Sunrise and Sunset

The sunrises and sunsets here in Safford Arizona are absolutely beautiful if there are any clouds in the sky. Much more impressive than anything I ever saw in Utah. The colors are simply amazing. I really wish I could take photographs of them. Right now I go to breakfast just as the sun is coming up, but right before it has crested the eastern horizon. The blues, reds, pinks, yellows and whites are incredible. As I go to dinner, the sun has just fully dipped below the western mountains, again creating a spectacular vista. I think the sunrise is the more impressive of the two since I am right up next to some mountains on the west. The horizon to the east is much lower allowing the sunlight to illuminate most of the overhead sky before the sun peeks over. Because of the mountains on the west, only the clouds to the west get lit up after the sun has slipped out of view. In the morning there are often both high and low clouds. The high ones get illuminated while the lower ones remain in shadow. This creates some very interesting contrasts. Five days until Christmas and the weather here is beautiful. I may just end up staying in Arizona of my own accord after my current tour of duty is up. I'll have to see what the summers are like first though.

Amusing Scriptural Passages

I was reading in the Old Testament today about when Saul was being chosen to be king and came across a couple phrases that struck me as oddly funny which I just had to share.

1 Samuel 10:22

"Behold, he hath hid himself among the stuff."

1 Samuel 10:27

"And they despised him, and brought him no presents."

Outside

My brother Alan claims to have once asked me how I felt about being outside, especially since so much of life here in Safford takes place out of doors, and also in light of the fact I spent 9 months in doors without being able to go outside. Allegedly I never answered his question. So I will do so now. I love being able to go outside and spend most of my time each day outside. It's great to be able to see the night sky as well. Because of the compound lighting, most of the stars are not visible, but many of the brighter ones are.

The weather here during October was beautiful. Now as December approaches, the temperatures have dropped and it is quite cold. It's no longer quite as enjoyable to be outside, but it's still nice to be able to. I hear it will get colder yet. The wind is the biggest weather problem. It makes the cold even worse since I don't have any real cold weather or wind breaking gear. I have a set of thermals and sweats and an institution issued light jacket. As long as the wind doesn't blow, then being outside is bearable. It's still cold, but just some light shivering is all that's necessary to endure it. But when the wind blows it quickly gets to be no fun to be out of doors. especially when the wind is blowing. Luckily there is almost no precipitation, so snow is not something I'll have to deal with here. I can see that I'll be spending most of this winter in doors when possible.

Once warm weather comes around again though, I will once again be spending a lot of my free time outside underneath the beautiful blue Arizona skies.

Visitors From Outer . . . Town

This weekend my parents Craig and Bonnie, my brother Alan, my sisters Amy and Wendy, and my nephew Caden (Wendy's son) embarked on a journey from the freezing weather in northish Utah to the freezing-but-maybe-not-quite-so-much weather of southish Arizona to visit me here in Safford. Two days from morning until evening were entirely spent visiting. It was so great to get to see them and I'm really grateful for the sacrifices they made to come see me. I certainly don't deserve it. But I guess some of those sacrifices depend on your point of view. For instance, they got to skip church whereas since our Sunday services held here in the compound are in the evening, I still had to go. Well I suppose I didn't have to go, but I chose to go. I guess that was a good thing since I was teaching the lesson this week, which was coincidently on sacrifice.

Cops and Robbers

So there I was. Casually seated around a table outside playing cards and wondering whether frostbite was going to become a concern or if I was just allowing the fact I could no longer feel my fingers to needlessly worry me. It was pretty cold to be sitting outside, but that's where all the tables are. When what to my wondering eyes should appear? An inmate running by in a mask, pursued -- none too closely, and losing ground I might add -- by an overweight correctional officer huffing and puffing it. I do admit it was amusing. I guess the C.O. was able to radio ahead because ten minutes later or so we saw several officers escorting someone back in hand cuffs. Of course that meant that the compound was closed early. We all had to go back to our dorms so they could do an emergency head count. At least it is warmer inside.

Racquetball Roughness

Today I got hit in the head playing Racquetball, twice. Anybody who's played Racquetball knows how much that can hurt, especially the direct hits which haven't had any chance to lose their kinetic energy by bouncing off any walls. Add to that freezing cold temperatures from playing outside, and that little rubber ball becomes quite the projectile. Luckily I was facing away from the incoming projectile and was thus only knocked up the side and back of the head.

The File Room

The File Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled At My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents"

I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I Have Watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not some much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared The Gospel With". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards in contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards.

I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in those moments, couldn't bring myself to look at His face. I saw there a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, once by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "no, no" as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His had on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Man's Search for Meaning

My brother Alan, while participating in a book club, read "Man's Search for Meaning" by psychiatrist Victor E. Frankl and sent me a copy which I just finished reading. Between 1942 and 1945 Frankl labored in four different Nazi concentration camps, including Aushcwitz. Based on his own experience and the stories of his patients, Frankl argues that we cannot avoid suffering but we can choose how to cope with it, find meaning in it, and move forward with renewed purpose. A 1991 Library of Congress/Book-of-the-Month-Club survey asking readers to name a "book that made a difference in your life" found Man's Search for Meaning among the ten most influential books in America.

I really enjoyed reading this book as I was able to draw many parallels from it to my own experiences. Although the level of my own physical suffering is nowhere near that which was experienced in a concentration camp, I find that I can relate very well to much of the mental and emotional state of those that experienced the camps.

The book is basically divided into two halves. The first half deals with Frankl's experiences in the death camps. This was the more interesting of the two to read and from it I have taken several excellent quotes out to share. The second half is a brief explanation of this angle towards psychiatric therapy known as logo-therapy, from the Greek word "logos" which means "meaning". Although the first section was a more engrossing read, I still felt the second section worth a quick read if not an in depth study. I suppose the second section would hold more interest for those who are interested in psychology.

