From Dragonfly: The Grinch

I've mentioned before that Carswell is overflowing with "Christmas" decor. Well, 1 south has officially gotten into the spirit. With the theme, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," there is decor in the unit from the tall ceilings to under the stairwells. The creativity is amazing and everyone seems to be joining in. We have a sled coming down the stairs with a Grinch on it, carrying presents to Whoville (just like the end of the book). There are "who people" all over the place, on walls, on columns, in doorways. They are by themselves, gathered with family, carrying who babies, all the people, just like the book. There are snowflakes hanging from up above - 3D paper snowflakes at that! There are two Christmas trees, a fake chimney with the Grinch coming down it and stealing all the Christmas presents from under one of the trees, and a cardboard one-room Who house - built to size. It says, "Merry Christmas" everywhere - including in letters written like the book - where some of them are backwards. Around the entries to about 90% of the inmate rooms, there is decor done by the rooms - stockings, paper cut to look like Christmas lights, signs, Christmas cards received in the mail, and at my door is a bunch of hanging ball ornaments with a fake mistletoe hanging in the middle (there is no encouraged kissing under the mistletoe, as that is against the rules). Sometime between today and Monday, our decor will be compared to all the other units, and the winning unit will eat first next week. Yes, we still have to be tidy, but this week our inspection is really about the decorations.

To be honest, I'd been not feeling too well, which was as good an excuse as any to not participate in all the decorating. But, part of me, was honestly annoyed that so much is being done for Christmas - as a place where the idea of "separation of church and state" should be strong (it is a federal institution). But, I have to admit, I was watching many of my friends get into the spirit and it was nice seeing people smiling, working well together, and the large unit come together.

One thing still bothered me, though. I was upset that there was no acknowledgement of "others" - those who may not celebrate anything or who celebrate other holidays. Everyone has a right to their own beliefs and religion. So, yesterday, I decided to join the creativity. I attached four pieces of paper - all different colors - into a large square. On it I wrote, "Whoville loves diversity," and then listed "Merry Christmas," "Happy Channukah," "Happy Solstice," "Happy Kwanzaa," and "Happy New Year." I also drew a "who person" to adorn the sign. It is not a large sign, and it is hanging outside my room, which is kind of in the back corner, but I felt better. It felt right to acknowledge that we can be in the spirit, too, but celebrate different things.

Yes, I am Jewish, but I always loved the story about the Grinch. I, also, have a picture from my childhood, where my grandma, my sister, and I are with Santa Clause. I'm not sure if we gave our "lists" for presents for Channukah to Santa. Knowing myself to be a smart-ass, I probably looked at Santa and said, "I'm Jewish," or something like that. Maybe not. Christmas is a season, although the religious part of it happens over a couple of days. If it is the season that brings some happiness to people, especially in prison, than I will not fight it. As of now, that is all the decor is. There is not a large cross or anything like that - it is like a cartoon land in our unit and it makes everyone overwhelmed and happy at the same time. Dr. Seuss can make people of all ages happy.

I must mention something more about the creativity. I have never in my life seen better drawing, better painting, better thinking (creatively), than I do in my unit. Yesterday, Curls, another person in my unit who is also a tutor and I were talking about how traditional education left so many people behind. I told her that looking at the creativity, many of these people were strong creatively, perhaps not academically. However, our traditional school system does not necessary help the creative thrive, they may just draw all over the binders, instead of doing their math. These are some of the people who could make an entire generation of art reach new people. Think about some of the graffiti you've seen - where people with spray cans can make an incredible picture without even outlining it first. Yes, it's graffiti, but don't lose sight of the art. I certainly could NOT do that. I could maybe draw stick people, and now, I am getting good at drawing a snail. That's about the extent of my talent (okay, I did draw snowmen, Santa, menorahs, and the like on some holiday cards I mailed out, but I am VERY limited on what I can draw decently).

Today, will be a half day of work. They are going to do inmate recall soon after lunch. We had received Christmas cookies and egg nog a couple weeks back, today, we officially get our present - a bag full of snack food. From my understanding, each of us will get some chips, candy, and items not traditionally sold by our commissary. They say that the bags get smaller year after year. That doesn't surprise me, as the number of inmates has increased year after year. People are already talking about what they will exchange, even though they don't know the exact contents. They are basing it on past years. I will stand in the line this afternoon, glad to receive my "gift," and having everyone say "Merry Christmas" to me. I will not be the Grinch.

From Dragonfly: Signs of Compassion

It is easy to walk around prison with a negative attitude, be selfish, and not notice the little things. However, I try to be an observer, and there are always people doing for others - to me, these are signs that these people still have compassion, the ability to care for another human being, even as they are put into the impossibility of living here. I want to share some of the things that bring a smile to my face.

I see young women who will walk up to a wheel chair of a total stranger and offer to push them across campus or just to the next room (it all counts). Yesterday, I saw an African American older woman fixing the hair of a Caucasian older woman sitting next to her in the clinic. She had made her hair into a fancy bun and kept doing it until it was perfect with a smile on her face the entire time. I see women show concern for people who faint, have a seizure, or have an emergency sending them to the medical unit. I see women cry when someone else dies, loses a limb, has a still born, attempts suicide, or loses a family member back home. Empathy and sympathy exists in prison. I don't see this behavior by the staff - as they have to keep a professional distance - but I see it from inmate to inmate to inmate to inmate.

There is compassion for the women who have to shave their heads because it is falling out from chemo and compassion for the women who suddenly have to be on oxygen or a walker after being well just before. I see compassion for students who fail their GED, cosmetology, or apprenticeship tests. I see people helping others who are here for so long, they haven't seen family in more than 10 years. They become their family and help take care of them. I'm sure the compassion I see here is entirely different from what one would find at a men's prison. Gender roles would forbid the "touch" or gentleness.

I wanted to write all that, because I wanted to start with something positive, as today is a tough day for me. I had a bad migraine last night and with no ability to be in darkness or quiet, it was a very long night. So today, I have the migraine hangover that comes when the migraine lessens. With my migraine medication, I would have been able to start getting better last night, but since that medication was denied to me, I just have to wait it out or, if it I am desperate, I can get some i.v. medication. I wasn't quite that desperate last night - although, I did consider it. When I have the migraine hangover, I am usually more sensitive than usual, and that is certainly true today. Every little thing is getting to me. Things people say, or names people call me. Throughout my life I've found myself the brunt of many jokes, the same is true in prison. I can be neurotic, I know this. So, today, a coworker is calling me "Garfield" and laughing and I know not to care, but I don't like it. I didn't sit with her and the others from education at lunch because I was feeling sensitive. After lunch, I walked to their table and apologized for not sitting with them. I told them I was being sensitive. As with recovery, we apologize when we are in the wrong - always cleaning up our side of the street - but when they didn't apologize back, I don't care - because they are the ones needing to clean up their side of the street. I am an easy target, always have been, and I need not care what anyone else thinks of me - it is about them, not me.

I also went to the clinic today (again) because I wanted to know for sure if I was being released to the camp. Anyone medical, such as myself, needs 413 release to be transferred out of the medical facility. Don't ask what that all means, because I am not specifically certain, but it has to do with medical clearance. Turns out, after another 2 1/2 hours waiting to see the right person (and they only do this 1 time per month), that I was never being sent to the camp. My case worker must have confused me with someone else. The paperwork would have needed to start at the clinic, and it did not. So, they are now seeing if it was even possible to move me - do to my medication "methotrexate." They did confirm, once again, that I can ONLY be transferred to the camp across the street - no other camp in the federal system can take female prisoners at a care level 3 and I cannot have my care level decreased because of my medications and condition. I guess I'm going to be in the medical facility a bit longer. I'll update if I hear anything else.

So, that made me even more frustrated. Weeks ago I was told that I am being transferred. There were a bunch of emotions (bad and good) connected with that prospect. Today I find out that it was all a mistake. My case worker is on vacation until mid-January (yes, that long), so I can't even go to her and ask her about the mistake. Guess I need to get comfortable for a while. Good thing is, some of my friends are glad to hear I'm not moving right away. They certainly are showing compassion for my situation, but they are glad I'll be here with them through the holidays. Guess I can hold onto that.

From Dragonfly: Sick Call

I have a recurring small health issue that I haven't had an issue with since I have been here for the past four months. The inner eye/edge of where the nose meets the eye gets red, inflamed, dry, scaly, itchy, and has slight pain. I don't worry about it, but when it first showed, just over a year ago, my doctor told me that I should always take care of it and prescribed me a gel-like steroid topical that is safe for eyes. I would goop it on mornings and nights, and the problem would mostly go away. In the year, I had three small flair ups of this slight irritation. Well, it started again about a week ago. Anyone who looked at me would ask what was wrong with my eye. I knew that it meant that I needed the steroid creme, but I dreaded the infamous sick call. I had made it four months at Carswell without having to go to sick-call and I was happy with that fact.

Sick call is only available Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Any inmate with any medical problem, who needs a prescription refill, or has a medical issue of any type has to start with sick-call. Our sick call is in the clinic on the second floor of the main building and serves the entire inmate population. First, we each need to fill out a document before arrival that states why we are going to sick-call. We need to bring that document with us. At 6am, we have to be walking to the clinic (as soon as the housing units open for breakfast). We cannot go to eat first, as we must sign in by a certain time or we lose out on sick-call for the day. So, at 6am, I walk into the clinic, my book and my filled out sheet of paper in hand, and sign my name on "group 3." We are put into one of four groups based on the last two digits of our first five digits in our inmate i.d. number. The PA's that see the sick-call inmates rotate every quarter, so most people do not have a medical professional that sees them regularly.

