November 2000 in 2000s

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2000
M204

My first guess happened. The herm returned, but I didn’t get sent to A Tower. I got thrown back in the big cage next door instead not even 5 hours later! I’m pissed!!! Real fucking pissed. And depressed. And in need of taking a dump, but too embarrassed to do it in front of all these people. I hope I can go when the lights go out. I’ve adapted to peeing, but not to shitting.

I was so pissed that I pounded on the door, not caring if I got on restriction, and hoping I could get back to A Tower. Even if I had two cellies, I could at least have a more private toilet.

The sergeant came, and damn was she an insensitive bitch! No one but Tom understands my problem as far as mixing with people goes, even if the people aren’t bad, and my sleep problem. I didn’t mention the sleep thing. I just tried to explain why I wanted to go to A, and the rude bitch goes, “Do you live alone? Do you go to the store?”

“Actually, I pretty much live like a hermit,” I told her, “and I do it for a reason.”

But she didn’t get it. Nor did she care, and besides, I didn’t owe this bitch any explanations.

So here I am stuck with loud-mouth Lora and the others again. When Lora and Madeline are up, they’re so loud and obnoxious.

When I came back here last night, I slept on the floor because Deanna didn’t want to give me her bottom bunk this time around. That’s OK. As big as she is, I understand how hard it is for her to climb up there. I didn’t think I could get on this one, though, because there’s no desk near it to step on. All there is a little foothold on the wall. So I step on Deanna’s bed, then the foothold, then up on my bed. To get down, I slide down to Deanna’s bed, then step off. Getting down is a little harder. I can live with it, but I’d still prefer the bottom. I can’t get onto the tent’s top bunks because they’re higher with nothing to climb up with.

Madeline says she doesn’t like Deanna because she thinks she snores on purpose. Madeline and Lora say that when they call out to her for chow she wakes right up, but when they call out to her to shut up, she ignores them. They fucking woke me up calling to her and I was pissed. I’m so exhausted and I wish to hell I could have one quiet, normal celly!

Crazy Melinda talked to me earlier as if nothing ever happened. She did say my screaming at her scared her, though, because I laughed in the midst of it, and she wasn’t sure whether or not I was joking.

Whatever.

She told me earlier how happy to be alone she is, but now she’s got a celly. We warned the poor girl as she walked by just what she’s in for.

Bunch is working now. What a weird name.

I changed my mind about contacting April on the outs. I’ll have other things on my mind and I won’t feel like striking up friendships. Also, she lives way out in Snottsdale.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2000
M205

I’ve been through major stress and hell starting at 3 AM Monday morning, but what can I expect? This is jail. Once again I had to get out of where I was and now I’m in 205.

Lora and Madeline said they miss me and that I’m welcome back any time. That’s very nice of them, but no thanks!

Anyway, I don’t know if I have a sign on me that only others can see, begging to be with all the sickos of Estrella jail, or what! These sick twists belong with each other in funny farms. How the fuck can they put these people just anywhere and with just anyone? The sickos name was Melinda Brinkman. She was short, bone-thin, with very dark hair and eyes. Her wavy hair was shoulder-length. She was a mix of things, but all I can remember is that she’s part Apache.

There I was, glad to finally have just one celly so she wouldn’t have anyone to gab with, yet she’s fucking talking to herself! She just wouldn’t shut the fuck up or sit still for two seconds. She was jumping all around the cell as if she were on speed. I’d have broken the 80-pound anorexic dopehead in half if I wasn’t moved when I was moved. I’d have gladly gotten on restriction and sent back to the hole if I’d had to in order to get away from the sicko. This psycho sparked a rage in me that made me wonder just how the hell I controlled myself around her. Even the DOs know how warped in the head the little shit is.

Officer Temple, a really nice black DO with freckles that’s on nights, said I ought to threaten to kick her ass. I guess that’s what Madeline did to get her out of next door. Everyone here hates the loony tune. She was constantly chatting and singing to herself, screaming out the door, climbing the walls like a little monkey, tearing up magazines and trashing the place. I can see why one of her charges is for littering.

When she’d talk, she made no sense, switched subjects rapidly, interrupted me, and made a zillion contradictory statements. The little pig asked for everything I had, so I just gave her some stuff I didn’t like anyway. She’s definitely not skinny from starving herself. It’s drug-induced skinniness.

I also learned that D2 can only keep its nuts for a few days. I know one of two things will happen within the next 72 hours and I don’t have to be the psychic that I am to know it, either. The herm will return needing this room and I’ll be shipped to A, or I’ll get another crazy celly. Maybe they’ll throw me back next door.

Officer Temple was kind enough to warn me in advance that I’d be in for a new celly and to decide whether or not I wanted to stay on the bottom or jump up on top. That was so nice of her. Once she brought the psycho in, telling her to be nice to me, she told me she had court in a little while. When she returned to get the sicko for court, I asked that she come back afterward so I could talk to her, and she did.

After giving me suggestions about threatening her, filling out a tank order, etc., she and I got to talking a little about my case. She agrees Arizona has stupid laws (tell me about it!) and how a woman did time because her little kid swiped a bottle of cold syrup without her knowing it. Temple said that for all she knew, she could end up here over some stupid thing. I told her I hoped we’d be cellies if she did!

It’s true, though, that the laws have got to change. Laws that should be laws aren’t laws, and laws that shouldn’t be laws are laws. Too many people get set up, too. If what happened to me could happen to me, it could happen to anybody. It’s really scary. Laws such as those forbidding gays to have sex really burns me up. Who the fuck is anybody to tell others who they have sex with, especially when it’s two consenting adults?

I slept from about 6 AM - 10 AM when it was our hour out. She was still at court, though, and didn’t return till noon. Then they let her have her hour out and I got another much-needed hour of sleep. Meanwhile, I couldn’t sleep again till she did, as that was the only time she was quiet. I only managed to get a measly 3 hours, though, till black Officer Perry woke us up for no apparent reason. She opened the door and said to Melinda, “Hey, you’re back.” Then she asked her if she still stank.

Perry came back a couple of hours later to get the little weasel for court again. Afterward, I asked Perry to move one of us, and even she admitted just how crazy Melinda is. I gave her the suicide blanket she wasn’t supposed to have, too. Perry’s exact words were “Yeah, she’s fucked up, man.”

She said she was waiting for the sergeant to call her back and would give me a tank order if she didn’t. Neither of these things happened.

Meanwhile, because of all the anxiety, I never fell back asleep until around 7:00. I didn’t get up till 1:00 when Officer Quinentilla moved me.

Although I’m thrilled to be free of that wacko, I wish they moved her ass, because that cell’s nicer. Here, I had to block the exposed incoming air vent by gluing cardboard with toothpaste onto the vent, and it’s noisier here because of the vent connecting next door and the two cells downstairs.

Quinentilla’s mood must’ve changed, because when I asked her to sharpen my pencils before her shift ended, she rolled her eyes, took the pencils, then never returned them. I had to ask the 2nd shift DO, Hann, to get them for me. She brought them to me, unsharpened.

Now, why couldn’t Quinentilla simply have said that she didn’t want to sharpen the damn things?

Quinentilla’s a young plump Mexican, and Hann’s older – 40ish with blond hair.

I’m glad Lora’s leaving in a week. She’s so loud! Like black kinda loud. She’s woken me up while down on the phone, and now she’ll wake me up next door. At least I can pee in private, and have no psychos around (yet).

Melinda got back an hour before dinner, asking why I moved. I told her I moved because she was so fucking crazy that I was about to kill her. She ignored that and asked if I left her any food. I left some of the lunch I didn’t want. It’s too bad I couldn’t have poisoned it first.

She asked if I stole any of her stuff. Damn! That’s what I forgot to do, I told her. But no, I didn’t steal any of her stuff. It was probably as worthless as she is, anyway.

Later, she was at the door again. I was surprised she wasn’t asking anything about the missing suicide blanket. The little shit asks to borrow my thermal instead, and this is when I really let her have it, telling her to fuck off and just be glad I didn’t fuck her up and beat her beyond recognition. I thought she’d be screaming and pounding on the door, but she just said I was sick (that’s an understatement) and ran back to her cell to pick her nose, eat her snots and hopefully choke on them, too.

I was bummed not to have met with Kara yesterday. Didn’t hear from her today, either. Maybe she’s on vacation or sick. If I don’t see her by the end of next week, I’ll put in a tank requesting to see her.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2000
God, I’m so sick of the same fucking bag lunch day after day – disgusting slices of meat, 2 pieces of bread, and kiwi or a cucumber. I just drink the juice and eat the snack, which is usually a small bag of cookies or crackers.

Lunch and breakfast are served on trays. This morning’s breakfast was barely edible – cold, hard-as-rock waffles. I ate a little of the melon and even some sausage. I don’t like sausage all that much, but I was hungry. We got chocolate milk instead of regular milk, but I only had a little of the milk. It’ll play on my stomach if I have too much.

After thinking about it some more (I’m the curious type), I wonder why Nottelmann didn’t put the white girl in with either myself or next door. Why did they move her out of M altogether?

Damn these fucking beggars! Deanna came over to thank me for the gross lunch meat I slipped under her door, then she asks to borrow my mascara. I can’t find it, I told her. Then Lora slips a spoon under the door for some hair protein. I gave her some, then I let her know she wasn’t getting any more. If I lend my shit out all the time, I’ll never have anything left for myself. Even alone they bother me! I may end up giving away my conditioner, though, because the shit’s so heavy.

Well, I made it through a month here with no write-ups or fights. There may have been a fight between me and Lora or me and Madeline if I hadn’t been moved, though. And I wouldn’t have gone any easier on Madeline just because she’s pregnant. If you’re dumb enough to get in a fight while pregnant, you should accept the possible risks involved. I wouldn’t have been the one to swing first, either. That’s a new charge – assault. Although with my shit luck, no one would’ve believed me, and I’d have been the one to go down. I’m always the one to take the fall while others get away with shit! That’s why I’m in here. It’s so humiliating, too. It’s as unfair as it would be if someone got raped, then went to jail while their attacker went free.

That tongue-clucking fucking dude Madeline went to court at 2 AM. I was surprised to learn they get you up and ready for court in the middle of the night here. She still isn’t back yet and it’s now 2 PM.

Today’s DO, whatever her name is, isn’t too cool. She won’t even sharpen my pencils. Isn’t that her job? Or do some DOs expect us to do it on our hour out? They’re the only ones who have access to the sharpeners, along with trustees, but there are no trustees in M taking care of people on their hour out. At least she didn’t let me sleep through this morning’s bras, panties and towel exchange with her loud mouth. Tomorrow’s stripes and sheet exchange, but they don’t do thermals inside.

A freckled-face black DO on last night is actually pretty friendly. She caught me teary-eyed from homesickness, asked what was wrong, and we chatted a bit.

Black Johnson’s on now. She sharpened a couple of pencils for me (without breaking them). This Johnson’s pretty ugly. She’s short and fat with squinted-like eyes. She’s neither cool nor uncool. She’s just Johnson. There’s no comparison between the two Johnsons when it comes to looks, though!

Miller walked by earlier. She started to walk past my door, then she stopped and asked, “So, how are we doing today?”

This is when I apologized to her for grieving her over such petty BS. Lora was nagging the hell out of me to grieve her when I should’ve had a backbone of my own and not done anything I didn’t really want to do.

The showers were lukewarm today. I hope this doesn’t mean they’re on their way toward being freezing cold.

I both like and do not like the fact that the same DOs only work here once every one to several weeks. The good in it is that you don’t have to deal with the same ones day after day that you don’t like, but the bad side of it is that you don’t see the good ones often enough. From what I hear, the DOs don’t know where they’ll be assigned to work till they come in for work.

Kim said Nottelmann recently turned 20. You mean I’ve been babysat by someone 15 years younger than me? Damn!

Nottelmann’s about average height, thin, with blondish hair and light eyes.

Chambers is pretty much the same, only she’s a major zit face, the poor thing.

Rule was slightly plump and kind of short with dark hair, though I can’t remember the eye color.

Just had what was the best jailhouse dinner yet, aside from that Thanksgiving dinner. We had chicken on the bone. It wasn’t cold and tasted almost as good as KFC. With it was corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and coleslaw.

What a twisted black bitch. She came and asked me why I didn’t have a roommate and now she’s screaming in the day room that she can’t stand it here because it’s too quiet and she wants to go back to A. Then why’d the fucking black bitch go and run her celly out if she’s so lonely and in need of noise? Typical, typical black – it’s too quiet here. Yeah, it would be too quiet for you, wouldn’t it be?

Now the bitch’s in her cell, screaming and slugging the door. If she wants to go back to black-loud A Tower, all she has to do is make like she’s going to attack someone.

One of the juvies just called over here from next door, but I just ignored them. I don’t like to talk with people. I’m simply not a people person. I have to be really damn impressed with someone to want to chat with them for more than just a few minutes, and that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.

Why did they move Tara just because they moved the other girl? I wonder if she’s coming back here or if she’s in D2 or A or B tower? B’s where Loretta Greer is. She killed her two kids and has been here 6 years fighting her case.

I didn’t think I’d ever take a dump two days in a row while being in this place (I’m sure not having a celly, even if they have the decency to turn away, has something to do with it).

Assuming I heard right, that black bitch tried to get in here with me and Johnson told her I wanted to be in here by myself.

Cool. But how did she know I’d prefer to be alone?

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2000
Officer Vasquez, who’s really nice, is getting me a tank order. I realize that despite my good memory, I ought to describe some of these DOs. Vasquez is in her late 30s – early 40s. She’s somewhat tall and thin with blond hair. She’s not ugly or pretty.

Anyway, I want to have the tank order ready for when it comes time for me to request a notary republic to notarize the documents Tom’s sending.

He hasn’t gotten anything from the PO. That, he should get tomorrow. He did get the SS letter which he says he thinks it’s just old records, but that he’ll call them.

