Tag: short-story

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Life Uncategorized

Gossip Girls and Sugar From Zuko

MUNCY STATE PRISON

January 11th, 2025

1:36pm

Bambi, Martha, and Daisy are currently gossiping about the low-quality of inmates here, and then by proxy, comparing the CO’s. “She’s disgusting” and “Who says that?” are flying around in the open air. Martha is always concerned about what I’m writing, as if I’m writing exclusively about her. Well, now I am. 

SHE NEVER STOPS GOSSIPING. 

It’s exhausting. 

“She” this and “she” that. I can’t imagine what she says about me. And Daisy buys right into it, like she loves it. And Bambi, who is constantly talking about people being “ugly,” but never looks in a mirror.

Ugh.

January 14th, 2025

11:31am

Martha is always doing something. Right now she is meaningfully searching through her cardboard records box, stopping every few seconds to consider one of the papers or booklets in it. Bambi is gossiping with Daisy in the background about workers at the sewing factory, where they both work. 

Martha has settled on a book of Christian devotionals, while Daisy snorts disdainfully, “She’s lazy. I don’t care for her.”

Behind Martha hanging on a line are a towel, underwear, a bra, and a washcloth. On her bed are books, skeins of yarn, a deck of playing cards, some red and white striped mints, and blankets folded neatly against the wall. 

This is her workspace.

“She acts like a brat,” says Daisy, “She must’ve gotten a DUI.”

ON GRIEF: AN ESSAY

They say grief comes in waves, and that there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. Grief is more than sadness, it is an empty aching in your soul in a place that used to be filled. One grieves in direct proportion to the amount that one loves the being they are grieving for. A mother’s loss of a child is said to be the pinnacle, the most a person can suffer with grief. The Holy Grail, the gold standard by which every other grief is measured.

7pm

Somebody fell in the shower and hit her head and then started having seizures. They called an ambulance and the paramedics took her out of here. She looked bloody and unconscious. 

January 22nd, 2025

Wednesday

I am reading “Untamed” by Glennon Doyle, who is a woman who used to write books on being a straight, Christian mother whose husband cheats on her, but now writes about a love-at-first-sight encounter at a book conference with a woman named Abby. She changed her whole life. She is very brave. 

Zuko asked me the other day if I would be her “makeout buddy.” I told her I needed to think about it, so I did. I thought about how Daisy, Martha, and Bambi constantly talk about how disgusting it is that women here are kissing in the bathroom, usually while they make retching noises and mime throwing up. Then I thought about Motorcycle and monogamy and all of the “shoulds.”

The I thought about what I would do if I didn’t care what anybody thought of me, and how nice it would be to be kissed by Zuko. I thought about what I would do if I was being my bravest, truest self. 

I said yes yesterday. 

She hasn’t kissed me yet. 

I kind of can’t wait.

On the radio:

“Baby I want something else

To get me through this

Life…”

“Selfless women make for an efficient society but not a beautiful, true, or just one.”  –Glennon Doyle

“Mercy and empathy are great threats to an unjust society.”  –Glennon Doyle

January 24th, 2025

Friday

1:28pm

I don’t think we’re going to Commissary today.
Sucks.

They’re just shopping the Unit next door right now, and usually it’s all done in the morning.

Zuko kissed me today.

I was SO nice to be kissed and touched. I can’t even describe how nice it was. I miss physical affection something fierce. I got the feeling that if we weren’t in a prison and there were no rules, we’d have kept going and had full-blown sex, the energy was so…crackling. THAT would probably be amazing. She’s so gentle and soft. The way she smiled right before she kissed me…I can’t get it out of my head. It was like she was thinking, “This is going to be good–I just know it.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….it was.

I was nervous but now I’m not. I just can’t wait to do it again. 

I hope we don’t get in trouble.

Ugh.
Fucking prison. 

No good things allowed.

January 25th, 2025

Saturday

Stryder visited today. He stayed for three hours even though he could’ve stayed longer. They put in a new system for the vending machines and nobody knew how to use the cards, so there was nothing to eat or drink. After three hours we didn’t have anything left to talk about. I told him about Zuko and then regretted it. He said, “Why did you tell me that?” I said, “Because it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a year.”

I don’t know what to say to you, dude.

I’m never going to be your person.

End of story.

I told him to stop putting me on a pedestal and date other people. 

God. 

“I’ll spread my wings 

And I’ll learn how to fly

I’ll do what it takes
Till I touch the sky

I’ll take a risk

Take a chance

Make a change

And breakaway…”

January 27th, 2025

Monday

1:37pm

Pam read my manuscript so far and wrote down some notes for me:

“Notes for Justine

  1. It would be nice to hear about more of your childhood in the beginning, and how you grew up. If you had problems as a child, maybe depression, etc.
  2. I know it’s a rough draft, some of the parts felt disorganized, jumped around a lot (could get confusing for some)
  3. I think you should really break down your mental illness how you did in the meeting, you explained it really well to us.
  4. I loved learning more about you! You are so intelligent and brave. The story was very interesting, and I learned new things.
  5. It kept me reading the whole way through, I was up to late! LOL
  6. I really have no other suggestions, but to keep going! I’m excited to read more!

Love, 

Pam

Zuko wrote me a note:

Hey 🙂

I figured it’s fair to let you know what I’m thinking over here. I really like spending time with you, both hanging out chilling and this new bonus adventure 😀. Maybe we were both in denial or oblivious, but obviously everyone else (including the fucking librarian) knew what we’re just figuring out now lol. 

*shrug*

You’re really smart and funny and caring and it’s really easy to talk and joke with you. You have a very pretty smile, even with what the Amazing Adam [dentist] to you. 🙂Don’t feel any type of way about that, you’re beautiful and I love to see you smile…especially the way you smile at me when we take a break from kissing. 🙂 You’re really cute when you do that. You’re a good kisser, I very much enjoy feeling your lips on mine. And I love getting to touch you, you feel good against me and in my arms. It annoys TF out of me that this comes in like 10 second timeframes. I want a LOT more time with you, alone. I want to slowly explore all of you with my fingertips, and my mouth 🙂. You’re very sexy, but you already knew that. Thanks for letting me invade your space. After that whole Sweet Tea bad being spoken into existence, I may or may not have wished for tits.

Lmao 😂

Thank you for being concerned about everything I’d lose if we tried some shit, you’re sweet. It’s extremely tempting…and risky. 

*sigh*

It’s difficult not touching you when I want to. I really wanted to hold your hands when you were shaky, but I obviously can’t do that. 😣

You aren’t very good at keeping this a secret, lol.