Anyway, I have a seat and read my book, waiting for my name to be called. About 6:15am, a nurse walks around in an order selected by her, and picks up all the sick-call sheets. The first time my name is called is at 6:30am. A line of us are called to the vitals room, where my blood pressure is taken. I thought they would weigh me too, but they said that it takes too much time to do blood pressure and weight. As usual, my blood pressure is low - but seems quite low on the second number - 110 over 52. No one says anything about it, so neither do I. I am told to go back out to the waiting room, and the blue uncomfortable benches, and wait to be called by my Physician's Assistant. From what I could tell, the P.A.'s started to call people in about 7:30 or 8am. By 8am, the clinic waiting room is packed. The wheelchair/walker area does not serve everyone...

(Okay - I'm finishing this a day later... as I was writing the above, Lola came in and told me that Freckles would eat the ice cream that Nurse had saved for me... so I needed to save and come back - which is now on the next day... I got 3 spoonfuls of real vanilla ice cream. It was wonderful.)

Back to the clinic waiting room: So there are wheelchairs and people stacked everywhere - going out into the hallway, some people are sitting on the floor, others leaning up against the receptionist's booth. You have to say, "excuse me" about 15 times to walk across the room. Since I was there for sick-call at 6am, I had found my bench space and never moved from it.

If you've ever "waited" to see a medical provider, which everyone has, you know that people get impatient. Well, by 10am, I had heard the PA that I had to wait to see call back maybe 3 people... there were at least 20 of us assigned to her and there seemed no order to her decision on whom to call next. It certainly wasn't by the order we arrived and signed in, nor was it by the order that they collected our sick-call sheets.

At 10:20, someone waiting to be seen had a massive seizure right in front of me. If she is not supposed to be in stressful situations, then not being able to sit for hours in the clinic waiting room would surely bring on the seizure. There's no way of knowing who "needs" to sit and who doesn't. The most able body people tend to take up the benches and care not if someone elderly or really ill is standing for hours. Luckily, most of the elderly have wheelchairs and walkers - not so much because they need the help walking, but because they can sit during the long waits at pill line, the chow hall, clinic, and just about everywhere else. The seizure lasted several minutes. Even with it occurring in the clinic, it took a bit for a medical professional to head over to her. Of course, they needed to make sure people stepped back, so the seizure could end. They did not stick anything in the mouth.

(... another break from this writing... Freckles came into the email room and we went to breakfast... it's 6:40, so the going "bananas" crowd had already eaten...)

Anyway, finally a stretcher was brought out and the woman seizing was taken into an observation room. A lot of seizures happen here. I see one - or hear about on - almost daily. Before coming here, I had only seen one in my life. A lot of the people having seizures are diabetic. The other day, a woman in my unit went into a diabetic coma. Hours later, she was right back in our unit on her top bunk. How can they put people with seizure issues on a top bunk??

At 11am, I am still sitting in sick-call, waiting. I'm getting hungry (I hadn't eaten dinner the night before or breakfast that day, so I'm feeling the emptiness). There is still no sign of getting called by my P.A. and we cannot ask when we will be seen. Our duty is just to sit and wait. It's been 5 hours. I look to my right, and a woman next to me is reading her book... not sure the title, but the chapter she is reading is called, "If it ain't one ting, it's another." I couldn't agree more!!! We hear that food service is open and several people ask for permission to go eat... not granted.

I am fortunate to have thought to bring my own book. It is called, "A House in the Sky" and tells the story of the more than 460 days Amanda Lindhout spent as a captive in Somalia. It is a memoir, co-written by a well published journalist, and it is a great book. I will not say that it's a happy book (but since we know it's a first-person memoir, it's always good to know that she somehow survives this experience). I highly recommend the book - especially for people who love to travel to new places and have that adventure bug in them. However, be prepared for some very depressing and frightening moments as you read through - as being a captive in a terrorist country can never be a good thing. I read more than 200 pages while I am sitting at the clinic.

At 11:20, with my stomach gurgling, I hear my name. Finally. I walk back with the PA, who tells me that based on what I wrote, she believes I have something (I couldn't understand). She did not give me a more than a quick look, and told me that she will order me what she can, but most things are not allowed or in the pharmacy. I tell her my history with this issue, although she doesn't ask. She asks nothing about my general health. When you go to sick-call, you can ONLY discuss one thing. If you have more than one thing to discuss, you have to go that many days... wait that many hours... to be seen.

She says she will try to order what I need. She goes into the computer, and then says, the DOP won't approve the medicine I've taken in the past. She says, "I don't know why... It's really cheap." Even the medical providers are in disbelief of the limits of DOP health care. So, she says she will try to find something and that I can go. I ask, "how will I know if you are able to order a medication?" She says, go to the pharmacy (another long line) and see if I was successful. Otherwise, come back for another sick-call and we'll see what I can do..." Really!?!?!?

Well, at 3:30pm, I went to the pharmacy line and they did have something for me. It's an eye drop and meant for the eyes, but it says from her, to place the drop "outside my eye." It's the best she could do. Instead of having the cream, I have something that will run down my face the minute it is applied. The cream stays in place and I would sleep with it. That is Carswell health care - we'll see if the eye drops (they do have steroids in them) help.

Around the same time as I was getting the medication, I heard tragic news. A woman in the unit next to me was found hanging, and unresponsive. Luckily, she was found in time and is breathing. That means that she has to go to suicide watch now. She will spend days naked, except for an apron, with someone watching her 24/7. For someone who was obviously depressed, having to be watched by a stranger while you are naked can't help. They say that this time of the year is hard for many people in prison. We are away from our loved ones at a time when we would normally be surrounded by them. I'm glad she survived, but afraid for what's next for her. Will she get the real help she needs? Will they just move her to the mental health floor, where she will be surrounded by people with severe mental impairments? I don't know.

I know this place is listed as a health care facility, but I fail to understand the concept of just keeping us alive, but not an attempt to help us actually thrive. Sick-call is just one example of a bureaucratic block to actually getting the health care we need. People avoid going, because they don't want to wait so long, they can't sit that long, or they don't trust what the medical providers will say. There are just too many stories of problems. Inmate.com wasn't wrong, though, that the sick-call experience should be avoided if at all possible.

From Dragonfly: Budgeting

This week is the "scholastic book fair" at Carswell. Inmates can shop books and goodies to send home to their families. Some inmates spend like $200... most can't afford much. It also happens to be the last commissary week before the new years, so people are needing to stock up. I am trying to live on a tighter budget, but it is hard. I spend almost the $70/month they allow us for our phone time. A lot of people have their loved ones have local numbers, that decreases the cost of phone calls significantly. Unfortunately, for me, every phone call is long distance. My average phone call is about $3.50. Then there's Trulinks - which I adore. Trulinks costs $0.05/minute. So, if I spend 30 minutes on the email system, it costs $1.50... that's about $45 per month! In commissary, I always purchase beverages - apple juice, cranberry juice, v8, and a 6-pack of sprite. I drink the juices in the morning and/or just after I am off work. The sprite is a special treat every so often. Those cost $3.30 for the 6-pack of soda, $80 for the juices, and $1.20 for each can of v8. It all adds up!

Then, there are the people who hustle for what they want, and those of us who purchase it. The hustlers work newbies (a lot) and those who want favors (such as laundry, ironing, hair braiding, etc.). When a newbie comes into prison, especially one that self surrenders, the hustlers start to be nice, show them around, and offer a friendly ear. What they are doing, for the most part, is trying to figure out if the person will be a gold mine. Will this person want 'favors?' Will this person buy me coffee or creamer? If I tell them that I haven't had money for a month, will they have their family deposit money into my account? This is how the hustlers think... and they are everywhere.

I had a couple roommates in the bus stop who were experienced hustlers. They'd be all nice and then go in for the, "Do you shop this week? Can you get me... I'll pay you back or do ______ for you." It's so common. I made myself clear immediately that my money is tight, and, for the most part, I haven't been hustled. But I say "for the most part," because, in fact, I have been hustled a couple times. My roommate, Bandana, wanted creamer and I got it for her. She promised me crackers in return... I waited 2 1/2 weeks for my crackers. I had to bug her constantly - but she's a true hustler. She wasn't going to get my crackers, someone else that owed her had to pay her the crackers so that she could give them to me. So, in fact, her payment was dependent on someone else's payment. Not cool. Recently, I bought a large mug, when I was given a cooler the next day, and I can only have one. My roommate, Braids, wanted to buy the large mug, but she never actually came through with what she's owed, so I took it back and gave it to a friend instead.

We all have to be careful of the hustlers, cause it can cause a big issue with our budgets. South was an automatic target. She is older and people immediately gravitated to her and called her, "grandma." They played nice and told her that they have her back. Then, they would say, "Grandma, do you have any cookies?" South would go to her locker and give them some cookies. They'd say, "Grandma, can you get me some ice cream?" She'd do it. She didn't realize she was being played until no one gave anything back. South and I have fed people many times, who then turn around and eat in front of us without giving us anything. I officially only feed a couple people, the ones who also make me lunch or dinner once in a while. No longer do I care if I bring out a sweet for South, that I need to bring one for everyone at the table. They can watch us eat our dessert - no more sharing. There's always the friendships that do share, though. Me, South, Nurse, Lola, and some others, we are sharers with each other. We make meals together and we always pay our debts. We can trust each other financially.

