I'm going to keep on editing and updating this post as the day occurs.
All central time
4:37am - It is the third time I'm waking for the night out of a bad dream. The stress must have taken on my subconscious. I had an allergic reaction to an odor last night and I'm still nasal and have a mild headache from the experience. I'm thinking about when to do the official message on Facebook that I'm going on "hiatus," whether I need to make contact with certain people one last time even though it's hard, if there's anyone I've forgotten to talk to or give my address to, and looking up a GA meeting in Dallas/Fort Worth to attend tomorrow.
5:00 am - I just learned that the Lone Star State does not have any GA meetings in Fort Worth, only a Spanish meeting in Dallas on Saturday night (where unfortunately I will only understand "hola"), and nothing in Dallas Sunday until later in the day when we will already be in Fort Worth area and preparing for my self surrender - including driving by the gates of Carswell once to ensure we know the route (lots of posts about getting lost).
8:30 am - As I sat and watched the trees and birds while laying on the couch, I could hear Cache's alarm go off in her bedroom. I decided that the smell of bacon is the best way to wake and I knew she wanted bacon this morning with breakfast. Only took 25 minutes for her to join me and start dj'ing my morning (she loves music and I enjoy her choices). She enjoyed the bacon as well.
11:00 am - I am in Traveler's car with her and Joy headed toward the airport. We are nearly 1 1/2-2 hours from the airport, so we have to plan early and we wanted to stop for lunch. I wanted them both to be with me. They are good friends, but don't know one another well. It's worked out great so far, they are talking a lot and I'm spending time taking in the nature outside, responding to phone messages, and seeing posts on my Facebook page in response to my "hiatus" announcement. Asked what kind of food I want, I said Thai. I love ethnic food and won't be getting it for a long, long time.
Saying goodbye to Cache was one of the ones I was not prepared for. That's about all I can say here about it, but I'm just glad "goodbye," is only in-person and not by all means of communication.
1:30 pm - I am at the airport. The Thai food we found was wonderful, but I was unable to eat much, Joy will enjoy my leftovers. I received a new email response to this blog that made me smile, so I shared it. I've heard from people in New York, California, Florida, Illinois, Texas, and beyond. It's humbling to say the least!
In May, 2008, I also rolled a single bag through the airport to a scary unknown. I was leaving where I'd been living for a decade and heading back to the Midwest, to heal from a hysterectomy and my life falling apart. I'd spent the night at a dingy, dirty motel the night before that stunk of cigarettes and I was scared to even catch a glimpse of what beneath the bed could look like. I was alone, broken, and only a miracle saved me from killing myself that night.
Today, two amazing women brought me to the airport, cried as they hugged me goodbye, and assured me that I was not a bad person and I was loved. Just moments prior, they'd offered to assist me while I'm incarcerated in a way I could never imagine a friend being. They are truly selfless and kind and all I could do was cry of the gratitude that I've been allowed this opportunity to have a community of beautiful people and support around me.
I had nothing and no one through addiction and I have the greatest of life's gifts through recovery - even at a time as difficult as today, as I face minutes until I board my flight toward prison.
For the last year, going through airport security has been an interesting experience. Since I am on enbryl - a biologic autoimmune medication requiring refrigeration - I travel with a special travel case with ice and fridge packs. The medication and the case cannot go through X-ray, so neither can I. Therefore, I'm an automatic pat down. I'm friendly about it, give myself enough time, and definitely do not give security a problem. Today, I had an incredibly kind guard who offered me a private room. I thought to myself, I'm getting pat down, over my clothing, by a woman I will never see again; whereas in two days I start receiving strip searches, naked, where I must squat and spread my lower cheeks in front of someone who will then see me nearly every day. So, I let her just do it. She was kind, informed me of her next area of pat down, and did not touch me anywhere inappropriate. Now to keep my medication cool until I reach my destination hotel later tonight.
2:45 pm - I was doing well. Kept to myself and waited for boarding. Group 3 was called and I made my way down the ramp and as I boarded the flight, I informed a flight attendant of my need to keep some medication cold. She took my seat number. Approaching my seat, three men, without my asking, took my bag and stowed it in the overhead for me (I am a mere 5' tall). Gentlemen. I watched out the window as a baggage guy on the Tarmac slowly took bags off his truck and placed them perfectly on their wheels one after the other. When he pulled off the last bag, he threw it at all the other bags and they all tumbled to their sides (STRIKE!). Hope there was nothing fragile in any of them. He then got into his truck and drove away. The bags sat there, on the Tarmac, no plane or person to posess them. I suppose that's how one gets lost luggage - a rare game of luggage bowling on the Tarmac.