Hopefully the shower was loud enough that she didn’t hear you. I can smell you on my shirt…that’s not a bad thing. 🙂

I wrote Zuko back: 

I loved your letter. I really like spending time with you too. Maybe I am/was in denial or oblivious, but you’ll have to forgive me, I’ve identified myself as straight for a really long time. It just didn’t occur to me that you’d be interested in me romantically at all. I guess I’m not as straight as I thought I was, because I am crazy attracted to you. I think you’re sexy as fuck and I love it when you kiss me and put your hands on me. It feels right to me, and I have to trust that. I love the way you look at me and your eyes and your smile. You’re a very good kisser, did I mention that? About you slowly exploring my body with your fingertips and mouth–well that sounds like Heaven to me. 

Sexy, sexy. 

Fuck.

I just don’t want it to be hurried and stressful and in a fucking prison bathroom. Plus, it could get you in a lot of trouble. 

I can wait. 

And if you need help with your PCRA, I would love to help! There’s a lot of love in this letter. Oh well. You are important to me, and I don’t want to ruin anything for you.

And you’re right, I’m not good at this, but I will keep doing it as long as you will tolerate me. I think about you all of the time. I will try to keep my big, fat mouth shut. 

Unless you’re kissing me in it.

(Did you like that? Kissing in the mouth, lol.)

I crack myself up. 

I’m looking forward to making your shirts smell like me for a while, so get used to it. And if you ever want to date someone seriously, I will totally understand. But just so you know, I am thoroughly enjoying myself right now. Who knew you could have this much fun in prison?

I didn’t.

But if it ended tomorrow, I would still cherish our friendship. I just want you to know that you’re important to me. Now I’m repeating myself, so I’m going to stop writing. 

On the radio:

“Take the bottle

Shake up up…

Pour some sugar on me…”

The end of that.

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Life Uncategorized

Crazy, Shame, Candy, and More Crazy

MUNCY STATE PRISON

January 6th, 2025

Monday

Cool went to Penn-Highlands psych hospital on Friday. That’s really all I know. My parents called CRISIS on him because his delusions were getting worse.

There’s a GI virus going around this Unit. Vomiting and diarrhea galore. People are literally shitting their pants. Norovirus, they say. There is also a snowstorm outside.

Book:

“Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead” by Brene Brown, Ph.D., LMSW 

Excerpts:

P. 189

“SIGNS THAT SHAME HAS PERMEATED THE CULTURE

Blaming, gossiping, favoritism, name-calling, and harassment are all behavior cues that shame has permeated a culture. A more obvious sign is when shame becomes an outright management too.. Is there evidence of people in leadership roles bullying others, criticizing subordinates in front of colleagues, delivering public reprimands, or setting up reward systems that intentionally belittle, shame, or humiliate people?”

P. 195-196

“Related to blame is the issue of cover-ups. Just like blame is a sign of shame-based organizations, cover-up cultures depend on shame to keep folks quiet. When the culture of an organization mandates that it is more important to protect the reputation of a system and those in power than it is to protect the basic human dignity of individuals or communities, you can be certain that shame is systemic, money drives ethics, and accountability is dead.”

P. 225

“Shame is so painful for children because it is inextricably linked to the fear of being unlovable. For young children who are still dependent on their parents for survival–for food, shelter, and safety–feeling unlovable is a threat to survival. It’s trauma. I’m convinced that the reason most of us revert back to feeling childlike and small when we’re in shame is because our brain stores our early shame experiences as trauma, and when it’s triggered we return to that place.

THE END

3:30pm

Lockdown. No word on why. The lights keep going out and an alarm was going off on S Unit. The kiosks have been down for five days. 

January 10th, 2025

Friday

12:53pm

Our cellie Martha got the norovirus. She just woke up puking and apologizing at the same time. Miraculously, neither Daisy or I have gotten it yet. The kiosks are finally working again, thankfully. Not that I have any messaging credits, but I can at least check my balance. I have a visit with Stryder (video) in a few minutes. I had one yesterday with Paul, but neither one of us had much to say. 

Cool is still in the Psych hospital. They told him he couldn’t leave unless he takes medication, so he finally agreed to. Not telling whether he’ll take them on the outside.

No Library today.

Zuko says she broke up with Tyson, but Tyson says they’re still together. Tyson never said anything to me one way or another, after all that drama and threatening about a fight.

Whatever.

Los Angeles is burning down.

EXERCISE: STORY FROM CHILDHOOD

In 1988, the penny candy store was exactly one mile from our house on East Holland Road in Western New York. We usually weren’t allowed to go, but once in a while, we were. My sister and I would each get one dollar from our mother–who was usually angry about one thing or another and bitching about it on the phone–to spend at the candy store.

We would go to the end of East Holland Road, past the Big Red Barn that didn’t have any animals in it, and turn left onto another road–Protection Road. Then there was a high bridge we had to cross over, but there was no water beneath it, just railroad tracks, so if you fell, you’d be in trouble.

Then, eventually, there was the store, with a crotchety old lady (who seemed to loathe small children with one-dollar bills) behind the counter. I would wonder later why she owned a penny candy store at all, if she’d rather be eating us for dinner, like in Hansel and Gretel. (Aside–why are children’s stories so gruesome and horrifying?) 

She would begrudgingly dole out our painstakingly chosen pieces of candy and then shoo us away, lest we think of stealing more loot for ourselves.

We would eat the candy all the way home, which seemed to take forever and a day. Then we would get to our yellow house on the corner and go inside, where our mother would still be bitching on the phone about her crappy life and “these damn kids.”

EXERCISE: TIMELINE of 2005

January 2005

Ethan is four months old. I am working at the Vet Tech Institute as an instructor. Ethan is going to Child’s Way (a special needs day care) during the day. My sister moves in from Erie, PA. She drinks all of the time. My divorce is finalized.

February 2005

Ethan is five months old. Elizabeth tries to make him sit up like a normal baby. Elizabeth asks me if he is dying. I say yes.

March 2005

Ethan is six months old. I sign paperwork for a “Do Not Resuscitate” order for him at Child’s Way. He is hospitalized with profound anemia. He is drinking Ensure almost exclusively at this point.

April 2005

Ethan dies on April 6th, 2005

April 6th, 2005

I was sitting on my couch next to a prone, unconscious Ethan. The only sound besides the hospice nurse gently explaining to me that babies are “programmed to live,” and that’s why his death was taking so long, was the sound of the death rattle in Ethan’s chest every time he took a breath. 

I’ll never forget that sound.

I couldn’t figure out how he was still living. This is why the nurse, Dan, was trying to impress upon me that infants are hardwired for survival. After dealing with animals for a decade as a veterinary technician, I couldn’t for the life of me make it make sense that this kid was still alive. He had been given two blood transfusions and was still anemic, had fluid in his lungs and infections in his gut, and –oh yeah–before all that was missing damn near half of his SKIN. 

