12/22/2014
It is 3 days before Christmas, and without further adieu, I make the following confession:
I am ashamed of myself.
That was an easy one, right?
I got a letter from my lovely step-daughter the other day, offering all manner of encouragement and praise. I have been rolling it around in my head since. She said, "...I couldn't have asked for a better step-dad....". You mean, except for the being in jail part, right? Except for being the disbarred, disgraced, disaster that I am, right? And, that isn't even why I'm ashamed! Seriously. Though that offers me plenty of opportunities for shame, that isn't the worst.
I'm blessed with having the most wonderful sort of woman for a wife. She's the perfect blend of sweet, and "good crazy". The years and choices have taught me that all women are crazy, at least in part, or, they are boring. I will take, (and have taken), crazy, over boring, most of my life. The key is to find, good crazy.
This is a rare commodity.
Finding good crazy is akin to finding a good mechanic. They may screw you, but you trust them to do it for a good price. I have no idea what that means. My wife is not a prostitute. This is a family blog.
The reason I am ashamed is because, lately, I have been so busy feeling sorry for myself, that I have forgotten how my senseless behavior has affected Lesa. Yes, I am in jail, and it sucks. But, whatever the circumstances, I did it. I have nobody, but myself to blame.
Lesa, on the other hand, is blameless. In fact, she told me on several occasions she was worried about me and asked whether she should switch to days to be home with me at night. Translation: switch to days to keep an eye on me, and keep me safe. Despite her concern, she now has to manage 2 houses, 3 dogs, 2 kids in college, 1 in high school, who is as moody as a magic 8 ball, 2 cats, 2 cars, 2 motorcycles, a full-time job, a lawyer for her husband, and her husband, commissary and phone costs, and his ailing mental health.
And she does it all with no "I told you so", or anger, (like I said, good crazy). She focuses so much on me and others, that she often forgets to take care of herself. She does an amazing job, but I am ashamed of her having to do that job. I'm ashamed that I put us and our life at risk- no matter what the circumstances.
Total dick move.
Thanks Obama.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Monday, December 29, 2014
Vacation with the kids. by Lesa
12/29/2014
I apologize for the grand space in dates and posts. I am struggling in energy and motivation. I find myself alone and lonely tonight. It has been a whirlwind event, working a bunch of days together, to be able to take a vacation with minimal days off, to be able to recover when I get home. Vacation was bittersweet. Second to my husband, nothing brings me more joy than my children, and they are still, my "Magnum Opus". I was overwhelmed at times during vacation, and coming back, as the emotions of the generosity of them hit me, I was humbled, grateful, and exhausted.
In getting ready for vacation, I had to be ready for Christmas a week early. The money rolled in slowly, and had to go right into my jeep to get it ready to make the trip to New Mexico. As the time drew closer, I finding myself down, because for the first time in my adult life, I had nothing, NOTHING to give for Christmas. I had managed to save enough to make calendars for the kids, and the project kept me busy. Their new step-mom, on her Christmas list, had asked for a calendar of pics for the kids from their childhood. I have all the kids photos and thought it would be a fun project, and the kids would enjoy. I counted that we needed 10 calendars, to include both grandparents, me, and the ex, and of course each of the kids.
When I got married to the kids dad, and we moved, for a while, to Shreveport, he let me take a photography class. I was hooked for life, and our kids, were my favorite subject. I have ridiculous amounts of pictures of them. Which means I had to dig through and pick favorites. Jessica gave me an idea of how to organize it. I spent hours and hours, laughing, crying, reminiscing, Finally it was done and I sent the order off, having it delivered to my son's house, where we would gather for Christmas with mom on the 23rd of December. I will come back to this on Christmas day post.
Isaac, the youngest of my kids, and 15 years old, and I took off for vacation, after working a 12 hour shift. Isaac took the wheel and I could chill. As we get close to my son's, a stopping point to get ready to go on to New Mexico, I sent him text that we were close. He replied with a confused text back. I, apparently, had showed up a day early. It was great, I got to relax a day, do the cooking I had still wanted to get done, and got to spend a day with Luke and his darling girl Jackie. Everyone comes in that night, the excitement is building. It was wonderful just to have them all around. We divided into two cars and hit the road. Wesley and I were able to have moments alone to talk on the phone, it is always embarrassing for him when I am with the kids, he feels awkward and embarrassed and cuts the conversation short.
My feelings were strange, having my kids pay for everything. I kept praying that God would keep me from feeling anxious and awkward, to just enjoy the break, allow them to take care of me, to learn something.
We finally get to Red River, New Mexico about 8pm. The boys jump out and start throwing snow around. The two youngest had never seen so much snow. The rest of us were tired and ready for sleep.
When you are married to someone in jail, there is a guilt, and something else, not sure yet, but, you are locked up too. There is this empty hole that exist constantly, a part of you missing. Its not guilt, its just hard to enjoy life, with half of yourself missing. Its like, you can't fully enjoy, or even understand, because part of your senses is missing. The next day, everyone is up early to get going. Me and the two youngest, all new to snow, get put into lessons. They snowboard, me ski. And while I could look around and enjoy the beauty and awe in the atmosphere, my soul was detached. I threw myself into learning the skills, a nice distraction, especially since, at 47, I didn't bounce back from falls in quite the same way. At the end of the lesson, I was exhausted. Not just from the physical exertion, but emotionally, I was overwhelmed from holding all I was feeling inside.
Day two, we slept in awhile and then played until the lodge/ski lift closed. I worked back and forth from the bunny hill, to the next step up, which seemed way more difficult. By the end of the day, I felt I could sort of turn and control my ski's enough to not run over anyone. We get back to the cabin, I start dinner, waiting for the more experienced folks to get back from another mountain. Time alone, I tried to figure out my feelings. Wesley would call at the end of the day, we would talk for a bit, but he would cut it short, knowing I was with the kids. I kept all the emotions inside. I was missing my time with my husband, I knew he was ...well, he even stopped me on the first day. He couldn't stand the conversation anymore, me on a ski vacation, with the kids, and it was Christmas week. He was miserable. I also wouldn't be visiting him that week, I had never, missed a visitation. There was guilt, but more, I was just missing sharing the joy with my best friend. Several of the kids were playing a video game, distracting and giving some laughs. We were all exhausted and fell to sleep quickly. My mind at night, wondering what Wesley was thinking about.
Day three, the kids all went together to the mountain, I finally able to control myself, a little, down the hill, crashing every few feet. I worked on my stops more, learned to get up without taking off my ski's. By the end of the day, the kids wanted to take me 1/2 up the mountain and go down together. I felt I could stop myself enough to try. Holy crap... It was a fantastic challenge. I fell hard, got up, fell again. Phil gave me tips along the way, and they all followed behind and around me. I would at times rest a few minutes. They would show me the cushioned spots of snow to fall into. I cry as I write this...
I was not alone. I had worked on the skills to survive the challenge. Met with curves, and rocks, and crazy cliffs. Fell onto hard snow. If I wanted a hand they lent it, they picked up my sticks...my darling daughter-in-law, Kiersten, passed me my sticks, patiently, gracefully, lovingly. I stubbornly got up. They would do tricks, play along the way, as I rested, distracting me. I never felt cold, warmth and love abounded. We laughed. They cheered me on...I get to the last steep small hill. Kiersten sees I am exhausted, gives me some advice how to just take it slow and go sideways, a step at a time. And at last, we are back to the last hill I had been practicing on the last two days. Kiersten tells me to go first and let the ducklings follow behind, the video is priceless. The last kid, quack, quacking on the way down. My son's girlfriend, Jackie is at the bottom with her camera to take pictures. I feel happy. I survived.
My heart is so heavy, my burden, at times, feels so alone. I didn't even have to look....there are my kids. Sending my husband letters, books, magazines, LOVE! Calling to check up on me, buying my gas and dinner. My one son, buying my ski lessons, rentals, lift tickets, the other gas, and dinner. My daughter buying my gas, food, I am sure, they all got together at the end to split the cost, of me and the two youngest kids. And although I felt self conscience having my children pay for my vacation, God taught me in such a precious way, that last hour of the skiing, something priceless. It was one of the hardest things, physically, I had ever done. The beauty was all around, the danger, all around, but each step, each fall, each move forward, backward or sideways, painfully fallen, or successfully skied, was met with cheers, encouragement, a helping hand, a empathetic word, to let me know I was not alone, I would not struggle, ever, alone. The road to life is not easy, but with God's gift of family, it is bearable. As a Christian, we are to put our trust and lives in God, but I know, God puts people in our lives, to help us for him. I don't know why God loves me so much, but I am so glad he does. I have the most amazing kids, and the love on the most primal, concrete , simplest ways, that touches the very core of who I am. I am truly, truly humbled by them.
I apologize for the grand space in dates and posts. I am struggling in energy and motivation. I find myself alone and lonely tonight. It has been a whirlwind event, working a bunch of days together, to be able to take a vacation with minimal days off, to be able to recover when I get home. Vacation was bittersweet. Second to my husband, nothing brings me more joy than my children, and they are still, my "Magnum Opus". I was overwhelmed at times during vacation, and coming back, as the emotions of the generosity of them hit me, I was humbled, grateful, and exhausted.
In getting ready for vacation, I had to be ready for Christmas a week early. The money rolled in slowly, and had to go right into my jeep to get it ready to make the trip to New Mexico. As the time drew closer, I finding myself down, because for the first time in my adult life, I had nothing, NOTHING to give for Christmas. I had managed to save enough to make calendars for the kids, and the project kept me busy. Their new step-mom, on her Christmas list, had asked for a calendar of pics for the kids from their childhood. I have all the kids photos and thought it would be a fun project, and the kids would enjoy. I counted that we needed 10 calendars, to include both grandparents, me, and the ex, and of course each of the kids.
When I got married to the kids dad, and we moved, for a while, to Shreveport, he let me take a photography class. I was hooked for life, and our kids, were my favorite subject. I have ridiculous amounts of pictures of them. Which means I had to dig through and pick favorites. Jessica gave me an idea of how to organize it. I spent hours and hours, laughing, crying, reminiscing, Finally it was done and I sent the order off, having it delivered to my son's house, where we would gather for Christmas with mom on the 23rd of December. I will come back to this on Christmas day post.
Isaac, the youngest of my kids, and 15 years old, and I took off for vacation, after working a 12 hour shift. Isaac took the wheel and I could chill. As we get close to my son's, a stopping point to get ready to go on to New Mexico, I sent him text that we were close. He replied with a confused text back. I, apparently, had showed up a day early. It was great, I got to relax a day, do the cooking I had still wanted to get done, and got to spend a day with Luke and his darling girl Jackie. Everyone comes in that night, the excitement is building. It was wonderful just to have them all around. We divided into two cars and hit the road. Wesley and I were able to have moments alone to talk on the phone, it is always embarrassing for him when I am with the kids, he feels awkward and embarrassed and cuts the conversation short.
My feelings were strange, having my kids pay for everything. I kept praying that God would keep me from feeling anxious and awkward, to just enjoy the break, allow them to take care of me, to learn something.
We finally get to Red River, New Mexico about 8pm. The boys jump out and start throwing snow around. The two youngest had never seen so much snow. The rest of us were tired and ready for sleep.
When you are married to someone in jail, there is a guilt, and something else, not sure yet, but, you are locked up too. There is this empty hole that exist constantly, a part of you missing. Its not guilt, its just hard to enjoy life, with half of yourself missing. Its like, you can't fully enjoy, or even understand, because part of your senses is missing. The next day, everyone is up early to get going. Me and the two youngest, all new to snow, get put into lessons. They snowboard, me ski. And while I could look around and enjoy the beauty and awe in the atmosphere, my soul was detached. I threw myself into learning the skills, a nice distraction, especially since, at 47, I didn't bounce back from falls in quite the same way. At the end of the lesson, I was exhausted. Not just from the physical exertion, but emotionally, I was overwhelmed from holding all I was feeling inside.
Day two, we slept in awhile and then played until the lodge/ski lift closed. I worked back and forth from the bunny hill, to the next step up, which seemed way more difficult. By the end of the day, I felt I could sort of turn and control my ski's enough to not run over anyone. We get back to the cabin, I start dinner, waiting for the more experienced folks to get back from another mountain. Time alone, I tried to figure out my feelings. Wesley would call at the end of the day, we would talk for a bit, but he would cut it short, knowing I was with the kids. I kept all the emotions inside. I was missing my time with my husband, I knew he was ...well, he even stopped me on the first day. He couldn't stand the conversation anymore, me on a ski vacation, with the kids, and it was Christmas week. He was miserable. I also wouldn't be visiting him that week, I had never, missed a visitation. There was guilt, but more, I was just missing sharing the joy with my best friend. Several of the kids were playing a video game, distracting and giving some laughs. We were all exhausted and fell to sleep quickly. My mind at night, wondering what Wesley was thinking about.
Day three, the kids all went together to the mountain, I finally able to control myself, a little, down the hill, crashing every few feet. I worked on my stops more, learned to get up without taking off my ski's. By the end of the day, the kids wanted to take me 1/2 up the mountain and go down together. I felt I could stop myself enough to try. Holy crap... It was a fantastic challenge. I fell hard, got up, fell again. Phil gave me tips along the way, and they all followed behind and around me. I would at times rest a few minutes. They would show me the cushioned spots of snow to fall into. I cry as I write this...
I was not alone. I had worked on the skills to survive the challenge. Met with curves, and rocks, and crazy cliffs. Fell onto hard snow. If I wanted a hand they lent it, they picked up my sticks...my darling daughter-in-law, Kiersten, passed me my sticks, patiently, gracefully, lovingly. I stubbornly got up. They would do tricks, play along the way, as I rested, distracting me. I never felt cold, warmth and love abounded. We laughed. They cheered me on...I get to the last steep small hill. Kiersten sees I am exhausted, gives me some advice how to just take it slow and go sideways, a step at a time. And at last, we are back to the last hill I had been practicing on the last two days. Kiersten tells me to go first and let the ducklings follow behind, the video is priceless. The last kid, quack, quacking on the way down. My son's girlfriend, Jackie is at the bottom with her camera to take pictures. I feel happy. I survived.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Doesn't everyone deserve compassion? by Lesa
I have just read my husbands blog on justice. It, in my opinion, is the best entry he has wrote. When we as society, try to blindly, like a formula in math, try to punish a criminal, or pass judgement, it is ignorance that blindly leads us. I have learned a lot in the time since we have been together. I was raised in a conservative, christian background. In my previous life, white, conservative christian(more of a moderate my children will tell you, especially as I got more of a sense of self), married for 25 years, raising 6 children, and living in the bubble of the suburbs, I was ignorant of a lot of injustices of the world. Justice is not equal for the black, white, and brown. The poor and rich absolutely have different types of justices available to them. I have heard enough of similar experiences and charges having different outcomes with those who can afford counsel, especially good counsel.
I have heard of incidences of deals getting offered to folks, unable to afford bond, pleading guilty to deals that they may or may not have been guilty of, because the sentence is "time served". Including, felonies, which is particularly sad, because they are ignorant of the consequences of having a felony on your record.
