A109

Believe it or not, Kim and I are back in A Tower. In the last room on the upper tier, next to our old room, and right above Jessica. They came in right before dinner telling us to roll up so some closed custody nutso could have the room all to themselves. Kim was not happy about it, and I began to wonder if bouncing between A Tower and M Dorm would be a regular thing.

Before leaving M, I received two very nice letters from Tom. It really moves me how he’s stuck by me through all this. It shocks me how he tells me he’s motivated to work on the land and keep things clean. It also pleases me that he wants to learn some signs and used the finger-spelling font to say a few words.

Once we got to A, Kim accidentally discovered a third letter from Tom in our old room when she went in there to get mattresses. It’s nice to know the fucking DOs cared enough to run the letter over to me in M. This is part of why I wish I could settle down somewhere in this fucking hellhole if I have to be here at all.

Yesterday really sucked and I lost it. First my allergies were going off, thanks to the freeloaders who got me off my snot spray. I couldn’t get a hold of Tom when I was really frustrated and true to my vibes, my commissary never got to me.

So, once again my emotions peaked, and I asked to be taken to medical. Unfortunately, I had to ask twice and had to say I would hurt myself to get there. Once there I was given a breathing treatment by a very weird, tattoo-covered, rude male nurse. He wasn’t the least bit sensitive to my situation and rudely described my constant sneezing and tight lungs as “acting out.” Sorry, but not even I can act that well. Besides, when he listened to my lungs, he decided they were bad enough for the treatment. Then I got lied to for the 10th time by these quack nurses, and told tomorrow, which is now yesterday, that I’d be seen by a doctor. Kim says I’ll see a doctor within 3 days, and that today’s security override could’ve stalled that, but I don’t buy it for a moment. They’re refusing to treat me, but at least I don’t smoke and at least I can function without the inhaler. It’s just hard at times. Especially when my emotions kick in.

Nurse Rude also weighed me upon my request. I’m right where I figured I was – 110 pounds. I can’t eat most of this food. Amazingly, though, I’m still exercising daily.

After repeated requests, we were let out to clean this filthy, dusty, ugly cell and I went to Jessica’s door, woke her up, gave her the finger with a big grin on my face, and the dork smiled happily at me.

So, I’m childish at times – what the hell?

We found out why she’s really here, too. I always thought she was pretty vague about why she was here when I asked her about it. She’d dance around the subject and try to avoid it. Well, she left her 5-month-old son at the grocery store.

Another girl back in M is going to be picked up by the Department of Corruptions for 10 years for shaking her baby, which she claims she doesn’t remember.

It’s about 1 AM and A Tower’s loud, rude blacks won’t shut up. They usually quit shooting off at the mouth when they dim the lights. I can’t decide which is noisier – A or M. I guess it just depends on who’s there. Kim says not all blacks are deliberately loud. “You gotta see them as retarded children. They just don’t know any better. They’re ignorant little shits in their own little world,” she told me.

A nice black girl named Mary gave me an envelope before I left M. She and I came into this dive the same day. She had moved in next to us in the happy blackies’ cell. I met all 3 blacks currently in there, though, and they’re nice. Loud, but nice. Still, why am I getting so fucked over by blacks? Is it to make up for how the whites treated them years ago or what, not that I was alive 100 years ago? As much as I hate them in general, I still find I can’t not be friendly to a black person that’s friendly to me. Kim’s the same way, though she is more extreme than I am. She feels different races shouldn’t marry, but I say – why not if they love each other?

Despite our differences, Kim’s been a real help to me around here. I can’t see us being friends on the outs, though. Tweakers and gun runners just don’t appeal to me. I got mad at her when I yelled and screamed and slugged the door in frustration and anger back in M because she yelled at me to stop. The last thing I need is to be yelled at when I’m pissed. I hate that and it only fuels my fire more, but she later told me she just didn’t want me to hurt myself. I told her I understood her concern.

