Letter 59

 June 26, 2011

Dear Renelle,

A letter to you hasn't even been mailed out yet, and I'm already at another one. Time stretches on eternally, it seems. If I'm wrong, please write me right, right? The way I see it--my position is pretty much nearly diametrically opposed to yours these days. I've got too much time on my hands, while you have too many hands on your time. There needs to be a method for balancing these conditions out.

Anyway, it was bound to happen--just a matter of when. J. is fighting either food poisoning or a virus, unknown; and because there isn't competent medical diagnosis available, he's toughing it out. Sleeping now, but I'm sure he sends his regards along.

On the other hand, I continue to be physically fairly healthy--thank God. Though fettered and starved for healthy food, I'm getting by reasonably unhindered. It's hard to stay real (after getting real) in here where I can't just leave whenever the urge takes hold. I feel this place breeds a culture unique to the prison environment, particularly in the long-term/lifer sections.

Easily mistaken as taciturn, the above group simply has lost the taste for frivolity, at one point held so dear by me. There isn't a lot of laughter ringing through here, unless it's at a guy's expense. Where there isn't a big demand for exercise, there is little available inside a cell, so most just slowly turn fatty with the available food being what it is. Mentally, we've got the guards out-matched, yet, due to the dehumanizing policies in place/enforced, we are many individuals and not able to come together as we should. 

That's mainly why none of us is able to make the needed difference when things get more difficult to endure. A prime example is the food from the kitchen--daily the quality/amount goes down. Does anyone complain! To the ones who have a shot at correcting it! I feel, on just thinking of it, that 999/1000 of the guys in this situation either never had anyone like that, or drove them away by their actions/attitudes. I feel extremely fortunate to have both a mom and you on my side.

Pausing a moment on the "issues" of thinking--I know when I was sentenced to prison, the world breathed easier, as I wasn't fit for public. At the same time, though, those I care about and was close to are in a type of prison, too. Unsure how exactly to describe what I mean, but my point is the judge didn't only send me to prison, he sent all my family and those I care for too. As I've heard, though--that dog just won't hunt. 

As is said in many of the self-help programs I no longer believe in, it makes no difference how we arrived here, the point is to be able to move toward a uniform health from here. We all know how to make poor choices, on and on without end, beating the same issue further into the ground. That, and--if I could've helped myself, do you really think I'd be here? These are my two most substantial contentions with self-help groups.

At any rate, I'm looking forward to being able to look back and smile on these times. As it's impossible to pick up on the point I labored so to make yesterday (6/26/11) this letter is going to be resigned to that unseen powerful hand of fate, called destiny, to only let my mind get a brief respite from the mind-shattering sameness of this place. Don't feel that needs any more elaboration. Though, I will go more in depth about a possible link between muscle memory and what the kitchen puts out for us here.

It may only be my flawed interpretation of my observations, but I think it's possible to predict what the kitchen is serving on a given day by only observing the behavior of most of us that are here for the duration. Further complicating the interpretive measures are what the individual may have on his mind; but once a baseline personality parameter has been established, it's my belief that what we will eat can be predicted with some degree of accuracy by our individual behaviors. I've self-diagnosed that I definitely need something useful to do here. Please dispose of this any way you see fit.

Your increasingly accountable friend,

James