From Dragonfly: RummiKub

As a child, my family would gather at my grandparents home every Friday night. The menu was always chicken, and the conversation was usually around the family business (which no longer exists). My sister and I were the only grandchildren; my mom's brother and sister neither married until they were over 40 and never had any children. I was the "baby" growing up, which really got old by the time I was older and they still called me the "baby." It was always my family to dinner, and my uncle and aunt if they were around. My aunt was a traveler and my favorite days was when she was sharing her stories, that had nothing to do with the family business. Otherwise, I was mostly bored, as my sister never wanted to play with me, and there were no kids my age in the neighborhood.

For fun, I'd sometimes kick a tennis ball around a paved circle in the back, trying hard not to land the ball on the grass. It was a game my uncle had developed and once he and my sister were no longer interested in playing it, I would still go out back and kick the ball around the half mile or so circle. Sometimes I would find myself in the spare room, playing "war" or something with the marble chess set, or putting dimes in their antique slot machine (yes, my gambling started at a very young age, but the most we'd win on that slot machine was about 10 dimes...).

Once in a while, my grandma would go to the closet and out would come the game RummiKub. She had a set where the top slid off and the tiles were the same size as Mahjong's tiles, and the numbers and colors were perfect to read. My mom, sister, grandma and I would sit around the dinner table and play. The game says 8-adult, but I am pretty sure I started playing well before 8 years old. We'd play the game for hours, stopping only for dessert, which consisted usually of pound cake or homemade Mandel bread, and perhaps some ice cream.

My Friday nights growing up were fairly boring, except in those instances where I was included in a game. Nevertheless, I still looked forward to them. I loved being able to listen in on adult conversations and loved being around my grandparents. Being there every Friday night, I was able to get very close to my maternal grandparents and we always had a close bond. It never occurred to me that we were there on Friday night as part of the Jewish Sabbath, as we did not light candles, except on major holidays, or if candles were on the table, my grandma would light them without much fanfare. It was just our Friday night ritual, and something that my family always did.

Well, we actually stopped going to my grandparents just before I turned to a teen. Life had taken over by then. My sister was in high school and had "plans," my parents were fighting, my grandparents traveled a lot more and spent some of the year in the south, my aunt lived too far away to make the travel too often, and somehow, Friday nights just became like any other day of the week. I've always been fond of that ritual of a family night, though, although I have failed to replicate it in any way as an adult. Now, I live too far from my parents for a weekly gathering and we are all too social for a regular night indoors together. It's too bad.

What brings all this up is the game RummiKub. Looking through the list of games at indoor rec yesterday, I saw the game on the list and asked for it. Someone had out the newer box of the game, so Lola and I were given the older box. The tiles barely had their numbers or colors and we had to really squint to figure out if it was supposed to be a "blue two" or a "black" one. Numbers were often written over in pencil. This was definitely not my grandmother's set. There was no sliding of the top, it was a game in a cardboard square box and everything inside was plastic. We played it anyway, and the game came back to me as if I had just played it yesterday. Of course, a copy of the rules didn't hurt when I had the questions, "do I need to put two of my own tiles down if I take that joker??" Answer, "yep." So I taught Lola the game and we enjoyed a round before it was time to head back to our units.

Earlier today, we headed back to indoor rec (it's raining outside and a Saturday), and played again. I'd forgotten how much logic was needed to "manipulate" the tiles on the table and how much fun it was when you successfully did so and got rid of tiles in your tray. Luckily, the newer box of the game was available, and although still plastic, the pieces could easily be read for color and number. We played four rounds of the game.

It's nice that a game could get me to think back to some happy thoughts of my childhood. I miss my grandpa, who passed away about 14 years ago, and my grandma now lives in a home to help her for her advanced Alzheimer's. She wouldn't even recognize me anymore. Always the actress, though, she'd fake know me to my face and ask someone behind my back who I am.  She would have no memory of playing RummiKub or our Friday nights, but the next time I see her, I'm going to tell her about how much I liked that we did that when I was young. Even if she can't remember, she'll enjoy the story and smile, and perhaps cry (as she does a lot these days), while I tell her a good story.

From Dragonfly: Missing Planes and Exploding Buildings

It's really hard to even connect with what is going on in the rest of the world. Even as I read my daily USA Today (thanks to many incredible friends), I read disconnected from the stories. If I were home, I would have had CNN on for hours during the story of the missing plane from Malaysia or the two buildings that exploded in NYC. I would have been fearful, like many people are - was the explosion or the is the plane another terrorist attack? Here, I read the articles and I just share the news like it's no big deal, "did you know that a plane is missing and it really veered off course and people had fraudulent passports and there were over 250 people on the plane..." without any emotion.

Yesterday, a group of us were talking about Princess Dianna. We were saying how we were tied to the television all night, unable to sleep, how we cried during her funeral. Someone was saying that Prince William's wife reminds them of Dianna. We shared stories connected with Princess Dianna and/or the night of her death. It was real connection with the news.

If something major happens within the world while we are here, we are not able to connect with it in the same way. A Tsunami kills thousands, war in the Ukraine, the winter weather that never ends... What stories capture us? Thousands of state felons walking free because of states not paying for extradition - everyone asked to look at my papers to read the articles related to that story. Inmates are able to connect with a story that, on the outside of here, would send most readers in an outrage to their states to increase funds for extradition. Here, inmates read the story with interest... Does this mean I won't be extradited back to my state after my time here? Many have outstanding warrants... I try to explain that once someone is in the federal system, everything changes - state writs happen, extradition happens. We believe Danbury is somewhere in a Pennsylvania prison due to her extradition there immediately upon exiting Carswell. Pennsylvania paid for the extradition, yet in the USA Today story, Pennsylvania has the lowest percentage of extradition than other states. To me, the story is as scary as it probably is on the outside. I certainly don't want people who have warrants for violent crimes to be walking free.

