Author: Jessica Kenley

Jessica Lynne Kenley is an independent author, freelance writer, and news reporter based in Coudersport, Pennsylvania. Born in Buffalo, New York, in 1981, she has built a diverse professional background centered around writing, editing, and content creation, focusing heavily on social justice and human interest stories.

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Life Uncategorized

Cho-Mo’s, Witches, and Death

Women’s Center

August 28th, 2017

Monday

All my hair is falling out. Super annoying. I’m reading a book called “When the Bough Breaks: Forever After the Death of a Son or Daughter.” What about both? It’s by Judith R. Bernstein, Ph.D. She and her husband are both psychologists who lost their son at 25 to cancer. I wish my kids had lived long, healthy lives–even 25 seems very long compared to three and seven months.

I was supposed to go to Coudersport for bloodwork today, but the Big Boss didn’t put it on the schedule. Time for painting with Jenny–the same woman who does “church.” We’re watching Intervention.

1pm

Now I’m reading my book again. It’s pretty good. It says, “The bereaved parent has to come to terms with a world in which it is possible for children to die; a world of different hopes and dreams, a world of muted sunsets. The victim never sees life through the same lens again.”

Spot on.

I looked in the front of this book and saw the name of a local woman who lost a daughter to a suicide in jail. Horrific. She must have donated the book to the Center. I hope it helped her. I can’t imagine.

Judith Bernstein calls the “aftermath of the trauma of intense grief “a barren, inhospitable wasteland.” I like her. At least she is able to express herself without the uncontrollable rage that I experienced when writing my first book, “Kidowed.”

Then again, Ronald J. Knapp wrote in “Beyond Endurance” that, “It was discovered that all parents eventually develop a primary and fundamental need to talk about this tragic experience and about what they can remember about their child. They develop an intense desire or need to reveal their sadness, to release their anger, to allay their guilt, and to have others understand their reactions. This is not only how they remember; it is also how they confront the reality of what has happened to them.”

Judith Bernstein says, about conducting a study of 50 bereaved parents that, “I came away with profound admiration for the courage of ordinary people who never presumed to be courageous at all.”

Everybody’s bitchy now. Now there’s another new woman here. She looks to be in her 50’s and got in trouble for “boosting” electronics in Buffalo and a bad check in Potter County in 2004. I feel kind of bad for her. But not really because she only got 60 days. Some people have all the luck. Tori is passing around a note that says that she looks like a Cho-Mo version of Peter Griffin. Mean.

“When a child dies, the very ground on which we depend for stability heaves and quakes and the rightness and orderliness of our existence are destroyed. The loss of a child is shattering, unique among losses.”

One of the parents, Pauline, that was interviewed after losing a child wrote, “…I was angry at all of them [family], for something. I felt that they needed me, and I was annoyed that they needed me. I didn’t have anything to give; I was vacant; I was empty. I wasn’t sure that I was going to live.

8:30pm

I forgot to make my 12:40pm phone call, so I called my parent’s house and my mother answered. 

I said, “Any news?”

“No.”

“Are the boys in bed?”

“Yes.”

“What did they do today?”

“They were happy to stay home all day and they picked berries and played good and didn’t fight at all.”

“Um, okay…Bye.”

“Bye.”

Fucking Witch from Hell. She could at least try. God. 

The new lady seems to like it here. Of course, anything’s better than jail. They forget that after a while and then the bitching starts. I didn’t get to go to the meeting tonight, which sucks. There’s so many people here now that they have to pick and choose who can go because their stupid van only seats seven. Chantilly is making door signs. She’s very artsy. I forgot to give Tiger the bracelet I made her. I hope Dubya lets her come every week, but I know he won’t, so I’m filing a Modification of Custody motion tomorrow when I go get my bloodwork.

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Life Uncategorized

Motorcycle, Minivans, and Man–You Don’t Even Want to Know

May 3, 2024

Muncy State Prison

11:29am

Friday

We just heard over the radio that CPR has been started on someone on J Unit. Jesus Christ. I hope it’s not another suicide. The Unit is silent, waiting to hear what happens. There’s tension in the air. Some people, like me, are eyes-wide, looking around, and others just shake their heads and put them down, as if to say, “Another one bites the dust.” Burgundy says it’s always J Unit. There are rows  of single cells, like S Unit, with automatic doors that are usually closed, only to be opened by an officer in the bubble by pressing a button on J Unit.

