Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #50

Dear Kelly,

I'm surprised my fingers are still allowing me to write! For the last two weeks I have written and written, pages and pages, edited, copied, copied again and I am pooped. I sent Michele B. another submission today. It's a story about me and my father, very touching---sort of bittersweet. It developed on its own so I had started it from one thought---about how when I was a teenager, I used to go through his stuff just to feel close to him, learn about him, and I stole his socks.

He had cool socks.

Not the boring white tube socks, although he did have some white socks, but trouser socks of all types. Wool socks.
ARGYLE SOCKS!

Anyway, the story turned out ver different. It makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my father.

If she chooses the first story, I will edit down the father essay to 300 words and submit it to Reader's Write. Or maybe submit it the way it is and let them edit it. I noticed that hte longest RW entries are 300 words. My stories are 1000-1500, so it would be a lot of editing. Or maybe send it to that Non-Fiction magazine. Either way, I got plans. On a day when my mind does not want to work, I will hand copy it for you.

I don't know if it is the change in seasons, the upcoming holiday (for which I have used as an excuse to buy $30 worth of junk food to l ast me through 2 weeks of self pity), or being moved to a room with white-frosted windows so I can't see out of get sunshine in, or what, but I have been feeling sort of empty and lonely, stressed, anxious an dsort of searching.

Okay, bullshit, Iknow why I have been feeling this way, but it's a cumulative effort. It's like I'm okay dealing with living in the latrine, but when the shit starts backing up, there's only so much you can take before the stench makes you want to puke.

Of couse part of it is situational. Living in a cement and steel bathroom for nearly two years isn't easy. Today is day 692. That's fucking ridiculous. And they give me no way out. Like most people can earn their way out by just sitting and following the rules for a couple of weeks or months and they get released. Even ones who got caught traficking pills with a staff member. 30 days. 90 days. Beat up an officer? Get out in a year. Beat up an inmate? 60 days. Get 42 write ups in a year? 70 days. I m ean, these are just examples, but Iit does get a little infuriating when they tell me I'm a threat to the safety and security of the facility so I stay locked away, yet these people aren't a threat? WTF? No to say I want them to stay. Hell, I don't wish that on anyone. Free the people!

And then there's the holidays, my mother's health, my sister's divorce, feeling guilty that my father is going to spend like $800 to fly out here, take a cab from the airport to here and back just to see me for two hours through fucking glass. It's just so wrong. And I think about all the holiday gatherings I have missed and how things would be different if I were home. Last Thanksgiving I spent in a Super 8 motel room eating "Dennys" turkey dinner with two slices of pumpkin pie and a slic of pecan pie for dessert, watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire--I was a little depressed.

And then there's my ex-lover, partner, whatever. That is such a long story, but after waiting two years to be able to talk/write to her, she professes her love which is what I've been dying to hear, only for me to write back with all these excuses why I don't see it working out between us. I am such an idiot. I fucking love that woman. Like, be still my heart, make every molecule in my body dance, would walk to the ends of the earth for--and it broke her heart. Now I'm trying to back upand start over, seeing that I hurt her and may have blown whatever chance I had at getting what I wanted. For over four years--her. I guess it was really out of fear. Like, who wants to stick it out with someone locked in a cage inside a locked building inside a locked compound? I am just so sick of being disappointed by people. I don't expect too much. I hardly expect anything at all. But then they offer to help and then they flake out. I think that it's because they see the enormity of what i face and they get scared, too emotionally attached to the outcome, and rather avoid the disappointing possibilities than to try at all, even with the possiblity of success. I used to think there was something wrong with me, but I recently have come to believe that a lot of people care so much that they don't want to deal with the hurt or difficulties I go through in my life. I don't know. It just sucks.

And there's all this legal research and pending court issues. Of course I dont' want to deal with that. And dear God, I don't have the money. Who does? Are wealthy people the only ones who deserve justice? Bullshit.

Fuck.

Pbbbth...

Anyway, that's my bitchy session for the week. Glad you could attend. Please leave comments in the suggestion box.

Goodnight.
Peace.

Sarah.

HOW ARE YOU?