Sick morning rambling
Sitting here drinking cold coffee.... Since I'm still fighting this cold, I don't like it hot so well — and anyway, our fairly new coffee pot only keeps it hot for two hours. Lucky (the Doberman) got me up at 4:20 a.m. to go potty. While I was downstairs (I take the dogs out through our basement door), since I knew Geri's alarm would go off at 4:30, I went ahead and made the coffee and then climbed back into bed. I usually don't climb back into bed, partly because I can't sleep when someone else is up around me (ever since prison), partly because I feel guilty sleeping when she's going to work to pay the bills, and partly because I'm used to getting up early (also since prison, where the bright white lights came on at 6 or 5:30, depending on what year) — plus, the morning's my most productive time. I say the "bright white" lights (which might sound redundant), because in prison the lights never went totally off — in the dormitories dark blue lights shined all night, and white light streamed through from the bathroom area and sometimes the day room or the lamp on the officer's desk. Actually, I'm not sure whether to call it a bathroom or a restroom because both are misnomers. You couldn't take a bath there or rest there — though you could bathe there (just not in a tub, and not after "lights out" — which is another misnomer because, like I said, the lights never went totally out). Oh — there were also the personal TVs that many of my fellow inmates had (I never did). If you had a TV on the nightstand by your bed, you could leave it on all night, as long as you had headphones attached — even during the day, playing your TV without headphones was against the rules, though I always found the pictures on TV more distracting than the sound of it (but at least I could turn away from the pictures if I didn't want distracted) — though some officers would come by and turn off your TV if they saw you were sleeping. You could watch your TV all night, as long as you got up and made it to work the next day. Every inmate in prison had a "job" — most were paid $18 a month for that job (some jobs required 5 hours of work a week, some 50 or more, though that was supposedly against the rules) — unless they had a "medical restriction," essentially a certification from the prison doctor that excused them from work. An inmate with a medical restriction made $3 a month for not working. So the usual working inmate received a net $15 dollars a month from the State of Ohio for his labor. But I digress....
I went back to bed this morning, but then almost immediately had to pee. So while I was up again I figured the coffee must be done — went down to get Geri a cup (she was putting on makeup or doing her hair or something) and went back to bed again (it was probably 5 a.m.). A few hours later, another of the dogs woke me up. Geri was at work, the pot had turned off and the coffee was cold. I hate wasting good coffee — but I also dislike microwaved coffee (since prison, too — but not just because of that). So I'm drinking it cold. But first I had to drink another Alka Seltzer Cold Plus, because I felt shittier than I did last night when a combination of good poetry/music, friends and Alka Seltzer Cold Plus helped me get through our 2nd annual St. Patrick's Day poetry event at Bela Dubby. And I forgot to mention root beer. Normally I resist taking pills/tablets/medicine of any sort (besides Prilosec, because I have horrible heartburn, reflux, chest pain if I don't), but I was determined not to miss Lix and Kix (and our featured performers Sammy Greenspan, Zach Ashley, and Trenchcoat Manifesto) and didn't want to be coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose and/or having constant snot running down my lips and chin if I didn't blow all night. I still felt like doodoo (as I do now), but the ASCP makes it bearable and allows me to get something done.
Now for the big news — my mom's been in the hospital since Sunday. I hadn't called to check on her or visited in a week or so because Geri's sister, daughter and our four little grandchildren were staying with us from Friday through Sunday. And then I started getting sick Sunday on our way home from dropping them off in Columbus. I don't go to Mom's when I'm getting sick because the last thing she needs to pick up while nursing her fractured back is a cough. And she's been dealing with that for a while since she's been reluctant to have back surgery if she can at all heal without it. Well, the pain became so great Sunday, she had my step-dad take her to the emergency room. The hospital then admitted her and apparently convinced her to finally have the surgery. Anyway, my brother tried to call me Sunday to let me know, but I hadn't taken my phone to Columbus. He says he left a message, but I never got it, maybe because my voice mailbox was full. Anyway, so Mom's been in the hospital since Sunday and I didn't find out till yesterday (Wednesday) around noon when my step-dad called me. And I live pretty darned close to just around the corner from her house!
