place, just like it’s common that he keeps denying it. What is not common is that he keeps slipping out of the cases. Perhaps he has some dark angel on his side? The point is, he’s a sexual predator. Every night, I wake up to some female telling him to stop or asking for his ID. And every time, he swears he wasn’t doing anything. He even told me that he has jock itch and he scratches, and that’s what the problem is. This is because I was born yesterday.

Last night, I woke up to pee and I see his foot hanging off of the top bunk and out of the bars. I can hear him moaning and 75% of me wants to hop up, snatch him out of the bunk and kick his testicles into his lungs. 25% of me knows that I’ll regret it when I get charged with assault. And I know that we are men and we are on lockdown, allowed no privacy or alone time, but there is such a thing as self-control. This pervert has none.

The cell is only six feet wide and maybe ten feet deep. It’s not a lot of space for two people, especially when one is stupid and has no respect for personal space. He insists on being arms length from me where I could easily shatter his jaw. I’m in my bed, he’s a few feet away sitting on the toilet. I’m at the desk, he’s pacing behind me, talking about stuff that I don’t care about in the least. And when he’s in his bed, he’s got his nasty little feet hanging down, constantly swinging, feet away from my face. You’re right, I could tell him about all the things he does wrong, but then I would never stop talking to him and he’s grown. Some stuff is just common sense. I made him wipe dried coffee off of the wall this morning and peanut butter off of the floor. I told him that he uses tissue like a woman and he laughed. It’s like living with a seven year old! This morning, he jumped on my leg, didn’t say excuse me and when I got up and said “have you lost your mother fxxxxxx mind!” he was on his hands and knees grinning like a fool, crawling under my bunk. “I’m tryna catch this salamander!” I almost slapped him but was distracted that he’d mistaken a skink or newt or lizard for a salamander which has gills. Idiot. He spent 30 minutes taping a piece of plastic with duct tape that is illegal, an hour fishing other people’s contraband trash off of the run, found a piece of rusted brillo that had been someone scouring pad for their toilet and he scrubbed his cup and bowl with it. He begged our neighbor for three soups and a sleeve of crackers then ate it all at once. That was three meals.

I’m sorry Jan. The man is a moron and I’m afraid I’m going to find him lusting on some of my family pictures, or lord forbid, my kids, and I’m going to pop his spinal cord like a potato chip. No, I am not perfect, but I am not a burden to my cellies. He’s too much.

So, that’s where I am, maintaining, glad he’s asleep and I have peace. I’m praying and thinking positive thoughts. I won’t disappoint you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m enjoying it.

Just wanted to vent a little. Thank you! And to wish you a very happy birthday, although belated.

Love,  

Blog - Words

I write, writing from my soul, the pen an extension of my thoughts, my thoughts a collection of ideals, flashing like a strobe, laser quick, pulsing, keeping me from sleep, flitting through my dreams like thousands of butterflies swarming in a nectar saturated frenzy.  The words lance the pages as fast as my pen can scratch them out, barely legible, indecipherable as hieroglyphics, yet holding profound truths… my truths, those which may be unwanted or unaccepted but never undone.

The son of mere mortals, yet my words live forever and with each expression my vision grows clearer.  So now I view the world from the third person, almost out of body, observing as a participant, experience wearing the guise of clairvoyance.  I can see what happens before it occurs, and deflate tons of pressure with gestures and words.  My gift and my curse.  Heartbreaks, peace maker, manipulation through articulation… I can heal, reveal or cause devastation.  In a world wrought of words, I am Almighty Jason.

Through devout contemplation, concentrating on more, I draw wings of words, find a current and soar.  With words to explore, I’m enraptured and captured, free with my hopes and a slave to my passions.  Actions born of intentions, dimensions unraveled, lying prone in a cell while my heart and mind travel.  No gavel, or jury or judge or indictments, instead children giggle sincere love in my likeness.

Escape … because fate is the first fruit of seeds planted, so I harvest my seeds in the joys of the planet.  I’ve been granted a gift which I share with the willing, converting those lost to fond and fulfilling.  My feelings are cherished, embarrassment?  Nay, the truth’s in my doctrine, righteous like when I pray.  Not near perfect, but fighting, a knight with his sword, with my friend, my dear pen…and my words.