M205

I’ve been through major stress and hell starting at 3 AM Monday morning, but what can I expect? This is jail. Once again I had to get out of where I was and now I’m in 205.

Lora and Madeline said they miss me and that I’m welcome back any time. That’s very nice of them, but no thanks!

Anyway, I don’t know if I have a sign on me that only others can see, begging to be with all the sickos of Estrella jail, or what! These sick twists belong with each other in funny farms. How the fuck can they put these people just anywhere and with just anyone? The sickos name was Melinda Brinkman. She was short, bone-thin, with very dark hair and eyes. Her wavy hair was shoulder-length. She was a mix of things, but all I can remember is that she’s part Apache.

There I was, glad to finally have just one celly so she wouldn’t have anyone to gab with, yet she’s fucking talking to herself! She just wouldn’t shut the fuck up or sit still for two seconds. She was jumping all around the cell as if she were on speed. I’d have broken the 80-pound anorexic dopehead in half if I wasn’t moved when I was moved. I’d have gladly gotten on restriction and sent back to the hole if I’d had to in order to get away from the sicko. This psycho sparked a rage in me that made me wonder just how the hell I controlled myself around her. Even the DOs know how warped in the head the little shit is.

Officer Temple, a really nice black DO with freckles that’s on nights, said I ought to threaten to kick her ass. I guess that’s what Madeline did to get her out of next door. Everyone here hates the loony tune. She was constantly chatting and singing to herself, screaming out the door, climbing the walls like a little monkey, tearing up magazines and trashing the place. I can see why one of her charges is for littering.

When she’d talk, she made no sense, switched subjects rapidly, interrupted me, and made a zillion contradictory statements. The little pig asked for everything I had, so I just gave her some stuff I didn’t like anyway. She’s definitely not skinny from starving herself. It’s drug-induced skinniness.

I also learned that D2 can only keep its nuts for a few days. I know one of two things will happen within the next 72 hours and I don’t have to be the psychic that I am to know it, either. The herm will return needing this room and I’ll be shipped to A, or I’ll get another crazy celly. Maybe they’ll throw me back next door.

Officer Temple was kind enough to warn me in advance that I’d be in for a new celly and to decide whether or not I wanted to stay on the bottom or jump up on top. That was so nice of her. Once she brought the psycho in, telling her to be nice to me, she told me she had court in a little while. When she returned to get the sicko for court, I asked that she come back afterward so I could talk to her, and she did.

After giving me suggestions about threatening her, filling out a tank order, etc., she and I got to talking a little about my case. She agrees Arizona has stupid laws (tell me about it!) and how a woman did time because her little kid swiped a bottle of cold syrup without her knowing it. Temple said that for all she knew, she could end up here over some stupid thing. I told her I hoped we’d be cellies if she did!

It’s true, though, that the laws have got to change. Laws that should be laws aren’t laws, and laws that shouldn’t be laws are laws. Too many people get set up, too. If what happened to me could happen to me, it could happen to anybody. It’s really scary. Laws such as those forbidding gays to have sex really burns me up. Who the fuck is anybody to tell others who they have sex with, especially when it’s two consenting adults?

I slept from about 6 AM - 10 AM when it was our hour out. She was still at court, though, and didn’t return till noon. Then they let her have her hour out and I got another much-needed hour of sleep. Meanwhile, I couldn’t sleep again till she did, as that was the only time she was quiet. I only managed to get a measly 3 hours, though, till black Officer Perry woke us up for no apparent reason. She opened the door and said to Melinda, “Hey, you’re back.” Then she asked her if she still stank.

Perry came back a couple of hours later to get the little weasel for court again. Afterward, I asked Perry to move one of us, and even she admitted just how crazy Melinda is. I gave her the suicide blanket she wasn’t supposed to have, too. Perry’s exact words were “Yeah, she’s fucked up, man.”

She said she was waiting for the sergeant to call her back and would give me a tank order if she didn’t. Neither of these things happened.

Meanwhile, because of all the anxiety, I never fell back asleep until around 7:00. I didn’t get up till 1:00 when Officer Quinentilla moved me.

Although I’m thrilled to be free of that wacko, I wish they moved her ass, because that cell’s nicer. Here, I had to block the exposed incoming air vent by gluing cardboard with toothpaste onto the vent, and it’s noisier here because of the vent connecting next door and the two cells downstairs.

Quinentilla’s mood must’ve changed, because when I asked her to sharpen my pencils before her shift ended, she rolled her eyes, took the pencils, then never returned them. I had to ask the 2nd shift DO, Hann, to get them for me. She brought them to me, unsharpened.

Now, why couldn’t Quinentilla simply have said that she didn’t want to sharpen the damn things?

Quinentilla’s a young plump Mexican, and Hann’s older – 40ish with blond hair.

I’m glad Lora’s leaving in a week. She’s so loud! Like black kinda loud. She’s woken me up while down on the phone, and now she’ll wake me up next door. At least I can pee in private, and have no psychos around (yet).

Melinda got back an hour before dinner, asking why I moved. I told her I moved because she was so fucking crazy that I was about to kill her. She ignored that and asked if I left her any food. I left some of the lunch I didn’t want. It’s too bad I couldn’t have poisoned it first.

She asked if I stole any of her stuff. Damn! That’s what I forgot to do, I told her. But no, I didn’t steal any of her stuff. It was probably as worthless as she is, anyway.

Later, she was at the door again. I was surprised she wasn’t asking anything about the missing suicide blanket. The little shit asks to borrow my thermal instead, and this is when I really let her have it, telling her to fuck off and just be glad I didn’t fuck her up and beat her beyond recognition. I thought she’d be screaming and pounding on the door, but she just said I was sick (that’s an understatement) and ran back to her cell to pick her nose, eat her snots and hopefully choke on them, too.

I was bummed not to have met with Kara yesterday. Didn’t hear from her today, either. Maybe she’s on vacation or sick. If I don’t see her by the end of next week, I’ll put in a tank requesting to see her.