6 April 2004, Tues. Dear Cait,
Well. After a month or so of living with my deal, I'm here to tell ya that it's next to impossible to keep that sense of, geee, I'm mortal going. For a while I was really paranoid, but now I'm feeling mostly back to my old self. I am watching the diet carefully, tho. They took blood a few weeks ago and I'll probably not hear anything from them until I go in for the 3-month checkup. Same old story, hopefully.
Thing they do with "slightly elevated" cholesterol is to try to control it with diet first. And asprin-therapy, to thin the blood. Don't know if you want to hear all this, but it's what I'm dealing with. I've been down with a nasty cold for the past two weeks, so the walking has fallen by the wayside, but I'm easing back into it.
I will try calling you next Monday night at 11 PM YOUR time. That's 10 my time. Now... can't always guarantee I'll get a phone at exactly on the hour, but I'll try. There are something like 8 phones for about 300 inmates, so there's sometimes a line.
The calls can only last 15 minutes and they shut off--click--like they did with us last time. So I'll be telling ya I love ya upfront and all that. Or that you're awful gawddamned speshul to me and all that. You know, all that em¬barrassing stuff. Heh, heh. And I have to wait an hour before I can make anothe call, so...
Let me know what's a good time for you. I work Sundays from right after breakfas until 10 A.M. Then from right after lunch to 3 PM. After that, free. You know there are the 10:30 and 4 PM Counts, then the 9 PM. Lockdown at 11. Usual prison schedule.
Anywho. I want to get this in the mail tonight so you will be sure to have received it by Monday. And if for any reason I can't get through or one of us should forget, I'll try the next night, same time. So forth until we make contact. Sound good?
Listen, everything will be fine. I gave you my mother's address Just in case I should keel over or something and no one would know to notify you. You could write my mother. That's what that was all about. Sorry, should have been more clear.
And I gotta tell ya that when my letter came back (and before I noticed I'd addressed it to my own--groan--PO Box) I was pretty upset, thinking ya might have taken a turn for the worse and gone home to Florida and how would I contact ya and all that. Fortunately, I still have Mindy's phone # written down, so I was thinking, if all else fails .... and then of course I saw that--DUH--I'd goofed up the addy. Gawd, you are so fucking important to me. My teacher. My friend. You are that word. Friend. Real. True blue. Jaysus. I don't know how to tell ya.
Anyway, fucckit. I love ya and that's that. Don't wanna embarrass ya or any of that stuff, but, man, you are just so incredible. And ... hey! We're coming up on--CAN YA BELIEVE IT????--seven years of friendship? Doesn't seem possible, eh?
I will try and get a longer and more coherent letter out to you later in the week. Priority now is just to get this in the mail. I'm ordering some one cent stamps to go with the old beat-up 34's that are used as jailhouse cash here. You can see they've been through the mill. The new stamps, the 37s, are worth 30G commissary. They trade discounted, as lots of guys use them to gamble with. I'm not a gambler--at least with game-type stuff.
So. My mother turns 77 tomorrow and we've not spoken in 8 years. She was pretty abusive when I was a kid and it hasn't been the easiest thing to let that go. But now I guess we're both feeling the mortality bit, so I will reach out to her tonight or*tomorrow. Will let ya know how that went.
My daughter Kathleen (do you have her email addy? She said she wrote you some time ago) has a European Tour lined up for her band. Apparently she's into Punk Rock. My son has also formed a band and sent me a poster of a gig they were doing in Vancouver. My kids, the creative ones, eh?
When is yer birthday? I know you're in your 40s, but don't know exactly where you are with that. I want to share some things with you down the road. Like maybe going to California with ya once time? Maybe? Fuck, I'd really like to go to Mexico with ya. Well. That's a ways down the road, yeah. I do know that I wanna go to a Poetry reading with ya. Wanna kick back and have that ear-to-ear grin on my face as I watch you do your thing. Yer greatest fan in the galaxy, Hon. Better get used to me always being in yer corner, no matter how far away I might be. Madly clapping for ya.
I'm such a sentimental slob. Sorry.
The interview was a download from yer e-zine, where you ask the questions like do you throw up or down or sideways. Remember that? I'm not-really happy with how I answered and I would like to change my answers down the road. If that's allowed.
Well. The inmates are back and the law library is in full swing. Every now and then I drop the typing and jump up to help one of them with a question or what have ya.
Reading an Ann Rice book about castrani--those singers from Italy they castrated back in the 18th century. Gawd, I mean, talk about being dedicated to art. Sheesh. It's interesting, tho. Trust Ann Rice to take a topic like that and somehow make it interesting.