There are 4 empty beds here right now. Alex the hermaphrodite went to D2.

Oh, that felt so good to take that dump in private! I’d been stuck for ages, too.

I guess I was a big hit with Deanna next door because Vasquez asked if she asked me about moving in here with me. If I had to choose between Deanna, Madeline and Lora, I’d choose Deanna in a heartbeat, but she snores like a mother-fucker and she likes me. She snores worse than Tom. As for her liking me – I know she’s harmless. I’d just rather be alone for as long as I can. I only hope history doesn’t repeat itself with a closed custody case needing this cell, then I go back to A, enjoy Palma again for a while, then wind up stuck in a 4-man cell all over again.

Officer Dixon is on now. She’s short, stout, black, and seemingly nice. Don’t know her well enough to judge.

With beds available here, I’m surprised Jessica isn’t over here now. Maybe she went home, or maybe she’s on restriction for fighting with Kim. In that case, she’d have to remain in A, I’d think.

I’ve really gotten to know a lot of people here. Back in A, I would wave to Becky in the 200 pod. She and I came in together. We, like many other girls, laid back to back in the freezing holding cell for body warmth.

I also saw April again right before I came back here. Someone jumped her in the tents, but she was released the next day. She was as glad to see me as I was to see her. I gave her my name and booking number, and she gave me her name, address and phone number. She’s someone I would meet on the outs. Not just because she’s pretty, but she’s clean, from what I can tell. On the other hand, I almost never get together with those I say I’ll get together with unless they really mean something to me.

According to Tom, Houdini’s acting out in ways he never did with me – darting in and out of rooms, climbing up Tom’s leg while on the computer, etc. It’s obviously because he’s not getting the attention he’s used to getting.

Thanks, freeloaders. Thanks for trashing my husband and pet’s lives, on top of my own.

Cool! Nottelmann’s on tonight. I said hi to her when she walked by and she said hi back. I said I didn’t know she worked over here. She said she does only when they make her, then complained about not having anything to do for 8 hours. I told her we could swap places before she asked me if I had any good books. I told her I put a stack down on the table. They were already in here when I moved in and they didn’t appeal to me. I told her that I wasn’t going anywhere, unfortunately, so she could stop by and chat if she got really bored. She smiled, then continued her walk.

Nottelmann’s been chatting downstairs with Kim and company. Guess she is bored! So am I. I have reading I could do, but I’m sort of bummed that I’m out of stuff to write about. Perhaps this is good, though, because if I get more to write about, it probably wouldn’t be anything good.

I wonder if this Nasonex is going to be as good as the Vancenase. I haven’t had any major sneezing fits yet, but I am sneezing here and there. I suppose I can’t be too surprised. This cell may be pretty clean, but the jail, in general, is loaded with dust. I’m glad I didn’t end up having to sweep all of the dust out of next door.

Just had another burrito dinner with a bun, salad, potatoes, and a small piece of corn on the cob. Sometimes you don’t get margarine and are stuck with bland potatoes.

I’m still sneezing on and off. Maybe it’s something about M Dorm that makes me sneeze.

I’m tired, but I don’t want to try to sleep till after I fill out my commissary sheet. She’ll probably pass those out within the next hour or so.

I think before this month is out I’ll have written 100 pages! There’s not much else to do in this joint, and I can’t stand reading for long periods of time. I already exercised, but maybe I’ll do some more.

Well, I was sleeping peacefully, but some loud-mouth black woman that just arrived with some white woman woke me up. This is your typical threatening, aggressive, loud black bitch. It bullied the white lady out of the cell (the other small cell up here) and now I’m afraid they’ll throw whitey in here.

Doesn’t look that way. Black Johnson and Nottelmann just escorted whitey out of M altogether. She was a little loud and a little nutty too, judging by the way she was bragging about having been in prison for 13 years to the people in the big cell downstairs.

So now we have 3 empty beds and I know the one in here will be the next to be filled. Please, God, let it be a quiet, non-demanding person!

Who knows when I’ll be able to get back to sleep? If the bitch had pitched its fit in the daytime, I’d probably be able to fall back asleep, but this nocturnal body of mine just doesn’t sleep well at night. Especially when it’s not on Melatonin, at home in its own bed.

Now the black bitch is singing at the top of its lungs. Oh, God! I suppose this is what it’ll do on its hour out, too. Typical I-gotta-be-loud black! And I remember that voice from A.

Damn, I’m hungry! If the med nurse just came, though, like she did, that means it’s only around 8:00, so I have to wait 9½ hours for food.

I forgot to mention earlier that Tom said he’s going to put chicken wire on the walls of the big cage so Harry can move in there and Houdini doesn’t have to be alone. This is really nice of him, but why go to all the trouble when he can throw Houdini in with Harry until Harry’s big enough to be in the wire cage without escaping?

It’s change of shift now. I’ll probably be up till after breakfast. I’m going to wash my hair tomorrow like I do every other day. I’d say the floor doesn’t need sweeping yet, and I don’t need to make any phone calls, so that’s all I’ll do tomorrow.

I think tomorrow’s underwear and towel exchange. I hope I don’t sleep through it.

Some black DO’s on now. I think I’ve seen her before, but I don’t know what she’s like.

Kim was telling me she got maced a few months back. I guess a few inmates were fighting. Here, they don’t bother to pull them apart, they just mace them.

I asked Nottelmann if there was any way I could be closed custody, and she said I never could be because you have to be mean, evil and nasty for that. I guess I’m just not a big enough bitch. Too bad.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2000
Another day of being in this goddamn cell! This is almost as bad as the tents, only it’s not freezing and I don’t have to worry about keeping a schedule.

Right now they’re quiet but sometimes they get so fucking loud and obnoxious! Trying to sleep when they’re up is not an easy task. This is why I want just one celly; because she won’t have anyone to talk to when I’m asleep unless she’s talking in her sleep or to herself.

I have nothing against these people, but they really drive me crazy at times.

Deanna’s the quietest, except for her snoring.

Lora’s a major nag who can’t mind her own business.

I thought Madeline was going to be the quietest, but she’s runner-up to Lora. She’s driving me crazy with her very limited vocabulary and the way she clucks her tongue. She’s not what people would describe as ladylike. Every other word out of her mouth is dude or fuck. And I thought I swore a lot! She’s so cockish! She actually speaks better Spanish than English. Especially for a white girl. I translated a letter into Spanish for her, since I know more of it and can spell it better. I forgot just how much Spanish I knew! I’m quite impressed with myself for translating that letter if I do say so myself.

M203

I’m finally out of that horrid cell!! I thought I was going to strangle Lora and Madeline! Their big mouths were really getting on my nerves when I was trying to sleep. Even when I wasn’t, they were still obnoxious, grating on my nerves. There was nothing worse, though than dealing with that toilet! It wouldn’t be much different than sitting my ass down on a toilet on a street corner.

Another problem with so many cellies is the fucking begging. I tried to tell them up front I didn’t want to be used for my shit, but it was useless. They wanted conditioner, lotion, mascara, etc., not that they didn’t offer me anything in exchange, because they did. Lora gave me an envelope so I wouldn’t have to wait till Monday.

It was Johnson who finally moved me and I told her that if she needed a positive word from an inmate, for whatever reason, I was the one to come to. I did her the favor of cleaning out this cell in exchange for her letting me move into it. Agent Tara and this crazy girl were in here and they trashed the place. Madeline said she drove this crazy girl out of next door.

I promised “clucking, fucking dude” Madeline that I’d still translate letters for her. She’ll just slip a note out to me when I’m on my hour out, I’ll translate it, then slip it back to her.

I’ll be slipping Kim a note, letting her know how much I love and miss her, though we’ve told each other a few times since I’ve been back. I also told her why I hated the big cell.

Anyway, the crazy girl was trying to get bonded out of here last night and Officer Mena said I could take her place if she left, but she didn’t. Instead, she left today in cuffs after kicking the shit out of the door. Then they moved Tara. So Johnson said she’d move me if I’d roll her stuff up (I guess she’s in D2, the psych ward). The cell was filthy, all right! I gathered the crazy girl’s shit up, put it outside the door, then swept, mopped and wiped shit down.

I certainly wouldn’t want the vent totally exposed, because it’d be too chilly and drafty, but I didn’t want it completely blocked, either. It made me feel like I was going to suffocate with no air circulation, so I exposed a tiny part of it.

So I’ve been in all 3 cells on the upper level. In 205 with Kim, 204, and now 203 at the end, right by the door leading to the next pod. I hope Palma works here every now and then! And Chambers. She’s not a looker, but she’s cool. You know I really gotta be attracted to Palma to miss a gruff like that. The one everyone thinks is a bitch, which is true at times.

Oh, she’s so nice! Johnson just sharpened my pencils for me and she didn’t break them (I have them taped) like Palma does. Then she was nice enough to open the door and hand them to me when she didn’t have to. She could’ve just slipped them under the door. After she left, loud-mouth Lora screamed over to ask what Johnson said to me. Nothing, I told her.

So now she’s going to yell over here regularly? At least I don’t have to cell with that mouth anymore! She makes me seem like a very soft-spoken person. I’m just sick of her. I’m sick of everyone!

Officer Miller, who seemed pretty cool, isn’t so cool anymore. She let 101 out for 2 hours simply because they were last. It was unfair of her to play favorites like that (if you’re going to play favorites, you should at least be discreet about it), and Lora, Madeline, Deanna and I all grieved the French poodle-haired bitch. I didn’t add this to the grievance, but I know it’s because of Kim and Lisa. She kisses up to them so she can learn more about the AB (Miller works Gang Intelligence).

White Johnson, who signed off on them, seemed pretty pissed when she went to take them out of the door. You know, there’s something about this woman that really appeals to me. She looks hot even when she’s pissed.

It would be nice to have Nottelmann work here more often. I totally dig the nails she’s got. They’re airbrushed. She was funny the other day, moaning from inside the tower about how she broke one.

This cell appears smaller than the one Kim and I shared because it’s laid out differently, but I don’t care. It’s a 2-man cell with a toilet not visible from the tower. I like how the light isn’t so bright in here, but I hated it when they turned off the light in the 4-man cell when everyone else but I wanted to sleep. I wanted to read but couldn’t, so I laid there all night listening to them snore and sigh. I just wish I could be here by myself for the rest of the time I’m stuck here! Or at least with someone who’s easy-going and sane.

It’s getting nippy in here. Maybe I should reblock the vent, which was sealed by throwing wet wads of toilet paper on it.

Another 2 days and I’ll have been here a month. God, that’s hard to believe!

Now what was that all about? Johnson just walked by, stopped at the door and stared at me for a minute, then said goodnight.

Now 3rd shift is on.

I hope my next celly won’t arrive till after commissary just in case she bugs me for it.

I can hear the 3 of them next door bopping around and shouting while they exercise. At least they’re all happy over there. I’m glad there’s no vent connecting this cell to them like there was in the other small cell.

I can hear the juvies next to me too, on the other side.

I just had Officer Pérez turn my light back on so I could write. This is one cool, yet homely-looking lady! She has nice eyes but if she or a vibrator were my only two choices in this world, I think I’d settle for the vibrator.

She was gabbing next door for a few minutes and I don’t think she was too happy. All I could make out that she said was something like, “What is this shit?” and “I don’t like that.”

I thanked her for talking with me and getting me to medical (when Johnson wouldn’t) the first time I was in this dorm. When I said I wasn’t sure if she remembered me, she said, “Of course I do, Jodi.”

Jodi? Since when do DOs ever call inmates by first names, not that I mind either way. My first name’s ugly and my last name’s stupid because it’s a word and names shouldn’t be words.

I still worry about what my PO’s going to be like and what she’s going to do as far as unreasonable demands go. Tom said the PO will be out of the Maricopa area and so she’ll know how hard it’d be for me to get out daily. Somehow I doubt she’ll give a shit, and again, if she doesn’t like where we are, all she has to do is tell us to move.

Anyway, the PO has heard from the freeloaders, the pigs, the fuckface Paul, and the demonic judge. Now it’s my turn to give my story which will be the only true version, even if it doesn’t do me any good. I wrote a letter to her expressing my concerns, etc., then I mailed it home for Tom to type and send to her.

Officer Toye, a pleasant black DO, pulled me for medical at 4 AM the other morning, which is when they draw blood. I got to see the tattooed nurse who was rude and incompetent. At least he has a slight sense of humor, telling me that in order to draw blood from the guys they punch them in the nose and catch it in a cup.

I told him I only took the Theo for a day, but he insisted on drawing blood anyway, and that I could cut my dosage down (anything to make an extra buck!). Anyway, I’ve had small veins for a long time, which he says is because of all the years I was on Theo. The quack couldn’t get a vein in my arm, so he went for my hand and the stupid shit collapsed the vein.

This may sound really conceited, but it’s really frustrating to be surrounded by so much stupidity! It’s tough when you know a lot more than most people ever will.

I signed a refusal form for the blood work, letting him know what a mean, evil vampire he is!

When he asked me where I lived, I said Maricopa, which caused the woman and guy DOs who were nearby to burst out laughing. The nurse meant – where do I live in the jail, but as I told him, I don’t fucking “live” here. This is anything but my home!

When the female DO escorted me back, I thought she looked familiar and I asked if she worked in the tents. She said yes, and I asked her to tell Officer Rule I said hi. She said she would if she remembered. Then it hit me and I thought – damn, this could’ve been Rule instead! What a pity we missed each other.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 2000
I really hate the fuck out of this cell! It’s quieter here than in A, but not only do I have to endure the humiliation of having to use the toilet with 3 cellies instead of one, but the fucking DO tower has a perfect view of the toilet! The big cell’s doors are mostly glass, and it has windows on each side of it, too.