Although, it did make me wonder if that's why state charges were never filed against me, as I had moved from where I was living, back to the Midwest, to get my life together and go into recovery; moving back in with my mom and step-dad at 35 years of age. I was not running away from the other state. I literally had nowhere else to go. I did not hide. I forwarded my mail, paid my taxes, and was easily findable. I was constantly believing police may show up one day and arrest me. I didn't realize that living in a different state may be why that never occurred. Perhaps, that is why I am now in a federal prison - feds have a longer statute of limitations and don't have to worry about extradition - there are marshals all over the country! They skewed the facts enough to get me on wire fraud, a far cry from what my money crime was really about. Had I been accused in state court, the facts would have garnered me an embezzlement charge, most likely, which connects with my actions as I was falling deeper and deeper into my addiction, unable to think rationally, and instead, truly believing I was 'helping' the organization. When I received the "wire fraud" charge by the feds, I literally had to look up what it meant - for me it was withdrawing funds from an ATM out of state - which allowed them to connect all my activities to that single act of withdrawal. Doesn't really matter to me, because my acts were wrong and I have bared the reality of losing several careers, friends, family, and my freedom because of it. I will forever be a felon.

So, stories about crimes and criminals may garner my interest for the years to come. I know the people in prison, now. I know our stories. I know how the article in USA Today read, making it sound like we are running away from being arrested, when so many of us are just trying to get things right.

From Dragonfly: Locker Organizers

I've written a bit about our tiny lockers and, also, about how I've made locker organizers. These are an important investment during your prison time. Most are made using the plastic canvas. What is done is that the canvas fits perfectly on the doors of the locker (as long as you cut out enough room for the locking piece if you are putting it on the right side). On top of the plastic canvas, we make small, medium, large, horizontal, vertical, etc pockets using more plastic canvas. Everything is held together using yarn. Some are quite boring, with no design, just pockets on a blank canvas. Some are very colorful and full of design. I have one of each - one was given to me early in my stay and the second, nicer one, was the first one I made. It has my name at the top, the entire thing is white and red yarns. I even crocheted the bra (the piece that goes around the top of the locker so it stays put. My best organizer is the one I made Lola - it's like the grand-daddy of all locker organizers. Every pocket has a unique design, as does the background. It is all in red, brown, and ayren yarn. There are roses and swirls, and even Lola's initial on a pocket. It took me weeks to complete. A simple one can be completed in a day or a weekend.

I've been even more creative with locker organization. I made myself a "soda tray" for all the cans of beverages I buy. They were constantly falling out of my locker, but the tray stops that from happening. I also have a three pocket divider on the bottom of my open side to the locker - where I keep my mail, cleaning supplies/hygiene, and socks/underwear/bras. Many people crochet a door organizer with three crocheted pockets for their socks/undies/bras, but I like have more pockets for my other needs - like batteries, pens, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair ties, medications, mailing labels, commissary receipts, hobby craft permission reports, miscellaneous items, etc. That's what the door organizers are good for - organizing the little things. I built one for a friend that even has a place for her mirror that she can slide in and out of.

In addition to the above items, today I built a shelving unit with two shelves and a top flat surface. It hangs in the open side of the locker by connecting two hangers. Now, I can see everything in my open side of the locker, instead of just stacking everything on top of each other. The shelves currently hold my hobby craft - yarns, embroidery stings, and current projects. Now, I can see my organized books at the bottom and also the three dividers that I had mentioned above. I never considered myself an engineer, but I really like making functional items out of the plastic canvas. I have pride when I see it work. I've made several things that I call "proto-types," like an mp3 player cover for Lola, a bookmark that holds reading glasses for Nurse, and a couple of failures. It comes with the territory.

So, I'm doing my best to stay organized and am constantly a work in progress. I guess I'm a hoarder... at least now I know how to build something to help ease the mess.

From Dragonfly: The Pigeon

I guess it's my week of pigeon stories, because I have another one to tell. Two days ago, I was looking out my window and saw a pigeon on the small landing just outside the glass. It's eyes were closed and it seemed to be sleeping. I'd never been this close to examining a pigeon before, so I was looking at all the different colored feathers, the whiteness that was his eyelids, and the way his beak was shaped and colored. When I started to look at his legs, I realized he only had one leg. I looked all through it's body, perhaps it's leg was folded up like a flamingo, but it wasn't. This was truly a one-legged pigeon. I decided at that moment to name the pigeon "Carswell," because we have so many one-limbed individuals here. The pigeon certainly belongs among these people.

I told others about the pigeon, even showed my roommates. They said that they'd seen it hopping around with all the other pigeons on the yard. I wondered how it fared for its share of food or if it was treated like an outsider - "survival of the fittest," as you might say. But this bird looked quite healthy. It opened its eyes to me quite a few times, just stared at me as I was staring at him. What was he thinking of me? Did the pony tail on my head remind him of feathers? Did my eyeglasses seem odd? I don't know what goes on in the brain of a pigeon, but it tilted it's head, while looking at me, and then puffed up it's body, closed it's eyes, and went back to sleep. It was safe, on the other side of the glass and bars. Later, it flew away, its ability to fly not appearing affected by its failure to have a second leg. He was soaring.