11:40am

Ambulance en route. It’s harder to hang yourself on an open Unit, like this one, BB. The walls between the pods only go up to chest level, so if you’re on the top tier and have a top bunk, you have a bird’s eye view of the entire Unit. People on this Unit are mad that lunch is going to be late, because they may not get to “shop” at Commissary. Someone is dying, and they’re made about coffee and e-cigarettes. It’s sad and infuriating that suicides are commonplace here.

11:52am

Ambulance en route (to the Unit?).

Book: “Women Who Love Men Who Kill: 35 True Stories of Prison Passion” by Sheila  Isenberg © 2021

P. 7 “Today, prison phone calls a $1.2 billion industry under the control of two large corporations, Securus and GlobalTel. They claim to reduce the cost os inmate calls up to 90 percent, including local, long distance, and international…Securus and GlobalTel are very profitable. They and some individual states earn huge profits on calls; many states pay legal kickbacks. For example, in 2018, Connecticut state prisoners paid $13.2 million for phone calls, of which Securus returned nearly 60 percent to the state. In 2010, the state of Hawaii profited by  $3.3 million from prisoner phone calls…But today, even our carceral society that penalizes so many, often unfairly, gives us the online revolution a place behind prison walls. The internet allows prisoners to stay in touch with families, and wives and girlfriends. According to experts, this cuts down on recidivism because of the prisoner’s ability to maintain a connection with the outside world.”

P.8

“First, there is JPay, ‘aiming to become the Apple of the U.S. penal system…’ Founded in 2006, JPay’s app can be downloaded on Apple’s App Store or on Google Play. It partners with institutions on all levels–federal, state, and county–in thirty-five states. A million and a half ‘offenders [prisoners],’ parolees, and probationers’ use it for money transfers, emails, and video visitation.”

p.8

“Since 2009, federal prison inmates have been able to send and receive emails through a system used by the U.S. Federal Bureau of Prisons: TRULINCS (Trust Fund Limited Inmate Computer System). TRULINCS is operated by CORRLINK, a privately owned company that is a subsidiary of Advanced Technologies Group.”

12:15pm 

Count is clear.

12:40pm

Lunch.

1:15pm 

It was Sharon M. who hung herself. No one knows if she’s dead or alive. 

I didn’t go to lunch and called Motorcycle instead. He got my letter and said that he was upset that I think he doesn’t believe I’ll be faithful. He said he believes me. And that, “I love you very much, Jess.”

Sweet.

He also told me that he’s never said that he would “bend his knee” for anyone before, ever. I meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen…he was married once, but whatever. I’ll take it. I love him very much too. I wrote him a letter:

5/3/24

Motorcycle, 

I talked to you earlier today. You were so sweet. I love it when you’re all romantic with me. I mess spending time with you too, and crawling into your lap when I need a break from work. And cooking and eating together. Everything, really. I miss normal things. Shopping and driving around together. Just spending time together. I miss everything. I hate this. I hate being away from you, and not knowing what’s going to happen. I hate not knowing where I’m going live when this is all over.

Ugh.

Anyway, I love you very much too, and I can’t imagine my life without you. 

In other news, another woman here hung herself today. It’s so sad that it’s so normal here that no one really cares. People are just mad that we’re locked down, or they can’t go to Commissary or whatever. 

Terrible.

My worst fear is dying in prison. I haven’t gotten any letters or correspondence from Paul, so I stopped writing him. I give up. If he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, that’s fine. I can’t do anything about it anyway. I talked to Gem this morning. Nothing new with her except for the rumor about the DA and the Judge being under investigation. I sent the letter today to the Public Defender asking him why there was a conflict with the last case and not this one. I also sent a letter to Tabby. She writes huge long messages on the kiosk and I can only write her back a line or two. My mother told me the Maple Festival is this weekend and she’s taking the kids. Stryder has messaged me a few times with jealous bullshit about me choosing you over him. This after he didn’t speak to me for five months. Whatever. I didn’t respond. I can do without his drama just fine. 

Anyway, I love you very, very much and I miss you like crazy.