I’m so sick of living in a fishbowl that I’m contemplating going back to the tents, as cold as it gets out there now. I feel like I’m in a giant display case. This just isn’t like being on stage dancing or singing. But I just can’t make up my mind as to what I should do! Lora said to leave it in God’s hands. Oh, like I’m really going to trust the very being that put me here in the first place? Yeah, right!

I wrote my last entry late last night and now it’s mid-afternoon. Having to pee today was a nightmare. I had to wait till I felt like my bladder was going to burst before I could pee in front of all these people, both inside and outside the cell.

I put in a tank order yesterday on 2nd shift and let them know how overwhelmed I was with being in such a large cell, then I talked to this really cool black DO at 4 AM when I had to go to medical for blood work, and I even lied (I’ll do whatever it takes) and said I was afraid of one of my cellies.

Or so I thought she was cool. She said she’d express my concerns to 1st shift, but when I asked 1st shift about swapping with someone in a 2-man cell, since they’re all filled up, she hadn’t a clue as to what I was talking about.

So, I filled out a grievance saying I shouldn’t have to be where I’m scared – ship me back to A till a bed’s available in a 2-man cell.

A nice, older DO just walked by (it’s change of shift now) so maybe she’ll rescue me from this cell.

It’s quieter here this time around since we don’t have 3 black bitches penned up together, but I’ll take all the noise in the world just to have a little more privacy on the toilet! And I want just one celly if I can’t be alone, not 2 or 3.

It’s warmer here too, and the showers are warmer, but I’ve got to get out of this cell! I can’t live in it for 5 months. I’d even go back with Jessica! She wouldn’t attack me. It was Kim she was after. She felt Kim was being too dominant over the cell, despite the fact that Jessica was rude and disrespectful. Turning your head away from someone trying to put a tampon in shouldn’t be any harder than turning your fucking music down. Nonetheless, I’m not afraid of Jessica. Jessica and I got along much better than she and Kim did, and although most people may be bigger than me, most people couldn’t kick my ass. They could arm wrestle me down, they could lift things I couldn’t lift, but it’s very hard to beat my ass because of my temper. I’m also in pretty good shape and I can move very fast because I’m small. So, unless Jessica put on 30 more pounds or so and sat on me, she couldn’t take me. I could probably flatten most of these DOs too, except for DOs like Palma, Arajo, and Johnson.

That’s white Johnson (there’s a black one and a white one) with the red hair who’s not so bad looking, even though she is kind of butchy looking which isn’t normally my type, and although she’s white which also isn’t normally my thing. I usually go for Hispanic or Indian. I’ve never been attracted to a redhead before, either. Nonetheless, I think Officer Johnson is just fine. She’s so tall, too. It’s like – wow! She’s not really what I’d call fat, just big-boned and a bit muscular. I didn’t think I’d like her at first (she wouldn’t let me go to medical to get my fucking inhaler) and I was a bit intimidated by her. I think I’d feel safe with her now that I know her a little better, even though she could probably kick the shit out of most people. She doesn’t seem aggressive, though.

She acted pretty weirdly the other day. When she came on duty, she opened the door, came and stood in the middle of the cell, looked at Madeline, then Deanna, then Lora, then stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, then left. She never said a word the whole time.

“Why did she come in here,” Madeline asked as soon as she left.

Good question.

I was too tired to go out on our hour out. I didn’t get to bed till 6:00 and I got up at noon. So this dusty floor didn’t get swept. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here real soon and it won’t matter.

I wish I could make myself sleep like some of these girls can to make the time go by faster. They’ve been sleeping for 15 hours, except for Deanna. She’s doing her hair and makeup now.

Still nothing going on as far as any efforts being made to move me, so that means I’ll either have to try to adapt to this place or return to the tents when the lady from classification comes around. Meanwhile, I try to do my pissing when the DOs are out of the tower.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2000
M204

I’m back in M in a 4-man cell and all my cellies are sleeping. This is why I’m writing now – no distractions. Trying to get any sleep myself with 3 cellies is going to be the impossible dream! I put in a tank order requesting a 2-man cell once a bed opens up in one, but I doubt they’ll move me. I’d even take a small cell with Agent Tara!

My cellies are so-so, but either way, they’re 3 too many. Kim’s right below me with Lisa. We said hi to each other earlier when I went to take a shower that was actually hot for a change.

I’m with Lora, Madeline and Deanna.

I’ve already described loud, obnoxious Lora.

Madeline C is about 6 weeks pregnant. She’s about 5’ 3”, slightly plump, with short, wavy light-medium brown hair, hazel eyes, and one fucked up set of teeth.

Deanna T, a heavy black girl, describes me as an innocent-looking cutie who looks great for someone who’s almost 35. She even hugged me when I got to crying over missing Tom and home and moved to an upper bunk for me. The bunks that don’t have desks right by them are too hard to climb. If worse had come to worse and no one would’ve let me have the bottom, all I would’ve had to do was throw my mattress on the floor. This room is spacious enough for that. That’s what the people downstairs are doing.

According to Madeline, Deanna’s crazy.

Oh, great. Just put me in with another crazy, why don’t you!

The cell’s floor is filthy with dust balls galore, so tomorrow I’ll sweep it since it doesn’t look like anyone else will do it.

I didn’t think we would, but we ate pretty well for Thanksgiving dinner. We got 2 chicken legs, stuffing, ice cream, a gingerbread muffin, and mashed potatoes that they actually took the time to mix butter into.

Medical finally did swipe some money; $9.

Tom came to see me around noon before I came to M, and I guess they forgot about us because we ended up talking for over an hour!

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2000
Believe it or not, I’m alone! I don’t know why they picked Lora to go to M Dorm first, since I’ve been waiting longer than she has, but they rolled her and Kim up at 4:00 this morning. I just asked Limon, one of the nicest male DOs, if I could stay alone. He said he couldn’t guarantee it, but he could try. Nonetheless, I’m sure I’ll have a new celly by 9 PM tonight. It’s around 3 PM right now. A lot of girls say they’d get lonely if they were alone, but I could handle it. I lived alone for 9 years.

Last night, before they rolled out of here, the 3 of us played hangman. It was fun, but having more than one celly really sucks. When I was trying to sleep when it was only Kim I was with, she had no one to talk to, but then she had Lora to gab with and it wasn’t the easiest thing to fall asleep to.

Lora also lied to get into Ad-Seg. She said she was in fear for her safety in the yard.

Great. Now those who are on their hour out are bugging me, along with when I’m on my hour out. Someone just came to the door begging for bread, which would’ve really pissed me off if I’d been asleep. When I’m out, I can’t pass by these damn cells without someone asking for something – pencils sharpened, T-paper, etc. Why do these people need everyone else to do their shit for them?

It’s after dinner and still no celly! They’ll come soon enough, though. I wish I could take a dump now so that’d be one less dump I’d have to be degraded into taking in front of someone else, all for the freeloaders who will victimize me for as long as I live.

I got my probation terms and I feel so overwhelmed! I’m afraid we’re either going to be forced to run, or I’m going to end up killing myself. Once again, I trust my vibes, and I think Tom’s wrong when he says my probation will be easy. Also, it says right on the form that Mary S, my PO, can order us to move if she doesn’t approve of where we live. Anyway, the terms form said I must work or take classes full-time. Well, if I have to do something full-time, I might as well get paid for it. Besides, what can I go to school for for that long? To make demands seem even more impossible to meet, they want me to take adult education classes on top of work/school, community service, and therapy. And where do they expect Tom to find the time to make sure I can meet all these demands I could never handle meeting?!?!

Fuck this fucking system for ruining and rearranging my life! I am not a murderer!

It’s early evening now, and I still can’t believe I’m alone!

Anyway, I reread the thing and I only have to do 5 hours a week of community service. Not 20. Gotta do 100 in all. Community service and therapy don’t worry me. It’s the full-time shit that worries me. So Kim was wrong when she said I could take classes once a week for 8-12 weeks like I did with the sign language courses. Once a week won’t cut it. To think that this won’t be over till I’m almost 38 makes me want to drop dead! And even then, it’ll never be over.

I’m sending Tom a letter to type up and send to my PO. I want her to hear my side of this bullshit and my concerns, even if it’ll do me no good because I know this person is a monster, female or not. She’s going to do everything she can to violate me. She is my ultimate enemy for the next 3 years.

I wish Kim and Lora hadn’t gone and colored in the light cover. Now it’s too dark to read. For now, I’ll have to climb up on the upper bunk so I can see better, till my cellies get here. Especially when they dim the lights.

I literally slept all day today and didn’t get up till right before dinner. I was surprised to find they left my mail in the trap. They’re supposed to make you open legal mail in front of them since they’re not supposed to themselves, yet they let me sleep! Maybe they let me sleep because it was from the probation dept.

I did my exercises earlier and am still limiting my bread intake.

It had been quiet, but now people are yelling again. It’s going to be a long night. At least I’m finally well-rested. I thought I’d never catch up on my sleep. Just when I’d begin to nod off, I’d be woken up by something.

Although I miss my Turbie Twist, I’ve been twisting my towel in a similar fashion and it works well. I twist my hair in my towel after my shower, leave it like that for a few minutes, and my hair dries faster as it would with the Turbie Twist towel.

I think it’s around 11:00 now. God, 5½ hours till breakfast! I’ll probably be hungry enough to eat it even if it’s slop, which is gross. Slop is this gravy-like shit with chunks of morbid meat in it. I’d swear it was dog or cat food. Maybe it is.

As much as I love having Tom, Ratsy, and Houdini’s pictures here, it makes me sad. I miss them so much! I miss my old life that will never be mine again. If I thought God and society were controlling me then – I hadn’t seen anything yet!

There’s no comparison between the so-called laws I broke and the way the cops/courts fucked up with me by lying, withholding information, and creating fictitious evidence, let alone discrimination for being a woman. A white woman with a black involved in her case. Whenever there’s a minority involved, that’s quickly becoming the majority, they’re the ones who always win.

Tomorrow, now today, is Thanksgiving, so I suppose Tom won’t get in so easily. It’ll probably be mobbed.

A guy on nights, who has retainers, said I ought to put in a tank to the captain about my retainers, but I don’t know. Do I really want to fight another losing battle? Do I really care about my teeth anymore? Is that really a priority of mine?

I wasn’t going to write to Paula and Mom again so soon, but I had nothing better to do, so I wrote a letter to Mom and started one for Paula. When I say to Mom, I really mean to Mary and Dave, too. I won’t have envelopes till Monday, though.

“Male in the house,” I just heard the male DO yell. They’re supposed to make that announcement every time they walk through the pods.

Guess I’ll try doing a little reading now. I’ve made it halfway through a murder mystery so far.

It’s around 4:00 and I’m still up.

Hope I can have my hour out early before I crash, but that’s not the way it’s been this week. Lately, I’m let out at 2:00, when the chain gang comes marching back. Whenever I get out, I’ve got to get some pencils sharpened, sweep and mop the cell, and take a shower. I got this hair food Kim insisted I get, along with regular shampoo/conditioner. You leave it in your hair while it’s still damp. I guess It’s like Infusium 23, though it’s thick as shit. It smells like apples.

So what’ll be for breakfast this morning? Yesterday it was these shitty fake eggs, they don’t do waffles too often, so I guess it’ll be either slop or cereal. The white slop is the worst. It’s white gravy with chunks of ham in it. Brown slop is OK. That has beef in it.

The more I think about it, the more I’m surprised that all I got was a letter from my PO telling me to report to her upon my release. Isn’t she supposed to come see me? I thought Kim said they come to see you 10 days into your sentence.

I wonder when I’ll return to M and if I’ll be in a 2-man cell or a 4-man cell. God, I hope not a 4-man cell! It was obnoxious enough listening to people in a 4-man cell from next door, so I wouldn’t want to actually be in one.

Been doing a lot of exercising as well as reading and writing. I spend a lot of time thinking, too. God, I love and miss Tom! What would I do without that man??? I can’t bear to think of him too much. It only drives me to tears. Same goes for when I think of Houdini and how he’d be waiting for me when I’d get up, and the games we’d play. Instead, I think of either trivial shit, or I fantasize over Palma.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2000
Eating noisily is rude and gross, says Lora. It is. So then why does she do it?

Tom should be here anytime now for our visit. I have a little piece of paper on which I scribbled notes. That way I won’t forget to bring up all the stuff I want to discuss.

For the third time, they brought me Theo and this nurse says she’ll leave a note to cancel it, but I’m sure they’ll be bringing it day after day. They bring you meds you don’t want, but when you need meds – they’re nowhere around! I also filled out a second tank order about it, but this is it. If they’re too stupid to get their shit together, that’s their problem. They can waste their time if want to.

I’m tired today, thanks to having to get up for a zillion different things.

Lora’s normal, but a bit obnoxious at times. She talks louder than I do and moans in her sleep.

I like Officer Chambers, now that I know her name. I’m not attracted to her, but she’s so friendly and easy-going. Nicer than that serious gruff Palma, as gorgeous as she is.

Kim is awaiting acceptance into the Women’s Network program, and she just told me to write that.

I saw Kara, plus two male trainees. They were very nice. Kara said I looked great (because of my makeup). I don’t feel so great, though. I want out!

Kara knew who I was talking about as soon as I mentioned the celly I had that swore she was an FBI agent.

Although I’m still mad and depressed, it’s a wonder how I can even laugh, joke and sing at times in this place. It’s been said that I’m tough and resilient. Maybe I’m too resilient, in a sense. Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d fallen into a deep catatonic state, locked away in my own little world forever, never having to deal with people and their bullshit again.

Saw Tom, and as always, it was great seeing him. He’s working on trying to get me out of here based on the fact that I’m hard of hearing and the pigs/courts never provided an interpreter for me.

He also says I have a female PO (he couldn’t remember her name) and left her a message. He said it’ll be a week or so before she returns the call, but he’ll let her know what he’s up to.

