Blacksheep Speaks

Prison Letters, Part Two

Mom,

I figured it was about time for one of my occasional non-news update letters. Today's topic: Sleep. I need some.

Usually, starting about Friday noon and extending through the weekend, I have plenty of time to catch up on sleep. This is a good thing, as my normal day now begins at 4:30a.m. and doesn't quit till around 11:00p.m. So....weekends are a good time for catching up. I generally only surface for meals, and even then, I have to be pretty hungry.

Friday afternoon I got all set for bed. I had just climbed happily under my covers when a guard poked her head in my door and informed me that my posterior had 5 minutes to get to Stress Class. Being under the distinct impression that they probably wanted the rest of me there as well, I hurriedly dressed and got down there. After sitting through the final class in the series, I was told that, since they keep neglecting to call me out for the class (they are forever changing meeting times and places----I've made it to 3 classes out of 8 because of this), I am required to repeat the entire series. OH! I thought, I know a way out of this! I quickly informed them that, since I was not actually required to take the class, I would like to exercise my option to forget the whole thing. "No no," said my instructor. "This is a PILOT class, and we will not fail you. Since you were obviously stressed enough to take the class voluntarily, we are doing you the favor of insisting that you see it through." But, said I, it is interfering with my Life Skills curriculum. My instructor looked me lovingly in the eyes, smiled softly, and said, ".....and this affects me......how?" He then offered me another option.......a major disciplinary and a nice, stress-free solitary room to think about it for a nice, long time. Since he was so sweet about it, I opted to do him a favor and stay in the class.

By the time I got back to the barracks, it was supper time. Since we are not allowed to smoke while food trays are in the room, I decided to stay up long enough for a cigarette and mail call, which is usually around 7p.m. I gave up waiting for the mail at 10p.m. I went back to my room and snuggled under my nice, thin, nearly see-through all- purpose simulated blanket. Sure enough, about 5 minutes later......."MAIL CALL!" Sighing slightly, I got up and got dressed. I went out, collected my Kenneth Copeland flier, and headed back to bed. I had just nicely dozed off when a guard threw open my door and joyfully informed me that if I wanted my toilet paper ration for the week, my posterior needed to be in line within 3 minutes. (You know, these people sure have a fixation about that part of my anatomy......perhaps I should recommend counseling.) Pausing momentarily to reflect upon why they waited until midnight to deliver the toilet paper, I again got up, got dressed, and slunk down the stairs to collect my lonely little roll of toilet paper. After standing in line for nearly an hour and a half, I procured my prize and slowly staggered back to my room. On the way, the sweet little lady who handles program work assignments stopped me and informed me that I would be volunteering my day off to fill in for a sick worker.....and that I needed to be up at 4:30a.m. to be fed and ready for work at 5:15. I made it to bed by around 2:30, and, after a refreshing 2 hours of sleep, reported for work.

Saturday was a pretty normal workday, off and on until after supper. Since there is no mail call on Saturday (we get Saturday's mail Sunday night after they read through it all and claim they haven't) I figured I could sleep after supper. On the way up the stairs to my room, the lady in charge of barracks cleaning assignments stopped me and told me I was the lucky individual selected to clean out the showers that night---about a 2 hour job.

Sighing, I headed back down the stairs to wait......since the showers can't be cleaned until everyone is out of them. We aren't allowed to start showering until after 6p.m. 52 women. 4 working shower heads. YOU do the math. Around 1:30a.m. I finished my job. I oozed up the stairs, dropped my wet duds on the floor, contemplated actually doing something with them, decided against it, and went to sleep.

At around 4:30a.m., a guard tiptoed to my bedside and happily exclaimed, "Get your posterior out of bed!" Opening one eye, I inquired as to whether she might be mistaken, as this was my ONLY day off this week, and as far as I knew, I didn't have to be anywhere. The guard chortled back the information that the kitchen needed volunteers to do a thorough cleaning (first time for everything, I guess) and I was volunteering, and it was mandatory. Still half asleep, I asked the guard when they had re- defined the word "volunteer". {Note to self---in the future, reserve smart-posterior comments for other inmates, who can't retaliate. Guards do not appreciate perky witticisms at 4:30a.m.}

After dressing and breakfast, I reported to the kitchen for a rousing 14 hour shift (which is, I think, illegal, but what the heck). Finally staggering back to my barracks, I sat down to await mail call. I gave up on the mail at around nine and went to bed. Around 11:00 or so, a perky little guard bellowed a request for my posterior to pick up my mail. At this point, I was truly wishing I COULD just send my posterior, so that the rest of me could get some sleep.

Okay, slight break in the story to explain that Pat has apparently stuck my name on a "Christian" inmate pen pal list that she uses in her ministry down in Texas. Please remind me to send Pat some hate mail. You wouldn't BELIEVE the number of highly deranged convicts who have opted to write me. My trash can is overflowing.

Anyhow.....one of the letters that I waited in line an hour for was from a young man named XXXX who pulled my name off that list. He wrote a nice, Christian letter....and enclosed, without one word of explanation, a lovely snapshot of his bare butt hanging out of a tree....(I am NOT joking.......)

I love you.