Love Always, 

Justine

5:47pm 

I have one piece of yellow paper left for writing letters. I’m going to call the boys at 6:30pm. I keep wondering if I should write Tiger. I don’t see why I would. She won’t care anyway, but I think about her a lot. 

Bambi, the Vietnamese lady next door, wants me to ghost write the story of her life for her. Daisy got colored pencils today on Commissary, so she’s happily coloring.

Burgundy asked the young Black lady next door yesterday what her charges were, her name is Momo, and she said that someone put some drug in her drink and she went nuts and stabbed her young daughter. Her daughter survived, but she’s not allowed to have any contact with her. She said she called her mom, where her kids live, and her daughter (the victim) insisted on talking to her She said, “I still love you, Mommy!”

So sad.

She got 6-16 years for felony child endangerment. She’s been down four years so far. I wonder if she’ll get paroled. I would think not. 

In other news, I got a yoga packet from some Activities person I wrote. Daisy says we’ll start tomorrow. I didn’t eat lunch today because it was fish. Dinner was spaghetti, so I ate it. Burgundy is working on an 1,000 piece puzzle. No thank you. I guess I’ll read. Library Monday, thank God.

6:33pm

Lockdown again. I was in the middle of my phone call with King. Jesus God. There’s no telling how long this will take. “Secure your Unit” over the radio. Henry sprained his ankle during soccer. Hopefully I’ll get to talk to Superman tonight. 

Who knows what happened this time.

6:40pm

“Compound is clear” over radio.

6:43pm

“Keep compound secure”

Showers and phone calls only. I’m not going to call Superman for two minutes. Inmate.com says that they found contraband in a shower. Daisy and I were talking about dating Black men, and I recounted a story about the first Black man I dated, when I was 19. He had the whitest name ever–Robert–and he sold a magazine where I worked as a bookstore clerk. He would buy me Boone’s Farm drinks and I would get drunk at his apartment, where there was black shag carpet and an entirely glass coffee table. When I broke up with him, he couldn’t believe it. He looked at me, aghast, and said incredulously, “But I licked your asshole!”

I had no idea that asshole lickery had bonded us for life.

Silly me. 

When Daisy dated her first Black man, they went to see the Exorcist in the theater, and to hear her tell it, the theater was so cold that her nipples were hard, so she tried to cuddle up to this guy, but she couldn’t get too close because his breath was so bad. “He had a turd in his cheek!!” she shrieked, and then fell over on her bed laughing. “NEVER AGAIN,” she said. She saw him later at a party and he said, “What happened to you?” She was like, “What happened to YOU, man?? Like, why would your breath smell that bad?!

Next, my first husband apparently thought I wasn’t very good at blow jobs, because he bought some DVD when I was 20 to teach me the ABCs of giving head. It featured real couples and also featured the least sexy sex I had ever seen. Some of those couples had to be 60 years old, with mom-bods and beer guts galore. “Oh, that’s hot,” I thought, and proceeded to never give him a blow job again. 

Daisy then told me about some porn she saw where a woman had a ton of sex toys up her vagina. She was like, “She had the Mary Poppins of pussies! Like–just when you thought she was done, there comes another one!”

Then she asked her boyfriend, Wizard, to look up Urban Sex Positions for entertainment while she was incarcerated, and he came back with “the minivan.” Sooo….you’ve heard of “the shocker,” right? Two in the pink and one in the stink? Okay, so this one is two in the front and FIVE in the back, like a freakin’ minivan. “What, so you just punch them in the butthole?” I asked, mouth agape. She shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Some people like being fisted.”

Ew.

Then we got into a conversation about men on meth who want to fuck for six hours straight with their “al dente” dicks and do butt stuff, but never get off.

Boy, do I NOT miss those days.

*sigh* 

Good times.

Daisy says that in her county jail, Somerset (not Fayette, it turns out I was wrong), five people have hung themselves in the past five years, and four of them died.

They also make the inmates paint over the black mold before inspections by the state and there are no counselors. Inmates have been known to eat dentures, shoes, and pens, or stick razors up their rectums in order to get a trip to the hospital and get out of the jail for a while. The woman here who hung herself earlier today apparently “did it wrong,” according to the blue shirts in the kitchen, because she lived. Now she has to come back here.

Dear God.