If I ever see Carswell on the yard, I may just find a crumb to provide to him. I do not think he's the bird that flew directly into my face; something tells me that Carswell may be able to make up in flight, what he lacks in ability to walk. That's the way animals are - if we lose our ability to see, our hearing gets more distinct.

I suppose a bird with one leg, especially a pigeon, is not the most exciting thing. Anything different, here, is interesting and rare. Every time I enter a new office, or meet a new staff member, I am curious. I look all around, taking in their office decor and choice of what they bring to work. I study their demeanor and their clothing and how they carry themselves. Are they a secure person, or do I sense some vulnerability? Why do they choose to work in this environment? Are they here to help or just receive a paycheck? For many, the answer is probably both... they probably thought they could help when they first started, but in time were warn down by the craziness of everything, always having to be aware of everything and everyone, and got tired of trying too hard. They can't want people to change more than the people want to change. Too many bad apples, perhaps.

I guess I experienced a bit of that myself, based on my first two room assignments. I was in rooms where fights broke out all the time. People constantly hollered at one another and blamed each other for everything. I didn't know it could be any different. But, my room now, is totally different. I chose not to fight the second floor room, because I really like my room and especially my roommates. Three of four of us are the exact same age, born in the same year. I'm the slight oldest. The forth is quite a bit younger, so we guide her at times. The three of us are all getting out in less than 4 months (one just 3 weeks), so we are trying to just bide our time, not doing anything that would catch the eye of staff, in order to not get in trouble. We go to sleep at a reasonable time, and wake up early. We talk about the news in the paper, life on the outside, men, women, sex, books, magazine articles, and gossip. I was told they were "warned" about me - told not to "tell" me too much, because I was not to be trusted. I think they see that the gossip is made-up B.S. and we are all friendly and share. It took over 6 months, but I really like my room, my view, and my roommates. I'm even catching on to a little bit of Spanish.

I suppose in some ways, I am that pigeon. I'm a little slower when I walk (well, a lot slower), and I'm weaker than most the others around me. In the outside world, I will have to always fight against the word felon. I will just have to work more for my goals. Carswell and I may have to try a little harder to get what we want, but our perseverance will help us soar.

Emergency Lockdown

The following was mailed from Dragonfly to Survivor on 3-14-2014.

Survivor,

I’m lying on my bed, with all my roommates doing the same, at 3:30pm. We were just told to stand for emergency count. We had full inmate recall at 2pm and they did a staff recall at 2:30pm. I’ve never heard them do a staff recall. Looking out my window, there are several emergency vehicles, staff in hazmat robes, and several inmates being looked after under the outside pavilion. Word is that the mail room opened an envelope that has powder in it. In a place like this, I would think it’s much more likely to be drugs, than anthrax, but we are on lockdown. I say, “word is,” because I never believe anything unless I hear it from staff. Never the less, people in place like this are so immature, faking medical concerns, just to get laughs. This place makes me think of junior high more and more. I hope they don’t just keep us in the dark to make up stories. I pray they will tell us the truth about what’s happening. There is a possibility that we could be on lockdown for hours, or even days. Not sure what to expect. I’ve only experienced being on lockdown for hours, except for when the ice storm hit, but we still ate and did email in the main building. The medical staff are here now, doing a second count, which I’ve never seen before, either. Okay, now we’ve been counted 6x, a normal count is just 2x, something is really different.

The inmates that were being held and medically checked under the pavilion were just escorted back into the main building. One, a friend of mine, who is currently in a wheelchair, lives in my unit. Only reasons they’d be going that way would be to go to the clinic, or even, isolation. With all the rumors, anything is possible. I pray this is just a “scare” and not anything real. Don’t’ worry, I was not near the area of the main building where this supposedly happened today.

Another recount, really?!? This is the reality of prison, just do what you are being told to do, don’t ask why…. same count on my floor. We are told to stay in our rooms, but people just go off to the bathroom without permission. Come on, it’s an emergency. I just saw an officer run into the high-rise with an oxygen mask, not my unit. It has truly been the oddest week, since I stopped working.

When they called this recall, I was in the clinic, waiting for my Embryl injection. At first they told us to go, but then they rushed us through. The nurse put the alcohol pad on my stomach to clean the area, but then put the needle in at a different spot. I guess that’s better than one of the nurses, here, who uses the alcohol pad to clean the skin surface AFTER pricking me with the needle. Umm, Duh!

Oh, the inmates that were being held were just brought back to their units, yay! I’ll be able to get the scoop from someone now/soon, I hope. I’ll keep writing this until I know the story, I’m sure you’re curious now.

Most the medical staff have left, but they just announced for us to stand up for another count, really?!? Inmates are yelling, “stop counting.” Like they think that’ll do any good except piss off staff. The first couple counts everyone was so quiet, but now they are jabbering with roommates and some aren’t even standing (yet).