---

[...] there are moments when indignation can rouse even a seemingly hardened prisoner -- indignation not about cruelty or pain, but about the insult connected with it. [...] I had to listen to a man judge my life who had so little idea of it.

---

I shall never forget how I was roused one night by the groans of a fellow prisoner, who threw himself about in his sleep, obviously having a horrible nightmare. [...] I wanted to wake the poor man. Suddenly I drew back the hand which was ready to shake him, frightened at the thing I was about to do. At that moment I became intensely conscious of the fact that no dream, no matter how horrible, could be as bad as the reality of the camp which surrounded us, and to which I was about to recall him.

---

The religious interest of the prisoners, as far and as soon as it developed, was the most sincere imaginable. The depth and vigor of religious belief often surprised and moved a new arrival. [...] In spite of all the enforced physical and mental primitiveness of the life in a concentration camp, it was possible for spiritual life to deepen.

---

The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way -- an honorable way -- in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment.

---

It is well known that an enforced community life, in which attention is paid to everything one does at all times, may result in an irresistible urge to get away, at least for a short while. The prisoner craved to be alone with himself and his thoughts. He yearned for privacy and for solitude.

---

The story of Death in Teheran.

A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening. The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, "Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?" "I did not threaten him; I only showed surprise in still finding him here when I planned to meet him tonight in Teheran," said Death.

---

The experiences of camp life show that man does have a choice of action. Man can preserve a vestige of spiritual freedom, of independence of mind, even in such terrible conditions of psychic and physical stress. We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.

---

Dosteoevski said once, "There is only one thing that I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings."

If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete. The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity -- even under the most difficult circumstances -- to add a deeper meaning to his life. Here lies the chance for a man either to make use of or to forgo the opportunities of attaining the moral values that a difficult situation may afford him. And this decides whether he is worthy of his sufferings or not.

---

This young woman knew that she would die in the next few days. But when I talked to her she was cheerful in spite of this knowledge. "I am grateful that fate has hit me so hard," she told me. "In my former life I was spoiled and did not take spiritual accomplishments seriously."

---

There was plenty of suffering for us to get through. Therefore, it was necessary to face up to the full amount of suffering, trying to keep moments of weakness and furtive tears to a minimum. But there was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.

I hope you all can find some meaning in at least a few of these passages. Some of you may have even read this book at some point in your lives. Thank you Alan for sending it to me.

Pseudo Email

For those of you who are not yet aware, you may now correspond with me through the internet using a wanna-be email service. To do so you need to log into a website where you can view messages from me and reply or compose new ones. It's not quite as convenient as using your own email client, and it does require that you be online while you use it, but it will save postage and the cost of printing/envelopes/stationary etc. As an added bonus, messages are more or less instantly received allowing for more timely news updates and same day replies. You get all this, and "these other fabulous prizes" . . . oh wait, I guess that's all you get.

If you're interested, I'll need to have your email address first so I can get you approved to use the system. You can send it to me directly or have my parents send it to me. I'll also need your mailing address, so if you don't think I have that, then send that too. Once I enter you into the system you'll be sent an email with further instructions on how to access the site and a link to it as well. Once you have access to the system, be sure to check out the options, one of which allows you to receive a real email notification whenever you've got a new message in the system. That way you don't have to keep logging in to check.

My immediate family are all signed up, so if you have any questions about or trouble with the system, I'm sure one of them can help you out.

Of course, everyone is still welcome to correspond via regular snail mail if that is your preference.

Thank you to everyone who writes to me. I love to read all your news and stories. I know I don't always respond to everyone, but I figure that's why I'm posting these entries, so that I don't have to. ;-)

The Stapler

My Aunt Leslie was telling me about how while she was using the sewing machine to sew an exterior pocket onto some type of carry bag for her daughter Brooke she accidentally sewed right through her finger. Not wanting to lose the well made stitches already in place, she tried to finish the pocket before removing the needle/thread from her finger. At least that's how I remember it going. This in turn led me to share with her my stapler story.

Four score and a bunch of time ago, we had a jammed stapler at work. If I remember correctly, it was probably the stapler of some pretty girl. So of course I set about attempting to unjam the stapler and thus prove myself the deserving hero. Unfortunately my methods left much to be desired, especially in the common sense department. My solution was to grasp the stapler with both hands and squeeze really hard to force the jammed stapler out. Well it came out all right and -- my thumb being somewhat unfortuitously located right over the exit slot -- straight into my thumb, all the way. At first all I could feel was pride in my work, followed by the realization of the result, followed by a sort of detatched surprise and amusement, follwed by reality and pain. Now the pain was really not all that bad. Just a pinch was all. So I went around the office showing off my handiwork to all my co-workers. After the novelty of it wore off I turned my attention towards removing the staple. Because it was tightly pressed flush against my skin, I actually had to use a staple remover to get a hook on it and pull it out. Although I thought the pain of it going in was minimal, it was considerably worse as it came out. As a result, I have developed a healthy but wary respect for staplers. They are to be used with prudence and wisdom and not lightly trifled with. When your guard is down, and you least suspect it: WHAM!, they'll get you.

Of course Aunt Leslie countered with her story of almost cutting the tip of her finger completely off with a pocket knife as a girl and my Grandpa refusing to take her in for stitches prefering instead to use some type of brown plumber's goop to seal the wound. Well she says it worked, so I guess all's well that ends well. I can't give more details than that because it would threaten to outdo my own story, and after all, this is MY blog.

Italian Opera

Tonight I began a three part educational video series of Italian operas. Tonight we watched La Boheme, a story about 4 destitute guys and their personal relationship issues and an odd need to sing everything they say at the top of their lungs. Oh wait, that's just opera. I actually really enjoyed it though and look forward to the next two operas. I can't remember what they are at the moment. This one had Luciano Pavoratti as the lead tenor. Although I've always basically known who he was, this was my first production I've actually seen him in, or for that matter even listened to beyond 10 seconds. The volume was definitely too loud with the fortisimo parts torturing the TV speakers and my eardrums. I will have to remember to take ear plugs next week.