Budgeting is especially hard for those who ask others to do them lots of projects/favors. Some people will owe $10 for a painted mug, $5 for laundry services, $2 for ironing, $20 for personalized cards, $35 on a crocheted blanket (plus the cost of yarn), etc. Sometimes, people go to commissary and nothing they are purchasing is for them - they are all for debts. The worst thing is when someone asks you to pay a debt with something that is out - like my crackers were - as then it can take weeks to pay off a debt. The person will harass you until the debt is paid in full. These are people who out on the streets had other kinds of debts and the consequences of not paying your debt was severe. They don't play games.

It was interesting this morning over breakfast. I was talking with Lola and we were talking about how we make so much less money than people who are hustlers. Hustlers make $2.50 per load of laundry. They do each client's laundry 2x/week. With only 2 clients, they will make $10/week - $40/month. As you all know, I work every day, 7+ hours/day, and make about $15 per month. There's something wrong there. It is far more attractive to be a hustler for good money, than to work the traditional jobs. Just like the kinds of hustling they did on the streets - quick, fast, incredible amounts of money, for practically no real work (standing on a street corner and selling something illegal). It's really sad that the same behavior and mentality helps them be successful in prison. Additionally, these hustlers show no money on their books (they are counted as indigent), so they don't have their income count against their FRP payment calculation.

I'm glad I am not a hustler. I love my job and I am grateful that some money is put into my account every month. I do my own laundry, I am making my own cards/gifts. Budgeting is really hard in prison, but it's not going to be any easier walking out of prison without a job and income. I figure, no time like the present, to learn how to really live within my budget.

From Dragonfly: Vivid Colors

I will start by saying that the remainder of my visit with Sporty and T.S. went really well. We finished it with three more pictures, which I will cherish (this time with a white background and chairs). It is fun to watch the other inmates with their family members taking pictures. Sometimes, I never see these inmates smile, but there they are, hugging their children, grandchildren, spouses and/or parents and a smile as bright as the sun is on their face. We are not allowed to touch during the visit - except for a hug/kiss at the beginning and end, but we can hug in our photos, and that touch is so very important. It's a touch that sends a thousand "I love you's" into the heart of the inmate and their family members.

I have been wanting to write about tattoos. People in prison are from ALL walks of life, but one thing that could connect 90% of us is that we have tattoos. I happen to have two tattoos - one is on my left ankle and the second is in a more hidden spot on my body. Neither is large or flashy and neither would be considered "high art," but here, in prison, the art on people's body's is amazing. I'm not just talking about those who are young either. Even South, at 66 years of age, has a nice butterfly tattoo - and others older than her have tattoos. Somehow, tattoos became popular enough that it's crossed boundaries of lifestyle and age. Race does not matter with tattooing either. There are tattoos on people of every racial background here.

Some of the tattoos are incredible and have such vivid colors. There are some people who are highly tattooed, with their arms and legs covered (and I only imagine the rest of their bodies). There are some that have their spouses name tattooed on their ring finger, because they could not bring their lavish ring with them into prison. There are neck tattoos (a lot of them) that are sometimes scary and sometimes incredibly beautiful. One woman has the federal criminal code section that she violated tattooed on her neck. I don't ask questions such as "why?" There are people who get tattooed while in prison - using a needle and ink. So far, I've had two roommates who have been tattooed while I was their roommate. One got a huge star on her wrist, another got the name of her spouse on her ring finger. I am in disbelief that they would risk having dirty needles and unsafe environments for getting tattooed, but I have no idea what the places they were tattooed before being incarcerated were like to compare (I only went to tattoo parlors, but people do tattooing out of their homes and on the streets).  Also, getting tattooed in prison could land you in the SHU - no body alteration of any type is allowed (unless there is a medical reason - such as cutting off a limb or a shaved head due to chemo).

There are people who have tattooed their heads, tattooed their entire legs, tattooed their toes. There are tattoos on shoulders and tattoos on wrists. There are full hand tattoos and tattoos that take up entire torsos. It is so common to see, that I do not even notice the heavily tattooed any more - it is just a part of the experience of prison. Many, many have tattoos of their former gang affiliations. Even the C.O.'s tend to have tattoos. There are tattoos of flowers, tattoos of mermaids, tattoos of ladders and fish and naked bodies and names of loved ones. There are tattoos that say "mother" and tattoos that are ten colors. There are tattoos of Irish symbols and a lot of tattoos of stars. There are tattoos behind ears and some on the back of the neck (not sure why you'd never want to see your tattoo). There are tattoos of finger prints and shoe prints and hammers and nails. Tattoos of babies and tattoos of crosses and many tattoos of skulls. There are tattoos of birds and tattoos of dolphins. There are tattoos you would never imagine would be on a woman and some that you can only imagine on a woman. It seems to not matter what the tattoos are of - just having one connects you to everyone else who has been "inked." I suppose in this one way, I fit in, in prison.

There was talk before I came to prison - by my former advisor (I think I may have mentioned this before) - for me to get a tattoo of my university's symbol. She had told me - "I want you to get the tattoo, so you can always look down and see where you are coming back to." She and I joked about it a month later, when we learned that someone who had tried to burn down a building at my university would also be in Carswell - she said, "ummm, maybe that tattoo is not the best idea now." We laughed. In a way, though, she was serious. She was supporting me so much and knew of my deep love for my university, that an idea of tattooing it's symbol on my body was not out of the question.

Now, I am on a ton of meds and have a lot of medical issues, so actually going through with the tattoo was never going to happen. I dreamed about how it may look, though, perhaps with my word, "hope," somewhere added to the tattoo. I have not been tattooed since I was 21 years of age, but the consideration was there. If I had done that tattoo, I would have worn it proudly - even today, after everything - as I do not blame the entire university for the acts of some people within the school. They still taught me SOOOO much and I appreciate all the opportunities I was provided. For the first time in my life, I actually believed I belonged in an academic setting, earning the degree I was seeking. I still "hope" that the dream is still going to happen, but I have many dreams and I can let go if I must. Just not yet.

So, the woman in Carswell that has no tattoo is the one that feels left out here. One woman, who sits at my table a lot, told everyone that she believes I would not have a tattoo - she believed it of South as well. When we both corrected her, she felt like such a minority. What a weird way for people to "fit in."

From Dragonfly: Holiday Visitation

I am in the email room, having just left my strip search after my visit today with Sporty and T.S. It's best to leave the visit just a bit before the end of the time, because the line for the strip searches can be long. In fact, a brawl was about to happen between a couple people in wheel chairs about the order of the line. I kid you not. Luckily, the "cutters" rolled to the side and let the line go in the order we were originally waiting. It can take a half hour or more to get through the line into the side room, where four inmates at a time strip, squat, spread, and cough. I try to get the bathroom, so at least I don't have to see anyone else stripping and only the guard can see me. I also need the help of the walls to keep my balance at times.

Anyway, my visit with Sporty and T.S. was wonderful. I still cannot fathom why people believe that it would be too hard to have people visit. I got to sit and listen (without a 15 minute time limit) to everything T.S. did during her first semester of college. I got to talk in depth about ideas for the upcoming summer (job, internship, classes, study abroad, etc.). I got to hug her and tell her how beautiful she is. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. With Sporty, I was able to hear about many of my friends and family back home. We were able to talk about movies that are out, and books we each should read. Phone calls just cannot take the place of a visit with the ones you love. It is a long day, so if several friends come at once, it is probably better than just one person visiting and having to keep up the conversation. It's not an issue with Sporty or T.S. and I, but with some people, I can imagine they'd just get bored sitting in there. I did eat some yummy very-bad-for-you mini tacos, orange soda, and some microwaved popcorn - YUM!

Tonight, T.S. and Sporty are going to dinner with SIL and my niece. I'm so grateful to have family close by that are supportive. I think of how many people here that get no support from their families, or whose families will not/ can not visit and it makes me very sad. I could have another 6 months in here, so I value this special time with the people I love.

We also took pictures. In commissary, we can purchase "photo tickets." They are $1 each and that's how many digital shots we can get. They usually put up a backdrop, and we take photos in front of those - but today, the pictures were in front of a Christmas Tree. Never mind my religion, I will cherish these photos (which I will be able to receive in about a month). Yes, it takes a very long time for them to print our digital pictures. I have no idea why. These same photo tickets can be used in indoor rec, where we can take pictures with other inmates. I recently had a picture taken with Danbury and South (before Danbury left) and I also took one by myself to send to my mom. She got it just yesterday and I think she liked it. Yes, I do smile in the pictures. I may not be happy all the time, but I still laugh and I still smile. Being in prison is not the end of the world, it is a blip in a long life and we can refuse to have any happiness, or we can be grateful for the moments of smiles that we find. I choose the smiles.

Tomorrow, T.S. and Sporty will be back for another visit. I think T.S. wants to sleep in a bit later than the 5:30am they woke today - to be in the car line by 7am after breakfast. They were 14th in line at that time and got into the visitation room around 9am. Yes, it can take that long or longer. They officially open the gate at 8am, but it takes a long time to process, plus Sporty said that they were randomly searching cars. Sporty's was not searched.

A very sad thing happened as I was headed into the visitation room. I saw one of my former students, one I adore. She was all done up and excited that her mom was visiting from Nevada. Well, they refused her mom entry because she has a metal knee. In the past, her mom has been searched by wand and allowed to enter - but today she could not because they said she needed an official medical card about her titanium knee. They insisted that if she could not get through the metal detector without setting it off (impossible with a titanium knee) then they would not let her come in. My former student was heart broken. I don't blame her. As I was let into the building, her i.d. was returned to her and she was told to go back to her housing unit. Her mom flew all the way here and did not get to hug her daughter. Just awful.

I highly encourage everyone to read the visitation rules thoroughly before taking the trip to visit their loved one in prison. Every facility is different. I was told that "if" I do go to the camp across the street, I will not be strip searched. I will be able to walk outside with my visitors. I will be in a room with real tables. It will be a totally different experience than the one I have each time someone visits me here. Still no word on if this "camp thing" is really happening. I will try and talk to my case worker when she comes back from her vacation.