Also, in Somerset County jail, they don’t let ambulances or the coroner into the building, so nobody actually is pronounced dead until they’re in the alley. This way, I’m assuming, they don’t have to count the death as in the prison. How nice of them. I’m sure this skews the statistics of suicides in the Somerset County Jail in their favor.

8:50pm

The women here are discussing how much they get paid. Most of them will get around $30/month. Some of them work six hours per day in the kitchen or doing maintenance for this amount. And that’s IF they don’t get 25% taken out for fines. None of them seem to know or care that this is legal slavery.

There is a Sergeant walking by who is training a new CO with very tight pants on. While they walked by our cell, he told her, “When you leave this place, leave it here. Don’t take it home with you.”

Must be nice.

“We’re going down, down in an earlier round,

And sugar, we’re goin’ down swingin’

I’ll be your number one with the bullet, 

A loaded gun complex

Cock it and pull it.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to hear

Keep my sunglasses on while I shed a tear

It’s never the right time…

I’m unstoppable…

I’m a Porsche with no brakes…”

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Life Uncategorized

Racists, Stalkers, and the Fucking System

Muncy State Prison

May 5, 2024

Thursday

8:30am

I have that stupid, repetitive class today. I got four messages today. Tabby said she talked to Motorcycle for four hours (!!) the other day, and called him “a lovely man.”

Wow. 

Stryder messaged me to tell me he wasn’t going to send any money because it’s Motorcycle’s “responsibility.” So much for being friends. I asked him weeks ago to send money. No word from Paul. Stryder got my letter, so Paul must have, too. 

Radio silence.

Gem sent a message too. Two of the messages were from Stryder. No word on Burgundy leaving. I can’t wait for commissary tomorrow. It’s so nice outside today. Maybe I’ll write my boys a letter. On the news, police are arresting UCLA protesters, and Florida banned abortions after six weeks.

Ridiculous.

Spongy moth caterpillars are out. Everybody keeps them gypsy moths, but apparently they’re not. Oh, I just heard that they are the same thing, they just changed the name because the word “gypsy” is racist. 

11am

Group over, homework done. I can’t really believe I’ve only been here since March. It feels like WAY longer. I told Gem I would call her at 2:15pm. I’m tired. Now they’re saying maybe lockdown tomorrow, which would mean no commissary. 

Ugh. 

I really hope not. 

So, Daisy thinks that Tabby is a stalker. She says that Tabby’s going to turn my skin into a dress and wear it. She thinks she’s Buffalo Bill. I think she’s just a nice older lady who lives alone in the woods with her cats. I’d be more inclined to believe she’s stalking Motorcycle.

Daisy says I need to watch “Almost Famous.” There are people here imitating cartoon characters. Someone sounds exactly like Blue from Blue’s Clues. It’s funny.

3:40pm

Fuck. I got the Public Defender from Potter County. Fuck. He is absolutely useless. And best friends with the DA and the judge. That’s just great. Plus that added a charge of walking too close to the roadway. That’s just fucking great. I can’t believe this. That wasn’t on the original paperwork. I hate this fucking rigged system. Now, at least for the second set of charges, they can say I was doing something illegal.

FUCK. 

4:49pm 

Now the CO just announced that if you spray the industrial strength cleaner here on your clothes, the bugs won’t get on you. Now everybody is spraying this poisonous crap all over themselves. Why are humans so stupid?

I really wish anybody had the money to pay for a lawyer for me. Well, I know some people I know do, I just wish they WOULD.

8pm

I was in the bathroom and Raja came up to me and asked me how court was out of the blue. I told her I don’t have court until June. She asked me what my charges are and so I told her. She scoffed and said I’d be out of here in six months. She even said the words, “Good for you, girl.”

Wow.

Every time I get really down, somebody inevitably says that or something similar to that to me. I wish I had that kind of faith in the system. Six months would be September. Middle of September. I wonder if that’s what’s going to happen. 

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Mr. Big, Sex, and Addictions

Potter County Women’s Center

Day 53

August 26, 2017

Saturday

I don’t have any winter clothes. Hm. I’ll have to go to the Community Closet (and put in a request for that). Now we need request slips to take a shit, it seems. We’re off to Wellsboro for that crappy meeting. Only two or three people besides us ever show up, so it’s ridiculously boring. There’s always supposed to be a speaker, but they never show up. 

