Jake… From the Inside Out

In a day or two I hit my three month mark, meaning I will have been in this room approximately 2160 hours or 129600 minutes.  No this isn’t the sequel to Rent but for no lack of transvestites.  Go ahead and sing that number if you want to, however I assure you it fits the song.

My point is I have spent a horrendous amount of time in this room.  It’s uncanny what I could have accomplished in the same amount of time on the outside.  Now I won’t kid myself because once you taste that clean air and see the blue sky you seem to lose that driven perspective.

It’s hard to better yourself in that time other than physically and even then you can only do so many push-ups for fear of sweating in the only pair of clothes you get for a week.  I will say that I have a weight beginning with the number one rather than a two for the first time in my twenties.  We would all jump through many hoops on fire to obtain some real educational experience.  Something to scoop the atrophy out of our brains and challenge us on an intellectual level.

First let me begin by saying that the love and support I feel is immense.  These cinder blocks can’t keep out those good vibes, even in this lonely place.

Now that’s out in the open let me say something that has been on my heart, and let me try to say it as nicely as I can.

I am not  brain dead nor any dummer (that’s a joke) since being incarcerated.  I feel no less of a man than I once was.  I am still proud of who I am and who I am becoming.  I have not shunned my faith nor shucked my Biblical knowledge.  I made a mistake, one I am paying for dearly.  Actually one that many hosts are paying for dearly, but allow me to write on the ground for a second if you will.

What I don’t need is pitty, preaching or pontificating.  What I do need is prayer, oh and maybe a puppy.  I am sure that would lighten the mood in here.  What I already have is a pardon from my Lord and Saviour.

So don’t bereave me or mourn the lost, for I am found!!

Happy Halloween everyone.  I decided to dress up like the Hamburgelar.

I have been thinking lately about how to describe jail to someone on the outside and I think I have finally figured it out.  Think about your junior high locker room… metal benches, concrete floors, what my wife calls the sweaty boy smell and the mysterious appearance of those floaty dirt balls.  The echo of every little noise to the point of distortion in your head.

Now think about living in that locker room… preparing your food on toilet paper, sitting on the floor to just watch tv (because there is no way you can hear it with all the noise), washing your skivies in the sink, which by the way is attached to the toilet.

If only I could go out and play basketball, shoot even line dance (for my Jacksonville Turner readers); but alas I’m stuck.  The door is jammed and we all have to make due.