I can think, like my husband does, of both sides of a coin. If it was my daughter being robbed at gun point, at a Jack in the Box, she may not be physically hurt, but I assure you, she will be emotionally traumatized to some degree. But I can also look with compassion, at the circumstances that might have led him to make a one time bad decision. He appears remorseful, has his faith, that appears genuine, and supportive family, to assist him with rehabilitation, but no crime comes without any consequences. But deciding the appropriate punishment, with balance, fairness, and consideration of all the facts, is a difficult decision. I guess that is why we should be choosing Judges that we know have a history of doing just that.
My husband, for example, has admitted his guilt. For someone who has been harmed by a drunk driver, they can be angry, unforgiving, and without any reserve, want him locked up for life. But my husband is not the person who committed the first DWI. He has been to rehab, has learned better coping skills, been humbled, not only by losing his esquire, but by learning to understand people better, no longer considering himself better than those he represents. He is capable of making mistakes of judgement, of not thinking through the consequences of his choices. His severe ADHD as added to his spontaneous bad choices. He takes medication, has learned to decrease his impulsive decisions, and to trust in another person, me, his wife, to help him.
We humans are complicated. Life is complicated by childhood baggage, by race, by our environment. Throw in religion, abuse, addiction, there are endless complicating circumstances. In normal life, I hope that I can always provide compassion, care, and hope to those who cross my path. I know my husband, in his current residence, has to also apply good judgement to his choices, but also does the same. He has wrote stories of some of his fellow dormmate's circumstances, and while we are not the judges, it is still up to us to treat one another with respect, and hopefully compassion. Wesley states there are many who cause him to feel revulsion, but still, there are some, even accused of terrible crimes, that require a second look. And while justice is to be decided by others, we can still choose to be compassionate. I have donated books, put money for inmate on commissary, or phone, I have been a pen pal to one, a female, who is in a similar circumstance as my husband. Except in this instance, she is innocent. I will save her story for another day. Tell me what your opinion is on how justice is handed out, or should be? I am curious to what others, in different situations, may think.
Lastly, as a teaser, I will tell you, that I have a special guest blog entry coming from an inmate. I hope it to be a learning experience for us all, but mostly, a way to healing for him. Keep tuned.
I have heard of incidences of deals getting offered to folks, unable to afford bond, pleading guilty to deals that they may or may not have been guilty of, because the sentence is "time served". Including, felonies, which is particularly sad, because they are ignorant of the consequences of having a felony on your record.
I can think, like my husband does, of both sides of a coin. If it was my daughter being robbed at gun point, at a Jack in the Box, she may not be physically hurt, but I assure you, she will be emotionally traumatized to some degree. But I can also look with compassion, at the circumstances that might have led him to make a one time bad decision. He appears remorseful, has his faith, that appears genuine, and supportive family, to assist him with rehabilitation, but no crime comes without any consequences. But deciding the appropriate punishment, with balance, fairness, and consideration of all the facts, is a difficult decision. I guess that is why we should be choosing Judges that we know have a history of doing just that.
My husband, for example, has admitted his guilt. For someone who has been harmed by a drunk driver, they can be angry, unforgiving, and without any reserve, want him locked up for life. But my husband is not the person who committed the first DWI. He has been to rehab, has learned better coping skills, been humbled, not only by losing his esquire, but by learning to understand people better, no longer considering himself better than those he represents. He is capable of making mistakes of judgement, of not thinking through the consequences of his choices. His severe ADHD as added to his spontaneous bad choices. He takes medication, has learned to decrease his impulsive decisions, and to trust in another person, me, his wife, to help him.
We humans are complicated. Life is complicated by childhood baggage, by race, by our environment. Throw in religion, abuse, addiction, there are endless complicating circumstances. In normal life, I hope that I can always provide compassion, care, and hope to those who cross my path. I know my husband, in his current residence, has to also apply good judgement to his choices, but also does the same. He has wrote stories of some of his fellow dormmate's circumstances, and while we are not the judges, it is still up to us to treat one another with respect, and hopefully compassion. Wesley states there are many who cause him to feel revulsion, but still, there are some, even accused of terrible crimes, that require a second look. And while justice is to be decided by others, we can still choose to be compassionate. I have donated books, put money for inmate on commissary, or phone, I have been a pen pal to one, a female, who is in a similar circumstance as my husband. Except in this instance, she is innocent. I will save her story for another day. Tell me what your opinion is on how justice is handed out, or should be? I am curious to what others, in different situations, may think.
Lastly, as a teaser, I will tell you, that I have a special guest blog entry coming from an inmate. I hope it to be a learning experience for us all, but mostly, a way to healing for him. Keep tuned.
The scales of lady justice. by Wesley
12/5
I have spent the bulk of my adult life defending the underdog. At times, that meant I represented an injured party against an insurance company. Plaintiffs often are unfairly judged by the general population because of misunderstood judgments (of juries) that are bandied about by the willfully ignorant for political parties. Some really are injured parties that deserve compensation. They can not be painted with one broad brush.
Other times, I have represented the accused against the state. I have believed that the state is often tyrannical and that "justice" is often perverted by vengeance and that our system is broken and the lady with the scales is not blind and that those who vote are also willfully ignorant and that the suburbs are a Truman Show and instill in wide swaths of the population, a warped view of the world.
I believe these things because I'm liberal AND because they are all very true.
But, there is more to it than I have been willing to admit.
In here, this very room, there is an 18 year old kid. He's funny and light-hearted and playful. He gets mad when the Texans lose, and he calls his mother every night. He leads a prayer group at night and often, when he thinks no one is watching, he weeps.
He also has confessed to being a part of a conspiracy of armed robbers who targeted restaurants. They stuck guns into the faces of hard working poor people, threatened their lives, and stole thousands of dollars.
The state has offered him 40 years in prison and told him they will seek a life sentence if he doesn't accept the deal.
That means for his admittedly horrible behavior, he can not reasonably expect to be home before he is 45. He will go to prison for at least 27 years for crimes in which no one was hurt.
I wish I could say I knew what was just. I wish I could say with absolute certainty that my suburban friends are right, that such a judgement is just. That a child with no criminal history should be cast into the prison system to become an angry 45 year old, who has never lived, unleashed upon the world in 3 decades.
At the other end of the spectrum is the violent gang member I share a cell with. He is happily a career criminal and has no desire to be anything but. He is prone to violent outbursts, he gets no mail, no visits, and makes no phone calls. He alludes to murders in his past, that may be true, or may be lies intended to inspire jail cred. He has spent the bulk of his life in prison and will continue to do so, and in my opinion, he is why we build jails and should build more.
But what is a just punishment for him attempting to steal a truck in the Woodlands?
And what is a just punishment for people who commit property crimes when they are dumped homeless onto the streets of Houston with no money, family, resources or skills at urban outdoor living.
What is justice? I know that I have been as blind as I have accused other of being. But I still do not claim to know what is just.
I do know this: Life is too complicated to paint the accused and the convicted with one broad stroke and either condemn or mitigate our sins as one. But, I can say, strongly, that the people I have encountered, people in here that inspire revulsion, is far rarer than those that inspire compassion, and that may be the strongest statement of all. In any case, I realize that I really have no answers, despite all the evidence I collect.
I have spent the bulk of my adult life defending the underdog. At times, that meant I represented an injured party against an insurance company. Plaintiffs often are unfairly judged by the general population because of misunderstood judgments (of juries) that are bandied about by the willfully ignorant for political parties. Some really are injured parties that deserve compensation. They can not be painted with one broad brush.
Other times, I have represented the accused against the state. I have believed that the state is often tyrannical and that "justice" is often perverted by vengeance and that our system is broken and the lady with the scales is not blind and that those who vote are also willfully ignorant and that the suburbs are a Truman Show and instill in wide swaths of the population, a warped view of the world.
I believe these things because I'm liberal AND because they are all very true.
But, there is more to it than I have been willing to admit.
In here, this very room, there is an 18 year old kid. He's funny and light-hearted and playful. He gets mad when the Texans lose, and he calls his mother every night. He leads a prayer group at night and often, when he thinks no one is watching, he weeps.
He also has confessed to being a part of a conspiracy of armed robbers who targeted restaurants. They stuck guns into the faces of hard working poor people, threatened their lives, and stole thousands of dollars.
The state has offered him 40 years in prison and told him they will seek a life sentence if he doesn't accept the deal.
That means for his admittedly horrible behavior, he can not reasonably expect to be home before he is 45. He will go to prison for at least 27 years for crimes in which no one was hurt.
I wish I could say I knew what was just. I wish I could say with absolute certainty that my suburban friends are right, that such a judgement is just. That a child with no criminal history should be cast into the prison system to become an angry 45 year old, who has never lived, unleashed upon the world in 3 decades.
At the other end of the spectrum is the violent gang member I share a cell with. He is happily a career criminal and has no desire to be anything but. He is prone to violent outbursts, he gets no mail, no visits, and makes no phone calls. He alludes to murders in his past, that may be true, or may be lies intended to inspire jail cred. He has spent the bulk of his life in prison and will continue to do so, and in my opinion, he is why we build jails and should build more.
But what is a just punishment for him attempting to steal a truck in the Woodlands?
And what is a just punishment for people who commit property crimes when they are dumped homeless onto the streets of Houston with no money, family, resources or skills at urban outdoor living.
What is justice? I know that I have been as blind as I have accused other of being. But I still do not claim to know what is just.
I do know this: Life is too complicated to paint the accused and the convicted with one broad stroke and either condemn or mitigate our sins as one. But, I can say, strongly, that the people I have encountered, people in here that inspire revulsion, is far rarer than those that inspire compassion, and that may be the strongest statement of all. In any case, I realize that I really have no answers, despite all the evidence I collect.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Struggling with the holidays. by Lesa
I am exhausted. I have spent the day getting caught up on chores, that I only got half way done with, I still have not started on Christmas projects, although I did put up a few Christmas decorations, including a sad two foot artificial tree, I always get a real one, it is pathetic, but still somewhat festive. I am fighting depression, some days it gets away with me and I give in, other days I fight it off, with Wesley's help and phone calls. I am working a lot of hours, I am overdue on maintenance on my jeep, and it needed new tires too, and in December, it is eating up all my Christmas money. I am taking a ski vacation with the kids in New Mexico, so everyone is making Christmas a little scaled back to have vacation money. But, it is incredibly difficult that it is December 7 and I have not bought one single solitary thing for Christmas. Payday is Thursday, but again, all the extra money will go to the jeep, and bills. I am not sure what, if anything will be left. When I start trying to add it in my head I start getting overwhelmed and getting upset. I am sure when my children read this they will all say the same thing, no worries mom, we are just glad to all be together, they are awesome that way.
I have some surprises that I hope to get done, might have some Jessica help, but if it doesn't come along everyone will understand. Most of us are broke for one reason or another. But its Christmas, and its my tradition to overdo it. lol. I keep praying that God will help me through this lesson. I have had broke Christmases as a child, I was fine. But as an adult, I have always gone overboard and crazy, we love Christmas. But Christmas is NOT about the stuff. We all know that, but the love behind the stuff. And I wouldn't care one bit if I did not get anything from anyone, well, except that one special thing from hubby. Don't be crass, I mean that he is wearing, right now, a new t-shirt, decorated with messages of love....getting his scent all over it. Yes, for Christmas, my most precious present will be a smelly t-shirt from my husband. Oh, it won't stink, but, as you have maybe seen someone smell a worn shirt when they are missing a loved one, I so miss his smell, its comfort. It is incubating as we speak. I am very excited.
I did get some interesting news at work. I was offered a job. A straight 8-5 M-F, no holidays or weekends, kind of job. I officially interview this week, hopefully tomorrow. I am afraid I may not be able to meet my current pay, especially when times are tough, I can always pick up a shift for overtime. I will no longer be able to do that, or I am exempt from it, I no longer get paid for working overtime. It is for a new program, so there will be overtime getting it started, but probably not excessive.
Back to Christmas...Wesley and I usually watch "Love Actually" every week, some times twice a week, it is our tradition together. I did not make it through the intro without crying, I tried three times, so I am not going to do it. I am miserable without him here. Our life does not work without him. Isaac is down too. I chewed his butt out for his drop in grades, he was grumpy, but went up stairs, spent all night and further getting caught up with stuff and finishing a project. The next few days he got his work done sitting with me after I got home, I got home early this week since I am working in a clinic for the week. Regular hours, it seems, made a difference to having me home with him. I had not realized that working and not getting home til 8 pm. was giving him a bit of a challenge. New job would be good for that too, will just have to pray and see how salary negotiations go, after the interview, of course.
Well, I have procrastinated on the Christmas projects enough, better get back to it. Keeping my head up, for today anyways. Keep yours up too, it can be overwhelming. Everybody has life issues, but remembering that friends and family are a text away, or call, or if I am not really wanting to talk, I can get on Facebook and just read about how everyone else is doing. It usually picks me up. And, I have mentioned before, do something for someone else. Giving time, money, thoughtful gestures to another takes your mind of your own troubles, and allows God to work through you.
God bless.
I have some surprises that I hope to get done, might have some Jessica help, but if it doesn't come along everyone will understand. Most of us are broke for one reason or another. But its Christmas, and its my tradition to overdo it. lol. I keep praying that God will help me through this lesson. I have had broke Christmases as a child, I was fine. But as an adult, I have always gone overboard and crazy, we love Christmas. But Christmas is NOT about the stuff. We all know that, but the love behind the stuff. And I wouldn't care one bit if I did not get anything from anyone, well, except that one special thing from hubby. Don't be crass, I mean that he is wearing, right now, a new t-shirt, decorated with messages of love....getting his scent all over it. Yes, for Christmas, my most precious present will be a smelly t-shirt from my husband. Oh, it won't stink, but, as you have maybe seen someone smell a worn shirt when they are missing a loved one, I so miss his smell, its comfort. It is incubating as we speak. I am very excited.
I did get some interesting news at work. I was offered a job. A straight 8-5 M-F, no holidays or weekends, kind of job. I officially interview this week, hopefully tomorrow. I am afraid I may not be able to meet my current pay, especially when times are tough, I can always pick up a shift for overtime. I will no longer be able to do that, or I am exempt from it, I no longer get paid for working overtime. It is for a new program, so there will be overtime getting it started, but probably not excessive.
Back to Christmas...Wesley and I usually watch "Love Actually" every week, some times twice a week, it is our tradition together. I did not make it through the intro without crying, I tried three times, so I am not going to do it. I am miserable without him here. Our life does not work without him. Isaac is down too. I chewed his butt out for his drop in grades, he was grumpy, but went up stairs, spent all night and further getting caught up with stuff and finishing a project. The next few days he got his work done sitting with me after I got home, I got home early this week since I am working in a clinic for the week. Regular hours, it seems, made a difference to having me home with him. I had not realized that working and not getting home til 8 pm. was giving him a bit of a challenge. New job would be good for that too, will just have to pray and see how salary negotiations go, after the interview, of course.
Well, I have procrastinated on the Christmas projects enough, better get back to it. Keeping my head up, for today anyways. Keep yours up too, it can be overwhelming. Everybody has life issues, but remembering that friends and family are a text away, or call, or if I am not really wanting to talk, I can get on Facebook and just read about how everyone else is doing. It usually picks me up. And, I have mentioned before, do something for someone else. Giving time, money, thoughtful gestures to another takes your mind of your own troubles, and allows God to work through you.