I’m sitting in the front, so I’m in charge of the radio. Mr. Big has been having fun making all kinds of new rules lately, which makes me like him even less. It also makes it harder not to get written up, which sucks. I can’t get in trouble here because I still have the threat of state prison hanging over my head. 

I sent an application and resume to the closest vet clinic, which is 20 minutes away. That’s probably a bit much to hope for, so I’m applying for jobs in Coudersport too. Stupid jobs like “Sandwich Artist” at Subway. I’d like to waitress or bartend so I can make tips. This morning our bathroom wasn’t working, so I took a shower in the staff bathroom (with permission), shut the door and everything, and got walked in on my staff anyway while I was half-naked!

Hope she enjoyed the show.

At least it wasn’t Mr. Big. That would’ve been horrifying.

I don’t really know how I feel about eight more months here. Of course I don’t want to, but I’m trying to be grateful that I’m not in state prison. That sounds awful. Mr. Big seems to like me, he had me run a group yesterday. I decided to make it about God/Higher Power(s)–it went well and even lasted a whole hour, which I was surprised about. It was hard for me to change my address to here, but I did it.

Everybody is singing, “Hold on, hold on to me, cuz I’m a little unsteady…a little unsteady…” I miss singing. Just blasting music (especially in a car) and singing at the top of my lungs. It’s therapeutic. Always makes me feel better anyway. None of the music on the radio seems good to me anymore. 

Does that mean I’m old?

1:25pm
The meeting was good. There was a baby there that I got to hold. Reminds me of my sons when they were little. When Tiger was little like that, everything was a blur. I was drinking then. A lot.

My Superman said to me once, “Mommy, I know who my Daddy is.” I, terrified that somehow Prynot had weasled his way into their lives, alarmingly replied, “Who?!” Superman calmly replied, “You are.” That made my heart just melt. I love those kids so much it hurts. Taylor Swift is singing, “Shake it Off.” I feel like I have a million things I can’t shake off. My health problems right now, my extended stay here, the constant ache in my heart for my kids, and so many other things. 

I really, REALLY hope this publisher wants to publish my book Kidowed. Right now it’s only available through Smashwords.com as a free download. Maybe I’ll put it back on Amazon for free too. Chantilly and I have been walking more, which is good for me. I can’t get under 150lbs though. My doctor told me I should be happy with that after five children, but the BMI chart on the wall taunts me, saying I’m 15lbs overweight. I feel like it’s more like 25lbs. I weighed 117lbs after the twins, but when they (my parents and Dubya) teamed up and took all three of my kids away from me, all I could do was eat. And I started drinking again. Couldn’t find a reason not to. Then later I started doing drugs too. I just let the overwhelming depression consume me. I’m still having a lot of trouble with anger, acceptance, and gratitude. 

And oh, the Pain.

The oppressive, enveloping pain.

On the board at the meeting, it said, “What is Happiness?” I don’t know anymore. I’m really unhappy that I’m not in remission from lupus anymore. That explains the constant pain lately. My hips and knees have been screaming at me despite the daily Meloxicam. It’s been humid and raining a lot. Fourteen miles till Westfield–where I used to get my Vicodin. My friend John Wayne (deceased) used to ride along with me, then he would take me out to eat. He loved the store Ackley’s , and he would lovingly stare at all of the guns, even though he wasn’t allowed to buy one because he shot and killed a man in a bar fight once. He was quite a character. I miss him. I wonder if I hadn’t met him during my using years if I would have cared more about his health (he was 350lbs), gotten him out more, and maybe he would have lived longer. Of course he drank a 30-pack per day. 

I have a lot of guilt about our relationship. I used to manipulate him out of his pain meds all of the time (he didn’t take them), using them as payment for cleaning his house or taking him somewhere. Of course he manipulated me too, knowing I would do almost anything to get them. He used to know a couple women who would give him blow jobs for Tylenol 3’s. I never went that far, but he sure tried. 

What a relationship.

Two addicts in the grips of a downhill spiral. I was still with Dubya at the time. What a mother I was to Lilly. 

Enough of that. 