When I found out, I called her at the hospital. She was understanding, as mom always is — more concerned with me, since I sounded like shit on the phone, than with herself, though she's the one having back surgery and the excruciating pain that's led up to it. Of course I felt like a dick because I would've known where she was if I hadn't been too consumed in my own work/activities and sickness to give her a call. I had checked in on her Facebook page a few times — but though I noticed she hadn't been on it in a week or so, that didn't alarm me, because that's common with her. Anyway, she's scheduled to have the back surgery today (Thursday) at noon. I wanted badly to be there for and with her, both yesterday and today — thought if I slathered my arms and hands with disinfectant and kept my mouth covered with a mask I might not infect her — but she insisted I STAY PUT and just visit her when I'm over this and she's home. She even tried to talk me out of going to Lix and Kix last night. But she knows I love her and am there "in spirit" (whatever that means — but it's true).
Okay, this sick morning rambling has worn me out — and anyway, I need to blow my nose and get more cold coffee. I'm tempted to go back and remove all references to prison from this blog. Talking about it (and thinking about it) wearies me — and I feel I bring it up far more often than someone who's been out nearly six years ought. But part of the problem with writing a book about my experience is I can't fully begin to put it behind me as long as the book's not finished. Then again, who am I kidding? I'll never be able to put it totally behind me, any more than the Lincoln memorial can put behind the statue of Abe in it that makes up a big part of what it is. An imperfect analogy, I know — but cut me some slack. Only a man with a fever would compare prison to the Great Emancipator. And would sick morning rambling be sick morning rambling if edited — even if the editor was a sick morning rambler? So here it is...
In the words of one of the Beatles on "Revolution #9": Take this, brother [or sister]. May it serve you well.
I went back to bed this morning, but then almost immediately had to pee. So while I was up again I figured the coffee must be done — went down to get Geri a cup (she was putting on makeup or doing her hair or something) and went back to bed again (it was probably 5 a.m.). A few hours later, another of the dogs woke me up. Geri was at work, the pot had turned off and the coffee was cold. I hate wasting good coffee — but I also dislike microwaved coffee (since prison, too — but not just because of that). So I'm drinking it cold. But first I had to drink another Alka Seltzer Cold Plus, because I felt shittier than I did last night when a combination of good poetry/music, friends and Alka Seltzer Cold Plus helped me get through our 2nd annual St. Patrick's Day poetry event at Bela Dubby. And I forgot to mention root beer. Normally I resist taking pills/tablets/medicine of any sort (besides Prilosec, because I have horrible heartburn, reflux, chest pain if I don't), but I was determined not to miss Lix and Kix (and our featured performers Sammy Greenspan, Zach Ashley, and Trenchcoat Manifesto) and didn't want to be coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose and/or having constant snot running down my lips and chin if I didn't blow all night. I still felt like doodoo (as I do now), but the ASCP makes it bearable and allows me to get something done.
Now for the big news — my mom's been in the hospital since Sunday. I hadn't called to check on her or visited in a week or so because Geri's sister, daughter and our four little grandchildren were staying with us from Friday through Sunday. And then I started getting sick Sunday on our way home from dropping them off in Columbus. I don't go to Mom's when I'm getting sick because the last thing she needs to pick up while nursing her fractured back is a cough. And she's been dealing with that for a while since she's been reluctant to have back surgery if she can at all heal without it. Well, the pain became so great Sunday, she had my step-dad take her to the emergency room. The hospital then admitted her and apparently convinced her to finally have the surgery. Anyway, my brother tried to call me Sunday to let me know, but I hadn't taken my phone to Columbus. He says he left a message, but I never got it, maybe because my voice mailbox was full. Anyway, so Mom's been in the hospital since Sunday and I didn't find out till yesterday (Wednesday) around noon when my step-dad called me. And I live pretty darned close to just around the corner from her house!
