One year ago today I remember writing in my journal that I had a strange feeling in my stomach, as if forces were working in my favor and some type of relief would bring me home before I served another month of March. Well, the year passed, I’m still in prison, and today is the first day of my 23rd consecutive March in prison. Release doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, but I am another year closer to freedom, and this fact brings reason for gratitude.
Early this morning I began work on a new project. I’m expecting a productive month of March. After writing in the early morning I went outside for my run. After finishing 10 miles I had to come in to shower because I had an appointment with the Toastmasters group. Today I listened to a speaker who described his career as a mortician. He spoke about his fascination with dead bodies that developed when—as a child—he attended a funeral. As an adult, he learned the trade of undertaking in a vocational program. Then he sat for a few exams and received national licenses that allow him to practice his craft anywhere in the country. The young man said that his felony would not impede his ability to work as a mortician, and expressed optimism that he would find ample opportunities for employment upon his release.
Prison is a true melting pot. I can’t think of anywhere else in society where an individual would have opportunities to meet people from so many diverse backgrounds. Where else could I meet and interview a CFO one week, and listen to a mortician the next week? Every person in this prison camp has a story, and I don’t mind listening and learning from them. If I don’t find work I can pursue upon my release, maybe I can become a mortician.
Sadness sometimes sets in because I realize how long I’ve been away from society, and because I know that my confinement makes life difficult on my family—especially my wife. Sometimes I need to withdraw and meditate on the challenges and pressures this predicament places on the people I love. This is one of the times, and solitude is my only solace.
I followed my 10-mile run this morning with 600 pushups.
[consecutive running log: 3,935 miles in the past 444 days]
[pushups in 2010: 21,600]
Monday, 1 March 2010
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One Response to Prison Journal: Day 8,239
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You had to spent over 8200 days in prison for some cocaine crap!? What the hell is going wrong over there in your country? I live nearby the dutch-belgian border and I used to visit dutch coffeeshops (they don’t sell coffee) numerous times and was caught several times by dutch or belgian police and every time they got me, they used to say: ‘Use your mind son. Don’t do that again’ As you can see; Nice police officers do exist. Or perhaps they were just a bunch of stupid, blind wankers. Anyway, I followed their advice and never did it again (by the way; I only used cannabis. Nothing else) To be honest, I’ve never written to a person who’s in prison before. I was just abusing my laptop and ended up here. I saw you wrote your last comment on march 1, which, I suppose, probabily means you have not drifted off. Hang in there! If you have the opportunity and if you want to, why not send me a message back? P.S.: pardon my knowledge of the english grammar. My name is Davy, I live in Belgium (shitty little country between France, Holland and Germany), I’m 33 years young, Truckdriver and my girlfriend is the boss. Hear ya?