You can’t live without your skin. 

Why was he still alive?

Finally, I started sobbing and exclaimed, “I just can’t take this anymore!” and at the same moment Ethan took a giant breath. “I-is this agonal?” I asked Dan, who answered, “I don’t know.”

Well, Ethan must’ve heard me, because he never took another breath. 

Next–just silence.

I cried and kissed his face and told him that I loved him and that I was happy for him.

I was relieved.

Finally, the suffering would be over.

He had suffered so much that I couldn’t stand watching it any more. 

Finally, no more agonizing death rattle, no more struggle, blessed peace.

In a daze, I went out of the living room to tell my family. I told them and kept walking, out of the apartment, out of the driveway in my socks. I wanted to be alone with God for a moment, to thank Him for taking Ethan home.

A truck was pulling into my driveway as I walked past it toward the road, a flower delivery truck. I barely saw it. I continued walking and praying quietly to myself, and went around the block.

Back at my apartment, my Aunt Sweetheart intercepted the ill-timed flowers, complete with “Get Well Soon!” balloons aplenty. My mother, horrified, quickly stabbed scissors through the balloons, crumpled them up, and threw them in the garbage. 

I wouldn’t find this out until years later, of course, the frantic balloon-stabbing party, but I thought it was darkly funny when I did. 

I wonder what Dan, the hospice nurse, thought of the whole thing while he was meticulously measuring all of Ethan’s narcotic medications and dumping them down the toilet. He probably thought we were all crazy, me walking around the block in my socks and my mother’s reaction to the “Get Well!” balloons. 

I will say this–if there’s anything on this planet that is universally crazy-making, it’s your own child dying in front of you on your couch.

I hated that couch.

Funny that I slept on it for the next few months because I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the bed that Ethan and I shared. 

That bed gave me nightmares.

If I slept in it, I would wake up at 3am–always 3am–with a start, and look around frantically for Ethan. It was time for his medicine, time for a feeding, time for something. Where was he? Had Elizabeth taken him in the night? Horror of horrors–did I leave him somewhere in his carseat? 

Why couldn’t I remember??

A small voice in the back of my head would be nagging at me insistently, trying to tell me something, but I would ignore it.

I had to find Ethan first.

Where was he?

By this time, my heart was pounding in my ears, and I was starting to hyperventilate. 

What?

What?!

What was that voice saying??!

Oh.

Oh no.

Ethan had died. 

Ethan was dead. 

Ethan had died on the couch in the living room.

He didn’t need medication or feeding. 

He was dead. 

I would stop panicking and just burst into tears instead, with my head in my hands. 

Like I said–crazy-making.

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Blog #12

MUNCY STATE PRISON

December 29th, 2024

Sunday

BLOG #12

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

Welp, Swiper finally left–thank God–and I got new state boots, which means that I have blisters the size of Volkswagon Bugs on my toes and no skin on my heels. I’m blaming this on Daisy, since she insisted that I get them, who is currently whining about both her period and a bimple, which is a word I made up for a butt pimple.

Other fun new words– “Inshitivism”–which apparently means a decline in business, but what I think should mean when you step in dog poop. 

In Next Door News, Kimberly left and was briefly replaced by a 20-something woman with face tattoos who, alarmed, exclaimed, “Is THAT NORMAL?!!” when someone ripped a huge, oily fart.

Yes, Face Tattoo, that is normal.

Welcome to prison.

The food is bad.

When Face Tattoo left, she was swiftly replaced by Sondra, who hails from Cambridge Springs and calls me Pearl, for reasons unknown. I’ve certainly been called worse, but I prefer Kimberly’s name for me, which is a Spicy Ramen Noodle. 

Then again, Zuko calls me her Trashy Whore Friend, because her girlfriend once, in a fit of rage, screamed that all of Zuko’s friends were trashy whores.

Oh my stars.

I’ve named the girlfriend Tyson, because she seems like the abusive type who wouldn’t hesitate to bite off a body part or two.

I guess we’ll see.

In other news, we had Bingo a couple of weeks ago, and Swiper and I called Bingo at the same time, so they called another number as a tie-breaker, and Swiper won. According to Zuko, this is a perfect metaphor for my life: I win something and then Swiper steals it from me.

SO glad she’s gone.

To replace her, enter stage left, Martha, who cooks a lot of food, doesn’t steal, and has a Brooklyn accent.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!

 I talked to Motorcycle the other day, and in his Motorcycle-ness, he said, trying to be romantic, “As long as I have a face, honey, you’ll have a seat.” And then he added as an afterthought– “I just have to dust it off first.”

Funny.

NOT funny–finding somebody else’s pubes on my foot in the shower yesterday. I know they weren’t mine, because I almost cut my hoo-ha entirely off the other day shaving with a bent razor because Motorcycle and Stryder both visited me, which means I had to get my asshole inspected no less than four times in the past two days.

The bent razor massacre is a long story, but it ends with my vagina resembling a beat up naked mole rat, so, no, the pubes weren’t mine.

You’re welcome for that visual.

In order to entertain ourselves, Daisy and I have been having White Girl Dance Parties, making large Death by Chocolate desserts, and Daisy recently tried to cram her entire 5-foot, 7-inch frame into the bottom of my locker to jump out and scare me.

I almost peed myself, I laughed so hard.

And for YOUR entertainment, we’ve compiled a list of the worst cellie behaviors, all of which have actually happened to one or both of us:

  1. Never showering.
  2. Being a chronic masturbator.
  3. Thinking you can sing or rap.
  4. Being a CO-NO-BADGE when you’re really an inmate.
  5. Telling everyone you fell from an alien portal in the sky.
  6. Telling everybody that you didn’t commit the crime, but an AI version of you did.
  7. Telling everyone that Satan impregnated you and you’re having a demon baby.
  8. Humming and pacing like a deranged animal at the zoo.
  9. Shitting yourself and then crying about it.
  10. Pooping anywhere but the toilet (e.g., the floor, the shower…)
  11. Standing over the toilet to pee instead of sitting.
  12. Dry-shaving your pubes on the toilet in the cell.
  13. Eating everything (including soup and pudding) with your fingers and never washing your hands.
  14. Being a death-farter (farts so bad, you wish you were dead)
  15. Not wrapping your dirty feminine hygiene products, so then Search Team dumps them all over the floor.
  16. Being in various states of undress at all times.
  17. Leaving any of your bodily fluids on anywhere.
  18. Biting your toenails off and then spitting them off the top bunk.

Like I said–you’re welcome.