American Trails

I began an eight or nine week educational video course today on "American Trails". It sounded interesting by the description. Unfortunately, reality wasn't having any of it. Actually the content of the videos was okay, but the production quality was like something produced by some 8th graders with a home video camera for a project. It was hosted by Tom Bodette from the infamous Motel 6 radio ads. For those of you who are old enough to remember his voice, it is rather monotonous. His voice droning on and on and poor audio and video quality contributed to a very difficult class to sit through. I was expecting something of at least History or Discovery Channel quality. I was disappointed. I guess I'll stick it out though. Supposedly I get a certificate at the end. I'm all about certificates.

Work Work

Election day is here once again. How did I spend my election day? Well like most people, I had to work. But unlike most people my hours were somewhat shorter. Today I was assigned to check out and fix the overhead flourescent lights in two of the T.V. cabanas. It turns out most of the lights were okay. Someone had just rotated the tubes enough to turn them off so they didn't glare off the T.V. So I rotated them back while sending out telepathic messages of #smug. It was a wasted effort for the most part. They'll just rotate them back off again. Oh well, what do I know; I just work here. It turns out though that there was actually one tube that was bad that needed replacing and wonder of wonders one of the fixtures actually needed a new ballast. So I took care of those and that was that. 20 minutes of work and I was headed home. Not bad for a second day on the job.

Ungainful Employment

You may have heard the term "Gainful Employment". It is my understanding that it means some type of employment from which you, well, gain something. Hopefully what you gain comes in the form of local currency, or at least unblemished cattle. Today I started working on the electrical crew, for which I'm paid so very little ($0.12/hr) that at first glance it almost appears that instead of them paying me, I'm actually paying them for the privilege to work. I am assigned to the p.m. shift which means I work from 11:30 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. Mondays through Fridays. Today for some reason they did a "late call" which means that they're not ready to call you to work yet so stand by and they'll call you at some point, maybe. We were eventually called to work at 1:00 p.m.

My first job was to ground a live transformer. And by this I of course mean that my first job was to watch someone else ground a transformer. My duties involved standing a safe distance away. Actually, I was right up close so I got to see and learn what was going on. We finished at 2:00 p.m. and there was nothing else to do so I got to go home. And of course by home I mean my NEW home a.k.a. my dorm here at the lovely Safford Retreat for the Convicted.

So on my first day on the job I only had to work -- by staying out of the way -- for an hour. Not bad.

How to Train Your Dragon

I just got done watching "How to Train Your Dragon" and I must say it far exceeded all my expectations. Some parts might be too scary for little kids, but it is otherwise a family friendly show with lots of well written humor. I almost didn't go see it since I had only fleetingly seen a few advertisements for it and it looked like another animated wanna-be. But it was really quite good and I recommend it. Now I want to read the book it was based on.

Happy Birthday Mom

Having a birthday on Halloween has it's pros and cons. On the one hand, everyone celebrates it -- even people you don't know. And on the other hand, everyone celebrates it -- even people you don't know. So I guess it depends on your point of view. I for one would rather my birthday passed by unnoticed. It's hardly anything to celebrate. But the birthday of my mother? That's another thing. That's always worth celebrating. Happy Birthday Mom!!

Allergies, maybe

Since arriving here in Safford I began sneezing more in a day that I typically would in a whole year. At first it was -- in a weird twisted way -- somewhat enjoyable. A good sneeze can really lift your spirits. But after a while it can become a bit tiresome. Sneezes have to be rationed to maintain their welcome. Anyway, the sneezing has been accompanied by an unusually runny nose as well. There have veen no other symptoms such as itchy eyes, sinus stuffiness, headaches, tummy issues, etc. So I don't know if it's been allergies or some type of illness. This is Safford after all. You just never can tell. At least I'm not FROM here. Just kidding Andrea. This actually seems like a nice place to live. In fact, maybe I'll hang around for while.

So anyway back to the subject, it rained here two days ago or so and all of a sudden my symptoms went away. In fact, on the very day of rain, I purchased some generic Claritan to see if that would help. Well it certainly did, although I thought I would need to actually take it for it to work. I guess just buying it was enough. Or maybe it was the rain . . . At least now I have a shiny new box of Claritan look-alike meds in my locker. Only time will tell if it is indeed allergies. My week in Phoenix did not cause any problems, so it may not be Arizona in general -- just Safford. To be fair, I don't recall having a problem when being around Andrea, so whatever it is -- and if it is something about Safford -- it must just be something in the air and not be contagious.

Frito Bowls

Tonight me and ten other guys got together and made Frito Bowls. This is done with Chili Cheese flavored Fritos, refried beans, ersatz chorizo, sausage, cheese, taco mix and jalapenos added in repeating layers until our bowls (1 qt.) were full. We the ate the concoction with a spoon. I'm pretty sure this wasn't good for me. Oh well, it was fun to do. Next time I will use less sausage in my own.

Smoked Oysters

Tonight I had my first smoked Oyster. Some of you may be laboring under the delusion that smocked oysters are good. I can now tell you that you are mistaken. The test results don't lie. Besides, you read it here on the internet, and if it was on the internet it must be true, right? Nasty disgusting things they are. What was the walrus thinking? The time may have come "to talk of other things", however his conversation skills were sadly misguided. If you needed no help identifying the allusion, or whatever it was, you get a gold star!

Tennis Tuesday

I played tennis today. I thought I kicked butt, but then I realized that butt was mine. The good news is that I got better as the hours wore on. The bad news is that I still wasn't very good at the end. I had to stop when my knee started hurting. I probably didn't mention it before, but I hurt my knee a few months ago while doing squats. I went down, I came up. During many repetitions, one time coming up was accompanied by snap, crackle, pop, pain. And ever since it hurts sometimes. I guess that's just part of getting old. It held up during racquetball, but I guess tennis was just asking too much from it.

