Letter 10

02/03/11
"Egypt" C.I.

Dear Mom,

How are you and Ray?  Good, hopefully. As I write this, our trays of (so called) food are in front of the building where they will remain until somebody with a bit of sense in their head figures out that in order to eat, the cart must first enter the building. So, I've got some time to jot down a couple of lines about what is going on around me.

Off the top, I asked Renelle in a letter to ask you to put $35 in my account. Please. What I've figured out is that the guys whose job it is to see that our needs are met are the problem. These guys are "runarounds" (inmates).

After a cup of urine was thrown in my face by one of them, I said some things about the black race...and I meant every word of it. I had gone into confinement willingly, unlike most inmates, and I thought nothing of giving up my identification badge to the Sgt. An I.D. is the only way you can order items from the canteen.

What happened was, I would properly filled out the order form, give it to an inmate to put it in with the other order forms, but somewhere in that process mine would get "lost." They would then have access to all the money in my account. So, the undeserving were getting fat off me...and I couldn't do a thing to stop it.

Now a whole new group of inmates are here and the problem has solved itself as the one doing most of the shady deals got caught with his "hand in the cookie jar." He is being sent to a Close Management prison and is not pleased with it at all. Oh, well.

Now you know the mystery of the vanishing funds, explained as best I can. Now someone has "flooded" the cells, so while they are busy with that for the next 45 minutes, I'll continue to write. I'm telling you, Mom, I sincerely hope that I don't have to put up with these delays after I get moved to a different prison. Of course, it has only been 20 minutes so far.

The "big-boned" officer passing out the trays just handed me one with about 5,000 calories worth of food on it. It wasn't worth the wait, but at least it was something. I'm sorry to say but that is about all that gets my attention here at all.

Let me see, you already know about my latest celly, but I'll recap what I've mentioned earlier for you. He is 23 years old, and I feel separated from him by more than our ages. I feel like I'm doing well to still want to cross the gap between us. He's not a bad guy, just almost as different as me. I've been doing a lot of thinking about changing my ways, lately. No longer the Mouse that Roared, I'm mellowing now.

I still react immediately like I'm 20 years younger. It has probably been "hard-wired" into me but is fading since I've been here. Whether that's because I've experienced what the reaction to my reaction is or by conscious choice remains unanswered. Now, all is quiet so I guess I had better strike the iron before I drop it on my foot.

It is now later in the evening on a shower night (Wednesday). Hopefully, I've eaten the last meal I'll eat here. They will have breakfast tomorrow but I will be too nervous to enjoy it as I hope to be told by the officer, when they pass out the medications in the morning, that I'm moving on.

My celly is starting to grieve for his own so I ought to give a listen for awhile. This is my final, last, only stamp left...I'd hoped to hang on to it until I'd gotten closer to moving, but that is a definite indication of mental instability, so,

Love you and miss you very much,
James

p.s., when you write to me, let me know how the "celebration of life" went. Send pictures, please.