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Life Uncategorized

Commissary, Vicodin, and Nightmares

MUNCY STATE PRISON

December 3rd, 2024

Tuesday

9:30pm

We finally got Commissary today, after going without it for a week and a half. I drank too much coffee, pooped three times, and talked a lot. Previous to today, I had slept for a week, so I had some excess energy, which is new for me here. Usually, I feel like I’m slogging through every day, waiting for the next time I can lie down.

I’m wondering if I should write Mr. Big a letter apologizing for my last email to him, and telling him that I was manic and talking crazy. Probably I should. 

(I didn’t.)

I tried to call my lawyer today, but no answer. I called Gem, Motorcycle, Stryder (twice), and Paul. Paul didn’t answer and he had said that we have a video visit tomorrow, but it’s not on the schedule, so I asked Stryder to message him and ask what’s up.

Everything is so difficult here.

There are almost 100 people on this Unit, and over 1100 on the “campus” now. I don’t know why they call it a campus, it’s much more like a hostile military compound. 

I got another interview for Thursday. 

Daisy made a giant peanut butter/chocolate cookie roll today. She called it “Death by Chocolate” and Swiper said that’s the best way to die. My hips are killing me. I can’t even sit cross-legged anymore. I’m wondering how I’m ever going to have sex. Something’s gotta give. I need better pain control than Mobic, but the pills I was taking apparently make me an insane crazy person, and nobody prescribes narcotics anymore. Sometimes weed makes me think I’m Jesus and fall down a lot.

No.

Vicodin seems like the answer, but you can’t get it anywhere now, which is bullshit. I don’t ever want to be addicted to it again, but that takes a lot of effort. You don’t get addicted by taking one or two tablets a day. I wonder if my rheumatologist would prescribe it. I guess I’ll find out in a year. I can probably reestablish a relationship with him while I’m at the Women’s Center, but he probably would never prescribe them with my history of addiction.

It’s no wonder people use heroin.

It’s cheaper and easier to get than Vicodin.

Bullshit.

Also bullshit? Momma Bear chairing the AA/NA meetings on the Unit and then telling someone during a fight this morning to go get high. She’s supposed to be a role model, not someone who digs to the bottom of the garbage dumpster for insults about addicts.

I got new mascara today and Lolita gave me some Pink Oil, so I did my hair and face pretty. 

It made me feel better.

Lolita is leaving in 11 days. I wonder if she’d do an interview. Her story is crazy. She was kidnapped and held in a trap house basement for days and raped and beaten several times. Then a man was sent downstairs, presumably to rape her, and he felt sorry for her, so he came back the next day with a sawed-off shotgun to rescue her, but was killed by her captors.

Then they made her clean up the mess.

She was charged with something ridiculous like abuse of a corpse and accessory to homicide and served seven years in prison. She’s back on a technical parole violation for drinking alcohol.

Ridiculous.

December 4th, 2024

Wednesday

3:15am

Nightmares.

The kind where you wonder how your brain is so very imaginative.

Horrifying.

Stryder was in it.

In the nightmare I was was having nightmares, and he was the only one who cared enough to ask me to describe it to him.

But then he seemed evil too.

Do dreams really mean anything?

Last night when we were talking on the phone, he said he didn’t know if he wanted to set up a video visit, because when he saw me it would be hard not to fall in love with me again. 

In the dream, I got the distinct feeling that he was toying with me, the way a cat will torture a small animal to death before he devours it.

Is that what he’s doing?

Or does it mean nothing?

I’m tired, but I don’t want to go back to sleep. 

In another nightmare, I thought I woke up, and stood up to go over to some man I was with and cuddle him and tell him about my nightmare, but some laughing, evil spirit-lady was trying to invade my body. She kept laughing and giggling and saying that I couldn’t keep her out of me, no matter how hard I tried. I had the distinct feeling that she was my mental illness.

Bipolar disorder in a cackling, sinister apparition. 

Then I woke up again, or thought I did, and actually saw the wall I sleep next to, but I wasn’t awake at all.

I see prison walls in my nightmares.

When I realized I wasn’t really awake, and it was a trick, I summoned all of my strength to open my eyes. 

Who would’ve thought I’d be so glad to see a prison wall?

Same wall. 

I prayed to God twice today to get me out of here, but it’s no use. I’m just going to another prison. A much nicer prison, but still a prison. 2025 isn’t even here, and it’s already gone. This one-to-three year sentence turned into four. 

That’s how the “justice” system works.

I don’t want to go back to sleep.

I have to push Ms. Grumpy Crabass all over creation tomorrow (today) in my new, surprisingly painful boots. I should’ve kept my old boots with holes in them. 

That’s the thing about prison–just when you think something better is going to happen, something much worse happens.

Prison Rule #1: Things can always get worse.

Like having the first decent day in a long time and then having nightmares all night following it.

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Life Uncategorized

The “Fuck Off” Story

Story #2

Fuck Off

Exhausted, we sat at the bar, my Aunt Sweetheart and I, following a harrowing day. We had just finished the funeral and disastrous funeral dinner of my three-month old daughter, Kaylee. I had picked out a beautiful restaurant to have the dinner at, but, inexplicably, the restaurant had put our part–basically my entire extended family–in the basement, which looked more like a frat house than a classy restaurant, complete with pool tables, plaid carpet, and a “Beer Blvd.” sign over the door to the bathroom. 

I was horrified.

To make matters worse, my own mother was running up and down the stairs with ketchup  bottles and silverware.

Disastrous, like I said.

With all of that finally over, and the thought of my grandmother leaning over the tiny white casket to kiss Kaylee’s beautiful face still lingering in my mind, I ordered us two stiff drinks and lit a cigarette.

I could finally relax.

Almost immediately, though, a handsome man clambered over to us and exclaimed, “Well, you two look all business-ey!”

I stared dead at him, as if to say, “What. Do. You. Want.”

He stammered a bit, uncomfortable, and asked if he could bum a cigarette. I gave one to him and he went away. 

The next time he came over, I just pushed the pack of cigarettes in his direction, without looking his way or pausing in what I was saying to Aunt Sweetheart. 

He left again.

Undeterred, he ordered us drinks and had them sent over. 

I turned around in my seat to face him and fairly screeched, “GREAT! NOW WE’RE EVEN!”

My Aunt, surprised at my reaction, simply stared at me with her mouth open. 

I apologized, and said that when I go out with my friends, they like to joke and say that, when it comes to me and men, I have a permanent “Fuck Off” sticker on my forehead.

Aghast, she declared, “Well you’re right! I almost fucked off!”

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Life Uncategorized

Prison Blog #10–You’re Welcome

MUNCY STATE PRISON

October 13th, 2024

Sunday

BLOG # 10

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

So, we’re already dreaming about our big plans when we get out of this Hellhole–Kimberly says the first things she’s going to do is suck a dick.