Jayne Eyre

Prior to leaving DCJ I was reading and nearly finished "Jayne Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte. There were many excellent passages which I had intended to quote, but I had to leave my notes behind when I left. I obtained another copy here in Safford and finished it today. So I've only got one passage to share instead of many. I have edited out a few parts which wouldn't make sense out of context. I like this passage because it so closely echoes the feelings of my own heart.

[...] my heart swells with gratitude to the beneficient God of this earth [...] He sees not as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more wisely. I did wrong [...] Divine justice pursued its course; disasters came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadow of death. His chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which has humbled me for ever. [...] I thank my Maker, that in the midst of judgement he has remembered mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!

Random Raindrops

Today I felt rain for the first time this year. To be fair, it can't really be called rain. Nor could it be comfortably designated as precipitation, so little of it there was. I was out playing cards under the night sky when suddenly my hand was the recipient of a gift from above. Hoping for the best (rain) yet fearing the worst (not rain), I was relieved to discover that I was not the only one hit, and the projectiles were thankfully nothing but a few drops from a passing cloud. I'm sure it was just passing through looking for a more deserving play to unburden itself.

Regarding racquetball repercussions, they were not a few. My body is complaining -- loudly. Well it better get used to it. There's more where that came from.

Racquetball Repercussions

I played racquetball today for a couple of hours. That was probably more exercise in two hours than my entire stay at DCJ. I have some nice blisters to show for my hard work. I still have not been able to get shoes yet, but someone lent me a pair to play in. It is likely that, weather permitting, I will be playing every Wednesday and Friday mornings, at least for now. That is of course if my body can handle it. I'm expecting some soreness tomorrow in muscles I'd forgotten I had.

French Toast Friday

Yes, you heard it here first. Every Friday I get french toast for breakfast, and it's actually quite good. Unfortunately there's not nearly enough - a measly three slices is all. But on a positive note, sugar is provided for the oatmeal. That never happened at DCJ. So score one for the federal system.

10/10/10

The date alone is reason enough for this nearly pointless entry. Next up, November 11, 2011.

Down Time

I'm supposed to meet with my case manager and counselor some time int he next couple weeks. Until then I seem to have a lot of down time on my hands. I have been spending it reading some books I got from the library and playing cards with a group of other outcasts. Mostly we play Rummy, Pinochle, chess, and various forms of Poker. Of course we only play for fun. There is no money involved. Some of the guys play tennis and racquetball, so once I get my shoes I'll be able to join in the fun. After my meeting with the case manager and counselor I will be placed on the job list and be able to start some educational courses as well. Until then, I'll just enjoy my vacation.

Just What the Doctor Ordered

Today I had my first soda drink in over nine months. Who knew I could survive so long without it? As I mentioned yesterday, I purchased some diet Dr. Pepper. I hear they used to sell Pepsi products -- although I'm not sure about Mt. Dew -- up until a month ago when they switched to Coke. This is both good and bad. I much prefer Pepsi and their line of products over Coke, but when it comes to diet drinks, Dr. Pepper is probably my favorite. So this way at least I'm not tempted to consume a lot of sugary soda. I know even diet soda still isn't "good" for me, but hey, it's a compromise. I will miss you Pepsi and beloved Mt. Dew. May I rest in peace. So anyway, I bought this stuff yesterday but waited until today to do the honors.

Safford Continued

Meals here are served at 6:00 am, 11:00 am, and 5:00 pm -- a much more normal schedule. The weather is great, at least right now. I don't know the temperature but it's nice and warm in the day and pleasantly cool at night. During my wandering around the place I have discovered the clinic, the main laundry, the commissary, the mail, the auditorium, and library buildings. The library is pretty small but offers a much better selection of books than I've had access to in a while. There is no checking out. If you want a book, you just take it. No late fees!

My day for commissary shopping is Thursdays. So I went today and bought a bunch of things, like a hat, sunglasses, hygiene stuff, correspondence materials and, oh yeas, some diet Dr. Pepper. Unfortunately there is a spending limit, and so I have to wait for two weeks before I can finish out my "getting settled" shopping spree. Big ticket items I'm still waiting to get: athletic shoes and a radio. The shoes are necessary if I'm going to exercise, and the radio for watching T.V. Although I'm generally not welcome in front of the T.V.'s, supposedly I can get away with it for weekend morning movie showings. On weekends, edited feature films are shown. The radio will also just be nice to have for musical enjoyment the rest of the day.

Safford Arizona. Here I Am!

Early in the morning we were loaded onto another bus. Approximately much later we arrived at our final resting place, at least for now, FCI Safford, Arizona. I'll spare you the details of being processed at intake as they are much the same as all the other places I've been. The compound is really quite nice -- very aesthetically pleasing. There is no grass anywhere. Just artfully arranged dirt, rocks, and indigenous plant life. There are several cabanas in the central compound in which are found many T.V.'s for watching. Of course I'm not allowed to watch most of them, or participate in most of the reindeer games due to the nature of why I'm here. But that's okay, there is plenty to be doing and I wouldn't have wanted to really associate much with most of the people normally found in prisons. The rec yard has basketball, tennis, volleyball, and racquetball courts. I and the others of my social standing are not allowed to use them if others are or want to. Otherwise we can. There is also a baseball diamond and soccer/football field, all dirt. There is a dirt track that runs around it all. Once I get some shoes I plan to go jogging, or at least brisk walking, or at least just walking, or at least just admiring my shoes while thinking to myself that I should use them to go jogging. :)

I am living in a giant warehouse dorm unit. It is roughly about 200 yards long and 50 yards wide. On the two ends are the bathrooms, showers, and some washer/dryers machines. 120 two man banks fill the central area with a row down each end wall and a row of back to back bunks down the center, creating two main walkways. I'm on the bottom floor. The building actually is two stories with everything I just described duplicated on the top floor as well. I am also on an upper bunk. Bottom bunks are assigned by medical need and seniority. So eventually I should get to move to a lower bunk. Eventually. But I actually kind of like the upper bunk, s it's all good. I've got a locker next to my bunk where I can keep by stuff.