Now we are being told to just stay in our rooms. People can go one at a time to use the restroom, that doesn’t work so well at a place like this. Good thing I don’t have to go. People are disoriented, “I need to pick up my meds at the pharmacy,” “what about dinner?” “can we do our laundry?” People are unable to just accept that for right now (it’s 4:15pm now) we are in our rooms. My roommates are quiet and on their bunks, this is why I like my new room! Someone asked if we can know what’s going on but silence on that topic so far. Oh, they turned off our phones at the recall, so we couldn’t call out, email was on, but of course it’s monitored and takes hours to be processed before it gets to our recipient. I’ve also never seen them turn off phones during a recall before. Well, I’m well stocked in my room, so no matter what, I’ll be fine. I’ve got food, beverages, craft projects, books and plenty of people to write. I finally picked up a pen and paper earlier this week to start writing folks back, I’ve been so bad lately at writing. A friend had sent me some extra stationary when she wrote, so I was able to keep some of the letters concise, like to G.A. members. I barely know on who just signed a card.

One of my roommates, the young longwinded one, decided to make herself something to eat, pig skins with hot water, Vienna sausages. Well, let me just say, it stinks! I’ve never had a pork skin, and I don’t anticipate ever trying it. She just asked what I’m writing. I told her my bff and that I could write you an entire notepad and never run out of things to say. A new officer just came by with a clipboard and our names, my roommate had started napping but she said she had to “see her face,” so we woke her. She checked off each of our names and moved on to the next room, is someone missing? Why so many counts? Are all the housing units going through the same thing? Perhaps I’ll get the story tomorrow or rather stories, as so many rumors are bound to persist.

My roommate says she ‘thinks’ she saw a news van leaving the premises. We are on a military base, the news couldn’t get here, that’s the kind of rumors that spread.

It’s 4:30pm and usually our insulin lines are released now and people also start heading (by unit) to dinner. If dinner happens tonight, which I’m sure it will, my unit will be eating super late. Of the 8 units, we are last because we failed inspection last week. I’m guessing dinner for us will be sometime between 7-8pm. Those that have to do the 2-hour pill-line wait will likely be out til after 10pm. This place is all about order, and when something goes wrong, the routine goes haywire, causing inmates to get restless and agitated, best thing for me is to stay in my room all night.

I’m currently reading “The Goldfinch” and it’s an excellent book, but 250 + pages in, I’m not even halfway through it, so that will keep me good company, and of course, there’s this letter to you.

People are allowed to do their laundry, it’ll be hours off schedule, but that is indicative of some normalcy coming back. Please keep this letter, I will probably want to give it to Hazel [here it is going on Hazel!] in the future! Of course, we have no idea how it will end.

Nearly 7 months next week. Each day an eternity, but not so bad looking back. Just 3 ½ months left at a maximum. I got a message back from the Warden today that he’ll check with medical, but ultimately my release is dependent on their paperwork, that should have been completed in December. Two of my roommates are in the exact same boat as are hundreds on this yard.  We are forced to max out because paperwork is not completed on time.

I was just thinking, if this happened in the mailroom, they may not provide us with any of our mail, we will never know who wrote, what was sent, etc. That would really suck! It’s 4:50pm now, still no word on anything. People are freely using the restrooms, although I don’t think anyone would dare risk a shower.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about school. I’m not prepared to give up on it, yet. I need to follow through and try to “reapply” and perhaps look at some additional programs to consider. 

Staff that was supposed to switch over an hour ago are still here, working alongside the folks who came on duty at 4pm. Once again, something that does not usually happen.

5:25pm. Still on lockdown. Ate some fake Doritos and read from my book. There are two officers outside talking with an inmate who is crying. No idea if it has anything to do with the emergency, but they are the only one’s out on the compound. Now there are 3 officers with her and she’s being walked into the main building. No idea why. New rumors flowing, but no real new news, everyone is still locked down.

Back from a restroom/gossip break. 5:40pm. Everyone hears about the white powder. Even if they have to treat it like anthrax, we think it was probably coke or something like it. Could the woman who was taken into the main building be the person it was addressed to, perhaps? Even those locked up for years say they’ve never heard a “staff recall” and/or had so many people doing counts. Lucky me for still being locked up so I can experience this, not!

Oh, “insulin line” officially called, they ‘may’ be reopening the compound, we still are not allowed to roam our unit (no “clear”), but it’s progress, nearly 4 hours since this “emergency” started. 

I need to decide if I’m going to dinner. Lola and I planned to meet up and eat together, but our units may not be called for hours. Plus, it’s enchilada casserole which is really disgusting, here. There are a few meals I like, but most are pretty gross.

“Clear!” we are finally allowed to roam our unit. I’m off to talk to [my friend] in a wheelchair, who most likely knows what happened! Stay tuned…

6pm, okay, here’s the story. A woman in the mail room opened a package and a white substance came out out and the worker immediately broke out on both of her arms. The ventilation system was turned off, everyone was watched to see if contamination occurred and someone was carted off to the main building, probably the “recipient” of said package.

We may never know what substance it is/was, but my friend who was getting her tooth pulled at the time, was there, held back for monitoring, and I know she spoke the truth. I’m glad she’s okay.

We did not receive our mail today, and something tells me we will never receive anything that arrived today. We receive no mail on Saturdays. Hope I had nothing important today, I still usually get mail every day.

Well, thanks for waiting out this ‘emergency’ with me. I’m glad we are no longer on lockdown. Crisis averted, I suppose. I’ll always wonder though, what was the white substance and what was the crying woman’s connection to it all… Unlike a CSI episode, this mystery may never be solved.

I love you!