I'm off to nap. A long visit is very tiring for me, but I am so glad it happened! Thank you Sporty and T.S. for a wonderful day!

From Dragonfly: A Staff Member Who Does the Right Thing

So, I wrote yesterday about how my raise could not go through because I do not have proof of my high school diploma. Now, I know my probation officer in my PSI had to verify my education, but for some reason my PSI was never uploaded into the computer system. Turns out, all that is needed is for my "team" to do their job and upload the document. In fact, one staff member said to me that if there is no PSI in the system, they don't know how I can be held in prison. That's how important the PSI document is. (The PSI was referred to the PSR prior to my incarceration). Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I decided to go to one of the teachers in my department that "gets things done." I've worked for him several times - he is the teacher I started "volunteering with." He is also the teacher I just spent a month working with before they had me go with a new teacher and new class of students. He is also the teacher that officially "promoted" me to a Grade 3 (my 5 cent raise).

So, I went to his office yesterday afternoon and asked, "if somehow no one uploads my PSI and my mom is unsuccessful at getting my diploma, can you assist me in confirming my high school diploma." At first he laughed and said, "the PhD candidate is the one that we don't have high school confirmation for." I wanted to inform him that I was a PhD student, not candidate (yet), as I hadn't yet defended my dissertation topic. However, this was a time for humbleness. Anyway, he says that he is surprised that my "team" didn't upload my paperwork - as it is an essential part of their duties. So, he says, "I'll get on it." Next thing he does is call me back to his office and says, "let's do this now." I like someone who wants to do the right thing!!

So, I walk with him over to my housing unit. He walks fast, and I'm slow, so I am a bit behind. It's funny watching him walk through the compound, because he's constantly screaming at someone, "tuck in your shirt," "button your shirt," or "where is your uniform." He goes by the rules ALL the time!!!

Anyway, we get into the unit and he brings me into the "records" room (a conference style room that I've only been in for my two "team" meetings). He has a woman pull out my file and 'wah lah' in there is my PSI. He reads the education section and it says all the schools I've attended and that it was "verified" by the probation officer. That leads the teacher to then walk me directly to my "counselor's" office. The same counselor that would not allow me to speak with him about this about 2 hours prior. So, the teacher "informs" the counselor that my education has been verified and that he has to press a couple keys in the computer, so I am able to get my promotion. Additionally, he informs the counselor that my PSI has never been uploaded into the system. The counselor looks funny at the teacher and says, "really??!??!," knowing full well it was his job upon my arrival to do so. He says he will take care of it. I ask if he needs my inmate number (remember, we are all just numbers here), and he says, "I know who you are." He could have fooled me.

I have no idea if the counselor followed through with his promise to upload my PSI and change my education status as "verified" on the computer. I will follow up with the teacher early next week (give a couple days for it to be done - nothing gets done fast here). If it is not done, I know that this teacher will use his handy walky-talky and call the counselor once again... and will ask the questions that I am not able to ask, like "why." I appreciate SO MUCH his having my back on this. PLUS, my mother NO LONGER has to fight with the school to get my diploma (yes, mom, you are off duty on this now! Ha).

The teacher I am referring to here is all "police," as we say. He follows the rules. He started as a correctional officer. He takes down the largest inmates who are fighting in pill line. He screams at people who violate the rules. He expects perfection, not "I'll do my best." He treats everyone the same, yet helps those who want to help themselves. He says for me to have 40 occupation plans upon my release, no less. He tells me that halfway houses are dangerous. He tells me that I'll be bored at the camp. He says things the way they are. He will not send people to GED testing if they have not shown the effort and caring he expects. He's hard. Some people don't like him. I respect him more than most any staff member here. He wants the best for each inmate. He works very, very hard. He may sometimes overstep his expectations on inmates, and say things that people think are wrong, such as, "you are all inmates. Inmates lie. I am not going to believe your stories, even if you say you are not lying, because you are manipulative and criminals." That's tough that he puts us all into these categories. To me, what he's really saying is that some of us are authentic, but he has no way of knowing who - so he has to treat us all the same. It may hurt some people at times, but at least we know up front his expectations and that allows us to try and thrive to meet them.

From Dragonfly: No Raise For Me

After three months on the job in education, we officially can get a grade increase - to 17 cents per hour. I was approved for one and my last paycheck should have reflected it. It did not. So, I went to the teacher involved in payroll and asked why my raise was not reflected. She informed me that it is because the system doesn't show that I have my HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMA. Still! So, I went to the teacher who is in charge of getting high school diplomas. 2 1/2 months ago, I filled out paperwork with her to obtain my degree (this is before I was brought in for the TABE test). I had assumed that my high school/ education department had ignored the request. I also asked my mom to have the school send the transcripts to carswell. Well, this teacher informed me that she HAD NOT sent the request to my school - yet. Ummm, 2 1/2 months? I asked if there was any way I could help in the process (I could punch in the fax numbers or write in the address or something), but she said "no." She informed me to have someone at home go to the school and/or education department for me. I have NO idea WHY they didn't send off my request or anyone elses (for that matter). In my new class, I have no less than 6 students who are forced to take GED classes, even though they already have a high school degree. Now, I learn that no one here has requested their degrees, so they have no chance of having it "show up." I'm not sure the hold up, but I do think it a bit unreasonable. Plus, I am missing out on my 5 cents per hour. An extra $5 per month could purchase me important hygeine items and/or go toward my FRP payments.

Okay, sometimes I just have to reflect on the insanity of this place - as I did above. Every day we are hit with something new that has no logic behind it. As someone who is very logically minded, it just continues to make me shake my head. I wonder if all prisons are like this.

I have something big to look forward to this weekend. Sporty and T.S. are coming for a visit. I will spend two days with them in the not-so-well setup visitation room. With 12-14 hours together, they'd better be thinking about the stuff they want to talk about. I don't want to spend all the time talking about this place! I'm so proud of T.S., today she finishes her last final of her first semester of college. She is doing well and has a good semester planned for the Spring. By the time she finishes off this first year, I will be heading home. I will probably just sit back this weekend and be in awe of her youth, stories, courage, intelligence, and kindness. She is such an awesome young woman!

No matter the fact that I am not getting my raise, even though it is for a ridiculous reason, I have SO much to continue to be grateful for. I am not dependent on my paycheck for all things I need/want to purchase. I have an incredible family and great friends who support me every day. I have a locker full of wonderful books that carry my thoughts away to a different world. I have wonderful craft supplies that allow me to explore my creativity. I have friends in prison, who can connect with me on the insanity of it all. I have this opportunity to write, something I hope to do more and more once this experience is over (and I'm not spending 5 cents per minute dishing out my thoughts, experiences and observations).

I am finding my hope once again and, also, concentrating on gratitude. Never give up hope!

From Dragonfly: The Size of Your World

On Wednesdays and Fridays, I don't meet up with Freckles for breakfast. I don't care enough about bananas to wait in a line that long. So, I eat my breakfast in the news/sports room (today was pop tarts and V8 - not a lot of choices from commissary). I always try to watch CNN on the news television, so I can try and see what is happening in the world. For example, today I learned about Obama shaking hands with Castro, a family mourning the shooting death of their child by campus police at a Texas university, and a bad weather system heading to the Northeastern U.S. However, when others are in the news room, they don't want to watch CNN, they will watch local news or a morning show.

I was thinking about "why" they don't want to watch national/international news. I think it is because of perspective. Depending on how long you've been locked up, the world beyond prison becomes much less relevant (unless it is congress changing mandatory minimums or something like that). Instead, it is inmate.com that is the most important news of the day. Who is dating who? Who is fighting who? Who went to the SHU? Who got shots (in trouble) last night? Who got caught doing what with whom? Who will be the next daytime C.O. in the unit? That is their relevant news.

Of course, I'm not talking all inmates, but many cannot connect to a world they have never seen. Some of these inmates have been locked up since their late teens. Prior to that, they may never have traveled out of their small town or city, much less state. For some, Conair is the first airplane they were ever on. For others, they never had the opportunity to go past 7th grade and simply don't have the words or perspective to consider the world beyond their existence.

In GED classes, we realized that we cannot teach social studies - especially the political cartoon unit - without giving the students a perspective that is assumed they have. If the students don't know what happened with President Roosevelt, how can they interpret a political cartoon about him? So, we have to take a large step back and give them the underlying information that GED study book writers assume they have.

I watch the national and international news, because I know that what happens in the world affects me - perhaps not directly, but always indirectly. I also know that by next summer, I will be a part of that world again. When the Philippines recently saw devastation, only Nurse and I would want to see the news about it. We both know people living there. I remember I was once on a cruise ship for 7 days with a friend, when I was in my young 20's. During the time we took the cruise, having too much "fun" to pay attention to the news, we came home to two deaths - one of a Kennedy and the other was Sonny Bono. Everyone was walking about football on skis, and we had no "perspective" to understand the conversation. That's exactly what it is like for many people in prison. I imagine that the longer I am inside these fences, the less the world beyond will matter. When survival, shock, and stress are at their maximum, one can only concentrate on getting through each day. When I leave here, everyone will be talking about some new technology that they are using, and I will need to catch up. I will need to catch up on a lot. At least, I am trying to maintain some sense of the world beyond prison, with what national/international news I can get.

