November 15, 2023

Some people have asked about growing up and if I could share more stories about it. It is hard to navigate around painful moments, and put things in the correct order, and include pertinent details to decently convey events that other people might be sensitive about. I might find it easier if an organic dialogue flowed into topics but being stuck in here is a physical imposition as well as a psychological one designed and well exercised.

How about the scar next to my right eye? I was probably about 6 or 7, perhaps. My brothers Josh and Sol shared a bedroom with me, or I with them. I had the top bunk bed. Josh, the lower. Solomon had his bed L'd off the stack of the other two. When they weren't being used as beds then they were an indoor jungle gym. Sol being four years younger, manifested the bravery for his first leap from my upper bunk to his bed down below all at the coaxing and encouragement of Josh and my elated prompting. The blank faced shock of his maiden voyage was almost immediately replaced by a smile betwixt exhilaration and the satisfied surprise of still being alive. It was about that fast that he fell into the circuit of jump, climb, repeat but Josh and I had failed to account on his smaller size taking longer to ascend the ladder to the upper bunk but quickly adapted to climbing around him. When our adolescent surplus of energy didn't have us bouncing off the beds and walls then we often had ballistic forms of entertainment throwing things around the room. Solomon's wealth of hand-me-down stuffed animals was the accumulation of both Josh and mine to which we still provided attention when its as within arms reach to missile at a target which could often be each other. In some odd thoughtlessness I had grabbed a stuffed animal dog that we called "Le Mut." (That is French for "The Mutt") and fired him above my head but it struck the glass light cover and shattered its simple squarish glass into large triangular shards. Nowadays, when cats think other cats are fast they say (in their own language) "he (or she) has Josh-like reflexes." If you don't believe me then ask your cat. When the cat doesn't answer it is because they thinks everyone says "Josh-like reflexes" and presumes your question too stupid to answer. 

But anyway, the light explodes into deadly mutilating shards and a pieces the size of a... really small... glacier strikes me in the temple all the way to my skull but somehow Josh grabs Sol and dashes them both into the bunk beds and out of the surprise attack of translucent danger. Warm rushed down my face while disbelief and confusion wrestled my impulses. Josh's "Mom!" alarm went off first. Sol soon after. I knew I messed up bad when my mom didn't want to hurt me for accidentally hurting myself. My mom ran to the bathroom to contain the mess with a towel? Fail. Is it that bad? It doesn't really hurt. I look at my mom's face which says it is. Not a moment lost getting us into the car and heading for the hospital. I was in the front seat. "Can I look?" She didn't want me to but eventually gave in. In the dim light of the passenger side vanity mirror it first appears closed but the slightest press splays open the skin and I see the skull underneath which somehow wasn't completely covered in blood. The blood rushes heavy again and I reapply the towel. I imagine the doctor numbed it but I only remember getting the stitches which stung. I also remember trying to look at it in the bathroom but didn't get to see much because our mom's quick assessment dictated action. My brothers faces appeared to fear my death. They were unbuckled and riding in the back seats but it was Josh's face I saw in the vanity mirror before my own. At one point he was clung to the shoulder of the front seat but our mom made him sit back. The stitches were like stiff bristles which had to be taken out later on.

​The doctor had said "An inch one way and he would have lost his eye, and the other; he might be dead." Maybe he was just trying to keep me from rocketing Le Mut at any more light fixtures. So I have both eyes and am quite alive but have a little reminder in my reflection to try to be a bit more careful about things. Otherwise, every Halloween I would have to escape from a light fixture and haunt children with stuffed animals. 

My back is doing a little better today and I am not holding every breath and grunting a little with I exhale. About 9:26am I go to the nurse to give blood for lab tests. She said it was to test for inflammation which seemed vague but today says to look for indications of arthritis or Lupus. While taking blood, Worley accidentally dropped the second vial and had to stick me a second time. I couldn't just hold the apparatus while she grabbed a replacement. For security reasons it couldn't be allowed. I am not afraid of needles and it was funny because it seemed to bother her more than me and I was the one getting bled. Bandaids on both arms caught the other inmates attention as soon as I walked out. It was nice to see that the nurse is conscientious about her job and if her actions hurt an inmate. 

One of the new guys to the unit is young and keeps rapping his songs in the vent. He doesn't have a radio or TV from what I can tell. He says that every time they send him to the hole that they break his ID and try to charge him for the replacement. I know that having our names ironed on to the clothes comes with some liability as well. The guy swears he didn't damage his ID but then voices his prerogative to refuse to wear one which is one of those things where its too coincidental that "ten" IDs are damaged but it is always the guards. Although some guards do break your things when you go to the hole, some guys account of that type of abuse of authority is hard to believe.