I Heard It Through the Grapevine

Word came today that I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning for my final destination. It comes with both nervousness and relief. There are another 30 guys leaving with me. As Mario can often be heard to say on various video games "Here we go!"

Avatar

I finally saw the movie "Avatar" this morning. Well, most of it anyway. I'm missing the beginning 20 minutes or so and also another 20 or 30 minutes somewhere in the middle. But I saw enough to pick up on the story line and I saw the end. I suppose that's all I really have to say about that.

Phoenix Continued

There is a limited selection, but a decent one, of books here to read. Wince I already read Genesis, I am continuing with Exodus in the Old Testament, in addition to the fiction literature.

We are all located in one room filled with 22 three-man bunks arranged in 4 rows. It's about two thirds full. I'm on a middle bunk. I'm glad I don't have to be on the top one which is about fix feet off the ground. Also in the room are the sinks, showers, and toilets. There is an adjoining room we can use during the day that has two T.V.'s in it.

Breakfast is served at 4:30 am, lunch at 10:30 am and dinner at 3:30 pm. The food here is really good compared to Davis County Jail, but still not quite Mama's home cooking. I'm not complaining though. I can easily live with this. All federal prisons use the same menu and food standards, mostly, so I'll be okay no matter where I go.

Phoenix Continued

At some point this morning I was moved from the S.H.U. (pronounced "shoe") tot he annex. This is where inmates are stored when they're only here awaiting transfer to somewhere else. Some of the guys here have been here for five weeks. I have no idea how long I'll be here.

Phoenix

Today I was awakened at around 2:00 am and told to roll up. I had begun to wonder how long I would be stuck here since there were apparently several other who had been there for several weeks. Of course by "several others" I mean federal inmates. The county inmates are supposed to stay there. So I was taken to the holding cell where I had spent time upon arrival cooling my heels. Here I waited until around 6:00 am when I was again shackled -- but mercifully not subjected to the black box -- and laded onto another bus. Six hours later I arrived at FCI Phoenix, Arizona.

During processing here I gave up my street clothes for the final time. I had temporarily given them up at Davis County and San Bernardino during my short stays, but had thus far used them for traveling in between. I also finally learned my ultimate destination, which was not to be FCI Phoenix. I would only be here for a bit while awaiting my final transfer. This is a medium-high security prison and I was hoping for a low, so that was good news. I have been placed in the S.H.U. for the night and was told I would be moved in the morning. Due to overcrowding, I am the fourth resident for this two man cell. This means that I have the privilege of sleeping on the floor next to the toilet.

Genesis

I finished reading the book of Genesis in the Old Testament today. One can only sleep and watch Spanish T.V. so much before even the Old Testament becomes appealing.

San Bernardino Continued

At about 6:00 am in the morning I was moved from the holding cell to a single man cell in the S.H.U. (Special Housing Unit). At least here I had a mattress, if not a pillow. My cell is pretty small, just big enough for a bed, toilet, sink and small table surface, about 8 feet by 6 feet. Outside the bars is a T.V. which is shared by two other cells. I have this stick thing made up of paper maché using magazine pages. The other inmates tell me this is the T.V. remote. We use them to operate the T.V. which is too far to reach otherwise. Breakfast comes at 4:30 am, lunch at 10:30 am, and dinner at 3:30 pm. The food here is a lot better than at Davis County. I am let out of my cell for 1 hour each day during which I can shower. Only one cell on each row is open at a time, so we're all taking turns on whose hour it is to be out. There are 13 cells on a row. The guy next to me let me borrow some magazines and a bible. 10 of the 13 on my row are Mexican, so we watch a lot of Spanish T.V. which isn't too bad since I at least can follow what is going on.

San Bernardino

Like the Children of Israel who journeyed towards their promised land for 40 years in the wilderness -- on account of them forgetting to properly charge their GPS (God Positioning System) -- I too embarked upon my own journey today towards my own promised land. Also like those wanderers of old, my own route has proved to be thus far less than direct.

I began the day like any other on which I wished to shave by getting up at 4:30 am. Having completed this successfully and barely retired to bed again I am called to the door and told to "roll up, they'll be here to get you in about 30 minutes." SO I dutifully get all my things together and ready to leave. Like moths to a flame, others gathered to huddle around me. Some were merely well wishers, but others are inevitably vultures, and only there to see what can be scavenged. Luckily for me, I had gotten ready to leave many days previously and had all the stuff was keeping already gathered together in one bag. So all I had to do was open my box, remove the bag, and close the box. I left everything in it to Brett to handle as he saw fit. He wasn't exactly thrilled with that since now he was going to have to deal with the dumpster divers himself.

I was told to roll up at about 5:00 am. 30 minutes came and went. Another 30 minutes came and went, and another, and another,. Two hours later I was still waiting for them to "come get me in 30 minutes." Breakfast came int he meantime, but I chose not to eat it foreseeing the dilemma to come of needing to use the restroom while shackled. This proved to be a wise decision. Shortly after 7:00 am they finally came to get me. Hugs, hand clasps, and parting words were hurriedly exchanged and I was out the door. I actually didn't say anything at the end, being on the brink of losing my composure and breaking down. I was taken to a holding cell in the intake area. There were already six other inmates in there waiting as well. We would end up waiting there for two hours. I forgot to mention that before depositing me in the holding cell, I was given back my street clothes to wear. After 9 months, regular clothes felt sooo good.