God bless.
Thanksgiving. by Wesley
Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. It is a day to appreciate your friends and family and take joy in just being together. No commercialism, no nonsense, just love and companionship.
And football, of course, but clearly the Cowboys didn't get the friggin' memo this year!
The dorm (I'm not comfortable with the word- too collegiate- but everyone else uses it) is quiet.
People lounging around. People deal with the holidays in here in 2 ways: They are either festive or they sleep all day and ignore the calendar altogether.
The kitchen staff, I must admit, did not poison us. I realize such a conclusion is premature but the signs are positive. In any case, we have turnkey roll slices with mashed potatoes roughly every two weeks, so they have plenty of practice with the meal.
Nevertheless, this is an important day on my annual schedule and I am positively scandalized at the lack of effort! Accordingly, I vow, VOW, I tell you, that I will never come to the jail for Thanksgiving dinner again.
Despite the lackluster meal in my current location, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have wonderful kids that keep me entertained through the mail. I'm thankful that I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and a mother who love me.
And I'm thankful for my wonderful wife. She struggles in my absence with doing both of our jobs and chores,but always makes sure I have what I need and that I know I'm loved.
I love you all and I appreciate you all so much.
Today is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. It is a day to appreciate your friends and family and take joy in just being together. No commercialism, no nonsense, just love and companionship.
And football, of course, but clearly the Cowboys didn't get the friggin' memo this year!
The dorm (I'm not comfortable with the word- too collegiate- but everyone else uses it) is quiet.
People lounging around. People deal with the holidays in here in 2 ways: They are either festive or they sleep all day and ignore the calendar altogether.
The kitchen staff, I must admit, did not poison us. I realize such a conclusion is premature but the signs are positive. In any case, we have turnkey roll slices with mashed potatoes roughly every two weeks, so they have plenty of practice with the meal.
Nevertheless, this is an important day on my annual schedule and I am positively scandalized at the lack of effort! Accordingly, I vow, VOW, I tell you, that I will never come to the jail for Thanksgiving dinner again.
Despite the lackluster meal in my current location, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have wonderful kids that keep me entertained through the mail. I'm thankful that I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and a mother who love me.
And I'm thankful for my wonderful wife. She struggles in my absence with doing both of our jobs and chores,but always makes sure I have what I need and that I know I'm loved.
I love you all and I appreciate you all so much.
Losing a dear friend. By Wesley
The blog has suffered of late. Both Lesa and I have suffered through a series of events that threatened to overwhelm us. Personal, financial and other set backs that came over us like waves. One after another and each stronger than the last.
My lawyer died.
I'm in jail and I have entrusted my well being to a man, and he died. This is a scary scenario, believe me.
But Brad was so much more than my lawyer. He was my employer. I worked with him for a couple of years and we were just starting to understand what our mutually beneficial relationship would look like.
But he was my friend and much more. He calmed me. He made me feel like everything was going to be okay when I was overcome by fear. He was a huge bear of a man: 6'10 400 pounds, with a deep voice that washed over your panic and soothed you.
Every time I beat myself up, he would assure me that I would eventually get my license back, that he would not give up on me.
After my efforts resulted in a big win for him and his client, he called me brilliant and it lifted my spirits because I knew him to be one of the smartest lawyers I have ever known. And despite all of this, despite the fact that I loved him like a brother, I knew he was flawed.
He had long since stopped preparing the way he should. He'd lost some confidence, and losing when he'd not fully prepared was easier on the ego than losing when fully prepared.
He drank way too much, smoked too much and was deeply depressed.
And I was planning on firing him. While he was falling to the floor, paralyzed by the stroke that ended his life, I was leaving a message, begging him to call me, asking about his health, and giving instructions. When I hung up, I made snide comment about whether I would still have a job when this was over if I fired my boss.
He was always there for me, and while he was dying, I was jumping ship.
I am such a dick.
My lawyer died.
I'm in jail and I have entrusted my well being to a man, and he died. This is a scary scenario, believe me.
But Brad was so much more than my lawyer. He was my employer. I worked with him for a couple of years and we were just starting to understand what our mutually beneficial relationship would look like.
But he was my friend and much more. He calmed me. He made me feel like everything was going to be okay when I was overcome by fear. He was a huge bear of a man: 6'10 400 pounds, with a deep voice that washed over your panic and soothed you.
Every time I beat myself up, he would assure me that I would eventually get my license back, that he would not give up on me.
After my efforts resulted in a big win for him and his client, he called me brilliant and it lifted my spirits because I knew him to be one of the smartest lawyers I have ever known. And despite all of this, despite the fact that I loved him like a brother, I knew he was flawed.
He had long since stopped preparing the way he should. He'd lost some confidence, and losing when he'd not fully prepared was easier on the ego than losing when fully prepared.
He drank way too much, smoked too much and was deeply depressed.
And I was planning on firing him. While he was falling to the floor, paralyzed by the stroke that ended his life, I was leaving a message, begging him to call me, asking about his health, and giving instructions. When I hung up, I made snide comment about whether I would still have a job when this was over if I fired my boss.
He was always there for me, and while he was dying, I was jumping ship.
I am such a dick.
Visit from my probation officer. by Wesley
My new bunk mate is ethnically indigenous Hawaiian Islander. He was born and raised in Maine. He is covered in tattoos that look like the state of Texas and statements like, "Southern Pride". These thoughtful ink proclamations are crowded by swastikas and "ss" bolts. He redefines multiculturalism.
He also smells bad and is just a bit smarter than a cold brisket. Owing to his Pacific Island heritage, he is huge, so I keep my clever judgments to myself.
I was visited by my probation officer and received what some might call some staggeringly bad news (by "some" I mean "I"): it seems that on 9/3 when I went to court it was made clear to my now deceased lawyer that I would not be allowed to leave until everything was worked out in Harris County.
On some level, I already knew that, and had been begging him to use the game of "keep away" to work out a deal in Harris county to grease the skids. That did not happen. That's the good news. The bad news is that nothing happened at all so I have essentially been sitting here for about 110 days for no reason.
So I got that goin' for me. which is nice.
I recognize that every day I sit is a day closer to going home. Allegedly. This is true only in the most chronological of ways. The reality is that the sooner everything gets worked out, the sooner I will go home.
In the meantime, I will avoid my Nazi Hawaiian bunk mate and his strangely stained under garments that make me throw up, just a little.
He also smells bad and is just a bit smarter than a cold brisket. Owing to his Pacific Island heritage, he is huge, so I keep my clever judgments to myself.
I was visited by my probation officer and received what some might call some staggeringly bad news (by "some" I mean "I"): it seems that on 9/3 when I went to court it was made clear to my now deceased lawyer that I would not be allowed to leave until everything was worked out in Harris County.
On some level, I already knew that, and had been begging him to use the game of "keep away" to work out a deal in Harris county to grease the skids. That did not happen. That's the good news. The bad news is that nothing happened at all so I have essentially been sitting here for about 110 days for no reason.
So I got that goin' for me. which is nice.
I recognize that every day I sit is a day closer to going home. Allegedly. This is true only in the most chronological of ways. The reality is that the sooner everything gets worked out, the sooner I will go home.
In the meantime, I will avoid my Nazi Hawaiian bunk mate and his strangely stained under garments that make me throw up, just a little.
Disgusting behavior. by Wesley
11/12/2014
My daughter will tell you I'm squeamish. She watched me toss my cookies once, years ago, when I drank milk that had expired. Expired that very day, as a matter of fact.
Almost everyone who knows me well could share a tale of me retching or vomiting while people giggled away at my squeamishness. I get it, it's my thing. Yet, I was enlisted in the Navy for nine years, so I'm accustomed to men being boys when they think no one is watching. And by "no one", I mean no women they might want to have sex with.... And by "no woman they might want to have sex with", I mean "no women at all".
We do things. I have seen a grown man eat a live cockroach in the barracks because he wanted to gross me out- and he is from West Virginia. (I'm not certain which of these two factors was more relevant to his food choices that day).
In 9 years I saw a lot of gross boy behavior. None of what I saw prepared me for what I saw in jail last night.
One man dug his finger into another man's nose and pulled it out. His fingertip glistened with first-cold-front-of-the-year-snot. He put that fingertip into his mouth and sucked it clean. That was nothing. Amateur hour. Kid's stuff.
The picker complained of a painful zit on his ass. The picker told him to turn over and he popped the offending zit on the ass cheek of another man and licked the results from his fingertips.
Yes, he did. You can't make this shit up.
Stress in the tank. By Wesley
There are times when the events in our lives happen quite unexpectedly. Not because we are careless or because we are willfully ignorant, but because sometimes shit just happens. There are other times when events are as predictable as sunset, yet we are surprised.
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood...." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you.
I'm playing poker with guys who are members of The Bloods, The Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. They cost $1.45
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began. Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. They put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down. To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee....and go back to sleep.
Mostly, only white guys with little hair and "ss" tattoos do this. Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. he is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of $.15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes. Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of a shouting that the beaten man was not really a blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate. But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over.
Chess anyone?
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood...." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you.
I'm playing poker with guys who are members of The Bloods, The Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. They cost $1.45
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began. Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. They put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down. To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee....and go back to sleep.
Mostly, only white guys with little hair and "ss" tattoos do this. Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. he is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of $.15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes. Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of a shouting that the beaten man was not really a blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate. But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over.
Chess anyone?
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Guilt or innocence. by Wesley
10/28/2014
Today, for about the 10,000th time, I heard the stories. They are heard at every table in this cell, every bunk area conversation, every whispered talk after lights out.
They are variations of the same theme, but they all boil down to one thing. Not guilty! Innocent! Everyone here, (ok, lets say ALMOST everyone) , is innocent. And they will tell you that every single day unless you find ways to escape the cloisters of conversation that endlessly abound.
There are also boundless conspiracies against everyone. If you have lost your job as a trustee, it isn't because you were stealing, it is because that guard is out to get you. (Actually, this one tickles me most of all, some of these guys actually believe that guards go home and scheme and plot against them instead of eating, having a drink, sex, and a life. I beg my peers to understand that the guards do not give a rat's piss about inmate drama when the doors close behind them at the end of the shift); if your mail ended up in the courtroom instead of distributed at mail call, it isn't because your family misaddressed the envelope, it's because they are "fuckin'" with your mail.
I would rather drive a tent peg through my balls than listen to just one more protestation of innocence when I heard you brag about the behavior 20 minutes earlier.
Unfortunately, I have been outed by a former client so I'm inundated with questions and people wanting advice. I don't mind, I like to help ease people's minds, and my advice is usually, "do what your lawyer says." But it does mean I hear the same stuff more than your average resident.
I spend more and more time hidden in my bunk behind the wall of paperbacks, because I think many of these guys forget my troubles are the same as their troubles. I have all the same fears, all the same problems with attorney communication (and he is my friend!) and all the same stress.
Only one difference: I am guilty.
Today, for about the 10,000th time, I heard the stories. They are heard at every table in this cell, every bunk area conversation, every whispered talk after lights out.
They are variations of the same theme, but they all boil down to one thing. Not guilty! Innocent! Everyone here, (ok, lets say ALMOST everyone) , is innocent. And they will tell you that every single day unless you find ways to escape the cloisters of conversation that endlessly abound.
There are also boundless conspiracies against everyone. If you have lost your job as a trustee, it isn't because you were stealing, it is because that guard is out to get you. (Actually, this one tickles me most of all, some of these guys actually believe that guards go home and scheme and plot against them instead of eating, having a drink, sex, and a life. I beg my peers to understand that the guards do not give a rat's piss about inmate drama when the doors close behind them at the end of the shift); if your mail ended up in the courtroom instead of distributed at mail call, it isn't because your family misaddressed the envelope, it's because they are "fuckin'" with your mail.
I would rather drive a tent peg through my balls than listen to just one more protestation of innocence when I heard you brag about the behavior 20 minutes earlier.
Unfortunately, I have been outed by a former client so I'm inundated with questions and people wanting advice. I don't mind, I like to help ease people's minds, and my advice is usually, "do what your lawyer says." But it does mean I hear the same stuff more than your average resident.
I spend more and more time hidden in my bunk behind the wall of paperbacks, because I think many of these guys forget my troubles are the same as their troubles. I have all the same fears, all the same problems with attorney communication (and he is my friend!) and all the same stress.
Only one difference: I am guilty.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep. by Wesley
10/23/2014
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
My days are simple enough. There are few variables. The biggest variable is the faces I share space with. I don't even know many of their names. I know their alleged crimes (still a criminal defense attorney inside). Why learn their names...
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
They may be here for a day or two before they disappear? Most arrive when I'm sleeping and are gone in hours. Others stay for a day or three or five. Faces blending together out of relevance to me.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
It is nothing that can be said to adequately describe the tedium. The T.V. is on from 9 am. until 10:30 pm. on every day, except Friday and Saturday- which days it stays on till 1:30 am. The programming is either football or car shows.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
I got out to "rec" today. Only one other person from the tank went out with me. I looked forward to some quiet time walking in the crisp autumn morning in solitude. Instead, I was regaled with the minutia of his family and legal troubles. I am acquainted with his situation well enough I could finish his sentences and point out facts he wasn't considering. Sadly, I didn't want to hear it the first time.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
My days are simple enough. There are few variables. The biggest variable is the faces I share space with. I don't even know many of their names. I know their alleged crimes (still a criminal defense attorney inside). Why learn their names...
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
They may be here for a day or two before they disappear? Most arrive when I'm sleeping and are gone in hours. Others stay for a day or three or five. Faces blending together out of relevance to me.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
It is nothing that can be said to adequately describe the tedium. The T.V. is on from 9 am. until 10:30 pm. on every day, except Friday and Saturday- which days it stays on till 1:30 am. The programming is either football or car shows.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
I got out to "rec" today. Only one other person from the tank went out with me. I looked forward to some quiet time walking in the crisp autumn morning in solitude. Instead, I was regaled with the minutia of his family and legal troubles. I am acquainted with his situation well enough I could finish his sentences and point out facts he wasn't considering. Sadly, I didn't want to hear it the first time.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Faith, God, and Religion. by Wesley
10/17/2014
I have mentioned before my interest in how incarcerated people turn to God. "No Atheists in foxholes" extended to jail. I have always had an interest in religion(s). As a child that manifested itself in a lifestyle that revolved around the church and its activities. All my friends were members of my church and I went so far as to make missionary trips.
Now, my interest is more of an academic pursuit. I won't address why I don't believe. I don't think that should be the starting point of a debate. If you believe in the God of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and the zingers you support your argument with are biblical/Koranic quotes, then we have nothing to talk about. That is not an argument. It is a circular logic and means nothing. I could choose any book, tell you that it is true and, when asked, tell you , it is true because the book says that it is true.
There is another aspect of belief that doesn't attempt to rely on rationalizing the irrational: It is simply having faith.
My loving wife has faith. She won't engage in debates about the history, science, zoology, astronomy, archaeology, geology, etc., because she doesn't need evidence to support her faith. That's a good thing too, because there isn't any.
