The humidity finally breaks. Thank goodness, too, because Sebastian would not appreciate my vocal accompany for Under the Sea. I wonder if the prison library has 50,000 Leagues Under the Sea. What is the Bill Murray movie where he plays the undersea explorer? My Life, Aquatic. When the aquarium is more concrete than glass, then you are probably in some sort of zoo.
Fish patty for dinner today. Although the meals are way better than jail, I have lots of complaints. The fish patty is a shaving of fish less than a centimeter thick, and they encase it in some white doughy substance that is at least that thickness all around it. Then they have some sort of bread crumbs around the outside of that to help hide the fact that what you are going to eat is mostly an unknown substance that isn't actually fish. Foish, in adequate proportion is something my body desperately misses. My normal and healthy self consumes lots of fish, eggs, oatmeal, chicken, turkey, beans, and rice. The problem with the bread and breading diet is that it doesn't keep me full. Well, if you are an institution that profits from commissary sales then it is not a problem, but a beneficial exploitation. I can agree there are not enough calories but not in the right proportions. Plus, milk doesn't hold the stomach either. Whomever was clever enough to send the protein powder did awesome. I use it sparingly because I don't know how often it will be available but it augments the insufficient diet enough to take some of the bite out of the hunger. Pernicious pun? If the humidity carried on much longer I was going to have to write the warden to see if my family could send me one of those little round blue kiddie pools we had when we were small. Most people in their forties must have had one if they didn't have air conditioning. That's how we used to deal with oppressive heat when I was young. Dodging through a sprinkler pattern happy to not be agile enough to evade artificial rain. It was actually necessary to have the sprinkler with the pool because the pool would accumulate all the grass and dead bugs, so you would have to overfill it and wash the debris out. Then Solomon, four years younger, and smaller, would carelessly climb into the pool right after we got all the junk out, but he didn't do us the courtesy of rinsing off all the grass from his feet. That didn't have anything on our little sister, though. She was in diapers back then and she would climb right in and true to the nature of diapers, would immediately max out the diaper fluid capacity almost instantly. Then the spongy luggage would slip its way off and our sister would be skinny dipping and have us calling to our mom that our sister was outside naked, again. About that time I used to play with G.I. Joes. I would build little twig forts or terraform the sandbox into a miniature battle field. Sand was never very good for the G.I. Joes. You would have to remove the single screw from their back and disassemble them for cleaning. The water from the sprinkler or hose would make some decent construction material for the twig forts. Even better was the spot next to the house under the thin top soil where I could get clay. Until my mom found out, I was excavating that stuff for increasingly grandiose structures. Probably good she put a stop to it before the city determined anything I built should be considered a permanent improvement and raise the taxes. That, or fine us, since I didn't know anything about pulling permits at that time. I also had my first kiss about that time in my life. The daughter of one of my mom's friends. We were in the basement playing house. I built a fort out of cardboard boxes. Actually, my brother and I did. At some point the fort turned into a house with the inclusion of a female to the group. I remember the awkward curiosity of it and I enjoyed it, except my brother was there and after the moment of shock and awe let go of him, he then let out an alarming shout for our mother which left me and the girl with whom I shared the kiss looking at each other wondering what they do to kids so foolish as us. My brother's footsteps pounded up the basement stairs but surprisingly enough did not thunder back down in short echo of an angry parent. Later on in life, that girl ended up attending the same school as me. The end of seventh grade we found each other again as friends. We got along so well. She was stuck by a drunk driver when we were in eighth grade while walking home from her boyfriend's house. I think I remember grades correctly. Maybe I am off a year, but I am pretty sure that is right.
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aboutThese are the journal entries of Zachariah Anderson. All entries are originally handwritten by Zach and then transcribed on his behalf. Please note that occasional misspellings and grammar errors may be fixed during transcription for the sake of making the entries easier to read and sensitive information may be redacted. Archives
July 2024
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