Dragonfly J

From Dragonfly: Can't Fight the Feeling

I fret all the time that I am so powerless to get myself out of here. How is it possible that one piece of paperwork can hold up someone from gaining the access to their right for consideration for halfway house and/or home confinement? How is it possible that the responsibility for doing that paperwork for the number of inmates here all falls on one person? I know July isn't so far away, but one day longer than anyone could be on the other side of the fences is a day too much. I continue to think about how unfair it is for those of us who are minimum security to be in a secured environment, simply because we have a chronic health issue. For example, those on a blood thinner cannot be anywhere but here. In the outside world, being on Cumadin (sp?) wouldn't stop their lives at all. Once in the BOP, though, they are sent to a medical facility, and for women that means a high security facility, merely for the fact of being on that medication. For me, the fact that I am on methotrexate and enbryl puts me here. For my friend, her being on prednisone puts her here. We have autoimmune conditions, and therefore, are labeled chronic health, and cannot be anything but a care level 3 or 4. If we were men, we'd be a federal minimum security medical center. Being women, there is no such thing. So, for months, I am here, living in an environment set up for lifetime criminals and the violent, for the mere fact of my medical designation. I've seen a doctor 2x and a rheumatologist 1x. Any facility could have done similar. My friend, Lola, is here for rheumatoid arthritis; she was transferred here from a camp much closer to her home and husband, because she needed medical evaluation. She arrive last October and was just told that her rheumatology consult will be this October. She will wait a full year for that evaluation, having to live in this secured environment so far from home. Freckles broke her neck a couple years ago - almost 3. She was, also, put here for evaluation. She is in RDAP, which is good, but she could have done that at a camp. She received some physical therapy, which they offer at the camps, and nothing more for her care. It is healed well and other than stretching, there's not a lot anyone can do for a past broken neck. Here she is, far from her husband, for the mere fact of a medical condition. If she were at a camp, she'd be only a couple hours away from him and he could see her regularly. When Lola was at her camp, her husband and kids frequently visited. Now, she will receive a visit every six months, if possible, from her husband, who will have to spend hundreds of $$ to fly here and stay for the weekend. This is just like Sporty, who will be traveling here one more time, in a week and a half, to come and see me. If I were placed closer to home, I'd have my family and friends able to visit frequently and I would be in a non-secure environment. I am minimum security. I'm just saying there is someone wrong with this system - the system for women with medical issues - we are forced far from home in an environment where we are forced to see/hear things that scare us.

Just two days ago, a newbie arrived. I was showing her around the unit and introduced her to Mama and others. I asked the newbie how many months she had. She has 300... 25 years. Everyone at the table was crying. The newbie is in her 40's and has a pace maker. That is why she was placed here. None of us could imagine 25 years, 300 months, of being here. She is here for a drug related crime. I told her that the new laws should help her cut that time. There are sentence reduction acts currently in congress for those who receive outlandish minimum sentences for drug related crimes. I pray the newbie is able to take advantage of those laws if/when they officially are passed, otherwise, she will walk out of here in her 60's, having spent 20+ years (with good time) locked up among murderers, sex offenders, bank robbers, fighters, screamers, and the rare minimum security person who spends most of their time reading in their room, for fear of what's outside.

From Dragonfly: Counting

I don't know the value of counting my days left. I do not exactly know how many I have... I have less than 70 if I get out on home confinement, about 115 if I go home on my out date... and any date if they ever get my exit paperwork completed and send it off to my region for halfway house/home confinement placement. I went to the supervisor of the woman who is supposed to complete my paperwork yesterday. He stands at Main Line (which is a line of people in the chow hall during lunch). So, we can uncomfortably, in front of all the inmates and other lead staff members, ask personal questions, before/after eating. It's an odd thing to me, but at least it provides access to people. Anyway, I walked up to him and told him that my case worker informed me that I will be maxing out my time because my paperwork has not been completed (although, it's been requested for months). He said to me, "I don't think that will happen." He took down my name and said he would look into it; ignoring the fact that over a month ago I asked him something quite the same and he just sent me to the staff member who has not done it yet. Ugh.

Another sort of "counting" I do is with my commissary. As people here say, "commissary is necessary...," and it really is. I didn't shop last week, so I have my full $160 to spend (if I wanted to and had the funds) this week. It resets on the 15th. The other day, we learned that commissary will be closed next week, so it's called 'double-up week' and things like soda and chips can be bought at 2x the limit. I never reach the limit on anything, but for some people, ensuring they have 14 coca-colas for the next two weeks or 28 (for that matter), is quite important. I spent $81.80 on my commissary... here's how it all adds up:
2 6 packs of Sprite - $6.60
2 cans apple juice - $1.60
1 bag cereal - $3.90
1 bag potato chips - $1.60 (ripples, like ruffles)
2 7" plastic canvas for my craft projects - $1.60
1 bag tortilla nacho chips - $2.30 (like Doritos)
1 book of stamps - $9.20 (flowers this time)
2 pair socks - $7.00 (the heavier ones that I hadn't bought before, but my feet are cold at night)
2 packages of pepperoni - $4.60
1 can of v-8 juice - $1.20
1 bounce dryer sheets - $2.85
1 snack - $1.80
1 pringles - $2.65
1 aloe vera gel - $1.50
1 mayonnaise - $3.95
1 deodorant - $2.45
2 sausage sticks (snacks) - $3.30
1 pop-tart - $1.60
2 packets of tuna - $2.60
1 packet of chicken breast - $2.95
1 deck of cards - $1.65 (for playing cards with Lola on the compound - King's Corner mostly)
Couple m&m packs - $3.40
1 Yellow Highlighter - $1.05
1 Summer Sausage - $2.10
1 box of allergy tablets - $1.80
1 packet of white rice - $1.30
4 packets of ranch dressing - $2.00
1 package of AAA batteries - $1.80

