Letter 73

August 10, 2011

Dear Mom,

Hello from the Land of Eternal Bliss. I am seriously starting to acquire distaste for whatever bungling sub-humans are keeping me here past the six-month-mandatory minimum. It is like I'm a clown for the guards' amusement now. "That's just James making that racket, don't pay him any attention," they seem to say. So, how are you? Well I hope. About the only new information I have came from a nurse filling in for another one on her day off. I may have internal hemorrhoids. I'm just glad it is only that and not anything really bad. I do want out but not that way!

As I wait with few expectations (the better for not getting too disappointed) for a reply from my classification officer, a number of things are occurring now in my mind/on the compound. I asked Mr. Goodwin when I could expect to be transferred. Anyhow, I say this out of love/respect for being here: I feel like Jane Goodall. You'd honestly not believe some of the stuff I see that goes on here if you saw it. I'm faced with a question every behavioral researcher needs to answer when presenting their findings: Did removal from a society cause/lead to the displays witnessed, or were they incipient to begin with? Either way, it comes down to this: I'm being cultivated like a mushroom here.

I'm afraid to rock the boat too much, so I'm only sending notice of my readines to get moved to Mr. Goodwin. If I don't get a satisfactory response, then I'll move it up the food chain, but right now I can't afford to play with it that way. Along with my other needs, could you possibly find out what the hold-up is for me? I'd really appreciate it if you would. I mentioned other needs, well, possibly wants would be a more fitting term. You will note that, once again, my balance has crept toward the red side of the ledger. Any help would be greatly appreciated, and also remain solely for my benefit alone regardless of where I end up.

Speaking of ending up, the food cart just rolled in the door. This ought to be interesting, even to me. The meals have gotten steadily smaller and worse, now one meal = 2/3 of one served a month ago. It isn't even food though, and that is what I can't understand. Okay, food is getting more scarce and sometimes tainted. That isn't a reason to cut back on what we get; it's already slim pickens enough. I'd better stop before I ring a bell of truth.

All considered, I'm actually not in too bad a position, that is, if I didn't need to eat to stay alive.. I've made peace with myself for the most part, and two out of three shifts don't regard me as any kind of security threat, with the odd one being the 12-8 shift I'm mostly unavailable for. They treat all smurfs as scum.

This morning I was reminded of my place at the bottom of the pecking order. A lot was happening at once, with breakfast and laundry supposed to be picked up and carted off, and my attempts at getting my area inspection-ready. All this going on when an officer walks in the door and yells "Rec" at the top of his lungs. Discombobulated in the extreme now, I turned away while J was shook down prior to the door opening. The door shut, and I didn't immediately spot the wrong, that our laundry and breakfast were still inside our cell. I tried getting the attention of a guard, but it is like getting a rhino's attention with a feather. I yelled, but not anywhere near as loud as "Rec" was yelled, and I had a valid reason to; the laundry needed to go out to be washed. Might as well be a belch in a hurricane wind for all it got me. Three or four guards finally noticed but all they did was laugh at me and threaten me with their spray. You know,I think I would not be able to hold my head up walking anywhere if I knew in my heart that sort of thing was amusing to me. I didn't get sprayed, but I also didn't get the laundry out either. May Friday will be better. That's the next time the laundry operates.

Well, that's my poison pen(ning) for this week. Wish I had some news to relay...it all looks good on the other side of that cold steel door to me. I wouldn't raise much of a fuss if they transferred me to the worst prison inFlorida. I'm a short-timer and aim to keep it that way! J is in one of his moods; distant and non-talkative. Im going to pry and counsel him.

Like a certain animated swine says, Th-th-th, that's all folks!!

Much love and regards,
James