Our visit was as it always is – great, but hard because I wanted to climb through the glass window, hug and kiss the hell out of him, then go home with him.

He’s done a lot of research and says the whole thing was illegal from start to finish because they should’ve provided me with an interpreter. As he also reminded me, though, cops and courts can break all the laws they want, so no matter what he does, I’ll probably be stuck here till April 29th.

God’s biggest plans for me throughout life were definitely to be fucked over by those with more authority than myself. I’m here to serve others, according to him, in any way that’ll hurt me yet advance them, which usually means I lose my freedom, and they make money.

So far they haven’t taken any money for my meds. If they do, the money’s available.

I didn’t write about my jailhouse mouse. One of them was quite naughty last night! It climbed up on my bunk to the area where I have my stuff which is by my head. Then it ate a corner of Gretchen’s candy bar. So, I broke off where they ate and split the rest with Kim. Then I gave Gretchen her other candy bar and told her they were out of stock on the other one, and gave her back an envelope, too. Now we’re even. The tradeoff is supposed to be 1 candy bar for 3 envelopes, anyway.

I wonder if that hot-looking Palma is on tonight? I hope so!

Kim is about to give Lora a tattoo. Ugh, how painful! For the most part, I think tattoos are ugly. I’m probably the only one here who doesn’t have any.

Here these assholes are, running the cooler in the middle of winter, yet what do they do? They heat the shit out of the visitation area!

Brilliant. Real fucking brilliant.

I got 3 letters today. One was quite a shocker. It was from the Social Security department in MA, claiming they were going to stop the SSI and SS checks they stopped in mid-1994, while I’m in here. And just where have the checks I’m supposed to have gotten for the last 6 years gone? I sent the letter (along with Helen’s) home for Tom to deal with because I don’t know what the fuck this means or what to do about it.

Yes, I heard from Helen. She said she’s concerned for me and would like to visit. Wow! She writes to me and wants to see me after just 3 visits? How sweet of her! She also enclosed a poem on attitude. I wrote her back and gave her the visiting hours.

In the letter I got from Tom today, he enclosed a couple of pictures. One’s of Houdini and the other is of him and Ratsy. I’m going to ask that he also send a snake picture and a couple of mice pictures.

Here I was thinking I was helping Tom by packing away a lot of the dolls so there’d be less for him to dust, yet he says he likes them out. How sweet!

I’m gluing the pictures to the wall with toothpaste while Kim and Lora play cards and do each other’s hair.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 2000
I finally got my commissary! I got 2 candy bars for Gretchen in exchange for envelopes, and a pad and pop tarts for Kim for all she’s given/done for me.

For me, I got a manila envelope, a legal pad, 5 stamped envelopes, red lipstick that actually looks OK as long as I blot it, mascara, lotion, shampoo, conditioner, hair protein, hair elastics, toothpaste, hydrocortisone cream, Advil, a few brownies, a few candy bars, and some hard candy.

I’m back a little while later and I can barely see what I’m writing because the light’s so dim. Kim and Lora mixed cherry Kool-Aid and toothpaste to smear on the clear plastic light cover to dim the lighting in here even more.

Gretchen was happy to move into her own cell, although we all got on fine together because we respected each other’s ways. Gretchen said she was rolled up from M for excessive praying which got on her celly’s nerves. I personally found no problem with it. It wasn’t like she was screaming at the top of her lungs or anything when she prayed. Even though we got along and she was fairly normal, she’s glad to be by herself till she goes home on Thursday. I wish I could be alone after Kim leaves! The only negative to Gretchen was that she ate like Tom, Mom and Andy and made loud, gross annoying smacking sounds.

Kim never ceases to be my savior in this place! She blocked the vent with a plastic bag which is held in place with spoons that are jammed through the bag and into the grill because Lora and I were freezing!

Gretchen had barely cleared out of her when Lora E, our sanest celly yet, came to join us. I’d prefer just Kim in this tiny room, but at least she’s no bible-thumper, or a moody disrespectful bitch, or claiming to be an FBI agent created from glass flies. Agent Tara also claimed the government stole her ovaries, and that she knew her mother killed her kids when her boobs suddenly got smaller. She would pace the room constantly too, scribbling profanities against herself. Lora’s loud, though. She’s about 5’ 4” with a nice body, but an ugly face. She has very dark hair and eyes. Her hair’s almost to the middle of her back.

There’s an increase in male DOs around here lately, but they seem OK for someone who’s sexist in general. I don’t prefer women simply because they look better. I also prefer them because they’re not usually the assholes men are. I would be a dedicated lesbian if it weren’t for Tom. He’s the only exception.

Lora’s leaving on 12/7. I wonder if we’ll be in M by then and if we’ll stay there or be bounced back and forth between A and M? I’m going to have a zillion more cellies by the time I get out of here! I wish I could either have the same one that I get along with after Kim leaves or just be by myself. However, if you’re not a hermaphrodite like Alex who kicked us out of M205, you have to be either a danger to yourself or to others in order to be closed custody. They’ll also put you by yourself if you have AIDS.

I forgot to mention that Tom looked up Middle Ground on the net, which he reactivated, and which Kara says helps those who were unjustly jailed. However, when Tom checked it out, he found that they basically deal with the treatment of inmates. Not getting them out of jail.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 2000
I swear I smell the faint odor of smoke right now. How the fuck can they get cigarettes in here, of all places? I guess through the trustees, the same way we got the razors. Some of them that have open-contact visits get them that way, too.

We just got a new mulatto celly, Gretchen, and she’s cool. She could almost be considered to be petite. She has short dark hair and light eyes. Palma put her in here and Kim tried protesting it, telling Palma she’s a racist, but Palma was just like, “Deal with it, Waller!”

I’m really developing a liking for Officer Palma! She reminds me so much of Gloria, though she doesn’t have almond-shaped eyes.

I hope Tom remembered to take my Charlie’s Angels tape out of the VCR.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2000
Got a couple of letters with words for Tom to look up the signs for as he requested. Words like rat, doll, music, rainbow, etc.

We had fish for dinner tonight. It wasn’t bad. I just get sick of lukewarm or cold food. I was surprised we got watermelon and a scoop of half-melted ice cream yesterday. I like it half-melted, though. We get bread with every meal because they want to fatten us up. Everyone tells me they’ve gained weight in here, so I’m trying to limit my bread intake. Poor Kim came in here at 125 pounds and now she’s 160. I’m 108-109 right now. I asked Kim why they don’t just let us have candy bars all the time if they want to fatten us up and she said they don’t because that would be being nice. Candy tastes good and it would give us the energy they don’t want us to have.

Believe it or not, I finally got to the doctor yesterday. Some big black lady with a funny accent. She was nice, though. I still can’t not be nice to a black person who’s nice to me, but when I think of blacks in general, I want to puke! I had to wait 2 hours before seeing the nurse, then another hour to see the doctor. Some people waited for 6 or more hours!

Kim was there to discuss the not-so-good results of her pap smear. She’s got some kind of sexually transmitted disease, but at least it’s curable.

Because Kim and I are Ad-Seg, we weren’t put in the big holding tank. We sat at the main entrance with Officers Brea and Lumia, who were really nice. Brea was really cool because she let Kim, some nosy black bitch who’d butt into our conversations and myself, eat some of her lunch. The DOs get way better food than we do. No meager portions of slop for them! She had a huge tray full of tacos and burritos.

Brea burst out laughing when I told her why I was here because she thought I was joking, that’s how ridiculous it is. Everyone I’ve discussed it with agrees it’s outrageous and guilty or not, the sentence I got for my supposed crime is ludicrous.

They throw you in jail for 3 months if you fuck up on probation. Even that seems crazy. I can see anywhere from 10-30 days, but 90 days for a backslide seems a bit overkill. I guess they feel that the stiffer the sentence, the less likely people will become repeat offenders, but obviously this doesn’t work, since most of these people are exactly that. That leaves money. The more business, the more money.

They didn’t cuff us this time going to and from medical. The DOs talked to other DOs with their walkie-talkies that were escorting people around. I felt like I was back in school again on my way there!

“Walk single file, ladies. No talking in the hallway, ladies.”

I was like - Oh, go shove a fucking broom handle up your asses!

Same old bullshit every day.

The nurse shocked me by mentioning work furlough, which I didn’t know I was even eligible for. There’s no way I’m doing work furlough. I’ll be damned if I’ll give the money to the jail like you’re required to do. Besides, who’d hire me as a convicted felon?

Anyway, the doctor did a physical on me (no pap) and told me I was strong after doing a resistance test on me. I better be after exercising and lifting weights consistently since last April. Between housework, taking care of the animals, and working out, it keeps me pretty fit.

She gave me a Ventolin inhaler and a nasal spray similar to the one I had at home. She also recommended one 300mg tablet of Theodur a day, rather than one 200mg tablet that the nurse brings around, but I think I’m going to have it stopped. It makes my heart too racy. It made me really miss how Tom would comfort me when my heart got racy. Kim tried comforting me with hugs, but it’s not the same.

Kim and I did laundry. We washed our underwear in the sink, but scrubbed shirts and pants on a huge plastic bag.

These mice are getting brave around me! Now I hear a couple of them fighting in the supply closet next to us where they live.

Believe it or not, I’m sleeping through a lot of the noise around here. Perhaps it’s because the noise is pretty continuous, whereas if I fell asleep in peace and quiet, then 4 hours later there was noise, it’d be harder to sleep through.

There are a couple of things I forgot to mention about court. The DA mentioned not being able to find the Mexicans – well – first of all, I don’t buy it for a minute that they moved like she said they did. Secondly, why would she want to find them when they’ve been dropped from this case since I didn’t go to trial? It’s just between me and the black bitch now, so who cares where they are? They were fucking illegals, no doubt, with God knows how many warrants out on them. They probably ran when things heated up. Like I said, people will put themselves out to spite others.

Another thing the DA tried to do was get her way with me based on racism. Since when is it illegal to be a bigot?

I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with journaling once I get pads. I’ll either send whole pads home in manila envelopes as I fill them, rip out and mail a few sheets at a time, or just keep them all.

Right after I left medical, I had a visit with Tom. I was hyped up and rambled on and on. I let him know I felt better now that I had my meds, although I’m still taking much less of the inhaler.

He was kind enough to put $90 on my books, but $30 of it went to rent.

He also said he’d mail me the post-conviction relief form to sign, as long as I don’t want him to make any changes in what he’s going to say, that is.

He also told me I won’t necessarily be on probation for 3 years. That’s only the max, but it’s up to the PO. The PO can also sign me out of here anytime they want to, too. Now that I know that, I wonder just how persuasive I can be at striking any deals with whoever this person may be (Tom’s going to call and try to find out next week). I’d rather 10 years of probation than 3 years of probation and 6 months in jail! Tom’s hoping I can live at home while I see a therapist multiple times a week. That’d be a dream that ain’t likely to come true. Like I said, something up there obviously wanted to hang me really well with these freeloaders and it’s not about to set me free of them anytime soon. Plus, life isn’t fair. So the more unfair my sentence, the more likely it is to stick.

Why is God so obsessed with having me stuck in places I don’t want to be??? Camps, funny farms, prison-like schools, with my real parents, foster homes, shitty apartments, the Phoenix house, and now jail!

Kim insists most POs do want to help their clients. Well, we’ll see just how much they care to help me by how long I end up here and what happens afterward. I have a feeling, though, that I’m not going to get your average PO. Why should I? After a lying pig, a corrupt lawyer, and an evil judge, why not a monster PO?

I jokingly said to Tom – wouldn’t it be funny if for classes I went to train as a DO? All you need is to be at least 18 and free of felonies (this is a class 6 undesignated felony that’ll become a misdemeanor in the end if all goes well). They don’t carry guns, only mace and stun guns. Even if I weren’t currently a convicted felon, and transportation wasn’t an issue, I don’t think I could stand to work in such a dismal place with so many people. I’d probably make a lousy DO, too. I’d be too lenient in some ways because I’d feel bad for the inmates, knowing what it’s like to be locked up. On the other hand, my temper would probably get the better of me. It’d be too tempting to zap the shit out of someone I didn’t like or worse.

One thing’s for sure and that’s that I could never be a pig. I couldn’t bring myself to go around lying to people like they do and taking advantage of people and manipulating them. I couldn’t live with myself for pinning crimes on innocent people simply because the real perpetrator couldn’t be found, which would be expected of me as a pig. It seems to be standard procedure.

The queen of contraband here managed to swipe a couple of razors. She said that if we’re caught with them, she’ll claim full responsibility, even though all that’d likely happen is that they’d be taken away and we wouldn’t get written up and put on restriction.

Written up. Restriction. Sounds like I’m in Valleyhead again!

We Palma-proofed the room really well as soon as we saw that the hot-looking bitch was on. She likes to toss rooms, so Kim taped the razors and pen to a hidden ledge under the bottom bunk. Last time, Palma swiped Kim’s condiment collection and her two extra sets of clothes. She also broke her pencils. Kim tapes the pencils, which are only 3” long, back to back to make them easier to hold. Kim retapes them as fast as Palma breaks them.

Kim fessed up a few days ago, telling me she’s bi-curious. She has a crush on Cindy, a girl in the next pod that she knows from the outs. So I guess she’s going to have the best of both worlds and marry her boyfriend (who’s also Aryan) and be with Cindy, too.

I don’t ever remember A Tower being this cold. It’s freezing! A Tower’s blacks don’t care. They’re still singing at the top of their lungs, screaming and yelling and being the assholes that they are, making sure to stick out like sore little thumbs.

I realize more and more just how much money the jail makes from its inmates. It’s a business just like any other. The more clients the merrier. Maybe the outrageous 6-month sentence is more money-related than I had realized. They make a ton of money off us from commissary (though there are some who can’t afford it) and by having inmates take care of the kitchen, laundry and shit like that so they don’t have to hire people, and all the food is donated. It’s not just about money, though. It’s about a white, childless person who was unfortunate enough to be up against off-brands in a US courtroom. They run the courts nowadays. They are the courts.