Shortly after 9:00 am they came to get us. We were all shackled up and loaded onto a bus. From the jail we then drove down to the federal building where we picked up some more people. For some reason that only the federal government understands, this process took about an hour, just to get five more guys. We then drove out to the airport where we drove right out onto the tarmac. Here we had to sit for another hour for the plane to arrive. Wile we waited the officers took the opportunity to black box some of us. I guess the rule for flights is that every inmate with a sentence over 120 months has to have a black box. What is a black box you might wonder? Well I hope you don't already know from experience. I can assure you that you would regret finding out first hand. If you sit with your hands clasped in your lap, you will see that your wrists make more or less a 90 degree angle with each other, which also means that with cuffs on, the cuffs naturally make a 90 degree angle as well. The black box is a small contraption that fits over the cuffs between the wrists which covers the keyholes and chain. It also forces the cuffs into a straight line. While keeping your wrists about six inches apart and near your waist, try making your wrists parallel to each other. It is extremely uncomfortable for anybody but even more so for the gravitationally challenged. Now keep in mind that I had this contraption on for about 12 hours. Don't worry about forgetting, I'll try to keep reminding you.

We finally boarded the plane after a friendly -- a little too friendly -- pat down search. I don't know what kind of plane it was. It had twin props on wings mounted near the bottom of the chassis. There were I think 20 rows of easts, each row with 3 seats, 1 on one side and 2 on the other. I had a window seat on the 2 seat side, which was good. The flight guards did not carry weapons and would not tell us where we were going. After take off we angled north-ish. After some undetermined amount of time we landed in what turned out to be Great Falls Montana. Some people got off, and some got on. I stayed on. After take off we headed south-ish by my best guess. It was hard to say because the sun was high in the sky and so it wasn't clear which way it was moving. Based on angles and the knowledge that this far north the sun is somewhat to the south anyways I guessed a slightly west of south direction. Knowing we were leaving Montana I was going to upset if we flew back over Utah, which of course we did -- right over the SLC airport!! Great, hours and hours of painful discomfort just for a nice scenic run to Montana and back. At least we didn't land at the SLC airport. That would have been quite upsetting indeed. We ended up landing in Las Vegas, Nevada roughly an hour later after passing over SLC.

In Las Vegas I was kicked off the plane. It felt like I'd just stepped from the fridge into the oven. The heat coming off the tarmac was blistering. Here I was handed off to a new set of guards and loaded onto a bus. Remember that I still have the black box on. By this time the unnatural angle has done some superficial damage where the cuffs have been digging into my wrists. No, they're not padded, or even rounded.

So off we go on the bus which turned out to be a six hour drive to San Bernardino including an hour break for the driver and guards to eat while we sat on the bus. Remember I still have the black box on. We finally arrived at the San Bernardino County Jail. About 30 minutes later I was finally relieved of my torture when the black box was removed. The indentations in my skin from the cuffs lasted for two whole days. The soreness lasted for a couple days longer after that. Intake processing took awhile. After having the cuffs removed (and black box), which was about 9:00 pm, I was put in a holding cell. I still didn't know how long I would be there or where my final destination was.

One Week Left

By this time next week I expect to be in transit to another facility where I hope to find food, friends, and fun. Well, I'll settle for just the food I guess. I am somewhat apprehensive concerning what kind of shock actual nutrition will be to my system, but I'm willing to take the chance. My new address will be listed here (on the left side) as soon as it is known.

There's a List in the Bucket

Tonight's movie was The Bucket List. I opted not to watch it considering that I would likely have ample opportunity to do so at some future date and in considerably more comfort. For you see me feet and back were complaining loudly to me for a reprieve at the time the movie was beginning. And so I went to my bunk and read instead.

Happy Birthday Alan!

I suppose it would be fitting on this day to point out to the reader, that this blog has been made possible by the combined contributions of myself, the postal system, and Alan. But let's not bicker and argue over whose contribution is most important. Today I shall extoll the not insignificant efforts of Alan in transcribing my hand written entires, without which you would all have to find something else to waste your time reading. So many thanks to him for helping out in this endeavor.

Book List

Now available -- From the link on the left -- for those that may be interested is a list of books I have read since this ordeal began. It will be updated once every month or so. So many books out there to read and so little time. Well, I'll do my best to tread all I can anyway. Good thing I got time.

Monday Night Football

Have you ever wanted to see a bunch of grown men act like 12 year old girls at a boy band concert? Me neither, but unfortunately that's what Monday nights are like around here. I used to attribute the general behavior to alcohol, but I now see that it is merely optional. It can be quite amusing to observe from the outside.

I smile because I don't know what the hell is going on.

Fireproof

Today I watched the movie "Fireproof." I remember when it came out on video. It looked promising in the video rental store until I saw that it starred Kurt Cameron. Remember him? The younger generation -- and for that matter the older too -- will probably not recognize him. He played the main teenager part on the T.V. show "Growing Pains" when he was younger. Afterwards he was spiritually awakened and became an over zealous fanatical Christian. He flet he could no longer act in everyday Hollywood anymore and turned his acting efforts instead to lesser known Christian themed films. Now, my intent is not to educate you on Kurt Cameron's life, but to point out that because of the type of movies he made, I was not int he least bit interested in watching them. That is not to say that they aren't any good; just that I wasn't willing to spend my time on them. Anyway, I wish now that I had had a different attitude. I can only hope that things would have turned out differently for me.

So, back to the purpose of this blurb, today I watched "Fireproof" and it was everything I thought it would be. Cheesy, overly melodramatic, made-for-non-premium-cable-channel directing and acting, and of course centered on a Christian theme. Now, that doesn't mean it was bad or not worth watching. It was actually really good and I would highly recommend it to anyone who wants to see a completely clean, uplifting, inspirational, and entertaining movie. You all have internet, so you can look up details yourselves if you're interested. It has a good message and was fairly emotional (for me anyways). I can't remember if I mentioned them already, but "Forever Strong", and "Facing the Giants" are two other excellent movies that are Christian themed, although neither feature Kurt Cameron, which really can only make them that much better.

