Letter 86

October 7, 2011

Dear Renelle,

How are you? I haven't received word from you since I was at Suwannee, which hopefully indicates only that you have been scrambling and didn't have time to write. At any rate of progress, I continue to adjust to the nonsensical ways of being here. More about that further on.

Today I've got a more important event on the horizon, namely moving out of the part of the class taught at the farthest part of this place which requires much walking to get to. Let me explain what I understand about this "Therapeutic Community" program, please. For no other reason than that someone between here (me) and the government wants to pad their expenses, I've been put into a program offering "increased knowledge of what makes one tick."

I am resistant, yet feel that the wise course of action is not with active resistance, or "bucking" as it is commonly called. Being stuck without viable recourse in the program is a risky way of getting my sentence shortened, though. If I get the totality of requirements met for completion, I'll be the proud bearer of a piece of meaningless paper. If I don't for any reason fully complete all the requirements they haven't even finished putting together, a consequence of some type of administrative action will result...up to and including a likely D.R. for "failure to comply," etc. So, what I mean by that is, I'd better guard myself well. Though this is the best one I have been to, it is a prison with all the connotations thereof.

On the lighter side, I'm putting together something like a chronicle of my life as I recall so far, which I hope will be informative to others in a widespread way. At the present stage, it is little more than one of my ideas to provide me with an income after my release. I find it difficult to keep my thoughts ordered enough to compose them in hard copy. Also, it is tough for other practical reasons to keep them ordered and together. I'm entertaining ideas for a tentative title; so far the front-runner is "A Life As Such."

Now we remaining smurfs, coming out from far darker prisons that were equally as restrictive, have essentially endured the waiting trial-phase of orientation of the program and have completed it to be dispersed to whatever dorm they move us to for further study.

As I stated, it isn't difficult, particularly as we are a "pioneer group," which translates as lab rats, so we aren't expected to be perfect. I know all of the material being taught but don't want to appear too smart as I will get labeled. Dumbing-down isn't quite as difficult here, as the others are likely all at least at G.E.D. functioning level; but it is still tricky if I forget.

It is harder to remain compliant to what I'm told are requirements now, as I don't have any way of knowing beforehand what they are. I'm understandably a bit nervous due to the hands being attached to different bodies here, each with the capability of deciding I'm not acceptable and writing a D.R. that would stick to me, thus sending me deep into the panhandle on the next thing moving and back to a far worse C.M. (close management) than I've been through as of yet. That is the price for my being here...constant concern that it will happen.

Otherwise, as my sentence continues to wind down and I become more acclimated to the pace of this environment, I don't have much I'm currently willing to print here...the knowledge I've got is that sensitive. I'm hoping to see you on or before I turn another year older in prison; I'll turn 29 on the end of the month. I seem older chiefly as time passing is about the most subjective natural occurrence there is, in my opinion. More about that in a following letter.

As of now, Friday, October 7th, the mail has been passed out and most here received some. I, however, remain abstinent in that regard. Along with my commentary on the seemingly different rates time passes, I'll include some on the people (et.al.) I've come to know/socialize with during the time when my options have been harshly limited. However, it may not be in the same letter as I tend to be inclined to verbosity and embellishment, which only works for me if I'm paid by the word. I've got what amounts to an astounding but selective recall.

In our class this morning,I asked a question relating directly to overcoming our addictions that is still a "stumper." It was a two-part question that in my estimation was way too advanced for even the highly educated counselors here. The first part: What recently discovered chemical is only found in brains of addicts/alcoholics This chemical is the only proven determiner as to whether an individual will become an addict/alcoholic. It is called "THIQ" for an abbreviation of Tetrahydraisoquinlan. Like apples...how about those! I've indisputably got the most knowledge of addiction in all of it's splendiforous forms, but lack a certain amount of the type sense a program like this is installing/instilling in me. In other words, I know the answers, but the questions elude me. Oh well, I don't claim perfection...yet.

The program purports to teach a way of thinking differently, but though it may actually provide a new mental map, the individual has the responsibility for the interpretation of it. So, the burden is on our shoulders; indeed, has never been gone. What the program is offering us is to learn to use different muscle groups in an alternating way, so as to make it seem easier to carry.

On to more practical matters. Due to the schedule during the week, we don't get much latitude for visitation. The days visiting is allowed are both Saturday and Sunday, which I don't know if you already know or not, so I'll go ahead and give you the spiel: Although I don't know the hours by rote, I'm sure they are less restrictive than while I was at Suwannee. I've looked at the calendar and my birthday falls on Sunday this year, so, if not before then, hopefully you will make a brighter spot in this grim, dark time I'm enduring by visiting me on my birthday. By the way, I've talked with people who tell me it is possible to visit on both Saturday and Sunday consecutively.

Now I've been locked in for "count", a sometimes endless series of the guards mistakes/blunders/fumbles. During this part of the day I'm most powerfully reminded of how little I control my short-term destiny. We smurfs have to remain sitting on the bunk we are assigned, even when there is no one watching for the reason they might be. The part I don't understand is why according to the code they must operate within, we aren't permitted anything that might be a distraction. I mean, it's their job, right? I'm sure if I asked all the smurfs statewide, 100% of them didn't ask for incarceration...so my point is why are we held accountable for what we can't control? I haven't witnessed any D.R.'s handed out for non-compliance with count procedure yet, but it may only be a matter of time. What do you think?

It is difficult for me to understand other aspects of incarceration as well...guess I shouldn't concern myself with things as circuitously inscrutable as the reason employed by the prison system in Florida. Here though, the typical officer is much more mentally stable than would be true at a D.O.C. camp, so there is more of a streamlined feel to the day-to-day operation of the prison as a whole.

I'm sure there is a hypothesis contained in this information somewhere. I've now had all the weekend to "tweak" this to mail it out, but what that translates to is that I've gotten involved in the making sure I'm up to speed here instead. So, the result is a rather sub-standard effort on my part...again. Once a habit or pattern becomes deeply ingrained, they require a willful and concerted effort to break out of. Such is the bane of my existence.

Also encompassed under the heading of "banes" would be the extremely distracting and idiotic qualities of the behavior of others. Few indeed catch my bitingly dry sense of humor. This morning as I was finishing up in the shower area in the dorm here a guy walked behind a column to finish the cigarette he was smoking. I moved some clothing I'd washed so it wouldn't smell like smoke and he said, "you're okay." I said, "no, I'm not...I'm in prison." He looked at me like I'd just sprouted another head in front of him.

Your temporarily subjugated friend,
James