Happy Birthday to me! And what's my gift from TDC? Lockdown!
I really can't think of a worse way to spend a birthday than on lockdown in prison. This is definitely the worst I've had. And I get at least four more days in my cell all day long.
On the bright side, I had all day to read and write with the only interruptions coming from having to face away from my cellmate as he used the toilet five feet away and from forcing him to do the same when I took a restroom break. Ah, the joys of lockdown.
The day was much brighter when I received my mail for the day: seven birthday cards! Thank you to everyone who sent a card. That was an incredible show of love and I really appreciate it. And, like I said in my last posting, I will be out next year, which should save y'all some postage. That's worth looking forward to.
Tonight's birthday celebration wasn't as good as last year's - less food, less friends, and self-funded - but it was still alright. I made a cheesecake-ish pie and my "famous" orange chicken and rice. The pie slices were spread to many guys in the dorm while the orange chicken and rice was split with West.I made the pie by mixing powdered milk, powdered whipped topping and orange fruit drink. The crust was crushed vanilla wafers with a layer of chocolate syrup and flattened pieces of candy orange slices. The milk mixture went on top in a gooey consistency and thickened to a kind of dry cheesecake. All the different textures worked very well with each other, and I ate almost half the pie on my own. :-)
The orange chicken and rice was made with my "orange slices in barbecue sauce" recipe and turned out quite well, too. For the first time, West ate his whole serving on his own, but maybe he was just hungry.
The best thing about this birthday, though, is that it will be my last in prison. Even if parole is taken for some reason, my sentence ends in June and there is no way to keep me here any longer. Next year I will be able to celebrate in freedom with family and friends and that's worth celebrating in itself.
Over the past few weeks I have grown increasingly stressed about getting out of here. Through prayer and counsel from friends, I decided that quitting my job in the library would be best for me so I could relax and get out of that negative environment.
Yes, the library is a negative place, despite my efforts to transform it into a place conducive to learning. My boss has always had a foul mouth and she also loves to talk badly about others while complaining about her own life as a young single mother. Sorry, but at least she gets to go home to family instead of sharing a prison cell with a stranger. I've encouraged her to go to school so she wouldn't be stuck at this dead-end job but, apparently, none of my ideas are any good. If she's not going to try to improve her situation, I wish she would stop complaining.
Of course, since this is a prison library, the patrons that stop by are not the most polite bunch; in fact, most are quite rude. I'd rather not serve rude folks all day since it just wears me down, so I told my boss a week ago that last Friday would be my last day. The only response I got besides "OK" was a comment that, if she called me out, I would have to come. Even though I had one of the best coworkers yet, I would not be working at her beck and call, and I told her as much. I will go in on Monday and Friday afternoons to help out, though.
Today was my first day without working and it was great. I woke up around nine, read a book until lunch, then spent the afternoon at rec running and working out. I will probably be helping the maintenance department with an inventory tracking system every now and then, but I hope to spend most of my time on personal projects like writing poetry, making progress on my book list, and drawing. I also have a graphic design business to make plans for.
I have to make an effort to be purposeful with my time, but making only a little positive progress is better than treading water in the toxic library until I leave. And my release can't come soon enough.
I've been a fan of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings since first picking up The Hobbit in middle school. Tolkien created a world I could see in my mind's eye and filled it with characters I could hear in my imagination. I was so excited to see the world come to life on the big screen that I saw Peter Jackson's "Fellowship of the Ring" five times in the theater. You can imagine my elation when a Lord of the Rings card game appeared that expanded on the written canon.
The card game, which came out earlier this summer, allows you to play as a group of heroes working to complete a mission. Instead of pitting players against each other, players cooperate to defeat a deck for each mission, and the gam
e can be played solo, especially good for me because it can sometimes be tough to find people who want to play games.
My friend, West, and I broke in the game today and were surprised at the level of difficulty - not in game play but in defeating the missions. That should provide good replay value as well as a scoring system to compare past accomplishments against. There aren't many options for building player decks but that should get better as the monthly adventure packs are released.
