MyTimeToBlog
Breakfast was called while the men and I watched the local news. I marched out with my housing unit, heading for another crappy meal. Yay...no. The only thing I enjoyed was the relaxing weather that was afforded from the morning walk. When I retreated to my housing unit, I sat with a few of my friends.
We began discussing the book I was currently reading: Jump by Larry Miller. They wanted to know what I liked about it. Truly, I shared that education was something that assisted Mr. Miller with his transition from a criminal to a college graduate. He also used his education to become the Chairman of Nike's Jordan Brand. They were in awe of that, and wanted to read the book after me.
I noticed the sliding door for Upper O West opened (I'm housed in Upper O East), so I rushed over there to get my tablet synced. Our kiosk was acting up again--the millionth time in months. I downloaded today's emails and sent out a few for those I love.
Back in the day room I watched a game of Uno. That game has made the men disappear from the day-to-day grind of mass incarceration. I respected it because they were enjoying themselves in hardship that broke most men. Me, I just worked on my freedom through my writings that I send out daily.
My artist friend stepped up to me. He was carrying this giant pirate ship that he made from toilet paper and coffee. It was unbelievable to look at, but he showed it off all...damn...day. I wanted him to mail it out and start on the cover art for my Marvel Comics novel I completed.
Well, as he showed off the ship, I asked him about the mural he was doing for reentry. He was nearly done with it, and also pulled me into his cell. On his bunk was a painting--an amazing portrait of our homeboy and his girlfriend. The price for what he did was reasonable, and again, I'm on him about when he was going to do my artwork? Again, to be determined?
I retreated to an open table with two of my friends I've been doing time with since my twenties. One was constantly hustling to keep his locker stocked with snacks and the other was fresh from segregation, after being caught with an illegal cellphone. They wanted me to cook for them. I loved to. Why? I put in the bare minimum, while they put in the majority of the food. So, I'm in the cell, blasting music in my ears as I cheffed up three bowl pizzas. They're smiling as they shoveled the food into their mouths.
I'm locking down for a few hours while institutional count commenced. My eyes were drifting out the window, counting the minutes before I headed back out my cell. When the time arrived, I hopped off the bunk and shot out there.
I scrambled to the bank of phones, calling family. The calls were to my brother, my Mom and my goofy baby sister. They were all filled with love, but my sister...she's consumed with her future. Which is great, but I always worried. Why? I want her to be happy mentally, emotionally, and spiritually; only money did that for her. But I'm not her, all I am is her big brother...that talked way too much about movies from a prison.
The calls ended and I'm in front of the day room's TV, and what I'm checking out was House of Cards. President Underwood was crazy, and that had me in conversation mode. Again, that had me diving into the landscape of television. I'm doing this with my Pathfinder (role-playing game) friends. They're in love with movies as much as I am. We spent nearly an hour dissecting the landscape of television versus streaming--and streaming won, simply because the shows we saw from them were awesome.
When we ended our discussion, I headed to the microwave with my bowl pizza. The microwave was disgusting. Somebody didn't clean up after using it, so I marched into one of my friend's cell and grabbed some cleaning supplies. I cleaned the microwave, then nuked my bowl pizza for five minutes.
I'm at a table, shoes off, socked feet propped up on another seat, allowing my bowl pizza to cool off. While waiting, a friend strolled over, eyeing my dinner. I'm a jerk, because I knew the food was hot. So, I offered him a spoonful, that I deposited into his eager hand. He grimaced, the heat from the food had him blowing on it, then he tossed it into his greedy mouth. I'm laughing as the heat cooked his tongue.
Once I fed him, another of my friends joined me at the table. I'm feeding this guy as well. Two bits gone, so before a third, I started eating. The food was good, but I saw how I'm being watched. Those who knew me knew I could cook. I rarely cooked for those outside my circle, so those watching knew not to ask...unless it was a birthday, then I'm cooking for them. Hey, you gotta show people you care.
The even hour arrived, and the day room was loud. I'm talking annoyingly loud. Everybody was out, cooking their meals, playing cards, chess, getting haircuts, showering, and yelling through the unit's doors to the housing unit adjacent to ours, and politicking. Me, I'm with the old guys, watching TV and gossiping about prison nonsense.
I grew bored with that, so I started meandering around the day room, mingling with those I rocked with. All were empty conversations that held no significance. That bored me all the more, so I closed my day by taking a lukewarm shower.
This was a normal day in the lives of those incarcerated. It does get better, especially when you're doing more for yourself mentally. Like education, and working on your faults. We do this most times in our cells, but in the day room, we congregate and work on finding our way out of this place.
All in the day room.