From Dragonfly: What a Difference a Year Makes

One year ago, I was taking my final exams, preparing for my comprehensive exams, traveling to my hometown to spend time with family and friends, and trying to deal with my new health issues. I was not driving. I was testing my oxygen levels all the time. I was waiting to find out when the legal case against me would move forward. It would not be until late February that I would be officially indicted and March when I was arraigned. One year ago, I had no idea that I would be spending my holidays in prison. I also had no idea what prison would be like. I wrongly thought it was "behind bars" and that I would be in a typical cell seen on television. I had never met a cold-blooded killer or a person accused of insidious sex crimes. I'd never met a bank robber or someone that had illegally sold guns internationally. One year ago, I lived by myself, creating a welcoming space for Cache who would soon move in for a couple months as she sought her own housing. I had a holiday party that included hot chocolate with ALL the fixings. One year ago, the most important news I'd received was that I was accepted for the professional experience in South Africa. I prayed that my health would not keep me from going. One year ago, I was seeing at least two doctors per week - getting new diagnoses almost weekly - and trying to accept that my physical life would never be the same again. One year ago, T.S. visited me for a long break and we spent many special days together. One year ago, T.S.'s applications to various colleges were being considered and we were waiting on pins and needles for results. One year ago, I would sit on my computer for hours every day and do research, hang out on Facebook, and email directly to friends. One year ago, I wrote a conference proposal, interviewed several people for research, and worked closely with Traveler as we had many projects together. One year ago, I was an upstanding member of my academic department and my Adviser had my back and I was earning scholarships and fellowships.

None of these changes matter, though, because we cannot live in the past. I am where I am, today, and one year from now, my life will be 100% different than it is today. That is true for me, but for many people around me, they will still be in Carswell, doing the same thing every day, and not even remembering what life is like on the outside. For some of them, I'm glad they are not part of the general population. They did terrible acts and/or are scary people. Others, though, are not, and yet they are sentenced to an incredibly long time away.

Every meal at Chow, more people than not, put their heads down and pray before they eat. I wonder if they prayed before they came to prison. I wonder if they pray for freedom or just for their gratitude to have food on their tray. Prison, it seems, brings people closer to their spirituality and religion. Some change religions. Some learn about different forms of spirituality.

Things change when we go to prison. It's inevitable. Many of my friends are taking their finals this week (mostly just writing papers). They are preparing for their last academic class, where they will work on their dissertation proposal, having already passed comps last year. Their lives are moving forward, yet are very similar to a year ago. A couple of my friends have new babies in their lives and are loving watching them develop into little people. My father is still recovering from his stroke. My mother has a new job. Sporty and T.S. are living in a new city and state. Many people could look back a year and say that their life is very different from before.

We must believe that it is all for a purpose, that we are not in control, and that we will be somewhere else again soon. If we let go, we move forward. I don't know exactly what my life will consist of in one year, but I do know, it will be entirely different from what it is right now.

From Dragonfly: Passivity

In my life, prior to recovery, I was very, very passive. Everyone who knew me, knew that I could stand up for others, but not myself. I was always concerned with what others thought of me - my entire self-esteem was built on reputation. I took it incredibly personal when someone was mean to me - and I allowed myself to be the victim of all types of abuse. In many ways, I believed I deserved it. This was in my "broken" sense of self, lost in addiction and victimization.

It took a couple years of recovery and counseling, but I learned to say, "no," and mean it. I learned to set limits and have healthy relationships. I learned where my passivity stemmed from and I worked hard to change myself. It is a process, likely lifelong, but it is always interesting to see me not act passive. It shocks me as much as anyone else. I used to just allow myself to be pushed around, I didn't even think about it, and, now, I have boundaries.

I had a test as to my passivity last night. As I've written before, three days of being iced in has made everyone restless... and I must add that today is ANOTHER day of being iced in... no work, no education, no activities... anyway, I digress.

Anyway, last night after dinner, I came back to the unit (no where else to go) and wanted to work on a creative project I am doing. The atrium offered no available tables or chairs, so I set up at the small desk in my room. No one was there, and it's the perfect surface. It is about a foot and a half long and 2 feet wide. I took all my items and set them up on the table and my bed (which is directly to the left). Colored pencils, markers, glue, notes, pictures, drawings, cards, etc. Everything was placed where I could easily reach it and I started to work on my project.

Next thing I know, my roommate walks in and asks me, "how long are you going to be at the table?" I respond that I don't know, I'm working on a project. She informs me that she is unable to be in her bed if I am sitting at the table, because she is 'clausterphobic.' I tell her that I don't know how long I will be, but she's welcome to sit on her bed. She continues to argue with me that my being at the table is disrespectful to her. Now, just two days ago, she was at the table for hours working on making a cheese cake. I said nothing. It's a table that all four of us can use - that's why it is there.

I tell her that I'm sorry she is uncomfortable on her bed with me on the table stool, but I really want to work on my project and there are no available chairs or table space in the atrium. So, she starts to scream at me that I am inconveniencing her and not respecting her needs. I say nothing and go back to my project. She then informs me that when I am on my bed wanting to sit, she will sit at the desk. I say, "That's fine. That's the reason the small desk is here." I go back to my project. She calls me a bunch of really ugly names, says I'm being inconsiderate, and storms off.

I sit there shocked for a minute. In my past life, I would have done anything and everything to avoid any confrontation. I knew she was being unreasonable, but I would have still given in and moved and stopped working on my project. As always, others heard this disagreement from outside the room and was telling me how insane she is, that she is so selfish, and that they are glad I stood up for myself. I am, too. Of course, now, she has not said a word to me in a day. I'm fine with that.

Funny thing is an observation Army and I made about Bandana. As soon as one of us starts talking to the other, Bandana will start singing loudly or start a conversation with Braids. She does it intentionally to make it difficult for me and Army to talk. Just last night, I was working on a crossword and asked Army if she knew the name of a Venetian boat ("Gondola" - but I'd spaced on it). Anyway, Bandana starts loudly singing her song as we discuss the word. Army thinks it is because Army is intimidated by the more intelligent conversations Army and I have. I don't know the reason, all I know is that Bandana is much more inconsiderate than I could ever be!

Now, I could have just given in to Bandana and stopped using the desk. There was no where else I could go to do my project, but I could have just given in to her and things would be much less stressful. That's what she wants. She wants to see that she can "control" me. She's been locked up for 12 years - since she was 19 years old - and only knows life as a convict. On the other hand, I will leave here in months and I need to leave here being at least as strong as I was when I entered. Sure, I am passive at times... Braids asks me to get something out of her locker almost every time I'm standing at mine. I say, "yes," because it is in no way out of my way and there's no good reason for me to say, "no." She doesn't ask if I'm in my bed.


It's important in prison to not be passive. It is also important to always remember that others' attitudes, activities, choices, aggression, bad behaviors, smells, passivity, violence, etc. has nothing to do with you. It is about them. Best thing to do is to separate yourself from their negativity and find something to keep you busy - for me it's all my projects. Usually, work also helps. When I have none of these things, I read. It's just like "filling the void" with recovery - we need to find healthy activities to keep us busy and away from the craziness.

I am no longer the passive person that everyone can push around. I am proud of this growth. It makes me a better person, even if it pisses off those who want a victim. I am not their victim. They may be angry, but that is not my fault. "No," is a very real part of my vocabulary now.

From Dragonfly: Iced In

Grand Rapids/Dallas is at a stand-still, ever since Thursday night's sleet storm. People cannot get out of their homes because their cars are in the garage and their streets are covered in ice. People around here do not have the northerners experience of driving on ice (not that anyone should - I tore my ACL for the 4th time when I fell on black ice on my campus almost 2 years ago). Anyway, the ice has given everyone a couple days at home with their families. This morning, I even saw that a ton of churches cancelled services.

With this storm, many officers have not made it to Carswell. There is only one cleared sidewalk - the shortest distance between the housing unit and the main/medical building. Therefore, the Carswell Compound is closed. They even cancelled visitation for the entire weekend. I feel horrible for any family members who made the trek (possibly from far distances) to see their loved one, only to find out that they cancelled visitation. Now, I need to say that the ice is about a half inch at places and is mostly snowy ice on the grass areas. Back in the Midwest, a bunch of sand and/or salt would have cleared this campus in hours. However, they do not stock these things here, because these kinds of storms don't happen here (usually).

Since it is not a cleared walkway, we are not able to go to indoor rec for days. So, since people depend on the equipment to work out at indoor rec, they are doing laps in the housing units - upstairs, walk a hallway, down stair, walk the floor, back upstairs, walk a hallway, downstairs... and so on. One woman I know walked 3 miles that way yesterday. I wanted to go to indoor rec to order some different colors of yarn for crocheting. The order was due by last night - for delivery in late January... I am hoping they extend the deadline due to them being closed. But, here at Carswell, rules, not logic, make decisions. If I have to wait, I will not receive the yarn until late February. Talk about needing to plan ahead!!

It is also not allowed for anyone to stay outside, other than the walk between buildings. I've seen many people, especially those from  Mexico, trying to touch snow for the first time in their life. I heard one say, "It's so cold." I can't imagine having only seen snow on television and never played in it in real life. Anyway, since they were off the walking path, they got in trouble for being on the snow. My dream snowman was never built.

Everyone is pretty much stuck inside their housing units, now, for the third day in a row. If you want to see restlessness, that's what it is like. I've seen fighting come from nothing, screaming about mundane issues, and rudeness like never before. There are not even enough chairs for the number of people in the unit, so when someone goes to the bathroom, their chair disappears with someone taking it elsewhere and claiming it for their own butt.