Guilt city. In Westfield now. The song, “Slow Hands” is on, which reminds me of how much I miss sex. It’s not as bad as it was last time I was in here. Of course that time I was sort of withdrawing from Luke. He was like an addiction in himself. I was addicted to everything about him–he oozed sex appeal, thought I was sexy as Hell, and what a freakin’ body! Sexy, sexy. I wonder if I’ll ever have sex like that again. We literally couldn’t get enough of each other–we would have sex for hours, and it always just worked–it never felt forced or uncomfortable. 

Amazing.

And I lost 20 freakin’ pounds over that winter with him. Even more amazing. But the fact remains that I was just a fling and his heart belongs to another woman. 

Ah, well.

Of course I keep having sex dreams about Mr. Big, but that’s just because he’s he only man I see all day. It’s weird, waking up all turned on, and then having to look him in the face all day.

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Life Uncategorized

Roasting, Rehab, and Recidivism

Muncy State Prison

April 24th, 2024

11:43am

Had class today. Same shit I did at Cambridge and every rehab I’ve ever been to. Wheelchair pushing today. It’s 83 degrees outside.

Fun.

12:33pm

I’m back from lunch. Sweating like a pig. Have to push again at 1pm, 3:20pm, dinner, and one more insulin. 

Fun.

They say they have the air conditioning on in here, but it feels like the same temperature inside and outside. Gem messaged me. Wanted to know if I heard from Paul. 

Nope.

I sent him a letter saying I wouldn’t send him any more letters. I saw AJ and Dawn are back here too.

Sad.

May 1st, 2024

Wednesday

11:30am

Another month of my life gone. I have to call my lawyer at some point and see if he’s still my lawyer. It’s 1000 degrees outside. All people are talking about is the raging gypsy (spongy?) moth infestation outside. The caterpillars are hanging from all of the trees, getting on all the railings, etc. 

It’s gross.

 I didn’t call anyone this morning. I have trouble getting out of bed when there’s no coffee. Well, I have coffee, but not sugar or creamer. 

Yuck. 

2:02pm 

Called the lawyer–he did not get the paperwork yet. 

Fuck.

In better news, Tabby friended me on the kiosk and sent me $50. Thank Heavens for good friends. 

4pm

Monthly statement–there are 1043 people here.

7pm

I got to talk to King, Superman, and Motorcycle. That was nice. Motorcycle was having dinner with Kammy. I’m jealous, of course. Not of her, but of their freedom. 

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Strippers, Poop, and Pronking

Muncy State Prison

BLOG #3

Neither Here Nor There: Musings from the Other Side (of the Razor Wire Fence)

Motorcycle says it’s funnier when I blog about things that happen around the Block instead of celebrity or world news, so here is an entire blog dedicated to Around the Block News.

Enjoy.

Daisy’s been freaking out because she was “reckless and careless” with her commissary shopping, and to ask for a new order sheet is to ask for a tongue lashing from the CO. It is frowned upon to do this, for reasons unknown. She explained her transgression to the CO, which sounded more like she might have gotten drunk and plowed her car into a small family than made some minor mistakes on a bubble sheet. He made fun of her and gave her a new sheet, but not before admonishing her to snack before shopping.

Thanks, Mom.

Next, whites go in the laundry. I said I needed to put my washcloth in because it has mascara on it, and Daisy deadpanned, “Well, that’s what happens when you’re a streetwalker.”

That was one time.

In some relevant and fun news, we recently found out that Daisy’s stripper name is Mandy Sudsberry, while Burgundy’s is Gypsy Hewitt. 

Mine is Barney Holland.

Apparently, I’m a man stripper.

I’m reading this book “Fuzz” by Mary Roach, which is so far a lot about animals mauling people. One elephant did a headstand on a person and killed them. It was a circus elephant, obviously.

Then, various pictures of cat poo to identify the species–bobcat, mountain lion, etc. Daisy, noting the different poops, said that Roadrunner’s ponytail is strikingly similar to bobcat poop. Roadrunner is an inmate here that begs everyone for e-cigarettes, myself included. She speeds around from person to person, like a bag lady on crack.

In her real life, she’s an alcoholic.

Next–there’s a good-looking CO here that Burgundy has aptly named Captain Dick ‘em Down, so that’s fun when he walks by for count. I’m waiting for her to get the vapors and fall into his arms one of these times.

