Letter 42

June 10, 2011

Dear Mom,

I didn't get started writing you until today for many petty although time-consuming reasons engulfed me after our visit. Hope you had a good drive going back south. I hear from the brief news that we get that people are in a bad way because of the fires out in Arizona. I'll have to write Chee Chee to see how they are fairing.

I still have not received any word from anyone, but I tend to believe no news is good news. Wish I could say the same for Jesus. I can see his concerns eating away at him...he looks all of his 51 years now. Once in awhile I try to get him to open up but he just shrugs and gets quiet. It's hard to imagine the strain he is under.

I've been thinking more about my plans for after I'm released the end of next year and have come up with only one iron-clad plan. I want to be released before Christmas, for three reasons: First, if I don't get released before then I will likely spend another year incarcerated because Tallahassee shuts all of their offices down over the holidays. Second, I'd like to be able to go and do what I want to do and not be locked up away from family and celebrations. Third, I believe I've changed to the point that, although this is an on-going process for me, I've paid my debt and had enough of eating bad food hurriedly.

I suppose I need to be grateful that we get anything at all to eat. Gratitude has occasionally been an issue, or maybe it should be my ingratitude, particularly for what I eat. Not sure what, if anything, it means...but I can't ponder the question now as other things are clamouring for my attention.

Some people thrive only in a stressful environment like prison while others experience smoldering rage at the oppressive authority. This rage results in various acts of destruction directed at their keepers and only makes the way they live more unyielding. There I go again...gotta stop that, but no idea how to do it.

The book I mentioned in our visit is by Gerda Weissmann Klein, entitled All But My Life, and was the basis for an HBO special called One Survivor Remembers.

 It is Saturday now and I'm waiting for all the chaos to settle. Jesus opened up to me in a big way last night, expressing grave concern about not getting any word from M. yet. I kept telling him that he can't make the guy write a letter, and that he is likely very busy. I hope I made him feel a little better about it anyway. Back and forth about it, when I know what he really wants is to hear from his family in Cuba. I'm getting worried that he might decide to do something based on his feelings not intellect.

Imagine that! Me, the voice of reason. Ha! I had a momentary identity crisis, but I'm over it now. I've got to work out now, so I'll close.

Love,
James

P.S. Can you help me get the eye glasses I need? Speak to an assistant warden, at least, and explain my situation regarding the optometrist. Tell him how having only one eye with vision puts a heavy strain on my sight. That should get something started for me in a positive way.