Kim lectured me the other day about my attitude. I got frustrated with people’s damn demands on our hour out and snapped at someone down below, telling them to get their own shit on their own hour out. Kim says jail/prison is all about respect. I can take her advice and tell them I’m busy or something like that, but I don’t care. Period. I’m not here to worry about other people’s feelings and what they think of me, and I have no respect for people in general – black, white, Spanish, etc. She says she’s only trying to help, and I know she means well, but she doesn’t always help. She gets on my nerves at times, but that’s to be expected of people you eat, shit and sleep with 23/7. It bugs me, for example, when she answers my own questions. I ran into someone at medical I knew from the tents and I didn’t feel like playing the 20 Questions game with them. I tried to brush them off, but Kim, who sat next to me, had to answer for me. It also bugs me when they call me over the intercom for visits or something like that and she answers for me.

I know no one’s perfect, though, and she’s still a good celly. It was really sweet of her when she said that since I’m stuck here, she’s glad it’s with her.

I got a rather harsh letter from Paula, though I know she didn’t mean to come off in any bad way, and even said she hoped I wasn’t mad at her. I have a feeling most of it is because of Tom, but I’ll find out for sure since flaky Paula isn’t always a reliable source of information. Before, she told me she got 30 days in jail for assault, and this time she said she got 3 months for arguing with a cop.

When she asked me why I was so “mean and evil” to this lady, I was once again like – haven’t you been reading my journals? I have a feeling that when Tom talked to her, he came off as sounding as if I picked on some poor innocent soul for no reason at all. I was sort of pissed when she said Tom said I won’t learn and will probably do it again to someone else. That’s totally something he’d say too, and I was like – thanks for having faith in me! Does he really think I’d do it again after going through this nightmare I’m stuck in? Does he really think I was kidding when I said I was just going to sit back and take it when we get stuck with blacks and Mexicans all over again? Well, let me set the record straight – I will never send journal excerpts to anyone again other than to Paula. Nor will I write/call the landlord on the blacks and Mexicans that spoil our peace and quiet when they move in behind us as is inevitably fated to be.

Today I refused my Theo and I’m less jittery.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2000
I hope Paula’s doing OK. I miss the hell out of her. Not like I miss Tom, though!

I wonder if I’ll even remember what freedom’s like when I get out. The question is, though – just how much freedom will I have? And just how torn between living and dying will I be? I’m sick of being a victim of society and having my life dictated to me by one fucked up system after another. I don’t want another 35 years of being society and God’s slave, and to hell with what I want. I’ve thought about killing myself a lot.

It isn’t only my not being able to recover from this humiliating trauma that worries me; it’s how much harder decision-making is going to be that also worries me. I so rarely have had the opportunity to make my own decisions in life, both as a kid and as an adult. So whenever the rare occasion came along where a choice was mine to make, it was very hard. I’m simply not used to it. So I can just imagine how much harder making my own decisions will be after 6 months of people deciding everything for me!

I wouldn’t mind taking some drawing classes, but I don’t know where we’d get the money for that at this time. Why can’t I just do what I want for a change and go home and get on with my life as the homemaker I was content enough to be? How many more years can I be punished for something I shouldn’t even be punished for? When’s enough ever enough? These people just won’t go away and leave me the fuck alone, and I swear they’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life! FUCKING freeloaders! If it were up to me, I’d go home, live like a hermit, and never deal with more than the half a dozen or so people I know out here. I hate people! I just don’t trust them. All they want to do is fuck everyone over.

It’s dead quiet for a change, Kim’s asleep, so this is as close as I get to having any peace, space and privacy in a place that makes the NHA seem quiet.

I can’t believe we haven’t had another celly thrown in here yet.

Although you can pretty much sleep whenever you want to, I never get more than 3-5 hours of sleep without something interrupting it. I sleep on and off. Very few people sleep 8 hours straight in jail. Oh, how I miss my soft comfortable bed! I want to go home and sleep 10 hours straight, too.

Tomorrow they change stripes and sheets. I’m so fucking sick of being dressed like a zebra!

Tom got a new brown rat and named him Harry (the real Houdini’s first name) so Houdini could have a roommate. He’s kind of small and is in the tank. He says Houdini jumps in to see him.

God, I miss Houdini! I miss playing with him and seeing him at the door, waiting for me to come and let him out.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2000
A109

Believe it or not, Kim and I are back in A Tower. In the last room on the upper tier, next to our old room, and right above Jessica. They came in right before dinner telling us to roll up so some closed custody nutso could have the room all to themselves. Kim was not happy about it, and I began to wonder if bouncing between A Tower and M Dorm would be a regular thing.

Before leaving M, I received two very nice letters from Tom. It really moves me how he’s stuck by me through all this. It shocks me how he tells me he’s motivated to work on the land and keep things clean. It also pleases me that he wants to learn some signs and used the finger-spelling font to say a few words.

Once we got to A, Kim accidentally discovered a third letter from Tom in our old room when she went in there to get mattresses. It’s nice to know the fucking DOs cared enough to run the letter over to me in M. This is part of why I wish I could settle down somewhere in this fucking hellhole if I have to be here at all.

Yesterday really sucked and I lost it. First my allergies were going off, thanks to the freeloaders who got me off my snot spray. I couldn’t get a hold of Tom when I was really frustrated and true to my vibes, my commissary never got to me.

So, once again my emotions peaked, and I asked to be taken to medical. Unfortunately, I had to ask twice and had to say I would hurt myself to get there. Once there I was given a breathing treatment by a very weird, tattoo-covered, rude male nurse. He wasn’t the least bit sensitive to my situation and rudely described my constant sneezing and tight lungs as “acting out.” Sorry, but not even I can act that well. Besides, when he listened to my lungs, he decided they were bad enough for the treatment. Then I got lied to for the 10th time by these quack nurses, and told tomorrow, which is now yesterday, that I’d be seen by a doctor. Kim says I’ll see a doctor within 3 days, and that today’s security override could’ve stalled that, but I don’t buy it for a moment. They’re refusing to treat me, but at least I don’t smoke and at least I can function without the inhaler. It’s just hard at times. Especially when my emotions kick in.

Nurse Rude also weighed me upon my request. I’m right where I figured I was – 110 pounds. I can’t eat most of this food. Amazingly, though, I’m still exercising daily.

After repeated requests, we were let out to clean this filthy, dusty, ugly cell and I went to Jessica’s door, woke her up, gave her the finger with a big grin on my face, and the dork smiled happily at me.

So, I’m childish at times – what the hell?

We found out why she’s really here, too. I always thought she was pretty vague about why she was here when I asked her about it. She’d dance around the subject and try to avoid it. Well, she left her 5-month-old son at the grocery store.

Another girl back in M is going to be picked up by the Department of Corruptions for 10 years for shaking her baby, which she claims she doesn’t remember.

It’s about 1 AM and A Tower’s loud, rude blacks won’t shut up. They usually quit shooting off at the mouth when they dim the lights. I can’t decide which is noisier – A or M. I guess it just depends on who’s there. Kim says not all blacks are deliberately loud. “You gotta see them as retarded children. They just don’t know any better. They’re ignorant little shits in their own little world,” she told me.

A nice black girl named Mary gave me an envelope before I left M. She and I came into this dive the same day. She had moved in next to us in the happy blackies’ cell. I met all 3 blacks currently in there, though, and they’re nice. Loud, but nice. Still, why am I getting so fucked over by blacks? Is it to make up for how the whites treated them years ago or what, not that I was alive 100 years ago? As much as I hate them in general, I still find I can’t not be friendly to a black person that’s friendly to me. Kim’s the same way, though she is more extreme than I am. She feels different races shouldn’t marry, but I say – why not if they love each other?

Despite our differences, Kim’s been a real help to me around here. I can’t see us being friends on the outs, though. Tweakers and gun runners just don’t appeal to me. I got mad at her when I yelled and screamed and slugged the door in frustration and anger back in M because she yelled at me to stop. The last thing I need is to be yelled at when I’m pissed. I hate that and it only fuels my fire more, but she later told me she just didn’t want me to hurt myself. I told her I understood her concern.

I’m still getting along with other inmates, but they bug me on my hour out. They want me to ask this person for this, ask the DO for that, and I’m like – wait for your own fucking hour out and get your own shit!

I’m going to write some of this with the pen Kim got this morning from her PO. Poor Kim. Thank God what happened to her during her visit didn’t happen to me! A lady pulled a gun, demanding to see her boyfriend, and her PO managed to bolt out the door. Well, it turned out to be a drill, thank God! In the midst of it all, Kim swiped this pen and some taffy candy that was lying around. I guess they were giving it out to people visiting during Halloween. Anyway, I have to hide this pen when a DO walks by.

Kim likes M better and misses the swastika she tagged under the top bunk which was hers (at least I could climb onto the top bunks in A and M if I had to because they’re lower). She also misses Lisa, who’s still over there. She’s a fellow AB member (Aryan Brotherhood), and to Kim, she’s her mentor.

For the first time, Kim admitted she was bi-curious, and mentioned a few girls she’s interested in. Thank God I wasn’t one of them!

I saw Kara earlier. It really helps to talk to her. I’ll be seeing her on Tuesdays. She’s very positive and encouraging. She complimented my sense of humor, told me there were many good facets to my personality, then told me about Middle Ground. She said she thinks they’re free and that they deal with unjustly jailed people. I told Tom about it and he’s reactivating the net to do more research on laws, etc. Tom wants mainly to get it on record that I was screwed over in court, even if it means I can’t get my sentence reduced. He feels I should’ve had an interpreter provided for me, too. I sure could use one in here at times with the way everything’s so echoey!

Anyway, I had a good vibe about something happening 13 weeks from now. I just hope it isn’t a case of wishful thinking! Meanwhile, as much as I hate to do so, I’m just going to have to kiss ass, behave, and be cooperative so I can stand a chance, even if it’s one in a million, and never punch a DO out no matter how bad they piss me off. That’d be a new charge and more time, but fortunately, no one here has pissed me off that much. Just annoyed me at times. I was going to write up Officer Chavez in M because I thought she was going to refuse to give me a grievance form because I asked for it in a very frustrated tone of voice which would’ve been wrong of her, but she gave me one.

I took a shower earlier, and boy did it feel good! Not as good as the tents, but tolerable enough. Yes, I like A better. I also like how part of the other bunk blocks my head where I sleep and gives me a little more privacy.

I’m listening for any jingles from the DO’s keys as they walk by, so I can hide this pen in my gown pocket.

Kim and I are still getting along well, but she gets these delusions at times (in a funny way). She says she knows she’s cute. Well, I’m glad she thinks so. She also thinks (because Lisa told her so) that all she has to say to a black who may want to fight her for being AB is “If you respect you, and you respect me, there’ll be no problem.”

She’s dreaming! That won’t prevent her from getting into brawls. Those blacks will say they respect themselves, but certainly not her, and then they’ll jump her. Lisa, who also hates “off brands,” must’ve had some odd experiences to tell her that.

I quickly realized, coming into this joint, that no, the state is not paying for me to be here. I’m the one paying them. The $30 a month in rent is more than enough to pay for anything we eat or use here. So they make money by jailing people, not lose money.

I wrote Mom, Mary and Dave (Mom’s Tom’s Mom, Mary’s his sister, and Dave’s her husband). It was a brief letter letting them know I’m still alive, even if it’s barely.

Paula had stomach surgery yesterday. I’ll write her once a month. I don’t want to call her collect at $1.95 a minute. Tom talked to her twice and told her he’d relay anything to me for her.

I was so fucking pissed/frustrated Monday when I didn’t get my commissary, true to my vibes because their computers were still down. Tom put money in for me at another jail so it could get credited to me that way, but it didn’t go through fast enough. Now I have to scrounge for paper another week, although I could use the backs of tank orders if I had to. I also have to suffer another week with dry skin, no conditioner, and no treats. And all because they fucked up.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2000
I forgot to mention the pigeons over in the tents. They hung out by the day room and some of us would feed them.

Last night I finally got fed up with freezing my ass off, so I filled out a grievance form, not caring if it made things worse and if they reacted poorly and spited me for it (how much more can they do to me?) and believe it or not, it’s been a bit warmer in here.

Tom mentioned at least 2 letters he has on their way to me. That’ll be nice to get. I’ll probably get them tomorrow.

It scares me to think – what if I didn’t have him throughout all this? What if I still had an apartment? What would happen to it while I was gone?

My biggest fear when I first got here, which Tom and Kim helped to ease, was that we were definitely going to be forced to sell the house so I could be in the city near bus lines so I could work outside of the house. I misunderstood the fucking sentence. The after-jail part. I thought he was saying I had to work full-time and take educational classes, and do community service, and see a therapist, and see the PO. Tom says the community service will be fun. Especially if it’s signing or something like that. Well, I sure as hell won’t do any religious or freeloading-related activities. Also, if I don’t want to work, all I have to do is take an educational course that runs for a handful of weeks. Fine. Anything but jail! I’d prefer drawing classes over signing classes, though, because I can’t draw as well as I can sign.

I got to like Helen, so she’s no problem as far as seeing her goes. I just hope whoever my PO is doesn’t turn out to be the monster the judge was!

Tom says my teeth will be fine, but another thing the freeloaders have taken from me are my retainers. For reasons I can’t fathom, they’re not allowed here. Thank God I didn’t just get braces on! Kim says they’d have sent me to an ortho, but I doubt it.

Tom’s going to be visiting on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sundays are a zoo. I look so forward to our visits! They’re closed contact, though, because I’m Ad-Seg. In a way, it’s better that way because it’s easier to hear him in the little rooms (when the speakers don’t cut out), but I can’t hug him or hand him these journal sheets to take home. I’ve been mailing home about 4 sheets at a time. Kim said I’m allowed to release my property and can give a DO stuff to give to Tom. I don’t know if I trust them, though. I’m afraid something would suddenly demand their attention and they’d forget.