Aim high, sis.

Daisy says she’s going to get a pig that will ride shotgun with her wearing a gold necklace. His name will either be Notorious P.I.G., Piggy Smalls, or Kevin Bacon. 

And me, well, I just want to have normal bowel movements again. I went to the bathroom the other day to give Zuko her yarn, and then I went into a stall for what I thought was to take a pee. Out of nowhere, I had surprise diarrhea! Frantically, I courtesy-flushed so Zuko wouldn’t hear all of the gross noises, and then I zoomed out of the stall before the stink would spread. Zuko was washing her hands and didn’t say a word.

When I told Kimberly, she sighed and said, all starry-eyed, “I want a love like that.”

Ew. 

Then the following night, I dreamed that I had diarrhea in public in front of everyone, and woke up convinced that I had pooped my pants. 

I didn’t, thank God.

Speaking of dreams, there is now such a thing as being a “dream-whore,” where you dream of sleeping with everyone. Other prison terms include “hyper-wiper,” which is wiping in overdrive because prison toilet-tissue is only one-ply, and “clitty-litter,” which is what some people here call the toilet paper. 

In other news, Dausy has been insisting that I file off a giant callous on my big toe, because it is disgusting and deforming my foot. She yelled, “You need to cut off your toes, because they’re gross!” and then attacked the callous with a razor. She says now our friendship has reached a whole new level.

She also says her own big toe has grown its own set of pubes. 

Jail makes everyone gross, I guess. 

Speaking of gross, Kimberly says that the downstairs bathroom smells like a fish who shit himself before he died.

In Swiper news, she scratched off her right eyebrow in her sleep last night, so when I found a grape juice packet that Swiper had put in my orange-juice-only packet area on my bunk, Daisy exclaimed, “Rip her other eyebrow off, Justine!”

Super funny. 

Also funny, I talked to Paul today. Whenever the automated recording interrupts our conversation, he screams over it, “NOT NOW, LINDA!!” 

Anyway, he said he bought a cock ring and he’s going to wear it to come visit me at the Women’s Center. 

Fun Times.

In other news, I asked Kimberly where she was going to other day, and she said, “To wash my ass,” which prompted Daisy to start singing the song “Push It” except with the words “Wash It”–like this—

“Wash it!

Wash it good! 

Wh- wash it real good!”

And finally, Kelly orchestrated an AA meeting in the Day Room, so I attended. When I cam back upstairs, this not was on my bed from Daisy:

“I saw you smiling with your AA friends. 

I threw up!

And Kimberly too!

I think our friendship has reached a whole new level.

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Life Uncategorized

Suing, sponsors, and Suboxone

Women’s Center

December 27th, 2017

Day 177

Wednesday

8am

I shouldn’t have been so hard on Nickolai last night. When we got done with the meeting, Kat asked me to talk to her because Nickolai wanted a cigarette bad and was talking about leaving. It turned out that the reason she didn’t want to go to the meeting was valid–the other women had apparently gotten ahold of some Suboxone and they were all high. 

High at an NA meeting.

And Nickolai is all about taking her recovery seriously, so she couldn’t go to the meeting. That makes me proud of her. I’m sure she had the opportunity to do some too, and she didn’t. I’ve made it clear to everyone that I don’t even want to know anything about the drugs in this place, and I’m not interested in partaking, so I had no idea. She’s setting herself apart. This is good news!

In other news, I talked to Mr. Big about Barbie, and he says I can’t save her and to focus on my recovery.
Blech.

I was hoping he’d say anything but that.

12pm

Off to my psychiatrist appointment with Christian Music Driver–he’s so nice. He had a nice Christmas–lots of church. My psychiatrist thinks I might have a vitamin deficiency–she’s testing me for my B12 and D levels. We’ll see how that goes. I have a cold that won’t go away–I haven’t slept in two nights because I can’t breathe through my nose–yuck.

9pm

Gross–we went to the meeting and stupid Brash was there with his dog and Sugar Momma (one of them). I can’t stand him! I just look at him and am instantly furious. I know I shouldn’t let him rent space in my head and have any sort of power like that over me, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m rising above, I’m rising above.

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change

The courage to change the things I can

And the wisdom to know the difference


Fuck you, Brash. The End. I’m done with it.

December 28th, 2017

Day 178

Tiger’s birthday

Thursday

Today is Tiger’s birthday–I called her and talked to her. She told me that both of my boys have pinkeye and ear infections. Mr. Big told me that if my blog or book make a million, he wants royalties. 

Haha.

Everybody’s sick here–we’re all sitting around trying to decide on a movie–I think we’re going to watch War Room–I haven’t seen it before. Tori and Nickolai are snuggling together and Nickolai thinks that Tori’s feet smell. She’s offering to change her socks for her. Tori found out that she gets early release in February. I need to call my lawyer (Public Defender) and get the paperwork together to see if I can get early release in April or May. This movie is about a real-estate agent that befriends an old woman named Clara who has a room in her house where she prays called her War Room. The younger woman’s name is Elizabeth Jordan, which is really funny, because Nickolai wants to name her baby Temperance Elizabeth Jordan.
Maybe it’s a sign.

Movie:

Be grateful for your blessings

Forgiveness will set you free

Pray in secret with no distractions

Submit to God, resist the Devil, and he will flee

For some reason, Elizabeth’s feet stink in this movie–I have no idea what that has to do with God. Poor Red is snoring (and farting) on the couch beside me–everybody feels like crap. I had a bad dream last night about zombies–the Center didn’t get my medication filled that prevents my nightmares–Kat finally went to bat for me and gave 3rd shift a hard time about calling it in. Luckily, I knew it was a dream and woke myself up. I like that I know how to do that now. Maybe this movie will teach me how to pray. I pray every day, but all I say is:

Dear God, 

Thank you for everything I have, and thank you for this day. Please let me know your will for the day, and God bless my kids.
Amen

Fake it till you make it, right?

Gert accidentally put lotion in the soap dispensers in the bathrooms, so Mr. Big said, “Well, at least you’ll be smooth and dirty.”

Haha.

Sounds like a bad porno.

Well, they’re all bad these days. They also put a heater in the group room. I told them they were going to have to hire someone to cuddle me at night pretty soon. 

Today at Crossroads I saw Barbie and was excited to see her and couldn’t wait to hear about her Christmas. Her news? Christmas was good but boring, and tonight she was excited about because she was going to get herself some Black dick! I was like………………….WAIT………………………..WHAT?? 

So, the highlight of your week is your cheap Tinder date???

WhatEVER, Bitch.

7pm

Getting ready for the meeting–Nickolai’s emotions are all over the place. She’s really upset that Pink is dating her brother, and that she has to deal with her at all, and she didn’t realize that she had this rage about her simmering just below the surface all of the time, until Mr. Big pointed it out today. Plus she misses her old body. It’s a lot. 