The Lord of the Rings card game isn't the best game I've ever played but it is certainly above average and is a good first experience in the new "living" card games - games with monthly packs that expand the game.
Lately I've been getting impatient. I received a parole answer last year that said I would be picked up in May for a four-month rehab program and get out in September. Like most things around here, I expected everything to come together later than scheduled but here it is almost August and there is still no sign of me even starting the program.
I think it goes without saying I am pumped to be home soon. Though most of my friends have moved on and away, I still look forward to spending time with family, I can't wait to get this institutional structure off my back and out of my head. These things - and more - I have anticipated for years but last November the jets were turned on.
Last month I began my process of detachment from this place. First, I found an extra coworker for the library and showed both he and the other coworker the ropes. That backfired. Both guys are no longer there and I'm back to only one coworker. I tried to step away but now I'm back in the thick of it, working and training the next guy.
Second, I pulled back my extroverted self. I used to interact with a broad spectrum of guys but, since I'm laving soon, I don't want to invest in relationships that I'll just snap in half in a short time. I'm pretty much just hanging out with West and Le now that Shane is gone.
Third, I'm getting rid of physical stuff I don't want to carry with me and I'm preparing my mental stuff for when I get out. I gave away my role-playing books and sent home a load of literature to empty my locker a bit. I'm holding on to about a dozen books to read during transit and at the program. I've been planning a budget and studying business to try to ready myself for starting a small venture on the side. Through all of this I am keeping focused on the Lord, knowing He has plans for me but clueless as to His schedule.
And that's what has been getting to me lately. I'm ready to leave, was ready a month ago, years ago, but I'm still here waiting. I feel like I am at a restaurant waiting for the lighted buzzer in my hand to go off with no results. I wish they had not told me I made parole if they were not planning to uphold their end of the bargain. They are three months behind and the waiting is killing me.
Shane left to go home this morning. He has been my best friend since our days in the choir at San Saba and one of the few guys I plan to hang out with when I get out. My release shouldn't be too far away now.
Shane and I talk about anything. He is a passionate believer in Christ and we would discuss Scripture and theology regularly. He would often come to me armed with a question or two that had been on his mind and we would wrestle together, both of us unhappy with trite answers. Since I'm the more bookish one I would supply him with Christian books that I especially enjoyed and we would talk through them, arguing over authors' points and backing with Scripture. Where most guys in prison sharpen each others' criminal skills, we were honing our spiritual disciplines together.
I hope to hear from him soon. Wherever we are next spring, we plan to do a road trip on the west coast as a way to reconnect and share adventure. I'm looking forward to it.
Another loss in a championship for American soccer. This time it was the women in the World Cup who fell to Japan in penalty kicks. This team had captured more attention than any since the 1999 champs with their spirited comeback win against Brazil last week.
Brazil, the number-one rated team in the world, was up 2-1 and has one more player after a crazy referee's succession of red card and penalty kicks in the second half. Amazingly, the U.S. scored a tying goal just before full time was called. Each team scored one goal in overtime.
In the closing seconds a cross flew across the face of the goal and was hammered into the net by the head of Abby Wambach. My jaw dropped. We had to go to our cells for count while the teams battled through penalty kicks but a friend gave me the results of each kick as he swept the floor. Down a player, the U.S. had beaten the number one team in the world.
That excitement carried through the semifinal win over France and it looked certain that the Americans would beat Japan for the championship. Between games I discussed tactics and favorite players with two friends, John and West, who are also enthusiastic fans. It was odd to be talking women's soccer at all, much less in an environment like this, surrounded by testosterone and junkies of a different sort of football.
The final was going well for the Americans until Japan tied it in the closing minutes of the game. In overtime the U.S. scored, followed by a goal from the Japanese, My stomach churned as I realized that this game was eerily similar to the Brazil game. The only difference was full squads on both sides.
The Americans' usually sure-handed goalie, Hope Solo, allowed three goals to pass, while the American shooters met similar luck, missing the first two shots. were interlaced atop my head in nervousness that proved to be well-founded when Japan scored their final kick. My Jaw dropped. The Americans had lost. It sure was a fantastic journey, though.