This big ugly butch is working right now and every time she makes her rounds, the scent of her very manly cologne wafts in and it’s not too pleasant.

The off-brands next door are quiet at the moment. They scream, laugh and sing on and off. I’d have fallen asleep earlier than I did last night if it wasn’t for them. Even the DO shocked us by telling them to shut their holes. Naturally, though, it failed to have any effect. You don’t tell an off-brand to be quiet, and as usual, they’re the loudest ones here, in their own rude, selfish little world. They had me up so late that I napped earlier while they were carrying on.

I’m still being controlled by freeloaders! Still in the city, still listening to like sickos – aaarrrggghhh!!!

At 5:30 we went down for a breakfast too gross to eat, although I think Kim ate it, then I went back to bed till 10:00 when our hour out was. I swept and mopped the floor, which we take turns doing, and tried calling Tom, but got no answer. I just wanted to make sure there was money in my account because he told me the computers were down on both Tuesday and Thursday.

He says I’m still getting birthday money this year from his Mom and that he’ll get the doll kit with it. I was going to get Marisa with Christmas money, but thanks to the freeloaders, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to.

In another week or so (I guess he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too soon for the freeloaders not to still be involved, even though they’ll be a part of my life forever) he’s going to mail those letters to the mayor and the court of appeals. I just hope he tells them everything. Including the freeloaders’ wrongdoings, which make any of my wrongdoings seem totally innocent. He’s also going to try for post-conviction relief to get me into a halfway house. I know it’ll never work, but he can do as he pleases.

I’m more convinced than ever that Paul was/is corrupt. Tom says there was a hearing we could’ve had that he never told us about. Kim says I could get my sentence overturned if he fucked up like that by withholding information from us. Yeah, but how would we prove it? And besides, they’d only recharge me and I’d just lose all over again because of the fingerprints and voice on tape this idiot didn’t think of. This idiot also didn’t know how screwy the laws here were, either!

I hope they do clothes exchange soon because Palma took our extra clothes over in A Tower, and it’s not so easy to wash clothes here. Back in A, we took the giant plastic bag Rule gave me to put my stuff in and scrubbed clothes on it with bars of soap. We even rinsed our clothes in the toilet after Kim scrubbed the hell out of it because the toilet bowl holds more water than the sink does. It gave us something to do.

My allergies have been worse here in M Dorm. I’m OK with sneezing here every now and then because all I do is read, write and exercise. At home, where I had more to do, it really hindered my activities.

The stairs leading up here are a bitch on your feet with no shoes. They’re not solid cement-like in A. They’re metal grills that you can see right through to the floor.

I asked the butch DO why there was a lock on the inside of our cells, and she said it was for if we locked any of the DOs in.

I forgot to mention April and Angel from the tents.

April was a really pretty Asian girl who said she had her own practice as a therapist. She was in for beating up her husband and was also an 88-pound anorexic.

Angel, who was generous and helpful towards me, also liked me. A little too much. Hugging me when I was really down was fine, but I did not like it when she tried to kiss me. I pulled away, yet she understood. Single or not, I wasn’t attracted to Angel.

I used the excuse of being worried about getting caught and written up, though I told myself that that was silly and that they weren’t going to write people up for kissing. But of course, that’s what I would’ve said over mailing a supposed threatening letter, though sure enough, I came to learn that it is a write-up because any kind of sexual contact in jail is simply not allowed.

Although Kim and I are like best friends in this place, I could never associate with her on the outs. She’s a major druggie.

She’s not very attractive, either. Her 5’3”, 150-pound body is loaded with stretch marks that are almost up to her tits from having kids, and her plain-looking face has big-time acne. She has dull gray eyes and a funny-shaped nose.

She can really peel kiwis, though! She does it with the plastic spoons.

I’ve taught Kim the alphabet, the numbers, and some vocabulary in sign language.

Kim says it’d be best to stay mad while I’m in here, and wait till I get out to cry over lost time, etc. That’s certainly easier said than done. I cry every day in here, but believe me – I’m mad as hell! Mad at the freeloaders, mad at the judge, mad at Paul, mad at the pigs, even mad at myself for not just putting up with their shit till we could get the fuck out of there.

Kim and Kara have said not to let them win, but they already have won. They’ve won and have been winning since 1996.

I’m also mad at God. He just had to let this happen. He just couldn’t let us have normal neighbors. I hate him for the 35 years of shit he’s dumped on me! I’m being punished for running from Phoenix, for trying to live in peace, for the house, the land, the big TV, etc. The more I try to get away from what the Gods have ordered, the more it’s forced on me. If I were smart, I’d move back to Phoenix. I have a feeling Phoenix will keep calling me back time and time again anyway, if I’m dumb enough to live, and if I even live to get out of here. Phoenix and its chaos and noisy freeloaders won’t let me go!

How can I ever get on with my life if this were ever over? I just don’t see how I can mend from this one. I’m too depressed, too pissed, and too humiliated. I still can’t believe my whole life has been trashed over a fucking piece of mail and a phone call. I mean, this is crazy! The phone call, though, is only a misdemeanor and that’s not part of my so-called charges. Even so, phone call or not, letter or not, I didn’t do anything!

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2000
M205

I’m sneezing a bit more often because the freeloaders said I can’t have my snot spray. The freeloaders also said I can’t pick up scattered bits of junk around the land this winter like I’d planned to. By the time I get out of here, the snakes will be coming out of hibernation, so it won’t be safe for me to be doing shit like that.

Another lie from the medical department. They said I was scheduled for a physical, but that never happened and I’m still being denied medical treatment. Kim said I didn’t complain enough, but I think 4 medical tanks and 2 grievances are enough. I’m not going to be reduced to begging on my knees for the 3 weeks Kim says it usually takes to get anywhere with these people. I will learn to live without my inhaler. I went 3 days without it, but I did take 2 hits yesterday and one today of my rapidly dying inhaler that the intake nurse gave me.

Tank orders are for requesting library books, legal supplies, religious shit, etc. You can also find out your release date if you’re dumb enough to forget it. Mine’s 4/29.

Medical tank orders are for wasting your time trying to get meds or at least be seen by someone. At least you can see a psych counselor as soon as you need or want to.

Anyway, Kim and I are now together in a 2-man cell over in M Dorm. There are 2 pods each with 5 cells, and a small dorm across the hall. In the pods, there are 2 4-man cells that are about 15x16 and 3 2-man cells that are about 8x12, the same as in A Tower. I’m glad I’m in the small cell, but I’d rather be home!

I’m still having the runs every few days and I wonder if I’ll ever shit normally as long as I’m here. I’d rather cell with Kim than be alone, but I miss my space and I hate shitting with someone in the room! I can handle pissing around her, but if there’s ever a time I wish I were alone, it’s when I have to shit!

I like this cell better overall. It’s better than Florence. It’s bigger, we don’t have to worry about getting a 3rd person in here, and we have a desk with a couple of shelves that are bolted to the floor and wall. The desk is nice and smooth. The table in A Tower was all scuffed up, so its surface was bumpy. Everything’s metal in here too, except these bunks are of built-in concrete. It’s roomier in here, and the top bunk’s not so low. I don’t bonk my head on Kim’s bed up above when I sit straight up.

The walls and ceiling are remarkably clean. No graffiti. No mice either, unfortunately.

The negs to this cell are its ugly, rusty toilet, the sink’s button that you have to hold down to get water, the way it’s freezing in here, as well as windowless. I discovered earlier, though, that there’s a big skylight out in the day room.

We’re on the upper tier like we were in A Tower. Also, and just like over in A, there are phones, showers and picnic-like tables in the day room. M200 is much smaller than A100, though.

They have a commissary price listed posted (they have hygiene stuff and all kinds of snacks like nuts, cookies, cakes and candy), and if you want to know what time it is on your hour out, you can see a clock in the tower.

The showers here are both better and worse. They’re the push-button kind where you don’t have to turn a knob like you do in A, and you get a better stream of pressure, but they’re ice cold! I like the push-button kind, although you have to keep pushing it every few seconds.

Kim filled out a grievance form requesting the water temperature be raised to the standard 120 degrees, and this worries me. I’ve learned the hard way how complaining gets people in trouble, but she insists there are different levels of people you can complain to and that people’s complaints do get resolved without making things worse for them.

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get away with complaining, I don’t know. She thinks I didn’t bitch enough and that’s why I haven’t gotten a new inhaler, but I think I bitched a lot and that’s why they won’t deal with me. So, I’ll learn to live without the thing, lose the congestion, and have one less thing I have to depend on these people for.

Kim and I blocked the vent with cardboard because it’s absolutely freezing in here! Kim says they keep it cold because cold air makes you tired and increases your appetite because it slows the blood down. That way they feel they can control us easier. This is inhumane, though – running an air conditioner in the winter! It may be a swamp cooler, though.

Anyway, as for the shower, the DO told Kim she’d have maintenance check it out, and I’m like – yeah, right! Sure you will.

They don’t always bring meals to our cells. Sometimes we go downstairs to get it, but I’m usually too tired to get out of bed for breakfast.

They don’t always use these trap doors. They either unlock the door with a regular key or from a control panel in the tower. I use either the door or traps to stick my mail and tank orders out of to be picked up on the DO’s walks.

There’s an older lady here who was working when we got rolled over here, teasing me about my being all nervous. Well, the unknown can be a bit scary!

I thought I had reason to be grateful we never had a kid in the past – well – imagine how grateful I am now!! I will never bring a kid into this fucked up world, and I will never insist Tom see a sex therapist. Not unless he wanted to, but I certainly can’t see that happening after all this time. Now we’ll both be content to be the way we are. Thank God I haven’t wanted one in years because, to me, it takes a hell of a selfish and cruel person to bring a kid into this sick, fucked up world with the way its people and its government is. The world just isn’t fit for kids.

It’s later on, and I write this to the tune of a cell full of black bitches right next door in the big cell, laughing and singing. They sound so happy. Just so happy. If I didn’t know any better I’d say they were free and having a party and not in jail. Anyway, sometimes it’s quiet, sometimes it’s noisy, but overall, it is quieter than A. This is what I get for rebelling against God, trying to run away from the city and the noisy people in it!

I wish blacks had never been slaves. Then maybe they wouldn’t use that as an excuse to be so fucking loud.

Dinner was actually pretty good for a change. We had a piece of chicken that tasted a lot like KFC’s, and we had peas with the usual carrots.

They shut the lights off completely in these cells at night, but the day room light is always on, so although it’s darker here than A, it’s not dark like I like it. I was surprised the lights were still off when I got up late this morning, so I asked for them to be turned on.

I requested to use the nail clippers today. You can’t do that in A.

Anyway, all 3 places I’ve been had their pros and cons. Part of me misses the tents, but I know if I were back there, I’d want to come right back here.

Now, let’s back up to the tents. There were some girls I spoke to regularly during the short time I was there, which was only a few days. I’m amazed at how helpful and supportive they were! They too were astounded at my sentence. It seems most of them are in for drug-related offenses. Or hooking or probation violations. Anyway, like Kim, they told me a bit about life in jail.

One girl gave me her Chapstick. What a lifesaver, although I’m dying for lotion!

There was a big woman in her 40s that a lot of us called Mom. She mothered me with hugs, and I was amazed at how many people would come up and hug me when they saw me crying. People I didn’t even know.

A butchy-looking woman named Bentley was my worst nightmare in the tents. This is because she’d fart every 10 minutes and was in the bed next to me.

First I was in the “welfare tent” where all newcomers to the tents go. After just one night there, I was assigned to the laundry tent, even though the more I thought about it, the more I despised the idea of working for free. It was the worst tent because it was the biggest and right by the day room and closest to the loudspeakers they’d constantly scream over.

Not everyone worked during the day. Some people worked at night and they’d scream over the loudspeaker for them to get up. They worked all different hours. Even if I’d had the Melatonin, and regardless of what schedule they had me on, I still couldn’t sleep with all the noise and commotion. I wish I could control my schedule here too, but even that’s out of the question. I’d prefer to sleep here from 9 PM–5 AM, but lately I’m falling asleep at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, woken up at breakfast, then in the early to mid-morning for our hour out or a visit. I’m still a night person. I’m usually up by late morning or earlier, and there are times when I nap for an hour or two in the afternoon.

I only worked in the laundry department for two days and although I didn’t like working for free, it gave me something to do, and I got to like Kevin and Maria, a couple of the supervisors.

This other supervisor yelled at me for swearing, which I apologized for since I was rude, after all, taking my frustration out on him. This was before I found out he lied to the other supervisors, saying I swore at him, rather than to him. Why do people always have to lie/exaggerate? Can’t they just tell it like it is?

Anyway, I folded sheets, paired socks and sorted pants. They had machines that folded shirts and towels.

Kevin told me he felt bad for me, and Maria was shocked to learn that I was the Jodi S she read about in the paper. After that, they were even nicer to me. They were pretty cool people anyway, letting us have cookies and coffee on one of our breaks outside by the picnic tables. Even though the coffee was black, I drank it anyway.

I didn’t realize why at the time, but I thought that a few DOs had been a little too nice to me, in a sense, not that I can complain.

Officer Flores, who I only saw once, the first night I arrived, let me change my top bunk to a bottom bunk.

Officer Trilock, who was notorious for being a bitch, also let me move to a lower bunk when I was moved to the laundry tent on my second day. At first she seemed reluctant to give a damn about my fear of climbing, then she asked me, “Are you Jodi S?” I nodded, then she softened right up, smiled at me and said, “You’ll be OK.”

Later on, she assigned me to a lower bunk.