If I wanted to, but I didn't, I would still have $89.20 for the shopping, but I certainly did not need it. Based on the above purchases, I will make myself about 8 lunches and 6 dinners. I will bring cereal with me to breakfast about 5x. I will have a snack for almost everyday. I will have one can of beverage every day. I will be able to put in the m&m's for a cheesecake we are making for someone (although, I may eat one pack myself). I will write 20 letters. I will have batteries for the radio of Lola's I am borrowing. I can play cards not only at inside rec, but anywhere on the compound (no gambling games, of course!!!). I will also have enough plastic canvas to make the organizer I have been building in my head... I needed 5 peices and now I have enough. It is a lot of counting, a lot of items, but it will get me through the 2 weeks and, likely, last me longer. I hate going to commissary every week, so I'm cool with it closed next week. The process is annoying.

I wish my counting could be that I would not have to go to commissary again, because I am going home soon, but, unfortunately, I believe that is not the case. I will likely be doing 2-4 more shopping days over my remaining time here.

From Dragonfly: If I Were Free

If I were free
I'd wear stripes with polka dots
walking down the street
not caring what anyone thought

If I were free
I'd choose a different pair of shoes
to wear every single day of the week
Only repeating them if they are comfortable

If I were free
I'd take my dog on a longer walk
than I'd ever done before
even letting her pull the leash

If I were free
I'd spend the entire day in bed
never having to stand count
or having a flashlight sweep my eyes

If I were free
I'd use double-ply - no - triple-ply toilet paper
with aloe added for extra softness
squeezing to make it fit the holder

If I were free
I'd eat a banana every day
and enjoy all my fresh vegetables
dipping them in anything I choose

If I were free
I'd learn to make a new recipe every week
trying to make it look as pretty as the pictures
and giving some to those less fortunate

If I were free
I'd value every dollar in my pocket
knowing that having it means I'm rich
to someone else in this world

If I were free
I'd turn off my electronics
for at least one hour everyday
and value the quiet in my mind

If I were free
I'd tell everyone I love them
every time we part
knowing what true friendship is

If I were free
I'd remember who still not
working hard to help make changes
so that more can experience freedom

If I were free
I'd know what a real vacation means
not just taking pictures of the sights
but taking in their beauty for memories in my mind

If I were free
I'd learn something new everyday
gaining knowledge and skills
knowing that I'll never be done

If I were free
I'd ride my scooter on an open road
feeling the wind and the fresh air
soaring toward nothing and everything

If I were free
If, only, I were free

From Dragonfly: Respect

I don't know if it was out of respect or spite, but when I looked on the "change sheet" sheet tonight, my name was listed and I am now officially unassigned (without a job). I realize that it means they did something different than I was told had to happen (me find a new job, wait for the job committee, etc.), but I really appreciate it. It means that I can release just a little bit of stress from my life. I don't want to be bored, though, so I did send out 9 cop-outs to different departments to see if any desk/office type jobs are available. By the time I hear back, though, I could be at the camp (if that ever happens) or home (here's praying for that). I sent a new message to the Warden yesterday to talk about the exit summary. I think it was pretty clear, asking him for assistance in having my paperwork completed, so that I will not have to max out my time. I don't know what will happen, but if I don't ask, nothing will.

I already have a friend, Taz, telling me that we will spend the day tomorrow writing. I want to start sending letters again. So, I know I won't be too bored... maybe by Wednesday. Freckles has promised to help tutor me, and ensure I am GRE ready. So, the tutor will become the student, perhaps for a while.

I will really miss teaching and the students (although several plan to have me tutor them in the unit). I will miss several staff people, as well as most of the other tutors. There are always drawbacks to moving forward. I do feel like this is a step forward, even though it means I am looking for a new job.

Perhaps, this is the sign of the bird bashing my face early this morning. Perhaps, that is a sign of good luck after all... you never know!?!?!?

From Dragonfly: Good Luck or Bad Luck

I've always heard that it is good luck when a bird poops on you. I don't know how that is good luck, as you now have poop somewhere on you. It's happened to me twice - once on my shoulder and once in my hair - yuck! I don't particularly remember anything great happening at that time - but I did likely go to the casino and try my luck. I actually don't believe in superstition so much. What I do believe in is that if we believe the worst, we will make the worst happen. So, I try not to go there in my head.

Anyway, I'm not sure how the superstition goes for this, but instead of being pooped on, a pigeon just literally flew into my head. I guess he/she didn't get a quick enough start or wasn't flying up at enough of an angle, but it flew directly to my head on the right side, while I was outside talking with Freckles, Chi, and Appeal. They all laughed. I laughed. But, I kept thinking, did a bird "really?!?!?" just fly into my head??? I can still feel it slightly. It didn't leave a mark. I wonder if it was as scared at the sudden "bam" as it was trying to follow it's flock up in the air. It didn't fall, it just turned slightly and flew off, seemingly unfazed. At least it didn't poop on me.

We have a lot of pigeons, here. A lot!!! We also have a tree so full of small birds, that it sounds like a jungle when you walk near it. There are all geese, probably by the water that the camp is near. The other night, I was mesmerized watching hundreds of geese fly overhead at sundown. I felt bad for the last one - he must be the ugly duckling - he was trying so hard to keep up, but just kept falling back. But he didn't give up, he was following the flock and following and following. I hope it wasn't an injury keeping him back. He was a good minute behind his flock when he finally flew out of view. I like to believe that he caught up. Why not? Some of us may be slower for one reason or another, but it doesn't mean we can't still get to the same destination. Plus, us slow pokes get to enjoy the view a little bit longer!