What she does have transcends any of that. She has a quiet faith that gives her strength. Her faith soothes her, it lifts her spirits and calms her. it is her Polaris when she is lost, every present, guiding her when she is lost; a constant. In my mind, attempting to rationalize faith and argue the evidence of any religion accomplishes two things: first, it makes the proponent of rationalization look like a buffoon; More importantly, rationalization casts doubt on a person's faith, there is no need to demonstrate the rationale supporting. There ought not be a need for rationale at all. Lesa would listen to my arguments, shake her head and say something along the lines of "I don't know enough about that to argue, I just know I have faith."
I respect that.
All of that said, I found myself this morning with my hands clasped together on the verge of prayer, and tears when I was feeling particularly helpless. It was a visceral response, I had no epiphany. It's no surprise that a product of western civilization, as I am, would think of praying. When I feel sad, impatient, and powerless.
There will be no prayer for me. I have no faith and I'm okay with that. I actually envy those who can close their eyes and find strength from their faith. The quiet strength and peace in the face of all we have to fear is a gift.
Disclaimer: saying "faith" is a "gift" is an intentional use of irony. Please do not attempt to use my rhetorical device against me!
~note by Lesa.
I never write during my husbands blog entries, but this one begged for it. God has poured love into me, loved me, protected me from evil, sent beautiful people in my life to pray for me, help me, support me, my life is full and forever changed by God and his people who have loved me. My husband who has had to run from emotions, and love, his whole life to protect his broken heart, desperately needs to feel God's love and protection. I could never argue with his intellect. I can only share my humble experiences. I don't remember ever feeling God not being there. As a little girl, I remember sitting in church, working hard to not be distracted, to sing to God, to talk to him. I remember, crying, at the tender age of 8, about to be raped by a neighbor, crying quietly alone in my bed, to be saved....moving, that next day, suddenly, out of state. I could go on and on with stories of love that God has shown me. I want my husband to know that love. To not use his intellect as an excuse, or his pride, to accept the love he was always meant to have, and deserves. I think, he still thinks he doesn't deserve it, or perhaps is afraid of accepting love from a Father God who will never fail him, as his own father did. Please pray for Wesley, that God would reach him, in a way that only God can, or by using the many loving people who love him and know the Lord. I thank you.
Our rollercoaster month. by Lesa
As I scramble to get caught up on my husbands blog entries I thought I would take a moment to share a tiny bit of the insanity of our lives. The last month has been quite stressful and I have been on overload. I apologize for not writing and sharing and keeping up with my side of this blog.
In order to make my bills and pay for phone and commissary and such, I usually work my usual 3 days with 1 extra day every other week. My sweet mother-in-law, and sister-in-law who lives with her, needed to move from her home to an apartment. I assisted some with packing, but getting ready to move it was apparent they did not have sufficient help. I took a day off and called off for my extra day. They also had tons of stuff they couldn't take with them and was going to hire an estate person to sell for them, at the charge of 35%, but they back out. So my daughter and I stepped in, and for two weeks, every day off was spent there getting everything organized, priced, advertising, etc...it went very well, but after three weeks, I was exhausted, broke, emotionally drained missing my husband, it was getting close to Thanksgiving, and I wanted to do anything to avoid it. It is my husbands favorite holiday. A day of nothing but love, food, fellowship...beautiful. I was so tired, and depressed and overwhelmed after neglecting my own home for 3 weeks. My beautiful daughter Jessica, after her own full work week, came over and helped clean, brightened the world with her smile, energy and beautiful spirit. She also told me she is moving to Maryland with her boyfriend, soon to be engaged. My heart is torn. I am happy to see this kid grown, healthy, happy, in love...and heart broken she will be so far. It is completely selfish. I thought I had ground it into my children's heads that they were not to move out of state, since they were children...but I guess it was bound to happen, that at least one of them would move away. It seems that my emotional state around the holidays makes it worse. And since I know my children read this, I want to say, I am truly, supportive in my daughter moving, it is what makes her happy. She is ready to be away from Houston and its bad memories, past mistakes, I totally get that. I am happy that she has found someone to love and to love her, but I would be lying to say I am not a little sad too. Perhaps that just comes with children growing up.
Also around this time, my husbands attorney, good friend, and boss died. I can't even begin to explain the week of emotional turmoil. For someone in jail, who's lifeline to freedom, dies, it devastating. Never mind that it was his friend and mentor, the one person who would tell him he was awesome and would practice law again some day. To look in his eyes, through the visitors glass and tell him that his friend had died....we didn't talk for 10 minutes, I was a mess before I got there, much less telling him that I loved him and it would be okay, he could just hold it together, wipe an escaped tear or two, it sucked not being able to just hold his hand, our hands touch on either side of the glass, with our hands in the sign of I love you in sign language....both of our heart hurting and neither able to just hold and console the other...it just sucked. I went to work, and Isaac and I ate a lot of take out that week. Good thing my son is easy going. He is happy to just sit together, eating our burgers and watching Family Guy, just happy to have me there with him in the evening.
I am still very emotional. Incredibly emotional patients who have touched my heart, all suffering and struggling, and I could just hold their hands and cry with them and tell them I was there. I love my job, I love this part of my job, but it has been draining.
Tonight, as I am trying to attempt to get caught up on all the entries my husband has been sending me and I am rereading them and feeling the struggle of the last few weeks, several things are apparent. One, I am so loved and cared for by my family, especially my kids, and my husband, as he saw me struggling, put his own grief aside, called often to encourage me, wrote loving thoughtful letters everyday, even though I was unable to write much during those three weeks, my beautiful children filled in the gap, THANK YOU kids!! They wrote my husband, sent him books, called to check on me, I have been so loved...so preciously loved, I can't explain the surprise of getting flowers, just because, on a rotten week, a Christmas CD, there are so many thoughtful things. Two, I love my job, most days, I always trust that God puts me where I am supposed to be, to minister to those who he needs me to love. Three, so many people in this world, in MY world are suffering, and the simplest acts mean so much. It doesn't take someone overly sensitive or sympathetic to see the needy of the world, change someone's life, in a small, or a big way. It helps, when you feel overwhelmed and sad, to instead of focusing on that, to give of oneself, you are blessed. God is good.
In order to make my bills and pay for phone and commissary and such, I usually work my usual 3 days with 1 extra day every other week. My sweet mother-in-law, and sister-in-law who lives with her, needed to move from her home to an apartment. I assisted some with packing, but getting ready to move it was apparent they did not have sufficient help. I took a day off and called off for my extra day. They also had tons of stuff they couldn't take with them and was going to hire an estate person to sell for them, at the charge of 35%, but they back out. So my daughter and I stepped in, and for two weeks, every day off was spent there getting everything organized, priced, advertising, etc...it went very well, but after three weeks, I was exhausted, broke, emotionally drained missing my husband, it was getting close to Thanksgiving, and I wanted to do anything to avoid it. It is my husbands favorite holiday. A day of nothing but love, food, fellowship...beautiful. I was so tired, and depressed and overwhelmed after neglecting my own home for 3 weeks. My beautiful daughter Jessica, after her own full work week, came over and helped clean, brightened the world with her smile, energy and beautiful spirit. She also told me she is moving to Maryland with her boyfriend, soon to be engaged. My heart is torn. I am happy to see this kid grown, healthy, happy, in love...and heart broken she will be so far. It is completely selfish. I thought I had ground it into my children's heads that they were not to move out of state, since they were children...but I guess it was bound to happen, that at least one of them would move away. It seems that my emotional state around the holidays makes it worse. And since I know my children read this, I want to say, I am truly, supportive in my daughter moving, it is what makes her happy. She is ready to be away from Houston and its bad memories, past mistakes, I totally get that. I am happy that she has found someone to love and to love her, but I would be lying to say I am not a little sad too. Perhaps that just comes with children growing up.
Also around this time, my husbands attorney, good friend, and boss died. I can't even begin to explain the week of emotional turmoil. For someone in jail, who's lifeline to freedom, dies, it devastating. Never mind that it was his friend and mentor, the one person who would tell him he was awesome and would practice law again some day. To look in his eyes, through the visitors glass and tell him that his friend had died....we didn't talk for 10 minutes, I was a mess before I got there, much less telling him that I loved him and it would be okay, he could just hold it together, wipe an escaped tear or two, it sucked not being able to just hold his hand, our hands touch on either side of the glass, with our hands in the sign of I love you in sign language....both of our heart hurting and neither able to just hold and console the other...it just sucked. I went to work, and Isaac and I ate a lot of take out that week. Good thing my son is easy going. He is happy to just sit together, eating our burgers and watching Family Guy, just happy to have me there with him in the evening.
I am still very emotional. Incredibly emotional patients who have touched my heart, all suffering and struggling, and I could just hold their hands and cry with them and tell them I was there. I love my job, I love this part of my job, but it has been draining.
Tonight, as I am trying to attempt to get caught up on all the entries my husband has been sending me and I am rereading them and feeling the struggle of the last few weeks, several things are apparent. One, I am so loved and cared for by my family, especially my kids, and my husband, as he saw me struggling, put his own grief aside, called often to encourage me, wrote loving thoughtful letters everyday, even though I was unable to write much during those three weeks, my beautiful children filled in the gap, THANK YOU kids!! They wrote my husband, sent him books, called to check on me, I have been so loved...so preciously loved, I can't explain the surprise of getting flowers, just because, on a rotten week, a Christmas CD, there are so many thoughtful things. Two, I love my job, most days, I always trust that God puts me where I am supposed to be, to minister to those who he needs me to love. Three, so many people in this world, in MY world are suffering, and the simplest acts mean so much. It doesn't take someone overly sensitive or sympathetic to see the needy of the world, change someone's life, in a small, or a big way. It helps, when you feel overwhelmed and sad, to instead of focusing on that, to give of oneself, you are blessed. God is good.
"Jailhouse Ink". by Wesley
10/16/2014
The second I get out of here, I am flying directly to LA, or Miami, or New York to pitch the most amazing reality show. It will be "Miami Ink" meets "County Jail". We will call it "Jailhouse Ink" or "Rorshach Tats" but the theme is simple. It will follow the trials and tribulations of the jailhouse tattoo artist and will highlight their work.
Those pansies on the current crop of shows with their equipment and talent will pale in comparison.
The don't even have much to fear from Hepatitis A-D!
The diseases, the lack of equipment, the (illegality!), are all compelling, but once the show focuses on the work the show's star quality will shine. Walking the cells, halls, and "yards" of any correctional facility will reveal tattoo work that is so colossally bad, so cringe inducing, you would think the tattoos were the punishment.
I see this guy regularly that has a faceful of tattoos. He's about 19 or so, and looks hardened. His tats look like a child drew them on his face with a pen. There are chains and hearts and the occasional treble clef and musical note. He has one that says, "Hug Life" upon first glance until you notice the misshapen "T" in the background.
I prefer "hug Life". Makes me think the kid has just gotten a raw deal; he's just misunderstood. How could you lock up someone that invested in the "Hug Life"?
I will not even address the myriad swastikas, "SS" designations, and other symbology. I wonder whether other dead genocidal maniacs are envious of the uushy (?), nostalgic treatment the 3rd Reich receives in American jails. How come Joe Stalin doesn't have a crew running around with a Hammer and Sickle stamped on their chest? Where are Pol Pot's boyz?
The "Aryan" iconography extends beyond the 3rd Reich. Some have extended it to Northern European gods, gremlins and such. One of my neighbors has what appears to be an Ewok with horns on his arm. This not so fierce tattoo has sharp teeth and claws, but how scary is an Ewok?
It's probably not an Ewok, of course, but damn, it looks like one to a guy my age.
Quick question: What's worse?
a)Jar Jar Binks and all of his kind
b)Ewoks
c)nothing is worse than A&B
This is just the beginning of the show I have planned. Ordinary reality show drama will pale in comparison to the drama in here. "Artists" being sent to segregation just for their art will add an element of Artistic suppression that will make this show a sure fire hit- and never mind the everyday beatings and shankings.
The second I get out of here, I am flying directly to LA, or Miami, or New York to pitch the most amazing reality show. It will be "Miami Ink" meets "County Jail". We will call it "Jailhouse Ink" or "Rorshach Tats" but the theme is simple. It will follow the trials and tribulations of the jailhouse tattoo artist and will highlight their work.
Those pansies on the current crop of shows with their equipment and talent will pale in comparison.
The don't even have much to fear from Hepatitis A-D!
The diseases, the lack of equipment, the (illegality!), are all compelling, but once the show focuses on the work the show's star quality will shine. Walking the cells, halls, and "yards" of any correctional facility will reveal tattoo work that is so colossally bad, so cringe inducing, you would think the tattoos were the punishment.
I see this guy regularly that has a faceful of tattoos. He's about 19 or so, and looks hardened. His tats look like a child drew them on his face with a pen. There are chains and hearts and the occasional treble clef and musical note. He has one that says, "Hug Life" upon first glance until you notice the misshapen "T" in the background.
I prefer "hug Life". Makes me think the kid has just gotten a raw deal; he's just misunderstood. How could you lock up someone that invested in the "Hug Life"?
I will not even address the myriad swastikas, "SS" designations, and other symbology. I wonder whether other dead genocidal maniacs are envious of the uushy (?), nostalgic treatment the 3rd Reich receives in American jails. How come Joe Stalin doesn't have a crew running around with a Hammer and Sickle stamped on their chest? Where are Pol Pot's boyz?
The "Aryan" iconography extends beyond the 3rd Reich. Some have extended it to Northern European gods, gremlins and such. One of my neighbors has what appears to be an Ewok with horns on his arm. This not so fierce tattoo has sharp teeth and claws, but how scary is an Ewok?
It's probably not an Ewok, of course, but damn, it looks like one to a guy my age.
Quick question: What's worse?
a)Jar Jar Binks and all of his kind
b)Ewoks
c)nothing is worse than A&B
This is just the beginning of the show I have planned. Ordinary reality show drama will pale in comparison to the drama in here. "Artists" being sent to segregation just for their art will add an element of Artistic suppression that will make this show a sure fire hit- and never mind the everyday beatings and shankings.
"1 is the loneliest number". by Wesley
10/14/2014
My neighbor in here is afraid. A lifetime of mistakes has put him in a very bad position and he may never leave prison again. he is 43, and he considers his life over.
Every night, he tells me, he finds himself awash in a dream that repeats itself. He sits alone in a chair with only a lamp fighting off total darkness. The burden of his fear crippling him, he is unable to move. He says that his daughter appears from the darkness and crawls into his lap. She snuggles his chest and whispers, "everything is going to be okay, daddy."
His daughter is dead. He wakes up trembling nearly every morning. Whether the trembling is a result of fear or relief, who can say?
With the exception of the visits he receives from his dead daughter, he is alone in this world. He once had a wife, two daughters, a mother, a father....you know, a family.
His daughters are both dead, their passing a burden his marriage could not carry. His mother indeed too. His father somewhere in Massachusetts and his brother, in the prison system.
He has never heard the call of his name for a visit. Never felt the moment of joy. He has never waited in line to use the phone. There is no one to call. No one will put money on his books so he can buy a soup, or deodorant, or a chocolate treat, but, once in a while, every other week or so, he gets mail.
