GRIND SEASON: MONDAY'S WORKLOAD

A new week and I'm carrying a workload that boggles my brain. It's Monday morning, and I'm cross-legged, reading my Bible and praying for a blessed day. The sun crept into view of my barred window as I scooted off my bunk.

The cell's door cranked open, blasting cold air from the day room into my congested cell. I'm on the top tier as men shouted, they wanted to be next on the kiosk to check their emails. I sauntered down the tier, stopping at Mike White's cell. He had memory issues, so I assisted him in a game where he needed to remember three words a day. Today he had congregation, perilous, and oxygenation.

I joined Rahmutu and Haneef for our 9-minute routine from the Strong and Lean workout manual on the day room floor. We're sweating after the first exercise, but with our shoulders and back issues, it's worth it.

I cleaned up and changed clothes in my cell, then grabbed my books and reading material. I stacked them at a table in the day room. I sent out an email on my Jpay account, then marched into the cold air of the welcoming morning.

The walk was relaxing as I entered the chow hall, meeting my peers who sat around with their trays of cold biscuits and pork gravy. I joined Ten-A-Key, who put the movies on the prison channels for the facility. We discussed the acrobatic prowess of the actors in the Shaolin versus Wu-Tang movie, then we departed from the chow hall, getting our day going; he was in college, taking four classes, while I took two.

I returned to my housing unit, where a few men sat at a table piecing together a 1500-piece puzzle. They just arrived from a level 5 facility, and the freedom of being housed in a level 3 facility made them feel like they were in the suburbs; peace of mind and quiet. Which I needed as I opened up my first assignment: answering the questions around the 1911 Shirtwaist Fire that took the lives of 146 people.

It took an hour to answer the questions, then I started working on my English assignment: Journal 1, breaking down a story titled "A Rose For Emily." This story frustrated me.

It was centered around this crazy White woman, and her servant--a Black one--who lived in her madhouse with a dead body she slept with for decades. I had to summarize the story, as well as give a connection and a response to what I read. I had it done in an hour too.

My 10 o'clock phone call was with a loved one that had us discussing our day so far. It relaxed me as I said my goodbyes, then climbed onto my bunk in my cell and watched Orange Is The New Black; it was must-watch TV in prison.

I laughed at characters from the series, like Chapman getting her best friend to call Alex's (Chapman's ex-girlfriend) parole officer to tell him that Alex was going to leave town. Well, instead, Alex was apprehended with an illegal firearm and sent back to prison.

I'm discussing this at lunch with my crew. We laughed, but I'm looking at the reality of mass incarceration, and what it took from an individual...but I'm taking it too far, so I eased back and jest about Crazy Eyes acting on Orange Is The New Black. They took that nugget and returned to laughing about the struggles of a woman's prison.

Back in the dayroom, I'm reviewing notes for my class I'll be facilitating on Thursday. I'm to do a mock job interview with 10 students. The questions are tough, and I have to select the men capable of being prepared for this moment. I had that figured out, but we'll see how it all plays out that day.

The booth officer in the day room called outside recreation, so I did a mad dash to my cell. I changed into my workout gear, then met up with BK and Polar Bear. We bench press and do sit-up routines, then stroll around the yard, chastising one another's football team. We're all smiling as we dap fist, then head back to our units when the recreation yard is closed.

I'm hurrying into a shower stall before the day room is swarmed by men. The hot water in that small stall washed my muscles as I massaged them. My thoughts ventured to the podcast I'm waiting on approval for from the Warden.

I'm More Than an Inmate's Girlfriend Podcast. They asked me to be a guest. One where I'll discuss my rehabilitation. I'm anxious, but those questions they sent were tough, fair, but shaped around a man who did the work--and they'll see that when my day comes.

I'm out of the shower, dried off, and dressed. I grabbed a phone in the corner and got to speaking with my loved ones. We dive into the questions for the podcast, but I'm nervous about them. Why? I'm working on becoming ready for my freedom and they're biased in my eyes, because they love me. I want someone who'll be critical, and only a stranger can deliver that for me. I closed the call with showers of affection.

Dinner was skipped because it's always trash in my eyes. So, I watched Supergirl until the afternoon count arrived. Again, in my bunk, cross-legged, I'm scribbling my thoughts in my journal--and the quote for the day: Nothing matters when you have love.

Count cleared and I'm sitting with Chris and Jay. Both were there for the good energy that I provided daily. Chris helped me with the questions for the podcast, while Jay was trapped on his appearance.

This was due to his being self-conscious from not really loving himself. He gave more to what others thought of him, and the more he shared this, the more I learned about his life: a father with HIV, an absentee mother, and being a male escort before coming to prison at 22. We had interesting talks, plus he offered me insight on our college assignments.

Our interactions lasted for a short time. At 8 o'clock, I'm in my cell, resting. I munched on a honey bun, then flossed and brushed my teeth. In my bunk, I'm still dwelling on all I did today. It all pushed me to see that I'm more than my confinement. So much so that I'm under my sheets thinking how I'll be doing great on the podcast that will offer the world a view of who I am today: someone ready for life again.