December 22, 2004
OKAY, so I TOOK a Xanax last night! I’m sorry, I was trying TOO hard to be relaxed and blissful! I got so afraid of not being able to sleep, that of course, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I got up, read (a novel this time, to I’d have something to think about when I tried to get back to sleep). I also got two letters from jail yesterday, which I am going to try to respond to now, and sometimes I start thinking of how dismal it is still back there, and feel so guilty that the last thing I want to do, really, is think about them in there, much less keep it touch. But my sister and all of my friends sure didn’t take that tack with me, so I sure as hell can’t turn my back on them.
No terrible harm done. I’m going to blog part of their letters, and maybe some kind soul out there will also pick up the pen to one of both of them. Earl (who I called Merle in the blog, but has officially told meto use his real name) is gay, sweet, and my ex-bunkie. Jimmy, (his real name) the "King of the Whites" is a bad boy with a heart of gold, funny as shit, jaw-droppingly handsome, and straight—although you’d never know it from the letter he sent me, which is practically a love letter. (They both made clear enough that they wanted personal letters over excerpts from the blog, so I can speak freely. I had written them "cover notes" but I don’t think they can identify with my experience out here. Better if I concentrate on reacting to their continued experience, as best I can.)
So I drink coffee, and I try to BREATHE. And I made a lunch date with a good friend to get me out of the house and probably sneak the last cigarettes I’ll have for the rest of my life, because it is OUT of the question for Albuquerque and it is not worth the self-loathing. Maybe I can get some SNUS. It’s non-cancer causing Nictoine gum my mother, of all people, recommended I try, but it’s hard to get in the U.S.
And this little morning blogette is my attempt to combat the anxiety that seems to be mine more often than not with the morning hours. I think it will make an enormous difference to wake up in a houseful of people. No man is an island (although some men are peninsulas—as I wrote once in one of my favorite poems). I sure ain’t. I think the reason what saved me from this anxiety during my time on Meth was not the drug (there’s a surprise), it was my dog Gaza. I was never really alone. That boy saved my ass, big-time.
FROM JIMMY [MY NOTES IN CAPS AND BRACKETS]
Hi! I love your furry ass. (HA HA) Just joking. But really sweetheart, now that you’ve gotten your shot of "MAN," how are you feeling? 185% of course (all natural, of course). I’d like a letter or two that is a tad bit more personal please?
It really beats my ego, when I read 3rd-party correspondence. Blog-Post-prison letters that I’m only a passing subject in (sometimes).
I really don’t see how you are I are going to change me into a Hard-Driven ego mania soap opera stud/bad boy without us being on a much more intimate level, not to mention me doing any ego or any confidence after the way they keep being ripped off my chest. By the only male sexual toy I know. (HaHa Yes, you my highness! Earl’s no fun!)
No, no, please, don’t talk! [I TAUGHT HIM DIANNE’S WIEST’S FAMOUS LINE FROM BULLETS OVER BROADWAY]
HaHaHaHaHa! [IS THERE A LOT OF NERVOUS "HAHAING OR IS IT JUST ME?]
So Mark, how’s that for you? That was the poop, woe is Jimmy! Down and Out in Hollyweird, (HA, HA)
So anyhow Darling, do you miss me? You better. I know you’ve been feeling under the weather or more like less than a potent Alpha Male (Ha Ha) Plus having lots of things for you to do and still doing it riding the bus! You are made of sterner stuff than I am, Mister Mark. I can’t handle with the bus.
But really I’d like a letter from you Mr. Olmsted. I’d like to hear about some of your friends’ reaction when you told them of me, and I’d like to know how you’ve been feeling since you’ve done about half of what you needed to. I was thinking maybe you could put an ad in the personals for me in the newspaper! Something like Single White Male, 6’6", 240 lbs, BRN/BLU looking through love through correspondence. Treats women like shit. Only rich. Serious women reply!!! What do you think?
A little rough maybe, needs a little work? Do you have some beautiful, rich, bad girls I can meet, maybe have a visit, maybe fall in love with, or maybe they can just rent me for a while? Will you let me know, okay?
[ON THAT SARDONIC NOTE, I WILL LEAVE JIMMY. HE IS OF COURSE KIDDING. HE IS A BIG SOFTIE UNDERNEATH, WHO I AM CERTAIN WOULD RESPOND TO SOME TENDERNESS. HE’S BEEN IN SO LONG, HE HAS PROBLEM KNOWING HE IS EVEN CAPABLE OF IT WITH A WOMAN, (HE SAYS HE CAN BE PAINFULLY SHY WITH THEM AND I BELIEVE IT) AND WITH A MAN, HE DOESN’T DARE TRY ANYTHING, AT LEAST NOT WHILE I WAS THERE.]
WRITE TO;
Jimmy Eastridge
H63910
P.O. Box 600
Chino, CA 91708
FROM EARL:
[BLAH BLAH BLAH] Thanks for the money $ (SANDRA FORGIVE ME IT WAS ONLY $20 AND MEANS SO MUCH TO THEM] It’ll help feed Jimmy, God knows how much that man can eat!
He cut my hair with scissors [HE USED THE LETTER I SENT TO THE WARDEN] and did a fantastic job! That bitch can cut some mean hair! I knew he was one of us! HO HO HO.
You’re not gonna believe this one! Kenny [THE BLACK KID WHO ACCUSED ME OF BEING RACIST THE DAY I GOT OUT], well he actually went to West Yard from here. They brought him back in an ambulance! He tried to hang himself! Yes, yes, Kenny! You killed KENNY! [SOUNDS LIKE A SOUTH PARK EPISODE]. Well, maybe you didn’t, his guilty conscience did. Rumor on this one is that he had consensual sex with DiDi [A DRAG QUEEN] Then he couldn’t perform for her and wound up with a sheet and a rope around his neck. 3 weeks later he accuses her of raping him!
Crazy shit, hunh!
ENOUGH OF EARL. I GOTTA WRITE THEM BOTH BACK. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, I DON’T MISS IT IN THERE ONE BIT, ALTHOUGH I’LL PRETEND TO MISS THEM BOTH.
Write to:
Earl McNicholls
V28495
P.O.Box 600
Chinco, CA 91708
MCO 2004