The whole weekend has been full of gossipers. There's tons of gossip around my coworkers who lost their jobs. I try to remind everyone that we can speculate all we want, but it's really not our business, we don't know who said what to whom, and gossip can cause people's lives here to be very difficult. I was at the end of a gossip chain not so long ago, and people still believe the lies being told about me. I'm just glad my coworkers are okay. They are still taking care of themselves, and who knows what will be next for them as things move forward. As we all know, things happen for a reason. We may not know the reason and the reason can actually have nothing particularly to do with us, maybe the person hired to replace one of them will be the reason. We just don't know. But, we can't let it stop us from making the best of it. Look at me, I resigned and then learned that I was not allowed to resign. I have no idea what will happen, how long I will be here, how long I will continue to work in my department, if I will go to the camp, if I will really be forced to max out my time. I did the one thing I could about that one, I wrote the warden to request he help get my exit paperwork completed. I'm out of options there.

It's Sunday, so I will spend the day doing my laundry (10:30am wash time), crocheting my throw blanket (some like it, some hate it because of all the different colored stripes), reading (enjoying "the gold finch" right now), and perhaps other stuff. Tonight, I will meet up with Lola. Her husband is in town and she enjoying a couple days with him in visitation, but it is also exhausting, since the room is not set up well. Prison has a huge strain on marriages, I pray that my friends are successful in maintaining theirs while they have to be in prison. Anyway, it will be a fine day, and I will get through it unfazed. I have just over 100 days until my official out date. I have somewhere around 15 Sundays left. I can do this.

From Dragonfly: Haters

I've always had haters; people who just couldn't stand me. I would cry and cry, not understanding why people could be so mean. I wasn't mean. I always wanted to be everyone's friends. Back in my junior high days, a bunch of people started in on me because they didn't like that I wanted to be everyone's friend. They wanted me to choose - was I their best friends or was I other people's best friends. It sucked. I cried. Everyone, back then, actually wanted to be my friend.

In high school, I was really into theater. One day, I was at school rehearsing my lines for the opening night of a show I was co-starring in. It was the biggest role I'd ever been given and I wanted to ensure I was prepared. I was sitting in a classroom that had been temporarily shifted into our dressing room. I sat at the back of the room on an old couch, behind a clothes rack full of our costumes. It was private that way and I could relax while studying.

Well, suddenly a group of the other teens I was in the play with, including my co-star, walked into the room talking. They did not know I was sitting there, they could not see me. I was about to say something, when I suddenly realized they were talking about ME. So, I listened. The teen who was my co-star was saying, "I just don't like her. I don't know what it is, but she just gets on my nerves..." I cried. Why? Why was I so unlikable? Being that this was when I was SOOOO broken, just starting the behaviors that would lead me to be addicted to something, I believed everything anyone thought of me. I was hated. It actually turned out okay, for me at least, because in the play ("Top Girls") I was supposed to despise her and the anger in the play was the best I'd ever shown on stage. She didn't know why I was so good that night, but she hugged me after we got our standing ovation. Did she like me now?

Yes, I always worried about what people thought of me. I was obsessed with it. My self-esteem was based on the reflection I got from the people around me. If someone told me I was cute, I must be cute. If someone told me I was ugly, I must be ugly. If someone told me I was stupid, I was stupid. I didn't have a clue that I needed to look within myself and discover who I was and what I was. I just wanted to be liked.

So, fast forward to my 40's now, and I'm about 6 years out of that mindset. Sure, it sucks to be hated, but I know the hating has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the hater. I, also, don't care if everyone likes me. To be honest, I don't like everyone who crosses my path either. Just yesterday, I was trying to console with my friend, the one who believed she was going to the SHU, but is not, and someone walked up to see what was going on. When my friend was about to say something about me, this stranger to me said, "I don't like her" and walked off. I just blurted out, "well, that's fine, I've never, ever, spoken to you. I'm glad you are able to decide you don't like me." I brushed that "hater" off my shoulder and laughed. People are so closed-minded. They believe everything they hear by someone else. Haters LOVE to get other people to also hate.

I really don't care why people choose to not like me. People hear rumors and believe them to be true. People want to feel better about themselves, by putting other people down. People are jealous for whatever stupid reason. People just don't "get you" some of the time. It happens. I happen to like a lot of people that others do not. I get to know them for real. I get to see the person they are. I don't just judge them for their faults - we all have faults - but for the person they are or aspire to be. Some people have never understood that about me, why I'd stick by someone's side after they've done something that I should judge them negatively for... but look at my life. Do I want to be judged for my mistakes? Should I be friendless because I am now a felon or I've been dropped out of my PhD program or because I am not the best actress (even though I really wanted to be), or because some people just don't get my sarcasm and think I'm being mean when that is not the intention, or because sometimes I talk before I think (bad habit), or because I can be moody every now and then (who isn't?), or because I say "yes" too easily and when I say "no," I still feel a twinge of guilt????? I guess there's a lot of reasons people can hate other people. Sometimes personalities just don't mesh. It happens. It's okay.