Pie Jesu

Tonight on America's Got Talent the final ten performed in hopes of getting voted into the final four. One of them, a 10 year old girl named Jackie Evancho sang "Pie Jesu" from John Rutter's "Requiem". It was absolutely incredible. John Rutter is one of my favorite composers and his "Requiem" has always been a favorite of mine since high school when I performed the opening piece (also titled "Requiem") with the school choir. I liked it so much that I then bought the CD containing the full Requiem work. I have since enjoyed listening to it countless times and even at one point knew all the lyrics by heart, both the English and Latin ones (plus the meaning). I even was able to attend a performance of the full Requiem in the Tabernacle at Temple Square which was just completely awesome. Miss Evancho gave a stunning performance that was almost unbelievable coming from a 10 year old girl. If any of you are cultured enough to appreciate such music, and you missed this performance, I'm sure you can find it on YouTube.com or something. It was inspiring to say the least.

Pyramids

I finished another Terry Pratchett novel "Pyramids." It was not as good as the others I've read so far, but still had to few passages that I will quote.

When you die, the first thing you lose is your life. The next thing is your illusions.

These next two are dedicated to Brett Whitehead:

He could always send for his favorite handmaiden. She was special. Her singing always cheered him up. Life seemed so much brighter when she stopped.

He said he liked my singing too. Everyone else said it sounded like a flock of vultures who've just found a dead donkey.

And a note about scientists.

It is now known to science that there are many more dimensions than the classical four. Scientists say that these don't normally impinge on the world because the extra dimensions are very small and curve in on themselves, and that since reality is fractal, most of it is tucked inside itself. This means either that the universe is more full of wonders than we can hope to understand or, more probably, that scientists make things up as they go along.

Missing Persons

Today we lost German Rodriguez. Don't worry, we didn't misplace him or anything, although this jail is notorious for losing people. More on that presently. German (pronounced Sherman) is headed to Argentina to set up camp for a while. That's where he's from, so I'm sure he'll do just fine. He's got all sorts of business ideas which I will not divulge because 1) it's not my place to, and 2) they're mostly shady and inappropriate in nature. But one thing's for sure, I see money in his future. Human nature virtually guarantees it.

Now regarding missing persons in general. I'll give a few examples. One day a guy was asked to contact the pod. The only problem was that he had been released the previous week. I mean seriously? We have head counts twice a day. You would think that if they still expected someone to be here, they would have realized the error a bit sooner. Several times people have been asked to contact the pod who have been moved to other units or facilities as well. These incidents coupled with my drug court one combine to paint a pretty insecure picture. I forgot to mention that occasionally the jail has to conduct an unscheduled head count in order to cover their incompetence and account for everyone. I guess it really shouldn't be so surprising considering the type of people who work here. Some of them are really quite decent people. But so many others just radiate a distinct couldn't-make-it-in-a-real-job-requiring-intelligence aura that you can't help but pity their poor sorry little lives. Oh wait, yes I can. I know, I'm terrible.

God must love stupid people; He made so many.

Drug Court

So there I was, privately walling in my own personal pool of pity, misery, and woe, when I heard a voice as if from heaven. Alas, it was only the clerk over the P.A. system telling me to contact the pod. I staggered from my bunk across the day room to use the intercom next to the door to "contact the pod" as ordered, which upon doing I am informed that I have court. "No I don't" I replied to which the clerk assured me that I was on the list and needed to get ready to go. This actually happened last week, not that it really matters . . .

Now flashback to some point earlier this year. Let's pick February since I cannot remember the exact date. Now picture the above scenario being played out again, except this is the first time it happened, and I was young and inexperienced. Thus I was beguiled by the clerk and was led away to court. The process of going to court involves getting shacked up and then waiting for an interminable amount of time in a holding cell with a bunch of deaf kids. I assume they were hard of hearing based on the excessive volume of their conversations. It's mandatory that you be kept in this holding cell until a headache develops beofre you're alloed into the courtroom. I think this is a strategy of the system to ensure you can't think clearly and see through the system's shenanigans before it's too late.

It was finally my turn. The guard came to get me from the holding cell and points to his list and asks me to confirm that he's got the right person. I look at eh list and sure enough, there's my name clear as day. But wait! Fortunately by divine intervention - for it could be nothing less - I spotted the discrepancy. The name listed was "Brian L. Christensen." My middle initial is "C." I was only too happy to point this out to him. I neglected to mention that this is happening in the courtroom, before the jedge, where I had been led from the holding cell but prior to the list confirmation snafu. So the guard calls out to the many people in the auience asking if there's anyone there by that name. As it happened there was. The other me was in the audience. I was returned to the holding cell to await my eventual return to my unit, which came, eventually.

Having spent nearly an entire day sitting in a holding cell while chackled up is not something I wanted to reapet again, with or without reason. Being shackled involves cuffs on your ankles connected by a chain just long enough to allow you to sheffle around from here to there, but just short enough to prevent you from crossing your legs while sitting down. It also involves your wrists being cuffed to your waist. Needless to say - although I'm going to say it anyway - using the toilet while shackled is right out.

Returning to the present, I once again successfully convinced the powers that be that they were trying to haul the wrong one off to drug court. "Once again?" the more astute readers may wonder. Yes once again indeed. All together this made the fifth time this has happened. Luckily I wised up after the first unfortunate incident and never had to return to drug court by mistake again once I started insisting they confirm which me they were actually seeking. Five times. It's ridiculous. And these are the people running our law enforcement. It can only be a sign that the Second Coming is nearer than ever.

