Love, Justine

Muncy State Prison

June 1st, 2024

Saturday

11am

My birthday is in nine days. Penises seem to be the theme here whenever it’s anybody’s birthday, so I can look forward to that.

Daisy put in a Sick Call on Tuesday for recurrent ear infections, and she wasn’t seen this week. She says her ears hurt really bad. I feel bad for her.

I wrote Motorcycle, Paul, and Gem. I hope Paul can put some money on my account before tomorrow or I won’t have coffee, e-cigarettes, phone or kiosk time, etc.

Ugh.

Motorcycle says he can put money on my account on Monday, because that’s when he gets paid. Gem, of course, says that everybody–including her–already got paid.

Ugh.

I can’t do anything about it. I’m reading “The New Jim Crow” again by Michelle Alexander, and I just got “Killing the Black Body,” which is about how reproduction in Black women is discouraged and criminalized in the U.S. Half of the introduction is missing, though. Most of the books in the Muncy library are in really bad shape and are missing pages.

In other news, I think I’m going to Yard today for the first time, because Bambi offered me some ice cream. For ice cream, I’ll go. I feel like the entire compound of over 1,000 women is going to be there, because it’s the first day for wearing T-shirts with no button-up. I won’t be doing that, because then you have to tuck your T-shirt into your pants, and it looks really stupid and I will be uncomfortable. I’ve been losing weight, like I usually do in prison, but I’m not about to tuck my shirt into elastic waistband pants. No thanks.

I’m listening to the top 30 countdown with Carson Daly on the radio. Taylor Swift and Post Malone are singing their stupid song. I have to push a wheelchair to lunch, or I wouldn’t be going. This old Asian lady I push surprises me every once in a while with a cinnamon roll or Oreos. She’s nice. I’m not sure what she’s here for, but the rumor is (that, upon researching, turned out to be true) that she killed her own mother. I always think to myself about these elderly lifers in wheelchairs–do they really think these women are going to commit more crimes? Kill another person? Let’s not be ridiculous.

I’ll be interested to know what Christopher Gregor gets for a sentence. Probably less time than Frankie has (15-30 years) for murdering his own son. Torturing him to death, really.

2:37pm

I went to Yard for the first time. Bambi bought me ice cream, so that was nice. It was nice to walk in grass for the first time in almost three months, too.

I saw a woman I was in Quehanna with years ago. This time she got a nine to 20 year sentence. I didn’t ask her what she did. 

Very sad.

7:35pm

We’re supposed to have a tornado drill. Fun. I talked to Paul–he did put money on my books, it just didn’t show up yet. He sent me a really nice message about my blog and how he loves me.

The Doomsday Dad got the death penalty. Lori Vallow Daybell is appealing her conviction, of course.

June 2nd, 2024

Sunday

7pm

I called the boys. Tiger was there. She was sort of talking to me. She told me that King was being clingy, and I said that was because he loves her so much. She said, “He doesn’t love me! He’s punching me!” So I said, “No punching!” Then I talked to Superman. They lost their soccer game, and they’re packed to go to Wildwood tomorrow. When he and I were getting off the phone, I said, “Does Tiger want to talk?” but Superman said, “I love you bye!” and hung up. 

Oh well. I hope she at least heard me ask anyway. It was nice to hear her voice. She sounds very grown up. 

June 3rd, 2024

Monday

8pm

Kimberly has parole tomorrow. I hope it goes well for her. Daisy still hasn’t been to the doctor for her ear infections. She put in a Sick Call a week ago. There’s no triage system here. They saw me for acne before they saw her for double ear infections.

Dismal.

June 4th, 2024

Tuesday

I don’t have any coffee, e-cigarettes, and now Wellbutrin. I don’t know if Muncy will refill it.

Kimberly thinks her parole one-on-one went well.

June 5th, 2024

Wednesday

All Motorcycle has to talk about is the diarrhea he’s been having since Saturday.

Ew.

He was literally sitting on the toilet while he was talking to me on the phone.

Gross.

4pm

Bambi let Daisy and I watch her TV for a while, which was set to the institutional channel. Apparently, inmates have been filing PREA (Prison Rape Elimination Act) violaton complaints because of invasive pat searches. The TV was telling us that “properly conducted” pat searches do not violate PREA standards, which is another way of saying that they’re ignoring all of the complaints.

Motorcycle says I have to get out of prison before November so I can go to his high school reunion with him. 

Like-what?

What am I, a trophy to show off? How would I feel with a bunch of 70-year olds with their age-appropriate wives?

Ugh. 

I don’t know, man.

 I just don’t know.

7pm

I talked to Superman and King, who are in Wildwood with Tiger and my parents. King was getting first aid because he fell and twisted his ankle and skinned his knee. Tiger was in the shower. Superman said he had a cheeseburger for dinner and that the pool was too cold for him. 

Bambi’s daughter looked up my blog. She said it was good. I’m flattered. Kimberly just got back from working in the kitchen. She stole some coffee and put it in a glove in her waistband, but the glove broke and spilled coffee down the back of her pants. She’s yelling that her butt cheeks are sticky.

Funny.

June 6th, 2024

Thursday

1pm

We just went to lunch and it was pouring rain. Paul sent me a nice message. He says he misses me a lot. I’m going back to bed. Daisy started working in the sewing shop today, where they make all of the officer’s clothing.