I spent the last couple days crocheting, card sending, doing crosswords, reading, and watching football. I was able to sign up for the sports television yesterday in order to watch a couple AMAZING college football championships. I must have looked a lot like my mother does when she sits with my step-dad and watches football. I was crocheting and watching. She knits sometimes. I always watched her and couldn't figure out how she does her knitting and television, but yesterday, I did both as well. Guess I am becoming a better crocheter. Oh, and I crochet like NOONE else... I can't hold the hook and string right because of pain in my hands, but I have a two handed way of doing it that works great. It's slower than most crocheters. My friends say I am 'knitcheting' because it almost looks like I am knitting, but with the single crochet hook.

Iced-in days are very slow. All we do is sit around. The C.O.s that make it to Carswell are restless as well. Yesterday, 18 people had to do "extra duty" because they got into trouble in my unit.

People are also trying to hustle hard this weekend for the things they want. I've been asked for some of my yarn many, many times. I am not engaging in the mass hustle this weekend. I have everything I need and plan to shop commissary again tomorrow (if it is open). People are paying crazy amounts of money for their hustles too --- robes going for $75, food items for 2x their normal cost, and coffee is at a premium right now. In addition, the line for phones and in the email room are absolutely crazy.

I hope that tomorrow becomes a normal day at Carswell once again. Today the weather should be above freezing for a couple hours and then tomorrow it warms up even more. Throughout this week, we will be on a warming trend - not hot, but above freezing. I hope this weekend may prompt Carswell to have weather contingency plans in the future.

From Dragonfly: 12 Cents Per Hour

What does it look like when you are making 12 cents per hour? Well, I was paid for ALL last month yesterday. I work 7-8 hours per day, except for Mondays when I work 12 hours, and five days per week. I average about 140 hours per month. They take NO taxes out of my payment, because this is not considered a real paycheck. My check was $15.21. That amount didn't cover half my $40/month FRP payment, but hey, every little bit helps. No matter what my paychecks look like once I am out of here, I will NEVER complain. Even minimum wage would seem like a lot. I thank god every day that I have amazing friends who are helping to support me while I am in prison. Without their help, I wouldn't even be able to buy shampoo or deodorant, much less the juice that I drink each morning.

When I was gambling, I lost A LOT of money. I remember days, when I'd be hitting my hands against my poor steering wheel, saying "never again," where I'd realize I lost so much money I could have bought a couch with it, or a nice television, or even a used car. Sometimes my losses were not as much as other times, but they sure do add up. Yet, when I won, I did not buy a couch, television, used car, or even pay my bills correctly, winnings allowed me to gamble more. Winnings may have allowed me to pay rent and eat - but it never helped me thrive. One January, I won a very large pot of money. By March, I was broke once again. Gambling addiction is so complicated, but one thing I can say for sure, it is always a lose-lost situation. When I meet up with people here in prison who struggled with drug addiction, our stories are more similar than different. I truly believe addiction is addiction - and that's why people who are not getting to the root of their addiction, cross-addict. For example, in GA, we have many people who were already working AA. AA has many people who had been in NA. It's all a cycle - unless they fully surrender to their addiction and then do the VERY HARD work of dealing with the underlying emotional illness. I get really upset that here in Carswell, the drug/alcohol residential recovery program tells the participants that addiction is NOT an illness. Are they at all familiar with the research?!?!?! Once these folks are released, and hopefully will go to a 12-step program, they will be told otherwise and it will really confuse their recovery. How the DOP can claim that addiction is not an illness just makes no sense to me.

Part of my addiction was really not comprehending the value of a dollar. Money in my pocket meant money to go to the casino with. Once the money was changed into "casino chips," it no longer was money in my pocket. It was my antes. It was my bonus bets. It was the big win I would get once again. Money meant a chance at more money. In my twisted thinking, $10 could become $100, $100 could become $1000, and $1000 could become $10,000. My addiction was so strong, that I could only see what money could become, rather than what money was. I mean, $1,000 could support me for a long time, but since I could not stop myself from making it into $10,000, I would gamble it to nothing (or something, unfortunately). The worse thing for a compulsive gambler, honestly, is to win. The first time in a casino, I won, and it was the easiest money I ever made. My "stinking thinking" was progressive over time. Now, I wish I never walked into my first casino.

That's not to say that I wouldn't have found myself in the same place. I worked hard with my counselor and working my steps to fully understand my underlying emotional issues that made me susceptible to addiction. I confronted those issues, and in response, I changed. My thinking changes. I was no longer the victim of my life, but I became a survivor. Everyone's story is different. Had my illness not brought me to gambling, it likely would have led me to a different addiction. Like I said, addiction is addiction.

I bring all this up, because while I only make 12 cents an hour right now, and my monthly paycheck was just over $15, I understand the value of that money. Here, $15 will help me get my hygiene products. It will help me get yarn to crochet. It will help me purchase sweatpants or a sweatshirt. Every penny in my commissary account has value, and that is ultimately, what will help me continue my path of recovery. I will never place a bet again, because if I do, I will be right back where I was, and my life will fall apart. Instead, I will work hard, make the money I earn, pay my restitution and school loans, and, hopefully, one day, afford a house. Money in my pocket now means saving what I can for my future, and trying to get out of debt - even if I have to do it with $0.12 per hour.

From Dragonfly: Chasing Enbrel

Writing earlier today, I had no idea what my day would bring. Well, now that the day is nearly turning to evening, I can tell you. It involved "chasing enbrel" all day long. As you know, I am on a medication called Enbrel (an injection that assists me in my autoimmune issues). It is important that I keep it at its regular schedule (I get a shot every Monday and one every Friday). Since the clinic was closed today, due to the ice outside, I decided to follow the advice of a nurse from last week. The nurse told me that if the clinic is ever closed on my injection day, I should go to "Med Surge" which is the real hospital floor at Carswell. After breakfast, I took the elevator to the 4th floor for the first time since I've been here (we are not allowed to wander around the hospital, we must have a reason and talk with C.O.'s in the process).

The Med Surge officer told me that I need to go back to my unit and have my officer call over and then they will let me come back for my shot. So, I bundled myself back up with my two shirts, sweatshirt, and jacket, and made my way back to my unit. My friend Lola took that trip with me and I knew that she would not want to venture out into the cold again... Anyway, I get into my unit and see an officer. I tell him what Med Surge said, and he tells me to go next door to 1 North (I live in 1 South) and wait by the officer's office and he will call for me. Turns out that the officer supposed to be on 1 South today couldn't make it in due to the weather.

So, I enter 1 North for the first time ever. It looks a lot like our unit, but I like the color of their columns more (ours is a dull pink, theirs is a bright turquoise). They also have decorations hanging - signs made by some of the inmates who are doing "programming" like Life Connections (a Christian program lasting 18 months to help women build self-esteem, find god, and make healthier decisions).

Anyway, the officer starts to call medical, when his "replacement" officer came into 1 North and so the first officer handed my id off to the second officer. And, so it goes. That officer says that I should go back to my unit and he will come tell me what he learns. It is now 8:15am.

About 9:15am, the officer finds me and tells me that Med Surge was not set up to give injections for the clinic today and that he passed my id off to the new officer that just arrived in 1 South and that I should check in with him at 10am. At 10am, I go to the officer, who has no idea why he is holding my id. I tell him that I'm supposed to get an Enbrel injection today, but since the clinic is closed, I need to go to med surge, however, med surge needs a Physicians Assistant to call them so that they can get all the supplies. The officer calls the P.A. on duty and then tells me to come back at 11am.

At 11am, I go back to the officer, he says that Med Surge will be ready to give me my injection after lunch. I take my id back and make myself and Lola some tuna roll-ups for lunch (it's Friday, so it's fried fish sandwich day in the chow hall). I don't do that kind of fish. I will eat tuna, though. I know, I'm weird. After lunch, I bundle back up in all my layers, and make my way back to the medical building. I go to the back elevators and go back to the 4th floor.

This time the C.O. allows me further onto the floor, to the nurses window. Since this is my first day ever on the floor, I need to say - whoa, it really looks like a hospital!!!! Except, of course, the nurses station has glass all the way around it protecting the nurses from the patient (inmates!). Inmates are in single or double rooms, with bathrooms. They have medical beds. They have their own television. So, I guess it's good to know that the really ill here are cared for. Also, the nurses there are nice... or at least they seemed like it!

Anyway, back at the 4th floor nurses window, I talk with a very friendly male nurse who looks at a list and informs me that I am not on it. I explain that I get my injection every Monday and Friday, and he looks on his computer to see my medical file. It does show my enbrel, but that the prescription "expired" yesterday. My doctor quit and left this place in November, so lots of stuff hasn't been done - including renewing prescriptions apparently! So, the nurse tells me that he needs to reach a doctor and to come back in an hour. I'm getting used to this.

I must say that this Enbrel story is kind of like getting anything done here. We wait, wait, hurry up, and then wait, wait...

So, I bundle myself back up and walk to the housing unit. Everyone asks if I got my injection and I make a negative thumb sign. At that point it is 12:45pm and all I've done is "chase enbrel" for the entire day. I lay down in my bed for a little rest and get up 45 minutes later. I sit with some friends in the atrium and then the hour has passed and I bundle myself back up and walk back to the medical building and go to the back elevators and make my way up to the 4th floor for the 3rd time today. The nurse is busy giving the other people needing injections their shots. We all know one another, because we stand in line together every week. One woman has severe MS, another severe rheumatoid arthritis, there are several with autoimmune issues, others that just need B12 shots. Every person has a story. Many of them are on walkers and in wheel chairs. I'm glad that I'm still walking (albeit slow).