Well, Sweetie, I will close this for now. Thanks for a really great upbeat" letter from ya. I know we're both gonna be fine. You are my hero. Keep up the good work, stay positive. I'll bet you didn't buy those books, eh? Well, you probably already knew everything they had to say, anyway. But rent a video. My fave comedy on the planet is A Fish Called Wanda, so if ya rent that and watch it, remember I've seen it over a dozen times and have the dialogue practically memorized. Think of me?
I love you. You're the greatest. And I ain't bad meself. XX0000xxxXXX DiXXX
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04.07.04, Wed.---Darlin' Cait,
Well, am enclosing a xerox of my journal entry for the day which contains a run-down of the phone conversation with mother. Lots of allusions you won't recognize, but will explain them all to you someday, assuming you might want to know the twisted and labyrinthine history of this family. Will keep this a shortie letter, too, as the animals will soon be back and the Law Library will be hoppin. Right now all is quiet ... lull before the Sturm. Heh.
You write such a kewl letter, Hon. I am now saving them all directly to my Journal. This last one I ended up writing the journal entry on the other side. So everything gets used. Wish I'd been able to save everything you wrote, but at least I am doing that now.
Yes, pictures are great. You can send me anything, just so long as no nipples or pussy showing. For your information, should you ever feels so inclined. Heh heh. VEG and all that.
Well, where were we? Rain today. Looking out the cell window and seeing inmates encased in translucent plastic ponchos, walking bent into the rain, others just wearing jackets. I put on the Li'l Abner FedBoots they issue us. Only time I wear them is when it rains. And I've started back in the walking routine.
Cait, this aging thing is a bummer. The only thing worse would be the alternative, where ya just kick off and fade into the oblivion of unremembered history. If history is unremembered, is it still history? Does a tree falling in the forest and all that?
I only talked ten minutes or so with Mother. She sounded good, bright, chipper. Sounds like she's in better shape than this latest husband of hers, who I've not met.
So many things I want to do yet. Visit Europe. Hell, I want to spend a summer backpacking Europe. Or bicycling or something. Hell, I still feel marvelously vital and alert and hungry for life experiences. Gawd, to die without ever having stood in the Acropolis. Or the Circus Maximus. Or to have visited Florence or the pyramids. Or the Mayan ruins of Guatemala and Beliz. Jaysus, Hon, so much to see and do, right? We can surely find at least one little adventure to share together. So that in years to come when I've transitioned on to the next level, you can look back and have some really warm memories of you and hr,-"X' doing something memorable together. And of course we have been doing this thing together, true. And that's lovely.
But I'm selfish. I want to do something interesting, if only a Buk-visit, together that you'll look back on with real happiness. Can? thanks, Hon. .......rose broke my heart, Hon, when she just stopped writing. That was so cruel of her, but I assume she had what she felt were good reasons. Well... the reality is that she lost something really good when she did that. Ohwell. Sorry... I complain too much sometimes. I'm doing well. I'm studying, reading, dreaming, and now and then a poem runs through my head but too quickly for me to catch.

Someday ... perhaps someday soon. Luvzya, Dollin. Alwayzzzzzz.DiXXX-----------
-----------070404, Wed. Mother's 77th birthday, and I called her, after an 8 year phone silence. She sounded good, said the latest operation on her foot was a success and that she was walking about half a mile a day. Said Bill walks "very slow." And that Jim had lost most of his sight in an auto accident 3 or 4 years ago. Sad. Deborah is in Eddyville (Woods), Carol writes now and then, Aunt Ruth turns 95 this coming November, and I must write to her then. Said that Annie died some 8 or so years ago, that Arthur and Barbara and Nadine were in Neodesha, living together. Nadine back with Arthur? How unreal it all is.
She called Arthur an "asshole," and I think that's the only time in my life I've heard mother use that word. Loren is living in a house given to him by an ex-girlfriend. Don't know how that came down. And of course Loren and Arthur are thick as thieves. Well, the beat goes on. What Barbara is doing in Neodesha is beyond me. I didn't ask if she'd divorced her hubby or what.
So that's how the phone'conversation came down. She said that Danny "cleans rooms," that working at Maytag was just too much for his nerves. Sigh. Poor Danny. Said Uncle Edgar was able to say only two words, "Thanks, Sis," when she visited him. How sad this thing of approaching Death is, especially when the body falls apart and strokes maim and debilitate. I didn't get to ask about Twila.
