Well today is Christmas Eve, and I am still here in jail. The dull surroundings and lack of color or anything festive has kinda made it easier to forget that it is in fact Christmas Eve.
They (the deputies we never see) were nice enough to give us "outdoor recreation" time today for about an hour. "Outdoor rec" time here consists of any inmates that are interested being ushered into a sort of racquetball court concrete area with sky above, while everyone kicks around a volleyball or throws racquetballs or stands off to one side and talks. It was nice to get fresh air, but the little time spent there really reminds me how cooped up I am here, and how good I had it at Musick.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is in fact real jail. But in spite of this, I must remain thankful.
During outdoor rec I had a chance to catch up with my friend Constantine whom I previously knew from the farm. He informed me how it was that he came to be here at Main, and I in turn shared my story with him.
Prior to his incarceration Constantine had some sort of brain surgery. After bumping his head a couple times at the farm, he was experiencing some headaches and requested a CAT scan. Well, little did he know that to receive a CAT scan, one has to be moved to Main. Ooops. So they moved him to Main.
Shortly thereafter, tensions flared up between "the brothers" (African Americans, Constantine's race "car") and "the Southsiders." Constantine is a smart and peaceful young man, and wanted nothing to do with this beef. But as a result of the mounting tension it "popped off" in the barracks where he was housed. Basically a riot took place. Long story short, the people involved received new charges and were rolled out of the barracks. Constantine was rolled out and put into the two-man cells or "mods" as they are called here.
In comparison my story of how I arrived in the mods was not so exciting.
Yeah...I like write a blog from here, and I guess it got pretty popular, and the deputies didn't like that or something, and said that because of my "growing celebrity status" my safety was at risk at the farm and they moved me here.I have plenty more thoughts on that scenario we will touch on in a later entry, but every time I say it and write it, it sounds more and more like a crock of shit. Excuse my language. Still it was nice to be able to talk to someone I knew from before I got here and catch up.
Then we came in and ate lunch shortly after. "Rico" appeared upset at me after I expressed the urgency of him brushing his teeth. I mean people, I've been here with him what, five days? His toothbrush was still in the wrapper! Oh hell to the nooo no no! His breath is straight hummin'! Apparently he is just not a fan of hygiene. He finally took his first shower that I know of yesterday.
So he got upset when I said he HAD to brush his teeth today. And then even more so when I suggested that he move his plate as to not spill any thing, again. See, it's hard to really grasp what I am about to say without seeing Rico in the flesh. You know how some people with Down syndrome look? Their hands are all twisted and frail looking? Well that's Rico. So he spills stuff. He gets all upset first when I say he needs to brush his teeth, then he gets more upset and moves to his bed to eat when I suggest he move his plate from the edge so he doesn't spill anything again with his retarded ass hands. And then what does he do? He spills his milk off his bed and gets even more upset.
It's like trying to look after somebody's 7-year-old child. And mind you, I would feel bad, but all his bran damage is self-inflicted. His drug-addled brain will no doubt see even more abuse by his own hand upon his release. Since I spend 22 hours out of the day with the guy, it's kinda hard to feel bad for him.
After he started getting upset at me I just said screw you retard and started writing. Then we had dayroom at about noon and I got a chance to speak to every member of my immediate family currently living in California: my mother, father, both my little brothers and my sister-in-law. They were all getting together for Christmas Eve, so it was nice to be able to speak to all of them.
Although I have been trying so hard to not think about my family and how much I miss them and how it's Christmas Eve and all, I've had that John Lennon song run through my head: Happy Christmas (War is Over). He sings "and so this is Christmas." I can't stop thinking about how this really is Christmas 2008. I don't ever get a chance to do this year or this Christmas over. That's it. And so this is Christmas.
That's why it's so very important to ensure through my actions that this never happens again.
I am going to lay down and read after I check another day, Christmas Eve, off of my little calendar. Maybe I'll write my grandparents again.
Merry Christmas everyone.
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