He reads it and he reads it, and he gets so animated and excited as anyone can be when someone reaches out to let them know that they are not alone. The letters come from about 100 yards away, but they may as well come from the dark side of the moon. The writer is another isolated soul, a woman who also is alone, who somehow got connected with him.
The information gets passed about. People say, "write to me" in passing to members of the opposite sex, or someone with the person's information passes it to you so lonely people can connect.
Who else will understand how it feels to be completely alone, in your mid 40's, facing the prospect of a long time in prison- maybe even the rest of your life? No one, but someone in the very same situation.
It is so easy to lose hope behind these walls. To forget the value of your existence. To feel insignificant. I feel that way often, and I have a supportive family and a particularly amazing wife.
There was a time I would have looked down my nose at contrived relationships like these. I would have smiled and smirked at them. Pathetic!
But I see things differently now. The greatest love can come from the unlikeliest places. No one can judge the genesis of love, of commitment. And why would it matter anyway? If two people can find love and solace (for you Lesa, inside joke), in the words of a stranger, then I salute them.
To find comfort in our often brutal world is a gift enough-- no matter where you find that gift.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Peace is broken. by Wesley
There are times when the events in our lives happen quite unexpectedly. Not because we are careless or because we are willfully ignorant, but because sometimes shit just happens. There are other times when events are as predictable as sunset, yet we are surprised.
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the bloods, the Aryan circle and the Aryan Brotherhood..." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you: I'm playing poker who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. That costs $1.45.
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began.
Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. The put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down.
To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee...and go back to sleep.
Mostly only white guys with little hair and "SS" tattoos do this.
Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys, who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. He is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of 15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes.
Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of shouting that the beaten man was not really a Blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate.
But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over. Chess anyone?
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the bloods, the Aryan circle and the Aryan Brotherhood..." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you: I'm playing poker who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. That costs $1.45.
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began.
Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. The put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down.
To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee...and go back to sleep.
Mostly only white guys with little hair and "SS" tattoos do this.
Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys, who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. He is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of 15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes.
Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of shouting that the beaten man was not really a Blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate.
But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over. Chess anyone?
Battle of Texas. By Wesley
10/5/2014
For a week it was all the talk. Everyone in this human zoo exhibit was expected to take sides in the approaching clash. You supported one or the other. Black or white, good or evil, there was no neutral.
The game: Texans vs. Cowboys. The NFL battle of Texas.
It's beyond debate that Houston is the superior city in every conceivable way. Houston is awesome. The museum district, the theater district, the lack of winter, the food scene, the lack of people from Dallas, nevermind The Astros, Rockets and the Mighty Houston Cougars, all are factors in why the city of Houston is awesome!
Also, Dallas blows. Everything about Dallas blows. The fact that my ex-wife lives there alone makes me cheer for the Ebola virus. Don't get me started on the douche bag dudes, the bimbo blonds, The Mavericks, the Texas Rangers, the existence of Fort Worth, the proximity to Oklahoma, and the gall of the city to think they are better than Houston, namesake of the former President of the Republic and hero of the war of Independence.
When it comes to NFL football however, due to an accident of childhood geography, I am an ardent supporter of the Mighty Dallas Cowboys! I have tried to support the Texans, but I cannot. I managed to cheer for them in 2013 when Case Keenum (former QB of my Alma Mater) played for them, but when he was gone, so was I.
But Montgomery County is in the Houston area, so in this tank, there were 2 Cowboys fans and 22 people that wanted to kill us.
By game time, there was as much testosterone in here as a monster truck rally. Insults were hurled, bets made, and the game began.
There was agony, screaming, prayers, threats, promises, rebukes, curses, guarantees, lamentations, and MORE ARE CHAIR QUARTERBACKING than you can imagine (or stomach) before halftime.
Every single play was analyzed and critiqued by a panel of felons. Every single man who once played Junior high school football (and had a shot at the pros, except for that damn injury!) explained how they could do it better.
When the Cowboys won the game in overtime, the crowd fell silent except for one person who loudly reminded everyone that he had told them so! That was me! and damn, I made a killing! I won a coke, M&M's (peanut! I'm naming the 1st one "Cornelius Pumpernickle"), 2 soups, 2 bags of coffee, and 500 push ups which had to be interspersed with exclamations of "Tony Romo did this to me!".
I'm jail house rich today. SUCK IT TEXANS!!!!!
For a week it was all the talk. Everyone in this human zoo exhibit was expected to take sides in the approaching clash. You supported one or the other. Black or white, good or evil, there was no neutral.
The game: Texans vs. Cowboys. The NFL battle of Texas.
It's beyond debate that Houston is the superior city in every conceivable way. Houston is awesome. The museum district, the theater district, the lack of winter, the food scene, the lack of people from Dallas, nevermind The Astros, Rockets and the Mighty Houston Cougars, all are factors in why the city of Houston is awesome!
Also, Dallas blows. Everything about Dallas blows. The fact that my ex-wife lives there alone makes me cheer for the Ebola virus. Don't get me started on the douche bag dudes, the bimbo blonds, The Mavericks, the Texas Rangers, the existence of Fort Worth, the proximity to Oklahoma, and the gall of the city to think they are better than Houston, namesake of the former President of the Republic and hero of the war of Independence.
When it comes to NFL football however, due to an accident of childhood geography, I am an ardent supporter of the Mighty Dallas Cowboys! I have tried to support the Texans, but I cannot. I managed to cheer for them in 2013 when Case Keenum (former QB of my Alma Mater) played for them, but when he was gone, so was I.
But Montgomery County is in the Houston area, so in this tank, there were 2 Cowboys fans and 22 people that wanted to kill us.
By game time, there was as much testosterone in here as a monster truck rally. Insults were hurled, bets made, and the game began.
There was agony, screaming, prayers, threats, promises, rebukes, curses, guarantees, lamentations, and MORE ARE CHAIR QUARTERBACKING than you can imagine (or stomach) before halftime.
Every single play was analyzed and critiqued by a panel of felons. Every single man who once played Junior high school football (and had a shot at the pros, except for that damn injury!) explained how they could do it better.
When the Cowboys won the game in overtime, the crowd fell silent except for one person who loudly reminded everyone that he had told them so! That was me! and damn, I made a killing! I won a coke, M&M's (peanut! I'm naming the 1st one "Cornelius Pumpernickle"), 2 soups, 2 bags of coffee, and 500 push ups which had to be interspersed with exclamations of "Tony Romo did this to me!".
I'm jail house rich today. SUCK IT TEXANS!!!!!
Thursday, October 9, 2014
My exhausted week. by Lesa
10/8/2014
I have neglected my postings this week. I neglected a lot of things because on top of working 5 days last week, at least they were 8 hour days, I went Thursday to our rent house, worked until 9pm, Friday til 3 am. and Saturday another 8 hours. I was so tired, I can't tell you how much I hurt. The rent house had a switching of tenants and the old one left the place a mess. Everything had been neglected. I didn't have the money for help, so I cleaned the carpets, detailed the inside, and almost caught up the yard. Thank God my 15 year old helped with the carpets and carrying heavy stuff, I was already hurting. Saturday, my college son Adam arrived with friends, thanks Hunter and Bella, and they all lent a hand. I would have had another full day on Sunday had they not each given me a few hours of help. I was forever thankful. I treated them to pizza and the next day made enchilada casserole!!
Sunday was my only day off, I was to be back for a 12 hour shift on Monday, which turned into a 14 hour shift from hell. I left completely frazzled. Because Wes felt bad, he told me to skip visitation on Sunday, to relax and come to visit him after work on Monday. I was a bit wrecked. Once I got there Monday night for visitation, it was so nice to see his face, I wanted to cry. I was more tired then I can ever remember. When I came home I made the decision to call into work. It would give me a day to recover. Because I skipped the day, I will have to make it up on Wednesday or Thursday. Wednesday, I was still not ready to go back, so that leaves Thursday, which means I miss my son's football game, again. Football has always been our thing, and, what do you know, more guilt. He is sweet, tells me it is totally okay. He seems to know I need to rest, need a break. Which brings me to today, Wednesday, I finally feel like I can go to work tomorrow. I still am quite sore. I am down to one pain pill, which I will break in half. I have an appointment with the pain management doctor next week, I should be able to hold out, unless I have a bad episode, but I can always go see my family doctor for meds in the interim.
In the process of all this craziness, I have not wrote, but I have talked frequently to my husband, thanks to my new phone number and cap on fees. I think I said the words, "I'm so tired." so often this week, my poor husband was so worried about me. I'm not going to lie, I was wrecked after all the work. But after a couple of days rest, I got back to work today 10/09 and had a good day, busy, but normal busy. I missed my son's game, that is always a bummer, but his dad was there rooting him on, and he got to see a lot of his old pee-wee football friends at the other high school.
It is nice to reflect back, I felt so wrecked, tired, and ready to curl up in a ball and give up, after the Monday from hell. Nice that after a couple of days rest, some encouraging words from a coworker, and a bunch of short calls from my husband helped to sooth away the exhaustion. And that was all it was, complete exhaustion. This weekend my son will be with his dad, I will work and will enjoy being lazy, watching movies and eating whatever deliciousness I throw into the crockpot. I might decide to just eat cookies and milk, its nice to be an adult. I have to still write the hubby and post his funny post...very funny, I love and miss him so much.
I have neglected my postings this week. I neglected a lot of things because on top of working 5 days last week, at least they were 8 hour days, I went Thursday to our rent house, worked until 9pm, Friday til 3 am. and Saturday another 8 hours. I was so tired, I can't tell you how much I hurt. The rent house had a switching of tenants and the old one left the place a mess. Everything had been neglected. I didn't have the money for help, so I cleaned the carpets, detailed the inside, and almost caught up the yard. Thank God my 15 year old helped with the carpets and carrying heavy stuff, I was already hurting. Saturday, my college son Adam arrived with friends, thanks Hunter and Bella, and they all lent a hand. I would have had another full day on Sunday had they not each given me a few hours of help. I was forever thankful. I treated them to pizza and the next day made enchilada casserole!!
Sunday was my only day off, I was to be back for a 12 hour shift on Monday, which turned into a 14 hour shift from hell. I left completely frazzled. Because Wes felt bad, he told me to skip visitation on Sunday, to relax and come to visit him after work on Monday. I was a bit wrecked. Once I got there Monday night for visitation, it was so nice to see his face, I wanted to cry. I was more tired then I can ever remember. When I came home I made the decision to call into work. It would give me a day to recover. Because I skipped the day, I will have to make it up on Wednesday or Thursday. Wednesday, I was still not ready to go back, so that leaves Thursday, which means I miss my son's football game, again. Football has always been our thing, and, what do you know, more guilt. He is sweet, tells me it is totally okay. He seems to know I need to rest, need a break. Which brings me to today, Wednesday, I finally feel like I can go to work tomorrow. I still am quite sore. I am down to one pain pill, which I will break in half. I have an appointment with the pain management doctor next week, I should be able to hold out, unless I have a bad episode, but I can always go see my family doctor for meds in the interim.
In the process of all this craziness, I have not wrote, but I have talked frequently to my husband, thanks to my new phone number and cap on fees. I think I said the words, "I'm so tired." so often this week, my poor husband was so worried about me. I'm not going to lie, I was wrecked after all the work. But after a couple of days rest, I got back to work today 10/09 and had a good day, busy, but normal busy. I missed my son's game, that is always a bummer, but his dad was there rooting him on, and he got to see a lot of his old pee-wee football friends at the other high school.
It is nice to reflect back, I felt so wrecked, tired, and ready to curl up in a ball and give up, after the Monday from hell. Nice that after a couple of days rest, some encouraging words from a coworker, and a bunch of short calls from my husband helped to sooth away the exhaustion. And that was all it was, complete exhaustion. This weekend my son will be with his dad, I will work and will enjoy being lazy, watching movies and eating whatever deliciousness I throw into the crockpot. I might decide to just eat cookies and milk, its nice to be an adult. I have to still write the hubby and post his funny post...very funny, I love and miss him so much.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Heavy heart. by Lesa
9/30/2014
When I left visitation last night my heart was heavy, I cried and prayed on the way home. I want my husband to know peace where he is, no matter what. He feels hopeless. He never, hardly ever cries, and not only was he crying, but had been fighting tears all day. He feel lonely, abandoned. An agreement was reached 4 weeks ago tomorrow. Everyone else who was sent to SAFP or sent back to SAFP signed their papers the same day. No word from his attorney, who finally, after I asked again last week, said he tried twice to call, no word from the probation officer, Wesley finally wrote her a letter, very politely and gently inquiring about what was going on, of course, no word from the judge. He knows I love him, but the having no end in sight, even after a court date, that he missed because the guards at the jail took him to the wrong place, good thing his attorney was there, no end in sight is the worst you can do to an inmate. The not knowing, thinking you are sitting there until somebody looks down at your file and remember, oh, yeah, that guy.
My daughter Jessica and I sent Wes some books, help to pass the time. One of us, I think me, sent him a depressing book about a woman who's father dies before they can make peace between them. Wesley got news this week, that is father is dying. He has been dying for a long time, but several things make this different. His weakened voice and stating his blood pressure being 80's/50's is not good. Also, he called Wesley's sister to tell her he was sorry for all the trouble he cause them, he has never, ever called and said he was sorry. It has stirred more emotions for him. He is dealing with them alone. He has never said he was lonely before.
I just got off the phone with Wes, he seemed in better spirits. He is convinced that judge Mayes is working behind the scenes to get him a reasonable sentence with Harris County so that he can go to SAFP and get on with his rehab. We will see what the week brings.
When I left visitation last night my heart was heavy, I cried and prayed on the way home. I want my husband to know peace where he is, no matter what. He feels hopeless. He never, hardly ever cries, and not only was he crying, but had been fighting tears all day. He feel lonely, abandoned. An agreement was reached 4 weeks ago tomorrow. Everyone else who was sent to SAFP or sent back to SAFP signed their papers the same day. No word from his attorney, who finally, after I asked again last week, said he tried twice to call, no word from the probation officer, Wesley finally wrote her a letter, very politely and gently inquiring about what was going on, of course, no word from the judge. He knows I love him, but the having no end in sight, even after a court date, that he missed because the guards at the jail took him to the wrong place, good thing his attorney was there, no end in sight is the worst you can do to an inmate. The not knowing, thinking you are sitting there until somebody looks down at your file and remember, oh, yeah, that guy.
My daughter Jessica and I sent Wes some books, help to pass the time. One of us, I think me, sent him a depressing book about a woman who's father dies before they can make peace between them. Wesley got news this week, that is father is dying. He has been dying for a long time, but several things make this different. His weakened voice and stating his blood pressure being 80's/50's is not good. Also, he called Wesley's sister to tell her he was sorry for all the trouble he cause them, he has never, ever called and said he was sorry. It has stirred more emotions for him. He is dealing with them alone. He has never said he was lonely before.
I just got off the phone with Wes, he seemed in better spirits. He is convinced that judge Mayes is working behind the scenes to get him a reasonable sentence with Harris County so that he can go to SAFP and get on with his rehab. We will see what the week brings.
Counseling in jail. by Wesley
9/29/2014
I have to confess that after enjoying these generous accommodations for two months I have reached one staggering conclusion: If I hear the word "nigga" again I will die.