The nurse sees me and says, "I still haven't reached a doctor." He starts to tell me to go back to my unit, but sees my face, and tells me to sit on the blue bench instead. I mention blue bench, because all the benches we have are a blue wire weaved bench. They are not at all comfortable. There are not a lot of benches indoors - just in the medical waiting areas, and then the ones you never want to sit on - those outside the lieutenants office (for people in trouble!). So, I sit on the one blue bench in med surge. There is a woman from my unit, who shares my real first name, and is in a wheel chair all the time, also near the blue bench. We have never spoken, but like in any waiting room, we find ourselves talking to new people about our ailments.

She has numerous autoimmune conditions as well - and has been locked up for 20 years --- but she's my age. Currently, her legs are soooooo swollen that they are about 3x their normal size (OUCH!!!). They've gotten worse and worse for 5 days, but the clinic gave her a run around. Now that she's being seen in med-surge, I hope they do something for her. She should be checked for DVT and they must do something to bring down the severe swelling. I'll see what they do when she rolls back into the unit --- hopefully not too soon. I hope they take her to a hospital! She's also really, really sick right now - immunocompromised like I am. Well, I know it wasn't a good thing that they had me sitting next to her for about 40 minutes with her sneezing, coughing and heavy breathing. I washed my hands immediately, but it's taking everything to keep myself healthy in a place like this. So, at 2:00pm, the nurse called me over and less than a minute later, I am done with my enbryl shot. A doc renewed my prescription and I was able to bundle up for the last time today (I am not going to make it back for chow tonight... I will make something in the unit). I unbundled again because I wanted to do email for a bit and the move was "closed." It has just reopened. So, I am bundling back up and heading back to my unit.

Mission accomplished... enbrel injection achieved.

From Dragonfly: Sleet

So, what happens in Fort Worth when it is cold, sleeting rain, and a  bit icy outside? Everything closes down. They are not prepared for weather like this, like we are in the Midwest. This morning, I was prepared to go to breakfast at 6:30am, when I noticed that no one had been released for breakfast yet (usually open at 6am). So, I waited with a friend and they made NO announcements... Then, at 7:30am, they released us to breakfast, pill line, and email. The rest of the compound is closed. I was all ready for work today. The facilities and landscaping employees (also inmates) are working hard outside in large snow suits, shoveling the heavy ice-snow off the roads and side walks. I'm glad that's not my job!!!!

I have no idea what this day will bring... whether the compound will open later... whether I will work this afternoon... how I will get my Friday enbryl injection (even the clinic is closed)... whether I will leave my unit at all, when I leave email...

The good news, is that I have plenty to do. I am working on sending out the holiday cards I made (yes, they are dorky, but made with love). I am halfway through two different crochet projects. I have several books to read. So, if this weather lasts the full weekend, I am set. I even have a couple mugs worth of hot chocolate mix and mini marshmallows, just in case!! Oh, and I bought long underwear, so I am comfortable in my unit with my shorts and shirt over the long underwear (it makes quite the fashion statement, but it's what everyone else is wearing too).

It's amazing to hear the responses about the snow from people who have spent their lives in the south. I'm afraid they will think it appropriate to make snow balls... but this is icy snow and it will HURT. It is perfect for making a snowman, but there's not that much of it, and we are not allowed on the grassy areas... maybe it can happen by outside rec sometime today. I'd participate in making a snowman if I had gloves, but I do not. I don't even own a scarf. Both are available at commissary, but I hadn't bought them (I was wearing shorts outside just 4 days ago).

Well... I'm going to med surge for the first time to see how I get my enbryl injection. I pray they can give it to me, or I will not be out of my bed much this weekend!

From Dragonfly: Cookies and Egg Nog

So, I've mentioned that the facility is all decorated for Christmas. There is a tree in the foyer, and another in the chow hall. They've wrapped a couple support beams in reddish paper and have a large box (empty) wrapped and with a nice bow. There are special commissary items - such as Christmas cookies, Christmas tree cakes, chocolate Christmas trees, laughing cow cheese, hot and spicy cheese-itz, hot and sweet sauce, bridge mix, caramel milky ways, raspberry thin mints, chocolate covered pretzels, peanut brittle, cliff bars, tuna with jalapenos, peanut butter snickers, chocolate covered coffee beans, soft batch cookies, junior mints, carnitas, and more on sale right now in the commissary - for just the months of November and December. They started sending out the list called "special Christmas items," but someone must have talked to them, because now the list is called "non-denominational holiday specials." Ha. Inmates are allowed an extra $25 per month to spend at commissary (in case the $320 limit they already have is not enough!). I do not spend close to the limit, now that I've been here for a couple months, but some people spend the limit every single month! They are not just buying for themselves, but for their "bills" --- paying the people who do their laundry, people they've 'bought' items from, etc. Some people spend their entire commissary on other people. (Which is not allowed, of course).

Today, the rumor is that there will be inmate recall at about 12:45pm. This means that my afternoon class will be cancelled and everyone, including the workers, have to go back to their housing units. Then, one unit at a time, we will be called to the chow hall to pick up a package of Christmas cookies (sugar-based cookies in tree designs with sprinkles) and a small bottle of egg nog. They do this every year. I guess next week, this will occur again and we will all receive a bag of candy.

Other than books, photos, cards, and letters we receive from the outside world in the mail, these will be our holiday gifts for the year. I received a wonderful holiday gift (Chanukah's) yesterday. Sporty and T.S. went to Walgreens.com and uploaded some pictures and made me a small "picture book" and had it shipped directly to me at Carswell. Since it came from an official store, and was in book form, it is allowed. These are wonderful ideas for your loved ones - you can use snapfish, walgreens, or any number of online sites to make picture books for your incarcerated family members. I know that mine brought me to tears --- it was full of pictures of Sporty and T.S. having fun - and their smiles made me smile!

Another friend sent me a couple books - good books! One is a daily reader called, "Peace One Day at a Time." It appears to be written for recovering alcoholics, but would apply to anyone. I read the daily reading out loud to my roommates as we wait for count each day. Yesterday's was about anger and one of my roommates got a lot from it. I keep the book on my pillow (like many people keep their bible) and that way I know I won't fail to read it every day.

Hope this gives people some ideas for the holidays. For me, I will be eating cookies and drinking egg nog this afternoon and thinking of all the people I am grateful for!

From Dragonfly: Probation/Supervision

I just received an email from Sporty informing me that my probation officer contacted her today and they are coming by tomorrow morning to see my home. Once approved, my institution will start the paperwork for halfway house/home confinement. What the courts don't tell us, when we are sentenced, is that in addition to our "good time," most of us are eligible for extended halfway house and/or home confinement. I knew very little about this when I walked into Carswell.

Depending on how long you are in prison, you are eligible for an amount of halfway house time. Security level and medical issues affect the availability of this. During my first weeks here, my case worked submitted for me to have 120-150 days of halfway house... however, it's rare for the full amount of time to be approved... more likely that it will be in the 30 days or so... however, that means I "could" technically be leaving Carswell anywhere from February to May (150 days would be late February). It's most likely that my halfway house time would be in April or May.

Many people get "into" their halfway house time, and since the place has no beds, they remain here. I know several people who are still at Carswell months into their halfway house time. So, we can't depend on it, unless we are told the date that we have an official bed. So, it's just a waste of time to get one's hopes up too much.

The coolest thing, though, is that many halfway houses send you home to home confinement within the first week to month of your stay. If you have a home to go to and don't need to get too many services, home confinement is much more likely. That time lasts until your official "out date." Mine is July 2nd. Probation works with the halfway house to decide the requirements on home confinement. Some have to have electronic monitoring, others just have curfews. If I am sent home at some point in the next 6 months, it is likely I will be spending a lot of time at my new home with Sporty and our Super Dog. I haven't lived with Super Dog for several years, so she and I need some good playing fetch time together.

So, once my home is approved, paperwork will be received here at Carswell. Then, my case worker can submit the forms for halfway house. It takes a minimum of 60 days for those to be processed. Then, it's just a waiting game on when a bed will be available for me at my halfway house. The one I am going to is about 1 hour and 45 minutes from my home, but I don't care. I will be more free than here! Although, my supervisor informed me that I don't want to go to a halfway house - as they are full of felons (ummm, I'm a felon too...). He was being serious though, there are very scary people - including men coming out of prison after 20+ years behind bars. So, I just hope I can do the 72 hour orientation and go to home confinement. In time, I will know.

For those who have asked, I still have no further information on when/if I am going to that camp across the street. I've heard nothing from anyone. One of the other tutors spread the rumor around my job, so now my supervisor is nervous that I'm about to walk out on our new class. I can honestly say, if I am really being transferred, it could take weeks or months... I live one day at a time, so for now, I want to work.

Frmo Dragonfly: Mourning

How does one mourn for a lost family member when they are locked up? Yesterday, South was told to go to the Chaplain's office. There, she was told that her sister passed away. Her sister was 65 years old, healthy, and just retired from her job. Her sister's family had been going through some tough times. The sister's husband has cancer and is actively doing treatments. The sister's daughter, also, had cancer recently, and had to undergo radiation and chemo. South's sister has been helping her husband and daughter through everything, little did she know that she had a silent killer, congestive heart failure, building inside of herself. I'm sure the stress of her family's health problems did not help her health. South and her sister were just 1 1/2 years separated in age, South being the older one. They were very, very close.

South's sister sent her cards here all the time. The last one arrived just a week or two ago. It said, "nothing much going on" or something like that. South's family has been incredibly supportive of her time here at Carswell. She had done nothing intentionally wrong and her 6 month sentence broke all their hearts. She goes home at the end of January (if not sooner).

So, in the meantime, she must mourn from here. She cannot be with her family. She cannot be at the funeral. She cannot see her sister one last time, laying peacefully in a casket. South has no options, except to be by herself, with all her feelings, in a place where "crying" is not the best thing to do (although, I constantly tell people that it's okay to cry).

