Letter 4

2/27/2011

Dear Renelle,

      Hopefully you’re healing up well from surgery on your finger. The same goes for your spirits and frame of mind. I’ve been too busy to do any more writing—we had a “personnel issue” here; most of the clothing that was sent to the laundry came up missing, so a fair number of inmates got “fired”—but there was no one handy to replace them. We all now have experience doing “our own” washing. The clothing was found, hidden—so the only casualties were the ones that were supposed to bring the carts to/from. My grip has gotten tested.

      So, now we are aware of the what, and to some extent the why, regarding recent events. I feel like an idiot—chiefly for giving off the impression in letters recently written to my Mom that all I’m about is the (next) money receipt. Though highly valued—she, as a human being and my Mom, is much more important! I’ve written that as a type of backdrop segue into a subject infinitely interesting to me, being you.

      No longer am I even interested in acting like someone I’m not. It’s much easier on me long-term to just be who I am and quit trying to impress. I know, as an example, I have some inmate talents, frustrated by being locked up—not entirely kept from them, just increasing the level of difficulty quite a bit. Here, I need to stop, my words are starting to pile on top of each other.

      It’s a very nebulous, slippery thought I’m grabbing. Not half-baked though; an entire thought, my self-editing strongly kicks it to the back of my mind because I’ve always been told by those that can’t understand, the lie that it is a half-baked thought. My censoring my own thoughts has got to stop! Stampede, (as per my other letter).

      It’s possible I could be developing a more apparent part of personality that’s co-dependent. I’m not sure though. What I am sure of is I get a type of grati-faction from (hopefully) being a comfort to you in your sadness. Whether that’s a co-dependent streak showing, or just being a friend, I can’t say though.

      Just got another letter from my mom (the 2^nd in as many days!) telling me you’re going to try for 3/3 to visit. Don’t worry about the printing deal. My celly tells me all they need is an I.D. with a picture on it. I’m really looking forward to the 3rd, being able to (hopefully—again) be able to eat actual food instead of the dreck we on our trays. It will be tight if it happens—what I mean is I’ll put these letters in the mail here on Monday and hope like a crazy man they arrive before you leave to come here. (Whew! Hand is getting a workout)

      I’ve let her know in the letter to her that if she brings any mill more than $20 they won’t have enough to change it on hand. Also, to go ahead and get what I/we are going to eat for lunch, since I, sadly, will be missing it. Is my wit as sharp as good cheese? Dry enough to make one hearing thirsty?

      Answers to those questions (and more) next time. There are some who apparently have Lake C.I. figured as “a good place to be,” which it is a very good place to be. . .from. I owe it to myself to at least try and correct the lies about Lake.

      Anyhow, and let me be perfectly clear on this point: if one doesn’t care for one’s own self, how then is anyone else to care for them? Big things are getting done by little me. Gigantuan. Gotta get to them.

Your friend,

James