Then it was time, we started pulling out of the terminal and I stared out my window and the tears became blinding. I touched the plastic window glass wishing I could feel today's perfect weather just one last time. I held memories of certain goodbyes and people. Those people who are my people. The person who is my person. I cried and stared at trees and runways and grass and numbers and clouds and the total lack of wind. The air is perfectly still today, something so rare here. A still day - a day that stands still. Yet, I am moving.
4:15 pm - We are starting our descent ahead of schedule. A nice man talked with me a bit about his three kids and their college choices. I mostly worked on my computer on a handbook I am trying to complete - my one last responsibility - as a summer fellowship project - before my incarceration. But after nearly an hour's work, my computer restarted on its own due to updates, I missed the warning because of window glare. I lost everything I'd written today except one sentence. Guess it was not meant to be. Candy Crush kept me company until now, but I've been on the same level for over a month, have hundreds of free turns because I don't play very often, and still can't beat the darn thing. Good distraction, I suppose.
I discovered a paperback book left in my seat pocket. I was hoping to pull it out and find some perfect book to go along with this moment of life. It appears it was not a symbolic book left for me, but could be an interesting read nonetheless - I sometimes like postapocalyptic novels - "Edenborn," by Nick Sagan. I will leave it for the next passenger. I can't take it in with me, so I do not want to start something if I can't finish it. Not everything is about me, after all.
7:15 pm - Survivor and I are finally at our hotel. Our map application sent us 50 minutes in the wrong direction. We passed downtown Dallas 3x and finally found our way to our hotel in North Dallas by the Galleria Mall. One thing I don't need to do is shop. I can't take it with me! Survivor does a good job of distracting me from reality, but my head can't help but want to go through all the paperwork and planning we must do. My other pea in my pod, sitting on her bed, reading and sharing with me. How would I have gotten through these final days without her?
11:30 pm - Can't believe I'm still awake. We remarkably selected a random Mexican restaurant that was wonderful and talked little about the upcoming reality I'm about to face. Survivor shared stories of her kids and grand kids, who I know and love to hear updates about. Survivor and I never run out of topics.
Then we made our way to a liquor store. Oh, get your head out of where it is going! They have western union. It was both of our first times ever filling out the western union form to deposit money into an inmate account. We, of course, started with the wrong form. Then the clerk told us that the BOP stopped allowing transfers - but he checked and they'd started again. Had it actually been on hold, and I'd not mailed money in earlier, I could've had to wait over a week for any commissary funds. It was especially odd putting my own inmate number and name on the "to" line. After much discussion and reading, I deposited $400 for the initial fund. It will be in my account by morning. Even though at the beginning there are many items to "stock up" on, we are still limited to the $290/month maximum (except for phone, email, and stamps). Survivor will send the rest of my deposits (lower amounts) through the Iowa p.o. box and ensure they arrive around the 7th of the month. My $290 limit will reset on the 10th of every month (the last digit of the first five in my inmate number multiplied by 3 and add 1. Mine is a 3. So (3x3)+1=10.
The liquor store was about a mile from our dinner restaurant and a random choice for western union. The irony of the place was the side room, with three sad looking electronic slot/poker machines and tired older men playing desperately trying to hit something. The western union slips were next to the side room and I couldn't help but think about the connection of how those machines were the initial imputus for my entry into casino gambling. Spinning reels of fruits at 21 years of age fast forwards to the initial support of my prison commissary account at 40 years of age.
Back at our hotel room, we went over all the folders of paperwork I brought. The drawback of not living in the same state anymore. Survivor will need to bring home paperwork for herself, Faith, Sporty, and my mom. I think Survivor has earnined her angel wings ten fold! We laughed that I may be the most organized person ever entering prison. Health records. Check. College transcripts. Check. Surrender letter. Check. Advocacy group for medical support on the outside. Check. Pretty much a check to everything, except for haircut. I haven't decided if I'm going to get one. I may just let it grow while incarcerated. I don't want to deal with the underground barter system if I can help it.
I did an enbryl injection, took my nightly medications, and spoke my incredible gratitude to Survivor.
It is 12:35am now. I've been awake 20 hours. I now have 33 1/2 hours and I must sleep much of them away. Thanks for being a part of this day and following this log.