There is an older Asian lady next door, Bambi, who doesn’t understand common English euphemisms. Her pod was trying to explain “carpet munching” and “scissoring” to her, and she exclaimed, “Listen, I don’t want to know about smelling carpets and scissors and forks and things! I don’t understand it!”

Fun fact: “Stotting” and “pronking” are both names for when a deer or an antelope springs into the air and then lands on all four feet at once. Nobody seems to know WHY they do this, but I think it’s because another deer or antelope sneaks up to them and yells “HEY!!” at the top of their lungs.

In other news, Daisy was telling me earlier that in her county jail–referred to as Fayette’nam–like here, there is no garbage can in the bathrooms, so if someone got a surprise period, it was commonplace to simply flush their underwear down the toilet.

I mean, I don’t blame them.

The state issued underwear here are huge granny panties that say “BIG HOUSE” on them.

Who wouldn’t flush them down the toilet?

And for the grand finale, a White girl in the next cube trying to impress a Black girl:

WG: “I used to run around and keep my pistol on my hip!”

BG: “You’re telling me this like I care.”

“Wait! It was downtown Harrisburg and all the clubs be poppin’!

BG: “Harrisburg–BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…..”

(Black girl dies of boredom. White girl keeps talking.)

Meanwhile, the CO downstairs is clapping his hands together and yelling, “Hercules! Hercules!”

Where AM I?

Whatever. 

I’m going to practice pronking.

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Life Uncategorized

Heroin, Court, and Crappy DA’s

Potter County Women’s Recovery Center

August 23, 2017

Wednesday

Day 50

Quote of the day: to Tori [heroin addict]–”Wow! You have tried to put everything everywhere!” (Tori has been trying to explain to Megan how to make a noise by moving your finger around in your ear.)

2:30pm

“There’s different situations for every circumstance.” – Jesse, Residential Worker, on making and enforcing the rules.

My reaction: BOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thumbs down! That’s just called picking on people! Enforcing rules only when you feel like it, right?

Anyway, I went to court today and I had to wait foreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeever to be called and the the judge went over my case–2nd probation violation–(yup I sure did take an Adderol when it was offered to me–what else do I have to do?? I have no kids around! I stayed up all night and got six writing jobs done!). And of course the DA, Candy Blobsom Who Has No Soul recommended the SIP (State Intermediate Punishment) program, and then the judge decided…….to make me go sit back down while he deliberated over it some more. Soooo THEN WE WAIT AN(OTHER) HOUR. 

This is verbatim: “I just don’t know what to do with your case.” 

So then he took somebody else’s case and somebody else’s case and finally he calls a meeting of him, the DA, the Drug and Alcohol Counselor, and several other people.

Now I’m sitting outside with Chantilly Lace. Just sitting in the grass talking. I’m grateful that I’m at this place and not prison, where there’s no sun or grass. I traced a heart shaped leaf that Chantilly Lace gave to me in my journal.

So, the order of the court reads:

“Pursuant to sentence for a period of not less than 24 months to be completed as follows: 12 months at Women’s Center. After 10 months go to a treatment center. Then three months house arrest and 9 months of intensive probation. 

Fun fun. And more fun after that.

I’m going to go through a lot of journals. We got another new person–some mentally handicapped (can’t even read) woman child who apparently molested her own daughter. 

Her stay should be fun.

I want to know if I can be work release eligible. And I have to write a modification of custody order so I can see Tiger. 

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Lockdowns, Asians, and Dicks

Muncy State Prison

April 26 2024

Friday

11:49am

We got searched. They didn’t take anything from me. They took Burgundy’s shoes and her fan. 

Wasn’t hers, apparently.

Hm.

2:49pm 

Oh no. The neighbor cube is getting a fourth roommate who apparently killed her two children by shooting them in their faces, and she’ll be sleeping on a top bunk directly next to Daisy. Like–inches apart.

Cool.

The Unit Manager apparently put the new Asian lady next door because she and the current Asian lady that lives there both speak Vietnamese.

They also both speak English.

Hm. 

Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” is on the radio for the millionth time. Daisy says it’s trying to tell me something.

Hm.

I don’t understand. How would Gary Zukav reconcile parents who kill their children? Did they agree to THAT before they were all born??