December 29th, 2017

Friday

Day 179

7:30am

Blech.

I barely slept at all last night AGAIN because I can’t breathe through my nose. Last night we had our “Group Conscious” meeting after the NA meeting–which consists of me, Tori, Mr. Big, and one other person, and discussed where the funds of the group were going. It made me feel good to be a part of something again. I think that I might be getting my sense of purpose and worth back.

Also, yesterday, a reporter from a couple newspapers outside of the area picked up the news of my grief support group and wanted to write an article about it, so that’s pretty awesome. Also, one person did email me to tell me that they wanted to join the group, so I’m pretty excited about that too.

At least it won’t be just me and a pot of coffee sitting in a church alone.

Time for Community, and we’re supposed to bring our handbooks. This should be fun. Everybody is still sick here. Chantilly has Kleenexs stuffed up her nostrils and looks ridiculous, and Tori and Nickolai are snuggling on the couch–oh, not anymore, Mr. Big made them sit up. Jerk.

9am

Oh this man makes me crazy!! Last night I was talking to a guy (who I really like and respect) at the NA meeting who has also lost two children, and he happens to be Mr. Big’s sponsor. He was showing me this fourth step that a woman did that took THREE YEARS to do, and it was very impressive and thorough. He had really brought it in for Nickolai, as I am done with my fourth step for now, and she is struggling with it. After this man had left, Mr. Big said to me, “Don’t you have a sponsor?” And I said yes, and asked him why he had asked. He muttered something about, “Well, if you had already started doing something one way, then it doesn’t make sense to start doing it another way…”, and I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about until Nickolia suggested that maybe he was jealous and thought I was trying to steal his sponsor or something. This made me furious–how immature and passive-aggressive!

So, I said something this morning about how I don’t like it when people are passive-aggressive with me, and that I wasn’t sponsor-shopping, or trying to steal his sponsor, and he cut me off with, “Well here’s the problem–okay, I get it.” and then walked away. 

What the fuck does that mean??!!

And how incredibly rude! I wasn’t done talking! The point of my whole tirade was that if he had something to do or say to me, I’d appreciate it if he just said it, instead of beating around the bush. Being direct is best with me. No games, and I don’t want to have to decipher what the fuck you’re taking about. 

I want a cigarette. I need to get my mind off this. I’m letting him rent space in my head. He’s squatting in my subconscious, which makes me mad, because it’s giving him power that he doesn’t deserve. 

Ugh. 

Let’s see what my child development book says: Focus on Positive Behaviors. Oh-, time for group on Child Development. Chantilly is moaning that she’s not a parent anymore, so she’s not going to participate, and Nickolai is saying that this is a waste of paper and she wants to get high. 

Hm.

I am the only one that’s awake for this group. There are four main Types of parents: Authoritarian (my parents), Permissive (best way to parent), and Permissive (this may be me) and Uninvolved.

Motivate and encourage your children, clearly communicate, resolve conflicts, handle anger, discipline in positive ways, make sure your child feels loved.

Punishment vs. Discipline

Punishment is done out of anger and does not include learning.

Discipline teaches children. 

10pm

Meeting was good. Poor Red has a bad toothache and Mr. Big won’t let her go to the ER. She’s using a corn bag on her face that smells like a hot fart when she heats it up.

Poor girl.

Tori and Nickolai and I were all sitting in the dining room drinking French vanilla tea and eating cheese and crackers and I commented about how we should have our pinkies up and have English accents. Tori wouldn’t attempt it because she hates the accent, Nickolai sounded Australian, and mine was vaguely Irish sounding. It was funny. I’m grateful for these women. They keep me going. At dinner tonight Tori was commenting on the chicken we were eating. She was like, “Don’t make us crispy chicken, acting like these bitches have all their teeth or something!” It was funny. Chantilly and Elaine were the only two in the room with all of their teeth. Pink and Old Toothless (obviously) have no teeth, and the rest of us are missing teeth here and there from years of neglect and drug use.

I can’t wait to see the kids on Sunday. I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to fill up the time. I hope my mother doesn’t come–I don’t feel like dealing with her attitude about the court papers. I wonder what they’ll say about it. 

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Life Uncategorized

Thing 1, Thing 2, and Mr. Big

TWO MONTHS MISSING

(No date)

6pm

The Big Boss gave me the okay to apply for online classes, so that’s mildly exciting. I say mildly because there’s a serious downside–now I have to beg for money from everybody and their mother. I started the application for the WISP scholarship through A Way Out, which helps abused women. Brystal said she would be one of my “recommenders,” so that’s really helpful. It turns out she’s not so bad after all.

I’m watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory–the Johnny Depp version–it’s super weird. 

No word from Medplast–the place I applied to work. I have so many things hanging in the air that it’s making me a little stressed. Kat gave me a bunch of bras, so I’m handing them out–they’re brand new. Not fancy, but a bra’s a bra. Those bitches are expensive. So I made some people happy.

Group on spirituality:

  1. Experience the healing and empowerment of love–from others, self, and an ultimate source.
  2. Experience renewing times of transcendence–expansive moments beyond the immediate sensory spheres.
  3. Have vital beliefs that lend meaning and hope in the midst of losses, tragedies, and failures.
  4. Have values, priorities, and life commitments centered on issues of justice, integrity, and love to provide guidance in personally and socially responsible living. 
  5. Discover and develop inner wisdom, creativity, and love of self. 
  6. Develop a deepening awareness of oneness with other people, the natural world, and all living things.

Pink says she was a model. Huh. Now I’ve met a model. She’s popping her teeth in and out right now and saying that she’s gained weight so her teeth don’t fit right. Maybe she needs a pair of skinny teeth and fat teeth like jeans. 

Haha.

She looks like Thing 1 and Thing 2 right now because her pink hair is all crazy and sticking up all over. And I thought my hair was bad. She had cornrows in her hair and took them out, that’s why it’s a mess. Omg we have to stay here until 7:30pm–blech. Half an hour of nothing left. 

Pink is telling everyone now that if she gets written up, she’s leaving. How dumb. An escape charge versus a write-up? 

Duh.

I wish it was bedtime. We’re not going to a meeting again tonight because of the weather. The roads are untouched by snow, but no matter. The Weather Channel predicts inches, so that’s that. So no seeing Ken this week. He hasn’t written me either. I doubt he will. When he asked me if I thought my friends were right, and we were destined to be together, I told him I didn’t think I believed in destiny. I’m not quite sure how true that is. I mean, is the Women’s Center my destiny? And if it is, WHY??! The time is craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawling. 