I ended up feeling as bad for Kevin as I did for myself. I didn’t know this till afterward, but he was the one that called channel 3. The poor guy was just trying to help, and I got all psyched up thinking – Yay, the media wants to help! – but the joke was on me, as usual. They didn’t come to say they felt my sentence didn’t fit my so-called crime that wasn’t even a crime. They were friendly at first, but by the 4th or 5th question, I knew I was being attacked. And this is after these lying assholes told me their job as reporters were to remain neutral. I should’ve asked for the questions up front, or better yet, I should’ve ignored them. You just can’t trust anybody in this world, but as I learned very young, if you can’t trust your own parents, who can you trust?

After she asked me stuff that seemed irrelevant to why I was in there like whether or not I celebrated Christmas, my age, and how I was doing, she asked if I was a racist, why I sent the stuff, etc. She wouldn’t ask me if I were a racist if I’d sent the shit to a white person, the fucking, mother-fucking bitch! Damn, I just want to strangle some of these people at times! Whenever there’s a problem between two different races, they always say race is the issue.

Even a couple of male officers – Rosales from the tents, and Montoya from inside, said I got a raw deal. Montoya said he would’ve told that bitch off. I tried, but obviously it got me nowhere.

I’d been up nearly 24 hours by the time I slept my first night here, but I was up early the next day (Tuesday) I worked Wednesday and Thursday, but Thursday night I freaked and that’s when Officer Rule cared enough to do what I believe was going beyond the call of duty to help me. She didn’t even have to tell me what she did to help me, but she did. She told me about a certain shortcut that would enable me to get out of the cold, smoky tents, yet to a place where I could still keep my privileges (phone calls, visits, commissary). I never would’ve known or thought of it myself, and she really was my savior that night!

It was 1 AM and I was still up. It’s just as noisy then as it is in the daytime. This is when I flipped out and panicked, knowing there was no way I could get up for work in just a few hours. They usually got us up at 4:00, then after we ate, we’d walk cuffed in pairs to the laundry building, outdoors in the frigid darkness.

Anyway, I felt like life was suffocating me with all the people around me and with all I had to deal with and I just wanted to drop dead! Usually, those who refuse to work go to lockdown, so I assumed I would too, but I didn’t care. I could not sleep; therefore, I could not work.

I approached the DO station (their area is fenced in so they can lock the desk when no one’s at it) and cried hysterically to Officer Rule about how I was feeling and how much I wanted out of this world. She called medical right away, then she took me over there where I spoke to a kind, patient older nurse. Although she listened to all I had to say and insisted I sign a contract promising not to hurt myself, she basically couldn’t do anything more, so I left with the impression I’d go to the hole and give up my privileges. I just didn’t think I had a choice.

As soon as I left, more determined not to hurt myself because of how kind she’d been, and because I haven’t really the means to do so in here, Officer Rule let me know there was another option. I never named the names of those who were smoking because they’d been really nice and even helpful to me, but I mentioned that as being part of the reason I wanted out of the tents. Well, Rule suggested I use that as an excuse when filling out an Ad-Seg request form. She coached me on how to word it too, saying it was very important how I worded it. How sweet, huh? Anyway, I wrote that I feared for my safety in the yard because I snitched people out for smoking. Then she wrote in comments, saying I was extremely upset and emotional and not suitable for the yard. Afterward, she escorted me to A Tower. I could hug her for taking care of me that night and allowing me to still be able to see Tom.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2000
I’m tired as usual, what with the way I have to sleep intermittently here. Something always wakes you up in jail. First it was them asking if we wanted our hour out a few hours after I crashed, then breakfast, and then a DO slammed the door real loud that goes through to the next pod.

Now that I’m fairly up to date on the present, I can go back to the beginning of this jail nightmare, back to the 30th.

I’d never in a million years have shown up for court if I’d known this was going to happen! Actually, I did know. I mean, I knew something was wrong. I had the vibes, I had the dreams, I just didn’t know it’d be for 6 outrageous months! I could kill myself for not trusting my gut instinct! It’s true that I sometimes don’t always know right away that certain dreams I have are really premonitions, but I did know these dreams were warnings of trouble to come yet I ignored them like a damn fool and went along with Tom’s urging us to “get it taken care of.” We should’ve found a way to pay Sharon off (the bonds lady) and I should’ve stayed out of court.

We were in a smaller courtroom the last time, and by the time it was my turn, all that was in the room besides Tom and I were the stenographer, a couple of other people within the courts, the DA, the judge, Paul, the black bitch, and even Mr. Lying Biased himself was there! Talk about major humiliation and outrage!

The biased pig spoke first, and the judge wanted to know why my case was pled down to attempted stalking from stalking if he were so concerned about it (I don’t see how sending journals can be called stalking or attempted stalking. It simply is what it is). The way the judge seemed rather annoyed with the pig gave me a sudden spark of hope that the judge would see this case for what it really is – bullshit that’s a waste of time dwelling on. Boy, was I wrong!

Initially, part of the charges included “intimidation,” and I was like – hey wait a minute! Now we’re getting really unfair here and totally out of line. If anyone was ever intimidated by anything I said or did, that’s their problem. I can’t be held responsible for people’s emotions or feelings! How can Tom help it, for example, if he were walking down the street and someone found his appearance to be intimidating, not that I could ever imagine that being the case?

The lying, melodramatic black bitch spoke after the pig, acting like she’s this poor abused little victim, and then myself and Paul, who put on a pitiful performance on my behalf, wasted our breath, along with Tom, who asked that I be allowed to get help (seeing Helen) and not thrown in jail. Yet, as is almost always the case nowadays, the judge sided with the black bitch, saying it was the threats that got to him more so than anything racial.

All this because of words on paper! When the judge, whom I hope drops dead along with the freeloaders, said he was going along with the DA’s recommendation of 3 years (6 months in jail, 2½ years probation), the room started spinning and I hit the floor. After Tom pulled me up on my feet, he took all my papers which are better off with him. The less I have to drag around with me in here, the better.

What kind of a decent, normal judge goes along with an outrageous 6 months in jail over shit like this?! What kind of DA recommends such a sentence?!

The bailiff took me away after I signed a form for appeals, which I knew was a waste of time. The bailiff was reassuring me no one would hurt me. I think he sympathized with me for getting such a harsh sentence for such bullshit.

In a way, I’m pissed at Tom, too. I know he couldn’t have known the outcome of this but he’s the one who pressured me into going to court in the first place. Then when I wanted to drop Paul and represent myself, he insisted I didn’t. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d handled these freeloaders my way like I wanted to from the get-go. I should’ve listened to my gut rather than gone and done things his way. I knew his way would be the wrong way. It isn’t always the wrong way, but in this case it sure as hell was!

I can’t believe he said, “I just want to see that she gets help,” when allowed to speak in court. Is that all he had to say? Is that all he could say? I mean, what kind of defense is that? That makes me sound guilty as hell and like the freeloaders didn’t do shit!

On my way to a small bare holding cell, a couple of guys that were leaving some other courtroom gave me religious material, which pissed me off even more. If you think I hated and had no faith in the system and in God before, imagine how I feel now!

After they printed me, took my picture and asked me some questions, they put me in a regular holding cell with many other women. I was there from 8:30 AM – 11:00 PM. One of the girls was totally obnoxious, yelling non-stop.

The nurse at the Madison Street jail gave me a TB shot and took some blood which bruised my arm, as usual, because I have tiny veins. She also gave me an inhaler, and it’s a damn good thing I’m learning to live without it because they won’t give me a new one. They’ve been giving me the run-around big time. One nurse says I’ll get one, another says I have to see the doctor, and another wants to verify my prescription with my pharmacy. I already gave them that info at intake!

Kim says that there’s a lesson to be learned in everything. Well, I’ve learned that the congestion is not caused by my asthma. It’s been caused by the inhalers all along! The tightness, though, which comes and goes, is because of the asthma.

It turns out there are a few jails around here – Madison, Durango and Estrella (there might be more). This is Estrella. After nearly 15 hours of sitting in that cold, crowded, uncomfortable holding tank without one bite of food, though I couldn’t have eaten if I tried, those of us going to Estrella were handcuffed together in pairs, then loaded onto a bus headed here. The ride took about 10 minutes.

Once here, we spent 2 more grueling hours in an even colder holding tank that we could barely fit in. By then we were all exhausted and we lay on the floor huddled together for body warmth. Then we were “dressed out” (put in uniform), then classified (put in different areas). I was a wreck the first few hours after they took me from the courtroom, sobbing to near hyperventilation.

But my shock and sadness soon gave way to frustration and anger.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 2000
We had quite an exciting day today. One fight, one cell search, and another celly came in to join us right after we got Jessica out of here – thank God!

Right after I wrote how hard it’d be to choose between Kim and Jessica, the answer became obvious I’d choose Kim. Kim’s stable. Jessica wasn’t. And I don’t know about this new celly, Tara, claiming to be an FBI agent.

Anyway, Jessica decided to trade in her laughter for rudeness. She became moody and disrespectful, and I’m so glad she’s gone, the dumb mental case! I’m so grateful to Kim for setting her straight.

Kim asked her to kindly not look at her while she put a jail-made tampon in and that was just too much for Jessica to handle, so the stupid idiot swung at Kim. I knew Kim could take her, and that’s exactly what she did. She nailed the bitch to the floor, kicked and punched her, and held her down till I could call for the DOs, who luckily, were on their way up to do their rounds.

Jessica was moved to her own cell. I knew it would come to this, and Kim and I are both glad it did because we knew that’d be the only way to get rid of her. No wonder Jessica has been in so many fights.

After Jessica was pulled and things settled down and I had a few moments to reflect upon it all, there was something off about it. Just something not right. I pictured them fighting, then asked myself, OK, what’s wrong with this picture?

Then it hit me. It’s rather simple, too. What’s wrong here is the fact that I just watched somebody attack someone else and get away with it. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in this fucking jail accused of a much, much lesser crime. Thanks, God!

Like I said, though, we got someone new. Why is something up there so obsessed with me being around people? Lots of people. The more I try to avoid people, the more God forces them on me. This is what I get for trying to hibernate on a 10-acre ranch, huh? God always has to push me in the opposite way in which I want to go.

Right now it’s looking like Kim and I have 2 weeks before they roll us up for M. When you’re told to “roll up,” it means you roll up your sheet with your shit in it and you move to wherever you’re moving to.

Tara is of average height and weight with short blond hair and light eyes. I’m not sure I can stand Tara. She’s obviously wired wrong. She paces, talks to herself, and is totally spaced.

I want to be alone so I can piss/shit in private, but that’ll never happen. Besides, I’d get lonely without Kim. I wish we could cell together for the rest of my time here, but she only has 2 months left.

We got “tossed” really well earlier by Officer Palma, a good-looking Mexican (all the good-looking ones are assholes). To get your cell tossed means to have your cell searched. The whole pod got searched. We’re only supposed to have one set of clothes, so Palma took our extra clothes. Poor Kim, though. She lost her jail-made tampons, the pictures she put up, the string she was dying in Kool-Aid to make bracelets out of, and a few other contraband items.

I asked Palma what she was searching for, and she asked if I had anything to hide. After we stepped out of the cell, Kim told me never to ask a DO what they’re looking for.

“Well, I didn’t know,” I told Kim. “I’m still pretty jail-illiterate.”

At least dinner wasn’t too bad tonight – a burrito with a donut, beans and the usual carrots. Most of the food they serve is starch. I guess they aim to fatten you up so you’re not in very good shape. Guess they feel less threatened by fat, out-of-shape people.

About 90% of the DOs are female. Can’t complain about that.

I watched 2 mice run around in here last night. So cute! One even ran over my foot.

Saw Tom today who said he’s still sleeping in the guest room. Says he’d miss me too much in the master bed. I’m surprised he misses me with all that’s happened! I feel as guilty as I do mad/depressed. He’s a hell of a guy. The only one I can trust and count on to stick by me.

He said he’s vacuumed and stuff like that.

How sweet.

He put down $50 on my books and will give me as much as I need when I need it.

He also says he’s going to order the doll care kit so I can still get doll catalogs. I can’t ever imagine getting another doll at this point!

He said he’s going to mention my ear when he goes to fight my losing battle of a case, to explain why noise bothers me (because I can’t tell the direction sounds are coming from, and how the NHA scarred me), but I say they won’t give a shit.

Another thing he wants to clear up is how they said my city letters caused the blacks to lose the house. He wants to let them know that he was the one who sent the letters. That’s fine, but if that black bitch lost the house, which wasn’t her house, then that’s because she and her sick people couldn’t shut the fuck up, so that’s her problem. She should’ve thought about that before laying her shit on us and she should’ve taken the responsibility of controlling her company when it got out of hand. She was oh so dramatic in court too, saying how lucky she is to be alive and how she’s had to move twice since.

I never knew where she moved to. That’s why I sent the mail to her old address, so if she had to move, it’s no doubt because she got into it with the people there and that’s her problem.

The DOs usually call inmates by their last names, and only the DOs’ first and middle initials are on their nametags, along with their last names. Guess they feel it’s less personal that way and will discourage staff and inmates from fraternizing with each other. Some DOs are OK, but some are like these cold, impersonal robots.

I’ve been talking with Kara, a therapist here who’s very nice. She agrees that I don’t belong here and has listened to me with patience, unlike the snotty, impatient shrink I first saw back in the tents.

I hate shrinks!

Tom mentioned Helen’s wanting to write to me (my therapist). That’d be great. I miss seeing Helen in her nice, comfy office. I got to like her, too. Here, I sit on an upside-down bucket and strain to hear what Kara says. Especially when the chain gang comes marching in.

I have lost weight and am around 108-110 pounds. The ring I just had enlarged will be too big for me when I get out of here. Another $25 wasted.