I made sure South ate some dinner last night. She actually sat at a table with a bunch of us at the Atrium and, then, she and I took a short walk to inside rec and back. Fresh air is good. She does not get out a lot. She still carries her oxygen around (just in case), but she is not needing her walker all the time. I told South that we should have a memorial for her sister. We'll do it outdoors and she can share stories about her sister. We'll read something appropriate. We'll give South the chance to "say goodbye" in the way she can from prison.

I have NO idea what I would do if someone I love passed while I am here. I made sure to see my grandma (with Alzheimer's) one last time before my self-surrender and, amazingly, my step-grandpa - at 95 years old - is still going strong! Both are fragile, and, yet, I couldn't imagine something happening and my not being there. But there are many people I love that I would be shocked to learn about passing... like South was with her sister. I never really thought about what it would be like to mourn from prison.

We hear about others' family members passing regularly. Right now, a friend of mine has a mother with terminal cancer. She goes home in a couple months. We are praying that her mom can hold on long enough that my friend can see her before she pasts. I know a woman who lost her husband. She was not given a furlough to attend the funeral (most do not). She had to mourn her spouse from inside Carswell. One woman I know lost her son. Another has a child who is very, very sick, but she cannot get a furlough to see her young son.

If prison can teach you one thing, it is the every present reality that people matter much more than things. Every person I know, here, would give everything to be with their families. In some ways, we all mourn their loss from our lives on a daily basis - even though in our hearts we know that we will see them again, some day. However, when that person passes away, as South's sister did, all those hopes of holding them in our arms again dies along with them. Make sure the last thing you say to anyone is pleasant. You may not always be happy with your loved ones, but you never know if it's going to be the last conversation you have.

My heart goes out to South and her family at this time. There's so little we can do for someone who is mourning from prison. I know South knows that many of us care, and people are sneaking in hugs with her (we are not supposed to hug). I pray her sister felt little pain and that South is given the time she needs to mourn her loss - both here and once she is home.

From Dragonfly: Yarn

This weekend was especially filled with drama in our unit. It culminated yesterday with one of my friends screaming at another of my friends about appropriate behavior. Neither was in the right. Also, none of us are in a position to judge another person. Yesterday, in a great daily reader sent to me by a good friend, the quote included the phrase, "don't let other people take up rent free space in your head." I've always loved that quote. It's so honest and to the point. If we are sitting around thinking about someone else's wrongs or what they do that bothers us, we are giving them our energy, our important serenity, everything - and they do not deserve it. Instead, fill our heads with the positive thoughts that keep us sane and smiling (like memories of hugging those we love, a great vacation, or time with a best friend).

So, what happens when someone who stole yarn, stores it in another's room (cause they can't get caught with it in their locker), and the other person then uses the yarn after a couple months of holding on to it? Can a disagreement like this be handled without rough-housing? The one who originally stole the yarn, wants the user of the yarn to buy them replacement yarn. The person who used the yarn receives no finances in. Her welfare is threatened by the the other. Is anyone in the right here? No "law" can be brought in because it was stolen yarn in someone else's locker. These are the kind of fights that happen on a daily basis here. Many end up with both women going to the SHU. It seems so petty - like our fights in the laundry room - yet, it wears down on all of us dealing with this stuff on a daily basis.

Going to be a short one... have to go to work early. I start in a new classroom with over 30 students this morning. More later!

From Dragonfly: Reaction to Transfer

For the last several days, I have been informing friends and those that "should" know (such as coworkers) about my pending transfer across the street. The reaction has certainly been mixed. Those on the outside, all seem quite happy with the news. I will no longer be behind a fence (although since the camp is located on a military base, I am still behind the fences of the base - but I won't see those). I will no longer have controlled moves (I am able to move about when I want - except for set times for count). I will live among 300 people total (there are over 250 women just in my unit here). I will wear green (now I wear khaki). I will be allowed to roam outside more of the day - especially later at night (here, we have recall at 8:30pm and must stay in our units after that time). I will be able to see a large lake (I love being near water). I will have 5 roommates (here, I have 3 - now that I'm out of the bus stop). I will share a bathroom, including a bathtub, with only 5 other people (here, I share about 14 toilet stalls and about 16 shower stalls with 256 other women). I "may" have carpet or tile in my room (here, it's grey concrete everywhere). There are drawbacks - the phones are outside, under a roof - so it's cold. Lines for everything (pill line, commissary, dining hall, etc.) occur outdoors, rather than indoors. I will have to walk outdoors just to do my laundry. But, this is Texas, and the weather is mild compared to what I am used to in the Midwest. Oh, and people say it's really BORING. I think I'd prefer "boring" to crazy.

Okay, on the inside - here - my friends seem happy for me, but sad I will not be here with them. I mostly worry about South. Danbury and myself are her two closest friends and Danbury leaves tomorrow. I will leave within a couple weeks. South doesn't go home until the end of January. I'm glad there are people here who I know will keep her company. Freckles says that she wants to spend a little time with me each day until I leave - cause she knows that one day, I just won't show up. That's how things are here - we find things out last minute and then we are gone. Star goes back and forth between being happy and sad that I'm leaving. But, Star is going to be moved into the hospital soon - cause her baby is due in January. She also goes home in February. Nurse is still fighting her "shot" and is very distracted (for good reason). She needs to fight the shot, because if it stands, she will lose her "camp eligibility" and be stuck here or in another FCI for the rest of her sentence (even though she came in as minimum security).

Bandana lived at the camp across the street for 4 months and shared a lot with me. She indicated the freedom has a price - there's a lot of drugs and contraband moving in and out of the camp. Some people work on the base, and that interaction with "outside" people has a cost. Along with everyone else, she says it is boring. To fight the boredom, I am going to talk with the head teacher of the camp (who often comes inside our education department) and request a transfer to her department. As long as I have a job, I won't be bored.

There are different caliber women's "camps" in the prison system. There are high quality camps - Alderson, Victorville, and Dublin. There are okay camps - Lexington, for former Danbury (it's closing down), Greenville, Tallahassee and Bryan (perhaps others). Then there are camps such as Carswell. It's not a fully outfitted camp - and has few activities available. It is really just a satellite camp from the medical facility and not a stand-alone camp. Even staff say it's a low level camp in the structure of prison camps. But, for me, it's greater freedom and getting away from the most violent offenders. Perhaps, I will be able to find a little more hope and serenity there. Maybe someone will let me start a GA meeting. It has potential for me - and until that potential is diminished, I'll stay hopeful.

I'm nervous, too. It means starting over with new roommates (always a challenge). It means learning new rules, going through a new orientation period, and being without any of my support system I've built in here. Thank god my support system from outside will be there right along with me! And, since it is a part of the rest of Carswell, my address won't even change!

I don't know if I'm going this week, in three weeks, or over a month from now. All I know is that I am going. Flexibility and patience are two things we must have to survive prison. I'm growing these attributes on a daily basis.

From Dragonfly: The Facts of Life

I grew up watching the TV show, "The Facts of Life." It started when the "students" were still teenagers and away at boarding school... as the actresses grew up, the show transitioned with them to follow them into college. I loved the show - there was Jo, the tough boyish girl who didn't quite 'fit in.' Blaire, the popular cheerleader type. Tootie, the only African American among all Caucasians. Natalie, the overweight, friendly, gullible one. And overseeing them all was Mrs. Garrett. She was the den mother, confidante, all-knowing, loving, disciplinarian to them all.

The other day, I was thinking about how much life at Carswell is similar to "The Facts of Life." We have people from all walks of life living together. We deal with cat-fights, jealousy, racism, weight issues, difficult relationships, friendships, academic successes and failures, missing family, and we even have our own "Mrs. Garrett." The daytime C.O. in my unit is a woman named Mrs. Garrett.

I don't know if our Mrs. Garrett ever watched "The Facts of Life," but she certainly has many of the characteristics of the TV personality. She does her best to not have favorites. She is quite the disciplinarian. She is a confidante to many. She can be caring. The inmates seem to look up to her. She is tough, but is, also, well respected. They may look nothing alike, but the two Mrs. Garretts certainly have some things in common.

As for me, I don't really know Mrs. Garrett all that well. I try my best to stay out of the C.O. office - plus I work most of the days that she's on duty. But, I can say, that a different in a daytime C.O. can mean the difference from a well-organized unit and one that is in distress. When I first arrived here, we were always last or second to last in the meal rotation. This is due to the fact that our unit was consistently scoring low on inspection. Mrs. Garrett came along and told everyone that she expected better, and we did better. We have consistently been in the top three units (and always the top unit in the high rise) since her arrival. More often than not, we are #1 - scoring a perfect 100.

This is cause for some competition, as other units try to beat us. Also, there seems to be some difficulty among staff at times. For example, this week, when they came around to inspect the unit, two rooms were written up - including mine - for dust in the window sill. Mrs. Garrett immediately checked both rooms and knew that it was a false 'write up' and "got into it" with the inspector. I am never here during inspection (it's during the times I work), but that's one thing I really appreciate about a good C.O., they will stick up for their unit. That's a lot like Mrs. Garrett from the show, who always stuck up for her girls as well.

A new daytime C.O. will rotate in next month (January). I will not likely be here to see what happens. I suspect that unfortunately, the unit will stop being so organized and things will start to fall again. It will likely be a C.O. who may not care as much about the unit - they will do their job - well, but won't take that extra time and energy to see us as individuals rather than just inmates. I appreciate the tough C.O.'s that are fair to all. That describes Mrs. Garrett and our own "facts of life."