I've written it many times, "other people's opinions of me are none of my business." It's the absolute truth. As long as I am able to go about my life, knowing that I am a decent person, trying to make the best of the trials and tribulations handed to me during life, accepting my many mistakes, I can accept anyone else's hated opinion of me. If you hate me, you just don't "get" me. That's okay. Because, I am still the kind of person who attempts to be nice to everyone; not because I want everyone to like me, but because I believe we should treat people with respect. Treat others and we would like to be treated. Maybe the person has not seen a lot of kindness in their life. Maybe, just maybe, the kindness will help turn a bad day into a decent one for them. You never know. Haters will be haters, but I prefer to focus on the good - there's some good in everyone, you just have to be willing to take the time to develop your own opinions, rather than focus on everyone else's.

From Dragonfly: Still Working

So, I was informed this morning that I am not allowed to resign from my job. I need to have another job already lined up and the new employer and my current employer both have to sign off on the move. There are about 750 jobs here, most requiring able-bodied people, and there are 1,500 inmates. The few jobs I could do are taken. So, I am still a tutor. I spent the morning helping students read graphs, answer decimals questions, and tried to do a game, that actually failed miserably (oops!). It happens. I cried when I found out that I had to continue working in an environment where myself and my coworker can not speak to each other - except professionally - we always focus on our work. She does x, y, and z, and I do a, b, and c and we try to just stay away from one another. The students choose which of us they want to help them, and we go to the students, helping them, because that is our job. I love helping students. I wasn't ready to work this morning. I thought I was just "checking in" and leaving, but I stayed. I worked the full morning. I think my supervisor was as surprised that I had to stay working as I am. We make due the best we can. This system is what it is. I'll start looking, but I know it will be hard to find a position here. I always wanted to work in education. I love education.

Then, just now, a tutor comes up to me. She and another tutor were fired on the spot. They did something against the rules - not for me to talk about. But I am in shock. She is in shock. She says she is going to the SHU. I'm like, "what?!?!" She is so freaked out. I can do/say nothing.

If ever you felt powerless in your life, you have no idea how powerless we all are to our situations in prison. It does not work by the rules on the outside world. We cannot quit a job. We cannot make up our own rules. We have to just keep moving forward - one day at a time - and hope for the best.

One of the women about to go to the SHU actually gave me a quote this morning about my situation. It is about Hope and cannot be more pertinent to this day:

"Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out."  --- Vaclav Havel

That is really the truth. Today is not turning out the way I anticipated. However, now I get more time to work with students. I don't know if it will be a day, a week, or months. Here, anything is possible. But I still have hope. As I always say, Never give up hope... A moment this morning I will not forget. A student who has struggled so much with her math, taking an exit test and believing she will fail. She just kept asking me how many she could get wrong and still pass. I told her to breath, walk through the steps to solving work problems, and do her best. She gave me the test at the end, knowing full well she failed. She passed - 84%!! She fell over, literally. I could see tears. She didn't believe she could do it. She did. That is today's reward. I helped a student get one step closer to her GED.

From Dragonfly: I Am Not a Quitter

I really am not. I believe in perseverance, and pushing past road blocks. You've read me believing in that several times. Last night, though, I did submit my resignation. It was not easy to do. When I walked into the department, my supervisor was busy, so I waited. When she was available, I walked into her office, I told her that I was handing in my resignation. I waited for a question or something, but she just said, "okay, put it over there." And that was it. I asked her if she had any questions for me and she just said, "no." I walked out and my eyes were full of tears. I really liked my job.

However, it's been a long road to gain the self-respect I deserve. I used to allow myself to be taken advantage of or treated wrongly, saying, "I deserve this." I had a million reasons in my head for why I should be treated badly - the biggest being that I was secretly destroying myself through my addiction. I did not believe the respect I was ever given was deserved.

There is a much older woman, a Gam-Anon member, who now has more than 45 years as part of our program. She always ends her conversations with, "remember, you are a beautiful child of god, deserving of your love and respect." It took me a while to get past the pushing of religion to actually hear the message. She tells everyone that we deserve to be treated well and to treat ourselves well. It took me a couple years, but a couple years ago, I started to believe that. She was at my 5 year pinning, just before my imprisonment, and she walked up to me and said those words. I nodded. But then, I was a prisoner, and in prison, it is hard to accept that you should not be treated badly - not by staff, not by other inmates, and not by yourself. There is only one person you can look out for in prison - and it is yourself.

I am not innocent in the way things went down at my work. I let it happen. The first time I was spoken to with a voice that was condescending, I should have said what I was thinking, "don't talk to me that way." When I was accused of something I didn't do, I should have said, "you have that story all wrong, here's the truth." When my desk was suddenly taken over and my things were being misplaced and thrown out, I should have said, "stop." I didn't. I let it happen. I am still afraid of prisoners - of those who get angry and/or violent. Both push me back into my ball.

So, then, I needed to step back. I am a beautiful child of god, deserving of love and respect. I am a beautiful child of god, deserving of love and respect. And then, I look to the serenity prayer... courage to change the things I can. I am not going to throw someone else under the bus to gain the respect I know I deserve. I need to walk away from a volatile situation. That is the thing I can change. It's the only way to move forward and feel good with my actions.

So, for the next couple weeks, I still have to get dressed in my uniform - join all the employees, and check in at work. I have to do it until my name appears on the "change sheet" moving me from "education" to "unassigned." It could take days or weeks, so I have to be ready to just show up. After checking in, I will come back to my unit. I will find things to fill my time. I still have several novels to read and I want to study for the GRE that I still plan to retake once I am released.