4:30pm

Great. 

Reibsome is our Unit Manager again and five people from the bottom tier are getting moved to the top tier and we’re worried that we’re getting a crappy cellie. Reibsome is trying to consolidate cells, which is basically overcrowding people on purpose, which makes people fight more.

Awesome.

There are 1066 women inmates on this compound as of the first of June. 

I hate my life.

7pm

We didn’t get a cellie. Yay. I have $13 on my account and I don’t think we’re getting paid for our prison jobs until next week, so I bit the bullet and asked my mother for money on the kiosk. We’ll see if she does it. And if it gets here before Sunday, when Commissary orders go in.

June 7th, 2024

Friday

9:13am

Well, I was wrong. We got a cellie. That’s just great. She was always fighting with her former cellies over people calling her a thief. That’s fucking great. I can’t deal with someone who steals. She’s such a thief that she’s in prison for being a thief.

Fuck my life. 

Officer Colostomy Bag gave someone on the other side of the Unit, where he’s not even working, a writeup for taking a shower when she wasn’t signed up.

What a dick.

Morocco borrowed an e-cig from me until Cinnamon shops later, and now I’m afraid she won’t pay me back. I already gave one to Daisy because she didn’t shop this week.

This day sucks, and it’s fucking Commissary day. We should be celebrating.

4pm

Morocco hasn’t paid me yet. Now she says 8pm.

Yeah right. 

We’ll see.

7pm

Morocco paid me back. Will wonders never cease. In worse news, I talked to my mother, who said that the second lawyer, Eric Gurney, never got back to her. She’s going to try to call his office on Monday–a different number this time–to see if she can get an answer. If not, she’s going to call my Public Defender, Mr. Dick, and see if she can make an appointment with him to tell him her side of the story. So I have to call him Monday morning so I can tell him he can talk to her.
I called Motorcycle and told him. He said he would be there for me. 

Sweet guy.

June 8th, 2024

Saturday

I miss my kids. They stopped my Wellbutrin completely. Who needs antidepressants in prison anyway?

June 9th, 2024

Sunday

My 43rd birthday is tomorrow. I also have a Psych appointment so I can argue with them about Wellbutrin. Somebody put $30 on my account, so that helps. We have to turn in our Commissary sheets today, so it’s just in time. I’m reading a book by Jen Sincero called “You Are a Badass” that says that you should write down all your craziness about money, so here goes:

So the truth is I really don’t trust money. I also don’t think I deserve money. I’ve never really had enough money, and I’ve struggled mightily for the past 15 years to have any money at all. I resent needing money at the same time that I want my life to be easier because I have enough.

There.

Then the book says that you’re supposed to break down what you wrote to expose your drama surrounding money. 

Okay: 

I don’t trust money because I believe that nothing should have that much control over my life and/or my happiness. When I was a teacher at the Vet Tech Institute, it was the only time in my life that I didn’t have to struggle monetarily, but I fought for that job and believed that I could do it and would be good at it, and I was.

I believed in myself.

So, money does come to me when I believe that I deserve it. 

Good quote:

“God will not have his work made manifest by cowards.”

–Ralph Waldo Emerson

3:46pm

Well this sucks. Kimberly got me tomatoes and chicken and stuff from the kitchen for my birthday, and the CO took it all.

Ugh. 

I hate this place so much. Like–why would you be such a jerk? Do you get pleasure out of it? Everybody knows they feed us garbage for food. It’s not like the CO bought it. She made Kimberly throw it in the garbage. Now nobody gets to eat it. 

Make it make sense.

According to this book, when something bad happens, I’m supposed to say, “Now this is good because…”

I got nothin’.

The book also says that I’m supposed to write down my version of my ideal life, specifically and in the present tense.

So here goes:

I live on what used to be called Miller’s Mountain, in a big, beautiful five bedroom home with my husband and Superman and King. Tiger comes to visit often. We have lots of cats and dogs. We are deliriously happy. We never struggle for money because I make around one million dollars a year with my writing and speaking engagements. I give to several charities for prison abolition on a regular basis. I wear whatever I want and donate the rest to Goodwill. We eat the best organic food and I garden, compost, and recycle. I am proud of my life and I deserve all of the gifts that the abundant Universe bestows upon me. I help people in need. We all love our life together. I will be free forevermore.

On the radio:

“This is the sound of chains breaking

This is the beat of a heart changing

This is the song of a soul forgiven

This is my freedom hymn…”

Now I’m reading Norman Vincent Peale’s “The Power of Positive Thinking, The Positive Principle Today, and Enthusiasm Makes a Difference.”

I am determined to change my crappy life into an absolutely amazing, no-holds-barred, I-can’t-believe-this-is-my-fucking-awesome-existence-LIFE!

Radio:

“What if we could be the light that no one could ignore?

What are we waiting for?”

This book is also about imagining yourself succeeding, which leads to actually succeeding. It even quotes the Bible: “If God be for us, who can be against us?” 

–Romans 8:31

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

–Phillippians 4:13

9:41pm

Kimberly, Daisy, Morocco, Cinnamon, and Bambi did a birthday for me!! SO cool. With a cake and everything. 

Wow.

Benson Boone is singing “Beautiful Things” on the radio.

Best. 

Prison Birthday. 

Ever.