That may sound like a hyperbole, but it is not. I have a standard issue human brain and there is limited storage space for words that begin with "N-I-" It is close to full after two months.
I read a book that described someone's lack of generosity as "niggardly" and my headache intensified. The Game of Thrones series has so many references to the "night's watch" that my left ear is hemorrhaging. I need a bread. That word should be the new "N" word- never to be spoken.
These symptoms may be a mirage and I may just kill myself. I have bought ear plugs. I put them in, covered my ears, and buried my head under a blanket. It's still there. I can't escape. Constantly peppering people's language.
Speaking of religion, I'm sure you're familiar with the expression "There are no atheists in fox holes." That should be extended to jails. Present company excluded, the most vile actor's become devout once they find themselves in the human zoo.
Yesterday, I heard the following statement, "If I beat a murder case.......that's God." There is so much that is just wrong about this statement that I'm left without much to say.
It shouldn't be surprising that people find religion in jail. I met Jesus' last week! In fact, I have met three guys named Jesus' in the last 2 months. I discussed my new "N" word overload with Jesus' and he agreed. I think he agreed, but he doesn't speak English and my college Spanish is fading, much to my shame.
I also heard a discussion about a popular class people take in here. At least 9 of the 24 people in here trudge off twice weekly to hear the wisdom of a Montgomery County paid counselor.
Sunday, my neighbor was sharing the wisdom he learned. Addiction he said, was likely caused by unresolved demonic possession of one of your ancestors. I added the "unresolved" and "ancestors" (he said, "grandad." I didn't think it was intended to be limited to that degree of consanguinity).
I had to remove my ear plugs and ensure that I'd heard what I thought I'd heard. I was not mistaken.
On a totally unrelated note, a guy in here has been heard telling people he has Tourette's syndrome just so that he can talk dirty to himself in the shower. He fears being judged harshly. Okay, that last one is just me, trying to be funny.
I have to confess that after enjoying these generous accommodations for two months I have reached one staggering conclusion: If I hear the word "nigga" again I will die.
That may sound like a hyperbole, but it is not. I have a standard issue human brain and there is limited storage space for words that begin with "N-I-" It is close to full after two months.
I read a book that described someone's lack of generosity as "niggardly" and my headache intensified. The Game of Thrones series has so many references to the "night's watch" that my left ear is hemorrhaging. I need a bread. That word should be the new "N" word- never to be spoken.
These symptoms may be a mirage and I may just kill myself. I have bought ear plugs. I put them in, covered my ears, and buried my head under a blanket. It's still there. I can't escape. Constantly peppering people's language.
Speaking of religion, I'm sure you're familiar with the expression "There are no atheists in fox holes." That should be extended to jails. Present company excluded, the most vile actor's become devout once they find themselves in the human zoo.
Yesterday, I heard the following statement, "If I beat a murder case.......that's God." There is so much that is just wrong about this statement that I'm left without much to say.
It shouldn't be surprising that people find religion in jail. I met Jesus' last week! In fact, I have met three guys named Jesus' in the last 2 months. I discussed my new "N" word overload with Jesus' and he agreed. I think he agreed, but he doesn't speak English and my college Spanish is fading, much to my shame.
I also heard a discussion about a popular class people take in here. At least 9 of the 24 people in here trudge off twice weekly to hear the wisdom of a Montgomery County paid counselor.
Sunday, my neighbor was sharing the wisdom he learned. Addiction he said, was likely caused by unresolved demonic possession of one of your ancestors. I added the "unresolved" and "ancestors" (he said, "grandad." I didn't think it was intended to be limited to that degree of consanguinity).
I had to remove my ear plugs and ensure that I'd heard what I thought I'd heard. I was not mistaken.
On a totally unrelated note, a guy in here has been heard telling people he has Tourette's syndrome just so that he can talk dirty to himself in the shower. He fears being judged harshly. Okay, that last one is just me, trying to be funny.
Finally beating Global Tel Link!!!!
I can not tell you how good it felt to get some good news today. After complaining to the BBB about billing issues, it took 5 weeks to get a written response from the company. It included the representatives phone number. I called her and during the conversation she mentioned to look up a ruling by the FCC regulating inmate phone calls. I took her advice and here is I have learned.
1. There is a cap on what they are allowed to charge for inmate calls now. $.21/ minute for out of state prepaid calls, $.25/minute for collect calls. NO FIRST MINUTE SURCHARGE. That means you can talk for a couple of minutes, throughout the day. Now, I am waiting for my summary of charges to check on the facts of shorter calls, fees, etc. The max for an out of state call is $3.15 for 15 minutes, service fees/taxes is $1.38 total is $4.53. Texas has not "caught up" and complied with the law, but if you have an out of state number they have to follow the federal rules. Get a google account, get a FREE out of state Google number, and you have finally put a limit on their fees. Here is the link to the FCC regulations. Call if Global Tel Link is not complying. I have made shorter calls, but when I called to get fees, they told me all my calls were 15 minutes, so I think they may be charging me a minimum 15 minutes. I am keeping a log now of all my calls, all my calls to their customer service, the most inept people on the earth.
http://www.fcc.gov/guides/inmate-telephone-service
2. They also told me that if you have a local number 936-756 or whatever the first three digits of the jails phone is, which is 936-760 then you will only pay a flat rate of $4.10, plus their taxes/fees for a 30 minute call. Now this is flat rate, no matter how long the call is, up to 30 minutes.
I am getting two numbers, one local, and one out of state, to take advantage of both. Still not sure if they are charging me the minimum of 15 minutes, but no where on the site, or on the pre-call recording does it say that. I have just sent another letter to the BBB. I have received 2 replies, which were helpful, I got the out of state information from them, but still not giving me access to my account activity, so I can monitor my time and money used, you have to call and ask for it to be mailed to you. And it does not say the actual local numbers that will get the flat rate. I have a Google number with a 936-666 exchange I will try next payday, see if I can shave a couple dollars off the 30 minute charge. Pass the word! Once the account is set up, you can forward calls to your cell phone or home phone. Google search for information if you are not sure how to do it. I will try to post details of how to sign up for Google phone number later, or you can leave a comment or send a private message.
The out of state thing should work with regard to any facility you are over paying, but the local thing will have to be a local number of where your facility is located.
Enjoy a few more calls, or a little more money in your pocket.
1. There is a cap on what they are allowed to charge for inmate calls now. $.21/ minute for out of state prepaid calls, $.25/minute for collect calls. NO FIRST MINUTE SURCHARGE. That means you can talk for a couple of minutes, throughout the day. Now, I am waiting for my summary of charges to check on the facts of shorter calls, fees, etc. The max for an out of state call is $3.15 for 15 minutes, service fees/taxes is $1.38 total is $4.53. Texas has not "caught up" and complied with the law, but if you have an out of state number they have to follow the federal rules. Get a google account, get a FREE out of state Google number, and you have finally put a limit on their fees. Here is the link to the FCC regulations. Call if Global Tel Link is not complying. I have made shorter calls, but when I called to get fees, they told me all my calls were 15 minutes, so I think they may be charging me a minimum 15 minutes. I am keeping a log now of all my calls, all my calls to their customer service, the most inept people on the earth.
http://www.fcc.gov/guides/inmate-telephone-service
2. They also told me that if you have a local number 936-756 or whatever the first three digits of the jails phone is, which is 936-760 then you will only pay a flat rate of $4.10, plus their taxes/fees for a 30 minute call. Now this is flat rate, no matter how long the call is, up to 30 minutes.
I am getting two numbers, one local, and one out of state, to take advantage of both. Still not sure if they are charging me the minimum of 15 minutes, but no where on the site, or on the pre-call recording does it say that. I have just sent another letter to the BBB. I have received 2 replies, which were helpful, I got the out of state information from them, but still not giving me access to my account activity, so I can monitor my time and money used, you have to call and ask for it to be mailed to you. And it does not say the actual local numbers that will get the flat rate. I have a Google number with a 936-666 exchange I will try next payday, see if I can shave a couple dollars off the 30 minute charge. Pass the word! Once the account is set up, you can forward calls to your cell phone or home phone. Google search for information if you are not sure how to do it. I will try to post details of how to sign up for Google phone number later, or you can leave a comment or send a private message.
The out of state thing should work with regard to any facility you are over paying, but the local thing will have to be a local number of where your facility is located.
Enjoy a few more calls, or a little more money in your pocket.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Processing hurt feelings. by Lesa
I have just read a heart breaking letter. I wrote the other day about my motorcycle ride, and about the fight afterwards. Wesley wrote what was going on for him. He already feels like a piece of shit, being in jail, leaving me alone with all the responsibilities. He already feels, sometimes, that I was not happy with him before all of this came to pass. In fact, I was worn out from working nights. Also worn out from fighting to get caught up on bills. He took that to mean I was unhappy with our life together. I mistakenly stated that I was bending over backwards to take care of everything, and what I meant to say was that my plate was full, I was occasionally overwhelmed with all the responsibilities. Even in our discussions afterwards, he stated it was like we were having two different conversations. He was trying to describe and explain his feelings, even though some were not true, it was what he felt was true. I felt accused like I had done something wrong by getting a break, and was overwhelmed with stuff. It took us two days to process, and even then it took me getting his letter today. He has been depressed every since. I can not help but feel I am at fault.
He does not need me to tell him that I am overwhelmed. As hard as it is for me here on the outside, his pain, his sorrow is more important, it takes priority. I do need to buck it up, or at the very least, get better at hiding it. Being tired and having a bad day are part of life. But being overwhelmed, going for a ride, whatever to him may look like or seem like me getting sick of this life of waiting for him, needs to go.
When a person gets depressed they get selfish. It isn't intentional, it is trying to survive in whatever circumstance they are in. I know this, I have been there. My life is tough at times, but not compared to him. And I am his life line. I have to hold myself together, hold our life together, I have to be strong, be ever faithful to build him up. He has done it for me many times. A couple years back I went through 3 back surgeries in less than six months. He physically, mentally, and emotionally took care of me. Relationships has that at times. Many times we just do what we need to do to get through. But other times, like this, it needs to be purposeful. I am incredibly strong, I am a survivor. So, is my husband. The unspeakable horror of some of his childhood abuse from his dad has made him incredibly resilient. But everyone has a breaking point. His despair right now overwhelms him. He is losing hope, even though he has lots of reasons to have hope. I am praying for him. If you are a Christian, please pray for him too. I love and adore this man. He is my anchor in life. Even as a Christian, I have always needed a lifeline on earth. God has been merciful and kind and always gave me someone in my life. As I reread this, I realize, actually, there have been plenty of times I have been alone and cried out to God to help me and he answered. I will pray and fast on that tonight. I am not a fanatical Christian, my deep faith is personal, I am not big into organized religion. There is a lot of preaching and not as much loving and taking care of people. I'm about the people. I don't know how I ended up in a theology discussion with myself. Perhaps I will discuss it another day.
For now, I will be strong, tell my husband how wonderful he is, because he really is awesome. Remind him of all the hopeful things that have happened so far, that his attorney is going to gently prod someone along to get the paperwork going to he can move to Harris County to begin the process of dealing with all of that. My husband said some key things today I would like to share. One, his great humiliation of being in jail creates a difficult situation for us both. We like to talk every night. 15 minutes is our lifeline. Occasionally we get 30 minutes as a treat. But, if I want to do anything, last minute, and I have to excuse myself to accept a call from jail, he is horrified, ashamed, and that is doubly around my kids. He already feels like a loser, and my grown kids, especially twin sons, are just getting to know him, but to have their mom leave a room to take a call from "loser husband in jail" is more than Wesley can handle. So, keep in mind, this situation. It at times is going to create a problem, like when I go visit my boys in Austin, or San Antonio and have to leave to take a call. He knows where I am, he knows what I say when I leave the room. I get it. I can't explain to my children that those 15 minutes are a lifeline for us both. It keeps us connected, grounded in reality, and lets us know the little things, like how our day went. Especially once Wesley is in SAFPF, they are in group and therapies so much, there is always much to share. My kids are not judgmental, but I am their mom. I am not sure what they think, I guess I have always been afraid to ask. Maybe later. ha.
In his letter he describes one of his weaknesses:
"Of course, things were getting better, and I have been feeling better about myself. But I know, and so do you, that I have a self destructive pride that flares up. when you tell me you 'bend over backwards', for me, I immediately will tell you, 'don't bother'. We both know how I will react to that. It will be a visceral quick reaction, lacking any emotion. I realize that is a contradiction, but I think the two responses are like 2 sides of a flipping coin that show you both sides as it travels through the air. so when you say that, a response comes from deep inside of me in a place of raw emotion, but it comes through a filter of sounding like 'I don't give a fuck'. "
That filter is what helped him survive the abuses of his dad. He was not allowed to show emotion, that was weak. It was literally beat out of him. If he cried, he was beat till he stopped. It helps to understand that, and to be a little patient when we are both feeling emotions for totally different reasons. Neither one of us were able to hear the other, we both felt under attack, and from different places. It was the first time I heard Wesley speak of his pride in that way, the flipping coin. It was helpful to get the visual, for future reference when we get into an emotional fight that I am not even sure what it is about.
Not sure if this helps anyone, but its out there for the world to see. I'm keeping positive. Going to have a long bath to pray, then some mindless TV to go to sleep.
He does not need me to tell him that I am overwhelmed. As hard as it is for me here on the outside, his pain, his sorrow is more important, it takes priority. I do need to buck it up, or at the very least, get better at hiding it. Being tired and having a bad day are part of life. But being overwhelmed, going for a ride, whatever to him may look like or seem like me getting sick of this life of waiting for him, needs to go.
When a person gets depressed they get selfish. It isn't intentional, it is trying to survive in whatever circumstance they are in. I know this, I have been there. My life is tough at times, but not compared to him. And I am his life line. I have to hold myself together, hold our life together, I have to be strong, be ever faithful to build him up. He has done it for me many times. A couple years back I went through 3 back surgeries in less than six months. He physically, mentally, and emotionally took care of me. Relationships has that at times. Many times we just do what we need to do to get through. But other times, like this, it needs to be purposeful. I am incredibly strong, I am a survivor. So, is my husband. The unspeakable horror of some of his childhood abuse from his dad has made him incredibly resilient. But everyone has a breaking point. His despair right now overwhelms him. He is losing hope, even though he has lots of reasons to have hope. I am praying for him. If you are a Christian, please pray for him too. I love and adore this man. He is my anchor in life. Even as a Christian, I have always needed a lifeline on earth. God has been merciful and kind and always gave me someone in my life. As I reread this, I realize, actually, there have been plenty of times I have been alone and cried out to God to help me and he answered. I will pray and fast on that tonight. I am not a fanatical Christian, my deep faith is personal, I am not big into organized religion. There is a lot of preaching and not as much loving and taking care of people. I'm about the people. I don't know how I ended up in a theology discussion with myself. Perhaps I will discuss it another day.