The Power of One (Continued)

I finished "The Power of One" today. I really liked this book. Although I would not recommend it to those with delicate sensibilities due to its unsheltered nature, the writing was excellent and the many life lessons and nuggets of wisdom have left me feeling better for having read it. A powerful drama of South African life in the WWII era. There are way too many good passages to include them all here, but I want to quote several of them.

You've got to be quick on your feet in this world if you want to survive. Though once you know the rules, it is not too hard to play the game.

There comes a time in everything when you don't know something.

Sometimes we live a lifetime in two days.

Life is all beginnings and ends. Nothing stays the same.

To love music is everything. First I will teach you to love music, after this slowly we shall learn to play.

In this world are very few things made from logic alone. It is illogical for a man to be too logical. Some things we must just let stand. The mystery is more important than any possible explanation. The searcher after truth must search with humanity. Ruthless logic is the sign of a limited mind. The truth can only add to the sum of what you know, while a harmless mystery left unexplored often adds tot he meaning of life. When a truth is not so important, it is better left as a mystery.

We need only one winner for a start. One guy you can rely on to win. The rest is easy. The rest is only good management. When men can be made to hope, then they can be made to win.

We are not creating a business situation, we are merely exploiting one. Not to do so would be tantamount to sheer neglect, almost criminal if you ask me.

There are two important rules of business; knowing when to get in and when to get out. Of the two, knowing when to get out is the more important.

It's not what a man does, it's what a man is that counts.

I was seldom concerned with winning a particular light; instead I was cultivating the habit of winning. Winning is a state of mind that embraces everything you do, so I found I won in other things as well.

Doc had thought me the value of being the odd man out: the man who senses that there is an essential collective sanity to humans and who assumes the role of the loner, the thinker, and the searching spirit who calls the privileged and the powerful to task. The power of one was based on the courage to remain separate, to think through to the truth, and not to be beguiled by convention or the plausible arguments of those who expect to maintain power.

Movie would contend that anything, no mater how banal, could be raised to the level of intelligent debate if they minds that attended to it were good enough. He told the story of the little cobbler in a shtetl in Russia who was spreading honey on a piece of bread when the bread fell to the floor. To his amazement the bread fell right side up. "How can this be?" he said, and with the slice of bread in his hand he ran to consult the rabbi and the village elders. "We are Jews in Russia, how can it be that I spread honey on my bread and when it fell to the floor it landed right side up? Since when did luck such as this come to a Jew?" The rabbi and the elders pondered the point for several days, consulting the Torah frequently. Finally they called the little cobbler to the synagogue. The rabbi pronounced the verdict: "The answer my boy is quite clear. You honeyed your bread on the wrong side." We had all cawed and moaned at the story, but Movie, as usual, had made his point: good conversational debate is an end in itself, and talking for the love of conversation is what makes us human.

The music of Africa is too wild, too free, too accustomed to death for romance. Africa is too crude a stage for the small scratching of the violin, too majestic for the piano. Africa is only right for drums. The drum carries its rhythm but does not steal its music. Timpani is the background, the music of Africa is in the voices of the people. They are its instruments, more subtle, more beautiful, infinitely more noble than the scratching, thumping, banging, and blowing of brass and wind and vellum, strings and keyboard.

I suppose that taken out of context, there bits may lose some of their air. I hope though that at least one of them rant true for you and caused you to think about it. If not then at least you killed some time.

You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.

The Power of One (Letter)

Today I was reading "The Power of One" by Bryce Courteney and I came across a great passage. It is the story of a young boy's life in Africa during World War II as he grows up and seeks to become a boxing champion. At the point of this passage, one of his mentors and teachers is imprisioned unjustly and with the boy's help begins an underground postal service for the prisoners. This is what he says to the boy:

"When man is brutalized in such a place like this, always he is looking for small signs. The smallest sign that someone is worried for him to like a fire on the dark mountain. When a man knows somebody cares, he keeps some small place, a corner maybe of his soul, clean and lit."

I suppose I really like this because I can identify with it so well. To all of you who have written to me, I give my sincere thanks. You've all been like a fire on a dark mountain for me. Being reminded that you care helps me keep the spark of hope alive through this dark period of my life.

Never underestimate The Power of One . . . letter. :)

Extended Stay Approval

"They were the best of times; they were the worst of times" - except for the part about the best of times. I guess I've been a good resident at this gated community, for management today invited me to stay for a while longer - 195 months in fact. The good news is that as an extended stay resident, I now qualify for an upgrade to a more prestigious facility. The decision of which facility I will be transferred to, as well as the actual transfer will likely take 6-8 weeks. Those of you who have nothing better to do but write to me may continue to do so at the listed address in the meantime. Just remember to put a stamp on the envelope (not to accuse Alan of doing precisely that or anything). :)

The past week has been hard. I've been mentally and emotionally drained. So many thoughts and emotions in a chaotic frenzied stampede running around unchecked. If I were likened unto a vehicle traveling along the road of life amidst the traffic with everyone else, mine would be the one overturned in the ditch at the side with the wheels spinning uselessly. Luckily, some of the other vehicles on this road are tow trucks, and luckily there is a repair shop open 24/7 which can mend and heal almost any damage. The price can be tough to swallow, and the repair time varies with the damage, but it's always worth it in the end.

I apologize to those of you who are scratching your heads wondering what in tarnation - what IS tarnation anyway? - that last paragraph was about. Those of you quicker on the uptake will recognize the metaphorical religious point of it all. The rest of you can just nod your head in a manner suggesting that you understand, even when you really don't, just to avoid admitting that yo u're clueless. Moving on.

I would like to welcome you all to this new paragraph, which has been expressly designed to be easy to understand. Unfortunately, I used the entire budget on simple language, and I couldn't afford to include anything interesting or with a point.

I apologize to my readers for the uselessness of the previous paragraph. The writer has been sacked. I hope to bring you the next entry soon with an entirely new, and hopefully high quality writer.

I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.