When I found out, I called her at the hospital. She was understanding, as mom always is — more concerned with me, since I sounded like shit on the phone, than with herself, though she's the one having back surgery and the excruciating pain that's led up to it. Of course I felt like a dick because I would've known where she was if I hadn't been too consumed in my own work/activities and sickness to give her a call. I had checked in on her Facebook page a few times — but though I noticed she hadn't been on it in a week or so, that didn't alarm me, because that's common with her. Anyway, she's scheduled to have the back surgery today (Thursday) at noon. I wanted badly to be there for and with her, both yesterday and today — thought if I slathered my arms and hands with disinfectant and kept my mouth covered with a mask I might not infect her — but she insisted I STAY PUT and just visit her when I'm over this and she's home. She even tried to talk me out of going to Lix and Kix last night. But she knows I love her and am there "in spirit" (whatever that means — but it's true).
Okay, this sick morning rambling has worn me out — and anyway, I need to blow my nose and get more cold coffee. I'm tempted to go back and remove all references to prison from this blog. Talking about it (and thinking about it) wearies me — and I feel I bring it up far more often than someone who's been out nearly six years ought. But part of the problem with writing a book about my experience is I can't fully begin to put it behind me as long as the book's not finished. Then again, who am I kidding? I'll never be able to put it totally behind me, any more than the Lincoln memorial can put behind the statue of Abe in it that makes up a big part of what it is. An imperfect analogy, I know — but cut me some slack. Only a man with a fever would compare prison to the Great Emancipator. And would sick morning rambling be sick morning rambling if edited — even if the editor was a sick morning rambler? So here it is...
In the words of one of the Beatles on "Revolution #9": Take this, brother [or sister]. May it serve you well.
Posted by Jesus Crisis at 3/18/2010 9:23 AM 
Categories: Miscellaneous, Prison
Tags: Mom Lix and Kix Hospital Marion Correctional Institution
Categories: Miscellaneous, Prison
Tags: Mom Lix and Kix Hospital Marion Correctional Institution
I don't think you should ever take your references to prison out of your writing, even if that means making more than one version of what you are writing. It is my understanding from a very scholarly and compassionate person that when a person goes through a trauma, the person has to keep talking about the trauma in an effort to purge the mind of the disturbing feelings that go with it. A friend pointed out to me this week that I have a way of turning any conversation around to Charles and Joseph and particularly what happened to them lately. I explained to her that this is my way of purging myself of the story. Not much different than vomiting when you think about it. It's your brain's way of healing. Who is to say how many years have to go buy before we are free from a painful past. I've had ten years, and a lot of people think that's a long time, and I do have another child, but it hasn't been so long that I don't mourn their loss every day.
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Thanks, Tara! As Elie Weisel said, "I write to understand as much as to be understood."
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Love it. Thanks.
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I would probably call it integrating the experience into your psyche rather than purging it. Because it is often incongruous experiences we have trouble integrating.... but it is still part of the healing process as Tara says... so I agree with her.. talking and writing about things is not bad but good.
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You're right Chris. It is integrating. A doctor explained it to me that way once.
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BIG ((((HUGS)))Thanks for sharing. x
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Thanks, Janet!
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Your story reminded me of Marcel Proust and the little cake, the madelene, which sparks his memory so profoundly. Of it he says, "And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom , my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks' windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the shapes of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection."
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I like that! Incredibly, I've never gotten around to reading anything by Proust, though he's been on my must-read list for well over a decade now. Maybe one day....
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The possibilities are endless...
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Indeed!
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may thee and thine heal and repeal this ill fill.
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Thanks! Just found out mom's surgery went well -- they're gonna keep an eye on her tonight, see how she does, then probably let her come home tomorrow.
Last night I wore a black bandanna over my face for most of Lix and Kix to keep my germs to myself as much as possible. Might've made for some interesting photos (I haven't looked at 'em yet)....
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i had bathed and dressed and gathered my poetry and put on my jacket and kissed lady goodbye and was in the process of leaving for lix & kix wednesnight when i realized how much i literally hate st patrick's day and the drunken assholes on the loose atmosphere of the day and took off my coat, and smoked a piupe and stayed home instead.