7:12pm

There are four women crammed on one couch–Tori, Tex, Joey, and Pink, and they are talking about how the angelfish in the fish tank is  anorexic. He does seem to spit out half his food. Maybe there are fish eating disorders. This spirituality packet says about journaling: 

“Journaling is another, often overlooked, contemplative practice that can help you become more aware of your inner life and feel more connected to your experience and the world around you. Studies show that writing during difficult times may help you find meaning in life’s challenges and become more resilient in the face of obstacles.”

7:26pm

In the history of all of the galaxies, time has never moved so slowly.

December 13th, 2017

Wednesday

Day163

9am

Group on Refusal Skills. Repeat of last week’s group. 

Fun.

So Mr. Big yelled at me for going to the meetings at Harbor on Tuesdays. So, I go to Crossroads an hour early, go to group for two hours and then sit there for another hour while Tori is in her individual session. Well, instead of sitting there, I was going to a meeting at Harbor for the second hour. Well, I guess I’m not supposed to do that.

Huh.

So he talks down to me and assumes I’m lying and being devious somehow, when in reality, I thought that’s what I was supposed to be doing!

WTF!!

9pm

I felt terrible today–half-asleep for most of it. I didn’t even go out for a cigarette between 11am and 7pm, I just didn’t want to be cold. It’s about 20 degrees outside. Even the Candy Man asked at the meeting if I was sick. Mr. Big bothered me all day and chastised me for not being a role model. Fuck that. Somedays I just feel like crap! I can’t help it!

Whatever.

No one could ever live up to his standards anyway. At the meeting tonight Pink got yelled at for laughing by Annie, who is usually very light hearted and soft spoken. She fairly shrieked, “I take my recovery very seriously, and if you don’t, you can leave!” It was uncomfortable for everybody, especially because it was at the very beginning of the meeting. 

Oh well.

I don’t know about her. Kat was telling me that she was going to talk to Mr. Big about her attitude. She’s always shouting and swearing about something. Off to bed.

December 14th, 2017

Thursday

Day164

1pm

Just got back from the dentist. Tex is upset because somebody on the street saw her and called her “healthy,” which, she says, is just another way of saying, “Wow you’ve gained some weight!”

Wow, my mind just got blown. Maybe there is hope for Pink. Comes in like a fuckin’ hurricane and now I find out she writes poetry!

Awesome!

And she’s writing poetry about staying clean! 

Double awesome! 

I met with the Parenting Classes lady for the second time today. She gave me a book called, “The Incredible Years.”

Today was a good day. The people at the church finally called me back and said that I can use their room the first and third Wednesdays of every month for my grief support group, so that’s awesome news. I’m going to start it January 17th. The meeting was good–it’s my home group and the one Mr. Big attends. He didn’t come to work today because he has a man-cold, from what I gather, which, as  everybody knows, are about a thousand times worse than any other type of cold.
I can’t wait to read this new book the parenting lady gave me–it looks really good. I have some reading to do in the AA Big Book too, before Sunday.

I talked to the boys tonight–tried to call Tiger but no answer–and they told me about sledding and how much they missed me. It’s so painful to hear that some days that I just don’t feel up to calling them at all. It just hurts so much. I was talking to Red today, who also has twins, and she said that she would put a bullet in her head if her parents refused to give her twins back.

I know the feeling.

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Life Uncategorized

The Terminator, Avril Levigne, and Shih-tzus

Women’s Center

October 3rd, 2017

Day 91

Tuesday

Song: 

“There’s hope that’s waiting for you in the dark, 

You should know you’re beautiful just the way you are.”

8am

On my way to court. Mr. Big said I looked like the Terminator this morning after he asked me why I was dressed up. Hopefully I’ll have strength in this hearing. When I lose my faith in myself, I do badly in court. Crash, a couple other women, and I prayed this morning that it would go well.

11:30am

Crash left today. She gave me her number so I can keep in touch. The judge decided Lilly can come for two hours every other weekend. Well, the first, third, and 5th weekends of the month. On Sunday. I can’t believe that Dubya would rather pay and attorney $200/hr to figure these things out than speak with me like a reasonable human being.

Gawd.

Avril Levigne is screeching, “Why do you have to make things so complicated,” on the radio.

That’s how I feel.

October 5th, 2017

Day 93

Thursday

10am

This day is so boring. Chantilly, Tex, and I are sitting in the lounge working on “goals.” I’m plucking my eyebrows, Chantilly is scrapbooking, and Tex is cracking jokes. I’m beginning to really like her. She has a two-year old, and she’s a really good mom. We were helping Mr. Bob the Builder, the maintenance man, clean out his shed the other day for Community Service, and she’s super funny. She’s like a citi-fied version of a country girl. She’s so funny–she’s sort of comfortable in any situation–when getting in the truck, she used my leg as an anchor to hoist herself up, without even asking. It’s the kind of weird thing people do that creates a camaraderie between them.

“Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove of society’s kiss on your forehead.”

–Susan Sontag

“The reason for living is to get ready to stay dead for a long time.”

–American Horror Story

3pm

On my way back from individual “therapy” at Crossroads, the drug and alcohol place. It’s not so much therapy as it is some guy asking me random questions about my life. Maybe he’s trying to get to know me. Anywho, let’s see what my grief book has to say today:

“…one of the enduring changes that parents find in themselves is a sense that the purity and luster of life have been tarnished.”

October 9th, 2017

Day 97

Indigenous People’s Day

Monday

I haven’t felt like writing much. Been depressed. I had a new driver today who took me all the way to Smethport and back only to find out that I didn’t have an appointment. I told them that at the Center when the driver showed up, but no bother.

I got to walk around Smethport a bit in the rain and pretend I was a normal person. It was nice. Then on the way back I asked the new driver if he believed in God, which is a new habit of mine. It makes for good conversation anyway, and I’m interested in other people’s experiences with God, spirituality, and religion. He was a believer, and spoke to me for a while about how he was faithful and went to church. Then we talked about me for a bit, and why I was in the Women’s Center, and what happened to me in the first place that I started doing drugs at all. He told me that when I had walked up to the van, he had thought to himself, “She’s young and beautiful. Why is she in a place like this?” 

I’m not sure why youth and good looks would except someone from drug addiction or brushes with the law, but that’s another story, I guess. He told me I needed to start small and build a new life. He was nice.

I have some weird bump on my toe. It doesn’t hurt, but I wonder what it is. Maybe I’m just getting old and lumpy. It reminds me of Big John, who had a bump on his finger that he lovingly referred to as his “bimp” if anybody asked about it. It was funny. “Oh, that’s my bimp!” He would say, as if a bimp is a thing everybody had. 