For now, I will be strong, tell my husband how wonderful he is, because he really is awesome. Remind him of all the hopeful things that have happened so far, that his attorney is going to gently prod someone along to get the paperwork going to he can move to Harris County to begin the process of dealing with all of that. My husband said some key things today I would like to share. One, his great humiliation of being in jail creates a difficult situation for us both. We like to talk every night. 15 minutes is our lifeline. Occasionally we get 30 minutes as a treat. But, if I want to do anything, last minute, and I have to excuse myself to accept a call from jail, he is horrified, ashamed, and that is doubly around my kids. He already feels like a loser, and my grown kids, especially twin sons, are just getting to know him, but to have their mom leave a room to take a call from "loser husband in jail" is more than Wesley can handle. So, keep in mind, this situation. It at times is going to create a problem, like when I go visit my boys in Austin, or San Antonio and have to leave to take a call. He knows where I am, he knows what I say when I leave the room. I get it. I can't explain to my children that those 15 minutes are a lifeline for us both. It keeps us connected, grounded in reality, and lets us know the little things, like how our day went. Especially once Wesley is in SAFPF, they are in group and therapies so much, there is always much to share. My kids are not judgmental, but I am their mom. I am not sure what they think, I guess I have always been afraid to ask. Maybe later. ha.
In his letter he describes one of his weaknesses:
"Of course, things were getting better, and I have been feeling better about myself. But I know, and so do you, that I have a self destructive pride that flares up. when you tell me you 'bend over backwards', for me, I immediately will tell you, 'don't bother'. We both know how I will react to that. It will be a visceral quick reaction, lacking any emotion. I realize that is a contradiction, but I think the two responses are like 2 sides of a flipping coin that show you both sides as it travels through the air. so when you say that, a response comes from deep inside of me in a place of raw emotion, but it comes through a filter of sounding like 'I don't give a fuck'. "
That filter is what helped him survive the abuses of his dad. He was not allowed to show emotion, that was weak. It was literally beat out of him. If he cried, he was beat till he stopped. It helps to understand that, and to be a little patient when we are both feeling emotions for totally different reasons. Neither one of us were able to hear the other, we both felt under attack, and from different places. It was the first time I heard Wesley speak of his pride in that way, the flipping coin. It was helpful to get the visual, for future reference when we get into an emotional fight that I am not even sure what it is about.
Not sure if this helps anyone, but its out there for the world to see. I'm keeping positive. Going to have a long bath to pray, then some mindless TV to go to sleep.
An Outlaw in the mix. by Wesley
9/19/2014
I continue to decompose in this cell. The constantly changing make up of the tank has shifted and I'm interested to see how the changed dynamic will affect the growing tension. I have always said one person can greatly alter the chemistry, and a strong willed young man with tattoos from the 1930's-40's has arrived to shake things up.
When he arrived, I pointed him out to one of my handful of "friends" in here. He is emblazoned with what I thought was a similar SS tattoo. He quickly explained the difference, however slight.
The say politics make strange bed fellows, and so does jail. This young man is a self-described outlaw. He has no education and at 28 has never held a job. He earns money by stealing and dealing drugs. The dealing also supports his own drug habit. His teeth have long sine been claimed by his meth habit and he dreams of one day leaving Texas because he in convinced that his outlaw ways are a result of his living here.
Sometimes I'm shocked at his ignorance to things I consider basic knowledge required to be a citizen of the United States, and my impatience shows. he will redirect me when my sarcastic mouth is on the brink of earning me a beating from some of my peers who do not appreciate my subtle wit.
After some barbs were swapped he came forward and said, "You know what's funny? You would never fuck with me in the world, and I would never fuck with you." "We would never meet," I replied. "No, because we come from totally different places and worlds. But, in here, you're all right." He offered me his fist and we bumped.
He is going to TDC on Monday. In March he jumped through a window of a hotel room when the police came knocking. he had drugs and his girlfriend opened the door too quickly for him to stop her, so he ran toward the window and jumped through it.
It was on the 3rd floor.
He landed on an air-conditioning unit and fractured at least one vertebra and broke his jaw. He was bleeding all over his clothes and he somehow escaped and drove 50 miles to a hospital so the police wouldn't look for him there.
Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid would have been proud.
I continue to decompose in this cell. The constantly changing make up of the tank has shifted and I'm interested to see how the changed dynamic will affect the growing tension. I have always said one person can greatly alter the chemistry, and a strong willed young man with tattoos from the 1930's-40's has arrived to shake things up.
When he arrived, I pointed him out to one of my handful of "friends" in here. He is emblazoned with what I thought was a similar SS tattoo. He quickly explained the difference, however slight.
The say politics make strange bed fellows, and so does jail. This young man is a self-described outlaw. He has no education and at 28 has never held a job. He earns money by stealing and dealing drugs. The dealing also supports his own drug habit. His teeth have long sine been claimed by his meth habit and he dreams of one day leaving Texas because he in convinced that his outlaw ways are a result of his living here.
Sometimes I'm shocked at his ignorance to things I consider basic knowledge required to be a citizen of the United States, and my impatience shows. he will redirect me when my sarcastic mouth is on the brink of earning me a beating from some of my peers who do not appreciate my subtle wit.
After some barbs were swapped he came forward and said, "You know what's funny? You would never fuck with me in the world, and I would never fuck with you." "We would never meet," I replied. "No, because we come from totally different places and worlds. But, in here, you're all right." He offered me his fist and we bumped.
He is going to TDC on Monday. In March he jumped through a window of a hotel room when the police came knocking. he had drugs and his girlfriend opened the door too quickly for him to stop her, so he ran toward the window and jumped through it.
It was on the 3rd floor.
He landed on an air-conditioning unit and fractured at least one vertebra and broke his jaw. He was bleeding all over his clothes and he somehow escaped and drove 50 miles to a hospital so the police wouldn't look for him there.
Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid would have been proud.
Tension. by Wesley
9/18/2014
For the most part, I am isolated in this tank. There are a handful of people who I'm friendly with, but you will mostly find me reading on my bunk. This is a choice I make because I want to avoid hassle, stress and drama.
We all have our drama, of course. Bad results in court. Loneliness. Strife with our loved ones. Prejudices. Every other manner of frustration. They all lead to tension.
And this place is a powder keg. Fights, near fights, threats and taunting. All of it along racial lines. Every single incident. I don't know if this is conscious effort, and I suspect it is not, but there are two camps evolving: Black and non-black.
The rules are not set in stone, so people occasionally cross the racial lines, but not for long.
At this moment, all the black people are huddled around the T.V. The non-black are elsewhere. A new confrontation caused an escalation of tension and the wagons are circling.
The exception to this rule is that the older people are friendly and non-confrontational, irrespective of color. Thankfully, I'm part of that group.
But despite my membership in the gray beards club, I seek to avoid any conflict, especially racial conflict, so I avoid most contact with most people. The less contact with others, the less chance for friction that can ignite the powder keg.
For the most part, I am isolated in this tank. There are a handful of people who I'm friendly with, but you will mostly find me reading on my bunk. This is a choice I make because I want to avoid hassle, stress and drama.
We all have our drama, of course. Bad results in court. Loneliness. Strife with our loved ones. Prejudices. Every other manner of frustration. They all lead to tension.
And this place is a powder keg. Fights, near fights, threats and taunting. All of it along racial lines. Every single incident. I don't know if this is conscious effort, and I suspect it is not, but there are two camps evolving: Black and non-black.
The rules are not set in stone, so people occasionally cross the racial lines, but not for long.
At this moment, all the black people are huddled around the T.V. The non-black are elsewhere. A new confrontation caused an escalation of tension and the wagons are circling.
The exception to this rule is that the older people are friendly and non-confrontational, irrespective of color. Thankfully, I'm part of that group.
But despite my membership in the gray beards club, I seek to avoid any conflict, especially racial conflict, so I avoid most contact with most people. The less contact with others, the less chance for friction that can ignite the powder keg.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Peace is broken. By Wesley
9/16/2014
Night before last, a spell was broken in the tank. There had been a long period of collegiality and good spirit in the tank for quite some time. Given the fluid nature of jail, that is unusual. There are about 10-14 people in here, including myself, who are more or less long term. Waiting for something. I'm waiting to sign papers so I can move to Harris County and do step 2 of the process. I have been waiting 2 weeks to sign what has been agreed to. The others are waiting for something or another.
But we all wait.
The second half are in and out. A few days or one night, they come and they go. I don't bother to talk to them unless they have been here more than a week. Mostly because I'm isolated from all but a handful.
But for the last month, the short term and long term, black and non-black, young and old alike, everyone has gotten along.
We were all too lulled. I heard several speak of it, the unusual camaraderie in the tank. I'd said it myself a week or so ago. My neighbor told me he was ready to "write himself out of here." That means request a job (or anything) that would necessitate being moved because he felt a change coming. I argued that it only takes one person- one person with a strong negative personality- to upset the balance.
That man hath cometh.
In a few short days he has started two fights. In one fight, he totally annihilated a much smaller guy. He yells and taunts people, (including me), all day and all night (said fight, above, occurred at about 3 am). No one is happy, the illusion is gone.
Of course, it was always an illusion. The frustration of being confined to a 1082 square feet for 24 men, 24 hours a day is bound to run over. It is inevitable. The negativity spreads too. There have been twice daily fights, threats and squabbling.
I read my books, write my letters, and stay out of the way. And I wait.
Night before last, a spell was broken in the tank. There had been a long period of collegiality and good spirit in the tank for quite some time. Given the fluid nature of jail, that is unusual. There are about 10-14 people in here, including myself, who are more or less long term. Waiting for something. I'm waiting to sign papers so I can move to Harris County and do step 2 of the process. I have been waiting 2 weeks to sign what has been agreed to. The others are waiting for something or another.
But we all wait.
The second half are in and out. A few days or one night, they come and they go. I don't bother to talk to them unless they have been here more than a week. Mostly because I'm isolated from all but a handful.
But for the last month, the short term and long term, black and non-black, young and old alike, everyone has gotten along.
We were all too lulled. I heard several speak of it, the unusual camaraderie in the tank. I'd said it myself a week or so ago. My neighbor told me he was ready to "write himself out of here." That means request a job (or anything) that would necessitate being moved because he felt a change coming. I argued that it only takes one person- one person with a strong negative personality- to upset the balance.
That man hath cometh.
In a few short days he has started two fights. In one fight, he totally annihilated a much smaller guy. He yells and taunts people, (including me), all day and all night (said fight, above, occurred at about 3 am). No one is happy, the illusion is gone.
Of course, it was always an illusion. The frustration of being confined to a 1082 square feet for 24 men, 24 hours a day is bound to run over. It is inevitable. The negativity spreads too. There have been twice daily fights, threats and squabbling.
I read my books, write my letters, and stay out of the way. And I wait.
"I got time served!" by Wesley
9/12/2014
On Friday, another young man came back from court saying, "I got time served!" he is a veteran that returned from his combat service overseas with a drug habit. His life has crumbled; he's no longer in the service, his wife split with him over his inability to stop using meth, he's homeless, and now, he is a convicted felon.
He was a perfect candidate for State funded Veteran's Court (VC). The VC takes into consideration a persons service related conditions that may contribute to substance abuse and treats them for substance abuse and related mental health conditions. The VC representative came to interview him and told him he was being recommended for the program.
But when he went to court, the ADA and his Court appointed attorney conferred and offered him a deal: plead guilty to the felony, and the state will punish him like a misdemeanor (Tex P.C. 12.44A) let him go home today.
It is an offer few can resist. In fact, in the tank I have lived in for over a month, nearly every day someone comes back from court saying the magic words; "I got time served."
Those words are not magical, they are hateful. The signify a shift in that person's life that can be monumentally bad. They are now convicted felons because they have drug problems.
That young man is homeless, and because he is a convicted felon he will not be able to rent an apartment. He will also be turned away from most jobs of any worth. He has become part of an underclass with little hope of escaping poverty and a life of harassment by the police and repeated incarceration for ever minor offenses.
For example, if he's pulled over for a traffic offense, a cop can and will place him under arrest for any traffic offense (other than speeding) just to have the ability to search because of his past.
Before he went, I talked to him about the trap of "time served". He admitted he wanted treatment, that he knew he had a problem. He wanted to avoid a felony conviction. There are 2 ways: deferred prosecution and deferred adjudication. Both were provided by the legislature to provide an avenue to prosecutors to give first offender, non violent drug offenders, a chance to avoid a felony conviction and all the negative implications that follow.
But too often, in counties like this one, prosecutors are less interested in justice and more interested in felony convictions.
And the insatiable man of the prison industrial complex continues to be fed by the State.
On Friday, another young man came back from court saying, "I got time served!" he is a veteran that returned from his combat service overseas with a drug habit. His life has crumbled; he's no longer in the service, his wife split with him over his inability to stop using meth, he's homeless, and now, he is a convicted felon.
He was a perfect candidate for State funded Veteran's Court (VC). The VC takes into consideration a persons service related conditions that may contribute to substance abuse and treats them for substance abuse and related mental health conditions. The VC representative came to interview him and told him he was being recommended for the program.
But when he went to court, the ADA and his Court appointed attorney conferred and offered him a deal: plead guilty to the felony, and the state will punish him like a misdemeanor (Tex P.C. 12.44A) let him go home today.
It is an offer few can resist. In fact, in the tank I have lived in for over a month, nearly every day someone comes back from court saying the magic words; "I got time served."
Those words are not magical, they are hateful. The signify a shift in that person's life that can be monumentally bad. They are now convicted felons because they have drug problems.
That young man is homeless, and because he is a convicted felon he will not be able to rent an apartment. He will also be turned away from most jobs of any worth. He has become part of an underclass with little hope of escaping poverty and a life of harassment by the police and repeated incarceration for ever minor offenses.
For example, if he's pulled over for a traffic offense, a cop can and will place him under arrest for any traffic offense (other than speeding) just to have the ability to search because of his past.
Before he went, I talked to him about the trap of "time served". He admitted he wanted treatment, that he knew he had a problem. He wanted to avoid a felony conviction. There are 2 ways: deferred prosecution and deferred adjudication. Both were provided by the legislature to provide an avenue to prosecutors to give first offender, non violent drug offenders, a chance to avoid a felony conviction and all the negative implications that follow.
But too often, in counties like this one, prosecutors are less interested in justice and more interested in felony convictions.
And the insatiable man of the prison industrial complex continues to be fed by the State.
A relaxing ride. by Lesa
I don't feel like doing anything, but I promised myself I would blog at least every other day. I am depressed. It was bound to happen. I have been busy, taking care of all the things in life, bills, house, kid, dogs, tenant in a rent house, going to be moving Oct. 1. I opted to have a motorcycle ride, relax, get to a place on lake Conroe, have a beer, watch the sun go down. My sister in law is out there often, figured I would hook up with her. I texted her and she came right over. Hubby called and was very upset that I had rode alone and went to a strange bar alone. I tried to explain, I was stressed, just chilling, watching the sun go down. He initially told me not to come see him the next day, later apologized. He then decided he would only call three days a week because I stated that I didn't want to feel guilty if I decided to go to the movies. He is cool emotionally, stating he won't call so much. And he wouldn't get anything except what he absolutely needed so I wouldn't be stressed about the money he got. He feels humiliated when others are around when he calls, so he just won't call. I get the shame, I am going to try to tell him to just give me extra time, I can plan it so he know where I am and call later. I told him I was bending over backwards trying to keep everything up, that was why he stated he wouldn't call so much or spend anything on commissary. All I could feel was like I let him down. I was trying to be honest and reasonable that I did occasionally want to do something, but felt guilty, horribly shitty if I didn't answer when he called. It even stresses me when he calls and I am on my motorcycle coming home. I worry that when I don't answer he will think I am rejecting him. Instead, by being honest and just tell him I was having a break, he felt betrayed. He didn't say it, but the way he is pulling back. It is how he acts when he is hurt. He turns into himself. He isn't rude, just cool.
