I already wrote a blog entry for today, but this has been buzzing around in my mind, and I feel compelled to put it down on paper.
Now that I have just a few weeks to go, I sort of marvel at how I psychologically survived the first few months, when I had 10…9…8…7 etc. months to go. For the first two weeks, I held onto the extremely thin hope that I would get out on bail. And to be honest, if I had gotten out, my fantasy was to jump bail and go to Canada or France or Mexico. These fantasies were really just a survival mechanism to get through some very tough weeks. Then my lawyer thought we could get me a sentence of six months in a lock-down rehab, and I thought that I had such a good rapport with the probation officer that he would recommend it. But neither the judge nor the probation officer were amused by my forging of my death certificate to vacate my probation for my first conviction for selling in August of 2003. (I had received, for that, a sentence of 3 years probation, 300 hours of community service, restitution of $2300, and the part I couldn’t face—random drug testing that would have required getting sober. It seems amazing to me now that getting off the meth seemed such an insurmountable task, but while still on it I had the bright idea of faking my death instead, in an effort to erase the entire nightmare. Which worked perfectly until someone informed them I was still around—probably the same person who ratted me out the first time. This second offense is why I received a prison sentence.)
When they offered “16 months with half” ( i.e. halftime), or 8 months plus time served, equaling a total of 10 ½ months, I immediately thought of my little sister Erica’s decision the year before to move to Malaysia for several years with her 2 adorable ones. We were all, frankly, devastated at the prospect of her and the kids being on the other side of the world, but she ended up coming back early and spending, I think, around 10 months there all told. It all passed rather quickly, and we had from it a travelogue of her wonderful e-mails to show for it.
I asked my lawyer to suggest to my family they try to look at this experience in much the same way. I had no idea how much my stay here would end up having in common with my sister’s stay there. Talk about a travelogue!
When I settled in County Jail, I was told over and over again by the other inmates that I would be offered work furlough anytime from 4-6 months prior to my date of release. (At the time I calculated my release to be sometime in September or October), so I thought all I had to do was hang on until May, 2 months hence, and then I would be in some sort of halfway-house situation.
I actually believed this was a possibility up until I arrived here at Chino, when I found out this avenue was denied the HIV+ inmates. Which I believe to be illegal, but any challenge would have cost money no inmate had, including me. (Money talks. My lawyer was very good, but he cost $5000. $5000 lawyers donn’t play golf with the judge. If I had could have hired a $20,000 lawyer, I honestly believe I would have gotten 6-month rehab; and if I could have hired a $40,000 lawyer, I might even have gotten my probation reinstated. Of course if I had that kind of money, I would never have been dealing at all. There aren’t a lot of rich people who go to prison. That’s why those who do get so much press. )
So, once I found out I would be here until November, half of my sentence was over, in fact I had but four months to go, And I was going to an environment where I could buy a pen, go to a library, receive books and magazines, and (gingerly at first) be openly gay.
And precisely at that moment, my sister, wanting to share the content of my letters home, proposed the blog. Bless her. Everyday began to have an entirely new purpose. I was not only in constant contact with the world, but quite possibly writing my first book. All this free time was no longer something to get through, but to live through, to be completely present for. (That said, if I was suddenly told I was getting out December 16th instead of November 16th, I think I would have a nervous breakdown).
This last part is a homage to my sister Sandra, the adjunct Math Professor. I broke down my the last 90 days here into uncountable permutations. My favorite has become dividing a month into percentages: 3 days is 10%, 6 days is 20% 10 days is 33%, 15 days is 50% and so on. When things got really tough, every day would be divided into 8 hour chunks and every morning I’d wake up saying, “I’m 8 hours closer or, “just hang on until 4 pm mail”(which rarely disappointed me.)
Now I’ve got the election as a marker, and if Kerry wins, I’ll float until release. If he doesn’t…. well let’s not talk nonsense. Which, I hope, this has not been. I guess writing a blog entry a day in advance gives you some sense that I am perhaps in anticipation mode! And if I haven’t said it enough, THANK-YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING ME. YOUR INTEREST HAS SUSTAINED ME.
MCO 2004