Another funny thing–at the meeting tonight, someone was talking about having “drunk dreams,” and wanted advice. Some people could relate, and when one person started talking about it, she mistakenly said “wet dreams” instead of “drunk dreams.” It was really funny because she didn’t catch it for a minute, and when she did, we all laughed uproariously.

October 10th, 2017

Tuesday

Day 98

On my way to Pittsburgh to meet with a new rheumatologist. They’ll probably just give me a PA and do a bunch of bloodwork. My driver is chatty, but I don’t feel like talking today. Just not in the mood. I miss Pittsburgh something fierce. I never had to worry about not having a job, never worried about money, always had a car and a place of my own…life was good.

I found a daily Bible reading in my purse, so we’ll see what that has to say for today: “We need to keep our focus on Jesus and His Word, or we will slip off the narrow way and fall onto to broad way.”

I was talking to Fred the Driver the other day about that woman who came and prayed for my teeth not to hurt at the dentist’s office, and his response was, “Maybe she’s an angel.”

Nice.

Welp, had my appointment. They’re going to start me on Plaquenil again. That should help with the pain. I can’t believe how much I miss Pittsburgh. I feel a profound sense of sadness now that we’re leaving. I spent the best years of my life here. I wish so badly that I had never left.

Anyway, I’d better stop wallowing–it’ll just make my depression worse. Maybe I’’ll go back to Pittsburgh. It always seemed full of possibilities, and it still feels that way. We’ll see. Seems like I’d need a car first. 

Tori and I started working out yesterday. I always feel like one of those memes that says, “What you think you look like when you work out” –and has this gorgeous skinny woman running gracefully through a meadow with perfect hair and makeup, and then there’s “what you really look like when you work out,” and there’s a fat, dumpy lady in a sweaty T-shirt with her hair a mess and makeup running down her face…Yeah, I’m that one for sure.

My next appointment is on Big John’s birthday, which is 1/23. He was born in 1945, so when people would ask his birthday, he would shout, “12345!” and then see how long it took them to catch on. 

Yay! This driver bought me Sheetz food! I haven’t had a veggie wrap in months!

Well, I better ask this guy if he believes in God. Nothing else to talk about. Yes, believes in God. No, doesn’t go to church. Yes to Heaven, no to Hell. His wife is Jewish. Wants religion to be more accepting. He thinks Jesus Christ would be appalled at Christianity in America today. “Religion aside, I think you’re either a nice person or you’re not,” he says. He thinks missionary work is odd. He misses the connection of church but can’t find one he connects with.

He adopted both of his kids from Guatemala! Cool!

There was a shooting in Coudersport a couple of weeks ago. Guy shot his girlfriend and then shot himself. 

Horrible.

It smells like Fall. It’s wonderful. I wonder if there’s a connection between Asperger’s and Tourette’s Syndrome. The driver is saying, “You don’t appreciate how much attention and love kids need…to feel important, how totally critical that is.”

He’s got that one right.

There isn’t enough love in the world.

October 11th, 2017

Day 99

Wednesday

I used to hate Wednesdays because Ethan died on a Wednesday. Now they’re just kind of noteworthy. I’m on my way to a two-hour group at Crossroads in Wellsboro. I promised myself I wouldn’t write much about individual people at the Center, because the last time I did that, they got really pissed at me, but this one woman is acting like a fucking child and it’s really starting to piss me off. It takes a lot for other people’s attitudes to affect me directly, and hers has started to, which makes me mad. Her name is Barista, and she got written up the other day for calling a staff member “fucking ridiculous,” which I think is fucking ridiculous behavior for a 30-year old woman, but whatever, I don’t make the rules. She just bitches CONSTANTLY!! I just want to tell her to shut the fuck up and grow up, but instead I brought it up during the “Cares and Concerns” portion of our morning Communnity group in an effort to be diplomatic. We’ll see how that goes.

Ha! This guy that’s driving me says that he bred Lhasa-apso’s together with Shih-tzu’s and called them Lossashits! 

Funny.

Well, we’re almost there, I guess. This guy’s daughter wants to be a vet tech. Hope she makes it.

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Life Uncategorized

Money, Lawyers, and Fat Women

Muncy State Prison

May 5th, 2024

Saturday

11:27am

I have a phone call with my lawyer on Monday. Waiting for lunch. Burgundy’s new roommate was complaining about her in Med Line this morning, and how she won’t let her hang lines anywhere to dry all of her clothes and wants to use all of her stuff.

Sounds familiar.

Also, apparently, Burgundy tried to have sex with her. So much for her just being an “associate,” like Burgundy had described her a couple of weeks ago. From “associate” to “unwilling lover.”

Hm.

She still hasn’t said a word to me or Daisy since she got back on the Block. The rumor is that there’s something wrong with the toilet in their cell over on Echo Block, so when it gets fixed, they’ll be going back over. Thank God for THAT.

I have to ask Motorcycle for money this week and I don’t want to. He said since his half-brother’s mother died, he might be going to Philly to help him sell her house. He thinks he’s going to get money out of this deal and wants to build a new bike with it. Of course, no mention of me getting a lawyer with any extra money he might have.

Ugh.

I guess I’ll send him my dirty blog. I’m not sending a letter with it. Last night he answered the phone with a curt, “What’s up?” as if I was bothering him, because he was around other people.

Fuck that noise.

Any other time, it’s “Hello darling,” or “Hey, baby.” I didn’t call him this morning. I’m pretty sick of the guy. I’m sure my mood will change at some point, he’s just pissing me off right now.

7pm

I called my boys. They said Tiger got a new dog called Buck and he’s six months old and he bites. They played Roblox today with her and went fishing. They were making ice cubes out of Gatorade. I’m surprised that they are allowed to have Gatorade. I told them to be sure to tell my mother Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow. They’re looking forward to playing Roblox with their cousin tomorrow. I asked Kimberly if she wanted to do an interview today but she said no. I called Motorcycle earlier. He had just gotten a tattoo of a skull that his granddaughter drew. Our phone call got cut off because he was driving.

I wonder what my lawyer will say on Monday. I’m afraid of getting years in here. People keep saying, six months, six months, but they don’t know. I know better than that. Shoved into another plea deal probably. Fuck. More shit on my goddamn record. I wonder what would happen if I took my chances at a jury trial? Two cases. Two trials. I would be here through next year for sure.

We’re supposed to have some special meal tomorrow for Mother’s Day. Barbecued chicken or something. Big deal. I’m sure every mother here would give her right arm to be with her kids instead. I know I would. 

I’m sad.

I just read something that says that a woman’s weight may make jurors more likely to give her a guilty verdict if she is overweight. Thin men especially are more likely to give a guilty verdict to a heavy woman. The same bias does not exist for men. 

Figures.

The U.S. system is so flawed.