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Understood.... Besides this and the last Lix and Kix, which just happened to fall on St. Pat's (we didn't really plan either that way), I haven't been out on St. Patrick's Day since 1993 - partly because of the drunken assholes (and drunken non-assholes), partly because of the high number of cops out (who make me nervous even when I'm not drinking and driving), partly because I'm part Irish and have mixed feelings about the stereotype this "holiday" seems to perpetuate, and mostly because I feel St. Patrick isn't someone worth celebrating -- he wasn't Irish and he wasn't even a huge fan of Irish culture, preferring to convince (as much as possible) the Irish to give up their "paganism" (a large part of Irish culture) in favor of his Roman faith. That said, I do enjoy wearing green, celebrating all things Irish and calling myself (this year, at least) a leper con. Missed you, though....
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I thought the drunk that wandered in during the reading was interesting. Added a unique note to the event..
I kept wondering what he must be thinking in his state listening to the poetry and barely being able to stand...
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I was hoping he'd read a poem.
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THAT would have been interesting... I was waiting for him to just say something even.. was disappointed when he just left..
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Gosh this is VERY chatty for you.. your usually a man of few words Mr. B. Must be the Alka seltzer plus...
Always nice to here an update of your doings... no wonder the chap book is not done.. understandable... no time.
As far as your comments about your prison experience.. it's part of you, your life experiences and has helped you (maybe inadvertently) become who you are today. That's not a bad thing. Because who you are is pretty cool... So I would think it is natural to spend time processing those experiences. And if you are working on your book that happens with any book you write.. you get sucked into that place and are there for the duration... mentally or emotionally ... whether you are writing fantasy or fact.
The photos I took from last night are intriguing... will post mine once I get a card reader.. my photo cable went belly up.
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Oh.. also wish your Mom a speedy recover..
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Thank you, Chris! I talked to her about ten o'clock last night and she sounded great -- said she felt stoned but otherwise good. Here's hoping she makes it home today.... Oh, and thanks for coming out to Lix and Kix!
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I loved reading it because I get very few communications from my brother who is in prison and it gives me a sense of what his daily life must be like. Your mom is in my thoughts. Always write from your experiences as the others have said.
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As you have mentioned your prison experiences again here I just want to add that when writing memoirs two friends of mind couldn't write theirs until long after the events had happened. Both are now published and probably are better for the time lapsed between writing and the events of their lives. Sometimes timing brings clarity.
And both are veterans of the Vietnam War.
I hope Ginny has a swift recovery from her surgery. Please give her my love when you see her. She is such a brave woman and has gone through a lot in her life. I'm sorry you were so sick that you couldn't be with her when she was in the hospital.
Helen
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Thanks, Heather and Elena!
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Just talked to Mom again a few minutes ago -- she's been cleared to go home. My step-dad was putting her shoes on her and they were about to leave the hospital.
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I like these descriptions of light from your prison experience. I think that would be good in your book.
What was your job?
Best of luck to your Mom.
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Thanks!
Well, during my first three months at Marion my job was dishwasher in the cafeteria. Then I got a job as reference clerk in the library. I was there for about a year and a half until my turn came up to go through the "residential treatment" program (essentially a dorm where you were immersed in the 12 steps for 2 or 3 months) -- so the program became my job assignment, and after I finished they wanted me to stay on as a program aide, which I did mostly because my best friends lived in that dorm and it was much more "civilized" (for lack of a better word) than the dorm I would've been returned to. After about a year or so I wearied of that and took a job as a "porter" (essentially sweeping the dorm floor and cleaning the showers) -- not a glamorous job, but it took less than an hour a day to complete and allowed me to spend more time on other things like my choir, band, OU correspondence courses and Ministry of Theatre projects. I was a porter until another opening came up in the library -- and then I was a reference clerk again, until the library's administrative clerk went home and I was offered that position -- which gave me access to a computer, allowed me to learn Windows and Office, made writing the plays much less time-consuming (I'd used a typewriter previously) but no access to the internet. I stayed at that job until 2001 when I got talked into going into the Horizon Interfaith dormitory -- and that program became my job assignment for three months, after which I officially returned to the library (which I'd never really stopped working at whenever I could). Less than a year later, I got talked into returning to the Horizon dorm as a program aide -- and that was my job until my release in 2004.
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this is interesting... thanks for sharing..
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