Today at visitation, he tried to change the subject, talk small talk. When I finally got him to open up, he said he was not angry, never was. I corrected him, reminding him of what he said at first. He stated he apologized for that. He said in writing a letter to me afterwards, I did the same thing, he was trying to explain how he felt. That he was so ashamed, and angry at himself for not being with me. I feel like it is all my fault. He didn't feel any of that the day before. Now I feel I have let him down. My heart aches, and I tried to tell him, remind him, that I love him, that he is a wonderful man, not a worthless POS, that he states he is. I can't get through to him, because what I did beat on his self esteem. I cannot shake the sadness I feel. I don't want to go to work, I was going to call in, but I know I will just sit and be depressed and not do anything. At least at work I will have a distraction and knock out one of the four days of work this week. I have nothing to add, just writing my thoughts...going to go to bed. At least I wrote. Hopefully I will be in better place tomorrow. Probably depends on him, sad to say, his sadness is mine. I love him so much, feel so crappy.
Today at visitation, he tried to change the subject, talk small talk. When I finally got him to open up, he said he was not angry, never was. I corrected him, reminding him of what he said at first. He stated he apologized for that. He said in writing a letter to me afterwards, I did the same thing, he was trying to explain how he felt. That he was so ashamed, and angry at himself for not being with me. I feel like it is all my fault. He didn't feel any of that the day before. Now I feel I have let him down. My heart aches, and I tried to tell him, remind him, that I love him, that he is a wonderful man, not a worthless POS, that he states he is. I can't get through to him, because what I did beat on his self esteem. I cannot shake the sadness I feel. I don't want to go to work, I was going to call in, but I know I will just sit and be depressed and not do anything. At least at work I will have a distraction and knock out one of the four days of work this week. I have nothing to add, just writing my thoughts...going to go to bed. At least I wrote. Hopefully I will be in better place tomorrow. Probably depends on him, sad to say, his sadness is mine. I love him so much, feel so crappy.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Stressful week. by Lesa
The week was a long and difficult one. Work was overwhelming, working 14 hours one day with 15 minute lunch and no breaks. And it was the week I work 4 12's instead of 3. In addition to the physical difficulty we ran out of phone money, and I was broke. Still catching up on bills, I was down to about $25 and gas was needed in the car to get my son to school. Now there was $6.72. So no phone calls. I had seen my husband last weekend, gave him the heads up that we were going to be out of funds. But when the day came, it was heartbreaking to get three attempts from him calling. I prayed for him to be okay, prayed that he knew I loved him and missed him too. I cried myself to sleep that night. Good thing I was exhausted, it didn't take long.
My week also sucked because I worked a day, then off a day, hardly time to rest and recuperate, usually only happens every couple of months, but the week sucked. As exhausted as I was, I was having some trouble sleeping, mind turning over the possible outcomes of Harris County court, I finally broke out a bottle of wine and one glass was enough to help me sleep. I don't drink often, so I am easy.
Wednesday was my Friday, I was so glad to have my week over and Thursday is payday. I sent my son to Walmart and spent the last of the money on a pint of Blue Bell for me and a bag of chips for him, I felt better and slept.
Thursday, I was up at 6am, got son off to school, money on his lunch account, money on phone account, money on Wesley's books, he is out of stamps, paper, etc...paid bills...finally catching up!!!, but still broke, but a little left for a few wants. The dogs have been neglected and out of control. Ordered flea medicine for 2 cats and 3 large dogs, ordered ear mite medicine, and 2 shock collars! I know what you are thinking, but do the research, you only have to shock them once or twice, they behave quickly, and occasionally only need a vibration if they do not heed to warning words. I have a very stubborn pitbull. He is also an amazing guy. I will maybe share his story another day. All the animals are rescues and have stories. His is especially awesome.
After I put money on the phone account I waited for hubby to call. He knew it was payday, but probably didn't want to call too early. Finally, at 10 he calls. We had a great talk, then things went south when I told him his motorcycle was still in the driveway, not the garage, it is up hill, and I couldn't push it, I thought I would have battery fixed quick, but it turns out it was dead. I knew I would need to get another, so today, being payday, I planned to take it to get it checked at O'reilly's and probably buy a replacement. He fussed at me and called my son a pussy for not being able to push it into the garage, I was embarrassed, mad and told him to go to his meeting, he said fine and hung up. My mouth fell open, and then I cried. I was so happy to finally talk to him and it ended, a 15 minute, $15 phone call with him hanging up on me. Wow. I took a shower and went to run errands. He called a hour later, after his meeting to apologize, we tried to talk it out a bit, it was awkward. I knew he over reacted, he apologized, now I just needed to figure out why it upset me so much. I told him I felt humiliated, not sure why. He apologized again, and I suggested we hang up, I get over myself and we talk later when we can enjoy it.
He called this evening, he apologized again, said it was the lack of control that caused him to overreact. It is terrible to spend the precious time, and money for phone calls, squabbling over silly things, but it happens about once a week. He feeling his life out of control, desperate to have some control or say over home. I, feeling overwhelmed with having to keep everything up on my own. Both occasionally seep into the conversation.
I usually write every day, but I had been out of stamps too. I got stamps and wrote him a letter and got it into the mail today. It was a very productive day. I even treated myself to a mani/pedi, it was gloriously relaxing. Tomorrow I will clean and so some laundry, with gloves, don't want to mess up the pretty nails. Did I mention my hands are beat up from changing the oil in my motorcycle? Don't even get me started. Time to go to bed, I will write this weekend, should be nice, I actually have 4 days off in a row, rainy weather to watch movies and nap with....throw in a candle, some music...yes.
My week also sucked because I worked a day, then off a day, hardly time to rest and recuperate, usually only happens every couple of months, but the week sucked. As exhausted as I was, I was having some trouble sleeping, mind turning over the possible outcomes of Harris County court, I finally broke out a bottle of wine and one glass was enough to help me sleep. I don't drink often, so I am easy.
Wednesday was my Friday, I was so glad to have my week over and Thursday is payday. I sent my son to Walmart and spent the last of the money on a pint of Blue Bell for me and a bag of chips for him, I felt better and slept.
Thursday, I was up at 6am, got son off to school, money on his lunch account, money on phone account, money on Wesley's books, he is out of stamps, paper, etc...paid bills...finally catching up!!!, but still broke, but a little left for a few wants. The dogs have been neglected and out of control. Ordered flea medicine for 2 cats and 3 large dogs, ordered ear mite medicine, and 2 shock collars! I know what you are thinking, but do the research, you only have to shock them once or twice, they behave quickly, and occasionally only need a vibration if they do not heed to warning words. I have a very stubborn pitbull. He is also an amazing guy. I will maybe share his story another day. All the animals are rescues and have stories. His is especially awesome.
After I put money on the phone account I waited for hubby to call. He knew it was payday, but probably didn't want to call too early. Finally, at 10 he calls. We had a great talk, then things went south when I told him his motorcycle was still in the driveway, not the garage, it is up hill, and I couldn't push it, I thought I would have battery fixed quick, but it turns out it was dead. I knew I would need to get another, so today, being payday, I planned to take it to get it checked at O'reilly's and probably buy a replacement. He fussed at me and called my son a pussy for not being able to push it into the garage, I was embarrassed, mad and told him to go to his meeting, he said fine and hung up. My mouth fell open, and then I cried. I was so happy to finally talk to him and it ended, a 15 minute, $15 phone call with him hanging up on me. Wow. I took a shower and went to run errands. He called a hour later, after his meeting to apologize, we tried to talk it out a bit, it was awkward. I knew he over reacted, he apologized, now I just needed to figure out why it upset me so much. I told him I felt humiliated, not sure why. He apologized again, and I suggested we hang up, I get over myself and we talk later when we can enjoy it.
He called this evening, he apologized again, said it was the lack of control that caused him to overreact. It is terrible to spend the precious time, and money for phone calls, squabbling over silly things, but it happens about once a week. He feeling his life out of control, desperate to have some control or say over home. I, feeling overwhelmed with having to keep everything up on my own. Both occasionally seep into the conversation.
I usually write every day, but I had been out of stamps too. I got stamps and wrote him a letter and got it into the mail today. It was a very productive day. I even treated myself to a mani/pedi, it was gloriously relaxing. Tomorrow I will clean and so some laundry, with gloves, don't want to mess up the pretty nails. Did I mention my hands are beat up from changing the oil in my motorcycle? Don't even get me started. Time to go to bed, I will write this weekend, should be nice, I actually have 4 days off in a row, rainy weather to watch movies and nap with....throw in a candle, some music...yes.
Our Anniversary by Wesley
9/9/2014
Our anniversary was last Saturday and I was a bit melancholy as you might imagine. I feel so undeserving of the of woman who has chosen to spend her life with me because for the second time, my lack of impulse control and respect for the law (ironically) landed me here.
Ironically, the last time it drew us closer together. Daily letters and phone calls, along with visits- with sex removed- made us grow in other areas of our relationship. I am very lucky.
The occasion called for me to pull out all the stops! I thought of the romantics, Wordswork et al, and how they would describe love in such a situation. Of course "the Bard" had a thing or two to say about love, but most of his wisdom has grown a bit worn over time.
Modern poets, through music, have always helped me express romantic love:
"Whenever you need me,
Whenever you want me,
you know you can call me,
I'll be there shortly,
Don't care what your friends say,
'cuz they don't know me,
I'll be your best friend,
and you'll be my homey,
I roll up."
-Wiz Khalifa
Sometimes from the most unlikely of sources!
I sometimes am able to imagine my own words to express the depth of my feelings, it isn't easy to do in here with only a pen and paper-and limited ability to edit my work. I'm so spoiled. But sometimes I produce genius.
While I pondered my thoughts and feelings, and how best to describe them, a young man joined our constantly evolving population. He told the story of his arrest (which must be somewhere in the rules because despite the very limited interest of the audience, everyone seems to think it is required).
In his words, I found the essence of love. Sometimes, as I said earlier, beauty can be found in the most unlikely of places. His story involved sacrifices his girlfriend made for him when the police intervened in a cross state trip from one set of problems to another. Instead of 2 felony charges, her efforts left him with just one. She loves him and showed it.
Now I know....Love is shoving your man's pilo (meth pipe) in your snatch.
Our anniversary was last Saturday and I was a bit melancholy as you might imagine. I feel so undeserving of the of woman who has chosen to spend her life with me because for the second time, my lack of impulse control and respect for the law (ironically) landed me here.
Ironically, the last time it drew us closer together. Daily letters and phone calls, along with visits- with sex removed- made us grow in other areas of our relationship. I am very lucky.
The occasion called for me to pull out all the stops! I thought of the romantics, Wordswork et al, and how they would describe love in such a situation. Of course "the Bard" had a thing or two to say about love, but most of his wisdom has grown a bit worn over time.
Modern poets, through music, have always helped me express romantic love:
"Whenever you need me,
Whenever you want me,
you know you can call me,
I'll be there shortly,
Don't care what your friends say,
'cuz they don't know me,
I'll be your best friend,
and you'll be my homey,
I roll up."
-Wiz Khalifa
Sometimes from the most unlikely of sources!
I sometimes am able to imagine my own words to express the depth of my feelings, it isn't easy to do in here with only a pen and paper-and limited ability to edit my work. I'm so spoiled. But sometimes I produce genius.
While I pondered my thoughts and feelings, and how best to describe them, a young man joined our constantly evolving population. He told the story of his arrest (which must be somewhere in the rules because despite the very limited interest of the audience, everyone seems to think it is required).
In his words, I found the essence of love. Sometimes, as I said earlier, beauty can be found in the most unlikely of places. His story involved sacrifices his girlfriend made for him when the police intervened in a cross state trip from one set of problems to another. Instead of 2 felony charges, her efforts left him with just one. She loves him and showed it.
Now I know....Love is shoving your man's pilo (meth pipe) in your snatch.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
People in jail lie. by Wesley
It is widely assumed that as soon as a person in jail speaks that he (I can only speak for the me) is lying. It is so common a theme that "jail" has become an acronym: Just Assume I'm Lying or Just Ask I'll Lie. I mention this because two newcomers bring the issue to the forefront of my mind.
My new bunk mate- my 6th in about a month- was holding court last night. He claimed he was a petroleum engineer. My daughter goes to UT studying petroleum engineering and her boyfriend is a petroleum engineer. When I asked where he worked, he said he wasn't actually a petroleum engineer, he was still a student.
Okay, I said, where do you go to school? My daughter goes to UT. He said he goes to Lone Star Community College at the moment, but would transfer to the University of Houston, and I gently pointed out that there is no petroleum engineering program at the UH.
He ignored me and began bragging that he would start at $500,000 straight out of school. I gently pointed out that there is no field of endeavor where anyone makes $500K straight out of school.
He loudly insisted that he was right- or telling the truth-I'd lost interest. Yes, kid, you will earn $500K a year straight out of school.
Of course you will.
Then, another new guy was holding court today telling stories of all the outlaws he has run across in his 35ish years.
He has shared cells with a mass murderer. Bank robbers, serial killers, a terrorist, Bonny & Clyde (I might have added this).
The new man is an underwater welder and former fireman...there came into play when he talked about coming face to face with a 15 foot long catfish and seeing his friend consumed by a shark as an underwater welder. As a fireman he was fighting a fire in a high rise and people kept jumping out of the building.
This breadth of experience earned the man accolades from the impressionable among us.
I immediately set to work forging deeds to a quiet seaside community near Tuscon. I will make a killing.
My new bunk mate- my 6th in about a month- was holding court last night. He claimed he was a petroleum engineer. My daughter goes to UT studying petroleum engineering and her boyfriend is a petroleum engineer. When I asked where he worked, he said he wasn't actually a petroleum engineer, he was still a student.
Okay, I said, where do you go to school? My daughter goes to UT. He said he goes to Lone Star Community College at the moment, but would transfer to the University of Houston, and I gently pointed out that there is no petroleum engineering program at the UH.
He ignored me and began bragging that he would start at $500,000 straight out of school. I gently pointed out that there is no field of endeavor where anyone makes $500K straight out of school.
He loudly insisted that he was right- or telling the truth-I'd lost interest. Yes, kid, you will earn $500K a year straight out of school.
Of course you will.
Then, another new guy was holding court today telling stories of all the outlaws he has run across in his 35ish years.
He has shared cells with a mass murderer. Bank robbers, serial killers, a terrorist, Bonny & Clyde (I might have added this).
The new man is an underwater welder and former fireman...there came into play when he talked about coming face to face with a 15 foot long catfish and seeing his friend consumed by a shark as an underwater welder. As a fireman he was fighting a fire in a high rise and people kept jumping out of the building.
This breadth of experience earned the man accolades from the impressionable among us.
I immediately set to work forging deeds to a quiet seaside community near Tuscon. I will make a killing.
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