I haven’t described our hideously ugly and baggy uniforms yet. We wear traditional, old-fashioned black and white striped shirts and pants. They give you these drab gray gowns, too. The towels, socks and thermal underwear are pink, and the bras, which are comfortable sports bras, are white. The panties are color-coded by size. Pink is small, blue is medium, yellow is large, and white is extra-large. For shoes, you get these orange plastic shower sandals.

The DOs wear tan or brown uniforms, similar to a cop’s.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2000
I never did get into yesterday’s events, because I really do want to try to get updated and close the gap between the 30th and now.

Let me tell you a bit about my two cellies Kim W and Jessica W. If I had to choose one of them to cell with, it’d be a tough call. Kim’s the smart one and Jessica’s the flaky one who sometimes gabs non-stop and gets on our nerves. They’re in Ad-Seg waiting to go to M Dorm where the Ad-Seg area is, too.

Kim’s swastika and lightning bolt tattoos were getting her into fights, and I guess someone was ganging up on Jessica too, so that’s why they’re in Ad-Seg.

Although we usually get along well, I thought they were going to get into a brawl yesterday, and that me and Jessica would too, but we didn’t. We all had a rough day, but we were chatting and laughing later on, as usual.

Jessica is a pretty girl who’s half-white and half-Mexican, although she looks white with her red hair and freckles.

Kim isn’t the monster one might think she’d be for the tattoos she wears. In fact, she’s one of the most intelligent and interesting people I’ve met in this place so far, despite the fact that she’s an Aryan. Especially for being just 21. She knows things at her age that most people in their 30s don’t know, and she really helped get me going here by teaching me the ways of jail and things like that.

She combs and braids my hair for something to do, which I really appreciate, and I feel like I’ve known her and Jessica for years. That’s what happens when you spend so much time locked up together in a room smaller than the master bath at home. Kim’s told me a lot about her life which is very different than mine.

She’s helped me with filling out forms and she’s taught me that everything has more than one purpose in jail. Maxi pads also make great washcloths. I wouldn’t want to, but you can make tampons out of pads by rolling up and tying the cotton core. Ripping off the tops of socks makes great hair elastics, and tearing strings off of frayed blankets makes good string to hang things on or wear as bracelets/anklets. You can make curlers out of toilet paper, put pictures on the walls with toothpaste, and even make gum too, though it’s nastier than hell. You take a Styrofoam cup and rub orange peels on it to soften it with its acids, then you flavor it with toothpaste.

Kim’s attitude is like mine – if a black or Spanish person is kind to her, she’ll be kind back, but in general, she hates them for the same reasons I do.

The only negative thing I can say about her is that she seems to care much more about doing drugs and hanging with the wrong people, rather than doing what she needs to do to get her kids back, but she just permanently lost them, so it’s a bit late for that.

I’m going to get Kim a pad and a manila envelope through the canteen for all she’s done to help me, but that’s it. I won’t be used.

Jessica has really been a help to me in her own way by making me laugh. She has a way of bursting out laughing for no apparent reason at all, and it’s contagious. She gets obnoxious at times when she whines in a shrilly voice that’s annoying. I also sometimes find her staring at me with a dreamy look on her face. At least neither she nor Kim snores or smacks their lips when they eat.

I’ve decided to mail Tom these loose journal sheets to put in my office. I won’t have a whole pad of paper till Monday when they do the canteen. That’s when inmates can buy pads of paper, pencils, makeup, candy, lotion, shampoo, and shit like that. I’m going to see if Tom can put down $50 a month because I really need lotion, paper, and a few other things. I need a whole $50 because the fuckers here at the jail take $30 a month for rent (I had no idea you had to pay to go to jail). For now, till there’s money on my books, I get the weekly indigent package. That consists of a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a small thing of deodorant, a pencil, 10 sheets of paper, and 5 stamped envelopes.

Kim doesn’t hate Jews, she told me, because that’s a belief - the Jewish religion, and she hates Hitler as much as anyone else does. Speaking of religion, that’s what I hate most about these inmates – all the fucking delusional talk about God! Well, God’s no friend of mine, that’s for sure!

Other inmates, as well as the DOs, don’t feel I belong here despite what I did. They too feel I’ve been railroaded, but I want to finish with the basics of this place before I get more into my emotions.

Another thing I hate to have to deal with is the farting. Why is it people fart so badly in jail? I’ve had the runs because of this shit for food they have, and nerves, but I don’t fart like these things do!

Occasionally we get something good, but we’re fed slop (sauce with bits of meat in it) and cold food most of the time. And we get the same old shit, too. Imitation cheese, potatoes, and raw carrots for every dinner, salami for every lunch, and it’s just gross! The meals are served on these ugly thick brown trays, and tonight’s hamburger was the most sickening thing I ever had, although I was hungry enough to eat it anyway. I swear they took the thing and burned it, then let it sit for a while so we could have this cold, crunchy burger.

Also, all we get are plastic spoons. No forks, knives or napkins.

I’m trying to hurry because they’ll be dimming the lights any sec. Unfortunately, they never turn them off. I miss sleeping in the dark! I’m learning, though, to sleep through noise here, but I can never sleep straight through. There’s something always getting me up – meals, our hour out, visits, etc. Visits are worth it, though.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2000
Estrella Jail in PHX…
A109

I begin this journal by hand, but I can only date it and put in the day. I have no idea what time it is, for I cannot see a clock. It’s in the early evening, though. I’m going to begin doing some journaling, although there’s always a risk of losing what I write. I have nothing better to do, though, as I sit here in jail for the next half a year.

Yes, you heard right. That ruthless judge threw me in jail for a whopping 6 months, plus 2½ years’ probation when I get out!!! And not only were my tormenters present in court but so was the lying cop who told me it was “over.” He had to be in on this, the corrupt bastard! He had to know all along that I’d end up here, and that had to be his goal all along. I hate them all! As we learned too late, no F6 charge is punishable by just a year of probation like I was told I’d get. And what the hell was the DA thinking when she recommended a ludicrous 6 months for words on paper, most of which I didn’t even write, and how could the judge side with it?! I’ve always tried to live and let live, but how do I live when others won’t let me live?!

As soon as we got into the courtroom before the joke of a judge came in, Paul first pulled Tom and I into a little room between the courtroom and the hallway. That’s when he informed us that the DA was recommending 6 months, and I was like, “Six months! For what? Let’s keep things in perspective here. We’re talking about words on paper, not violent actions.” Besides, I thought this was regarding the journals, not a letter.

The bitch lied through her teeth too, using her kids to her advantage, saying I threatened them, too. First it was supposed to have been with the gun we don’t even have, then with a knife. The bitch can’t keep her weapons or her stories straight. Can’t they see this? I guess they just don’t want to. Once they make up their minds to “get” somebody, they won’t budge, and this state obviously favors blacks.

I’m afraid these people will never give up when it comes to ruining my life. They’re obsessed with me, and obsessive behavior like this really scares me.

I’m writing this with a pencil because we can’t have pens here. People say prison is better than jail because you can get more stuff there. We can’t even have coffee here and I miss it!

If I try to write from the beginning of when I first came in, I’ll never get current, so I’ll just jump into today’s events, then I’ll backtrack along the way.

I still can’t believe I’m in here for something I supposedly wrote and not something I did. Just words on paper, yet no actions. How totally wrong and unfair! What would I have gotten if I had beaten that bitch? No time? Less time? A life sentence? Being white, childless, and female doesn’t help when you go to court these days, either. Although I had bad vibes from the start, even if I didn’t want to admit it, I never would’ve believed in a million years that I’d not only go down for writing things I didn’t (they’re trying to credit me for writing other things as well) but that I’d get a sentence fit for one who beat the shit out of 20 people! God, I am so outraged! I don’t regret a damn thing I did. Meaning, I know that no matter what the fucked up laws say that I had every right to express myself and to write what I did, and so I try to tell myself not to take it personally and that all writers get in trouble at some point. All writers. But at 6 months in jail, God knows how many thousands of dollars, plus all the other shit, I most certainly do take it personally! This is just so barbaric, like something out of the 1800s!

I’m in A Tower now where the “hole” and Administrative Segregation (Ad-Seg) people are. There are 4 pods in this tower. There’s A100 where I am now for de-segs and Ad-Segs. There’s A200, which is general pop, along with A400. Then there’s A300, which is the chain gang.

There are tents, dorms and towers here. This place is huge. This is Phoenix, after all, the huge city that obviously missed me and wanted me back. There are about 4000 inmates here, but mostly women. I’m waiting for an available bed in M Dorm. D2 is the psych ward.

Before I explain how I got here, let me say that no, my life was never in danger. In fact, the other inmates have been nice to me so far. It was Officer Rule who helped me cut corners, so to speak, so I could get inside and escape the tents.

I will now describe the pros/cons of the tents versus the cells, which is what I’m in now. The pros to the tents are the fresh air and the fact that you can move around the yard there, as well as inside the day room. There are 10 big army tents, but I’ll describe the pros/cons in more detail after I finish the main pros/cons. You have fresh air, space to roam, you can use the phones 24/7, piss in private (if you use the outdoor portajohns, rather than the semi-private toilets indoors), and their showers are actually not that bad. You can shave there too, with razors they provide. You can get fresh towels, clothes, blankets, and sheets easier and more often, and if you’re into TV and cigarettes, you can have that too, although you’re not supposed to. They smuggle them in through their visits and shove them up their coochies.

The cons are the fact that it’s fucking freezing in the tents at night and the noise is horrendous! It gets noisy here too, but not nearly like with the tents. They scream over the loudspeakers all day and night, and you have more people around you. It’s a 24-hour a-day yard. Those tents hold 15-20 bunk beds, so 40 people bustling about is a bit chaotic!

Although working folding laundry helped pass time, I didn’t like the idea of working for nothing, since the cold-blooded judge wouldn’t even give me a 2 for 1, where you can cut your time in half by working. Also, I couldn’t get any sleep there, so I couldn’t keep a schedule. Not in that zoo with no Melatonin and with all the noise.

They seemed to have some pretty asinine rules. There was a rule against standing around the yard in groups. I remember when a cluster of girls was standing around singing and a male DO approached the group which then quickly dispersed. What happened? I asked someone. I just could see what we were doing wrong. This was when they explained this rule to me, and I was like, oh Jesus! Next thing you know there’ll be a rule against breathing. Really, I wracked my brain trying to think of a reasonable explanation for such a rule to exist and I honestly couldn’t come up with any.

Lastly, the cigarette smoke really annoyed the fuck out of me, and that’s what I used, at Rule’s suggestion, to get out of there. Normally they put those who refuse to work in the hole, but I wasn’t refusing to work. I couldn’t work. Those who are either unsentenced or unable to work go to dorms where you’re in a huge room with 120 people – yuck! I couldn’t just ask to go to the dorms, so as the nurse said, I had no other choice but to go to the hole as a de-seg, and Officer Armstrong was already there to take me to A Tower. I was willing to go to lockdown, though, because the tents were so bad. Just the ants alone were enough to scare me out of there! As soon as I left medical, Rule told me to hang on a sec, and she and Armstrong spoke for a few seconds, but I never heard anything they said. Armstrong glanced at me, then she headed down the hall as Rule turned to me. “Come on,” in a conspiring tone of voice, as we continued down the hall (later I would realize that she was telling Armstrong that she’d bring me to A Tower herself as an Ad-Seg, rather than have her take me there as a de-seg). This is when she told me that there was another option that’d enable me to keep my privileges and suggested I fill out an Ad-Seg form, but that it was important how I worded it. I’ll get into that after I cover the pros/cons of the cells.

In these cells, you can have up to two cellmates, or cellies, as they call them here, but you’re locked down 23 hours a day with only an hour out for phone calls, showers, or requests to the trustees (other inmates) for toilet paper, pads, pencil sharpening, nail clippers, etc.

The showers are a nightmare! Worst showers ever. You get a cool mist, rather than a warm/hot stream of any kind.

I can’t see the clock from the upper tier where I am, so I sort of judge the time by the angle of the sunlight streaming in through the narrow horizontal slit of a window at the top back of the cell wall. We sometimes ask the DOs for the time, too. I made a calendar so I can keep track of days/dates.

The DOs sit in a round station with the pods of cells surrounding them. In between them and the cells is a large room where the showers/phones are. They call this the day room. There are 15 cells per pod, but we all don’t go out for our hour out at once. They go one room at a time.

The thing I hate most about the cells is that you can’t piss/shit in private. The cells have two sets of bunk beds in this pod. One’s a regular bunk bed like they have in the tents and dorms, and the other is these wall shelves that are welded to the wall. These are better because then you can’t feel the person moving that’s above or below you. They also don’t have metal lips sticking up around the sides to dig into the backs of your thighs when you sit on the side of the bed. The mattresses are a nightmare. Hardly any cushion at all. Here I am finally losing more weight, thanks to the nasty jail food, and now I have mixed emotions about it because I’m feeling rather bony and uncomfortable against these mattresses.

There’s also a metal table bolted to the wall and a metal stool bolted to the floor. There’s an aluminum mirror, a built-in shelf for toiletries, and a sink above the toilet. The water and toilet flush are operated with push buttons. This toilet is fierce. It can flush juice containers, thick heavy pads, etc.

The cells are approximately 8x12.

Back in the tents on a dreary, cloudy day, I looked around at my surroundings and I saw not one cactus or palm tree. I could’ve been back in Massachusetts for all I knew.

At least inside I don’t have to deal with the cold or the humidity when it rains. It does get sort of nippy at times in here, but not too bad considering the fact that they’re running a swamp cooler in here and it’s November. I hear it’s miserable in here during the monsoons. I’m sure it is.

The best thing about the cells is the mice that come to visit and to get the scraps of bread I leave out. I’d prefer my own mice, though!

Amazingly, I’ve been exercising every day by jogging in place, then working the major muscle groups. I’ve even been singing every day, thanks to my cellies who encourage it.

Tom visits me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He could come on Sundays too, but Sundays are a zoo at Visitation.

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Last updated July 08, 2024