I’m still getting along with other inmates, but they bug me on my hour out. They want me to ask this person for this, ask the DO for that, and I’m like – wait for your own fucking hour out and get your own shit!

I’m going to write some of this with the pen Kim got this morning from her PO. Poor Kim. Thank God what happened to her during her visit didn’t happen to me! A lady pulled a gun, demanding to see her boyfriend, and her PO managed to bolt out the door. Well, it turned out to be a drill, thank God! In the midst of it all, Kim swiped this pen and some taffy candy that was lying around. I guess they were giving it out to people visiting during Halloween. Anyway, I have to hide this pen when a DO walks by.

Kim likes M better and misses the swastika she tagged under the top bunk which was hers (at least I could climb onto the top bunks in A and M if I had to because they’re lower). She also misses Lisa, who’s still over there. She’s a fellow AB member (Aryan Brotherhood), and to Kim, she’s her mentor.

For the first time, Kim admitted she was bi-curious, and mentioned a few girls she’s interested in. Thank God I wasn’t one of them!

I saw Kara earlier. It really helps to talk to her. I’ll be seeing her on Tuesdays. She’s very positive and encouraging. She complimented my sense of humor, told me there were many good facets to my personality, then told me about Middle Ground. She said she thinks they’re free and that they deal with unjustly jailed people. I told Tom about it and he’s reactivating the net to do more research on laws, etc. Tom wants mainly to get it on record that I was screwed over in court, even if it means I can’t get my sentence reduced. He feels I should’ve had an interpreter provided for me, too. I sure could use one in here at times with the way everything’s so echoey!

Anyway, I had a good vibe about something happening 13 weeks from now. I just hope it isn’t a case of wishful thinking! Meanwhile, as much as I hate to do so, I’m just going to have to kiss ass, behave, and be cooperative so I can stand a chance, even if it’s one in a million, and never punch a DO out no matter how bad they piss me off. That’d be a new charge and more time, but fortunately, no one here has pissed me off that much. Just annoyed me at times. I was going to write up Officer Chavez in M because I thought she was going to refuse to give me a grievance form because I asked for it in a very frustrated tone of voice which would’ve been wrong of her, but she gave me one.

I took a shower earlier, and boy did it feel good! Not as good as the tents, but tolerable enough. Yes, I like A better. I also like how part of the other bunk blocks my head where I sleep and gives me a little more privacy.

I’m listening for any jingles from the DO’s keys as they walk by, so I can hide this pen in my gown pocket.

Kim and I are still getting along well, but she gets these delusions at times (in a funny way). She says she knows she’s cute. Well, I’m glad she thinks so. She also thinks (because Lisa told her so) that all she has to say to a black who may want to fight her for being AB is “If you respect you, and you respect me, there’ll be no problem.”

She’s dreaming! That won’t prevent her from getting into brawls. Those blacks will say they respect themselves, but certainly not her, and then they’ll jump her. Lisa, who also hates “off brands,” must’ve had some odd experiences to tell her that.

I quickly realized, coming into this joint, that no, the state is not paying for me to be here. I’m the one paying them. The $30 a month in rent is more than enough to pay for anything we eat or use here. So they make money by jailing people, not lose money.

I wrote Mom, Mary and Dave (Mom’s Tom’s Mom, Mary’s his sister, and Dave’s her husband). It was a brief letter letting them know I’m still alive, even if it’s barely.

Paula had stomach surgery yesterday. I’ll write her once a month. I don’t want to call her collect at $1.95 a minute. Tom talked to her twice and told her he’d relay anything to me for her.

I was so fucking pissed/frustrated Monday when I didn’t get my commissary, true to my vibes because their computers were still down. Tom put money in for me at another jail so it could get credited to me that way, but it didn’t go through fast enough. Now I have to scrounge for paper another week, although I could use the backs of tank orders if I had to. I also have to suffer another week with dry skin, no conditioner, and no treats. And all because they fucked up.