I need to know.

5:47pm We just got back from dinner. Somebody in blues–either a new person or a juvenile–got taken to the Hole in a restraint chair. We had to wait forever to go back to the Unit. 

This place is so sad.

Our Unit was singing and dancing and generally being obnoxious and loud while somebody was being strapped to a chair and taken to solitary confinement.

This is how we treat each other.

In other news, Daisy is having anxiety about sleeping next to the Vietnamese murderess, who is currently blowing her nose every three minutes and randomly staring directly at people.

Cool.

April 29th, 2024

Monday

10:15am

Lockdown today. 

SUPER BORING.

Burgundy is doing yoga moves. Daisy and I are watching her and doing nothing. I guess I’ll blog.

4:20pm

Still on lockdown. This was an extremely boring day. There’s a rumor that we’re locked down tomorrow too.

Kill me.

5:20pm

Still on lockdown. Count hasn’t cleared yet. No dinner. Someone is retching loudly in the bathroom. I’m wondering what the deal is with trash, since I am a trash detail today. Yes, the inmates cook and do all the janitorial work, too. While the government actually MAKES money off of us. Captain Dick ‘em Down turns out to be just Captain Dick, writing people up for going into the bathroom more than four at a time, like it matters or something. 

What an asshole.

5:30pm

They haven’t even called the diabetics to insulin yet. What in the fuck is going on?? 

Today sucks even worse than normal.

5:49pm

Count clear. 

Not resuming normal movement. Maybe. Nobody knows. 

Yes–lockdown lifted. 

Jesus Christ.

Thank God.

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War, Choices, and Toxic Shock Syndrome

Muncy State Prison

April 25th, 2024

Thursday

9pm

Modified lockdown today, so that the entire compound can watch the PREA (Prison Rape Elimination Act) video (again). The rumor is that we’re getting like four Chef Boyardee raviolis for lunch. 

Oh good.

My video conference for today was cancelled because I waived the preliminary hearing. I hate waiving hearings. I always feel like it gives them the upper hand even more so than they already do.

Daisy and I were talking about county jails yesterday, and she said that Fayette County Jail is known as “Fayette’nam” because it’s so horrible. Tampons are $0.40/apiece and you can only order 10 per week, so you have to stock up or make your own tampons out of pads. Sounds like a recipe for Toxic Shock Syndrome to me. Imagine having 10 tampons for a whole period–five to seven days long–when you usually use six or eight per day. SO a box of 40 tampons would be $16.00 in Fayette’nam. 

Jesus Christ.

4pm Lockdown finally lifted.

8:09pm I sent Paul the two blogs I wrote and told him that I missed him. I don’t really know what else to say. I don’t think there is anything else to say. I asked him to please respond. I’m reading this book, “The Seat of the Soul” by Gary Zukov. It’s about the evolution of the human soul  and light and intentions and the Universe. I don’t really understand it, but it’s another one of those books that says that you create your own reality. I can never seem to wrap my head around that. 

I would never create this for myself.

Never.
I would never have chosen for my children to die and the others to be taken away. I would have never chosen prison for 10 years of my life or an abusive, horrible mother. I would have never chosen to go through so much pain, suffering, and horror that I became suicidal.

No.

I did not choose this for myself.

What about casualties of war? What about the Jews in the Holocaust? Do you think they chose that life? That death?

Why?

That doesn’t make any sense. 

Talk about vibrations and frequencies and light all you want, but I didn’t choose this.

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Twerking, Sex, and Shit Nuggets

Muncy State Prison

April 24, 24

Wednesday

12:43pm

The next cube is discussing Channing Tatum’s “sexy-twerk,” and in my book, Tina Fey is talking about writing “shit nuggets” on Saturday Night Live.

I just signed the waiver to my preliminary hearing and bond paper work.
Ugh.

The criminal conferences aren’t until July. The second one is July 17th. That’s another three months here.

2:39pm

I talked to Motorcycle. Someone he was selling tools to mentioned me and asked him if he knew anyone where he could get laid.

Disgusting.

He thought I was a stripper because he saw me with Motorcycle, who used to be the bouncer at the local strip club. And I’m pretty sure I slept with his brother during a low point in my life.

What a nice reputation to have.