I dreamed about the old place west of Neodesha last night, the one by Joan's folks'. My first memories. And last night I was fighting everyone, but at least I was fighting them, not caving in, bending.
Letter off to Cait last night, meaning it'll probably go out sometime today and be there by Saturday. Try to call her this next Monday night at ten p.m. my time. See how that goes.
Cait sent a lovely letter (see opposite side) and she seems to be doing well. Ms. Popularity, eh. Well, she deserves that. She's a helluva hard worker on what she does, the Hold and allthat.
Rain today. I took out some broccoli and a bell pepper from my common fare. Make up some kind of evening deal ... soup and whathaveya. Jim and Martin were having a,bit of a feud, but perhaps it's all patched up by now. I saw them sitting at the same table at lunch.
Sat with Gary and Meeks, Justin. Talking about the Beard, who is exhibiting classic signs of paranoia, according to Gary. Sigh. Well, he did go to the bother (and inappropriateness) of looking up the interview of Cait's. Jeez.
I, read Cry To Heaven by Anne Rice. Interesting story, well researched. Learned all that I'd always wanted to know about the castrati but was afraid to ask. Gulp. Anne Rice. Trust her to take such a weird topic and make it interesting.
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21 April 2004, Wednesday Dear Cait,
I passed along your, "I hope you all get out real soon" message to the guys in AA, and there was this sudden roomful of ear-to-ear grins. We've adopted ya, Hon, in our hearts, so ya got a bunch of guys pulling for ya. Thanks again for being you and for showing such grace under pressure.
Tried to call Monday night at ten, but the call didn't go through. Sorry, Hon. I should have written and reminded you. It's not always the easiest thing in the world to remember those kinds things, especially when you have a lot on your mind. At any rate, not all that much to report. Life goes on here in pretty much the usual fashion.
I'd planned to go out and do my usual 9--10 A.M. walk in the Yard, but as I was getting ready I glanced out the window into some gawdawful fog. Sheesh. So of course everything was shut down and Weed Head and I had to stand up around 10 or 10:30 for a StandingCount, just in case someone took advantage of the weather and made it over the fence. There hasn't been a successful escape attempt in ages--none at all since I've been here, not even attempts, so the Feds had that part down, at least. It's mainly just a hassle, a minor blip on the radar screen of doing time.
Woke up groggy as hell, feeling like I'd ODed on sugar. Thinking back, probably did. Ate a couple of peanut butter sandwiches, and I hear there's a lot of sugar in the peanut butter. Ohwell. One more thing to let fall by the wayside.
Feeling so gawdawful weird lately. Am feeling better (at last) from the cold, but now Weed Head is complaining he caught it. But just feeling sort of ...blah. Not much caring about anything. And I know it will pass. Part of the getting seriously out-of-shape deal because of that 3 week down-with¬the-freaking-cold deal which is, as I mentioned, over now. Out there walking. Plodding. Strolling.
Yesterday, glancing out the windown. Young Pimp out there, lips moving, but me unable to hear a sound out of him. Him running one of the rap songs he writes to deal with whatever it is he's going through. Very black, short, muscled, friendly. Apparently a real-life Pimp out there.
And another black guy, Mr. Clay, back on a violation. Just can't stay away from the crack. This fella absconded, that is, ran off while still on paper. Managed to handle being on the run for a few months, then turned himself in. Prison apparently being better than trying to cope out there in the mean streets.
Weed Head has been trying to get a transferto a prison closer to home. His mother is dying and it's one of those gawd-awful eight hour drives which means he never gets a visit and of course the wants to see her again before she dies. So her doctors sent a bunch of signed and sworn depositions regarding her health and they may transfer him one of these years but she'll probably be dead before then. The Feds aren't known for compassion.
I have a favor to ask. I noticed on the page where I had my interview that you reprinted that picture of me from back in Arkansas? Me sitting on the bench, me wearing that panama hat and looking professorial? Could you print just the picture and send a copy to me? There's this free penpal service for guys doing time that I'd like to take advantage of, and they gotta have the pic by June. So I would appreciate it if you could do that.
And nothing has to be perfect or anything. Just as it prints from there or whatever. In other words, don't go to a whole lot of trouble on my account. I realize you're not necessarily at your best just now due to what you're going through. So ... could ya let me know? Thing is, with pictures, ya get more of a response. Although in my case ...heh, heh...might be better off without one, eh? Grin. Thanks, Hon, if ya can do this.
Been struggling with some serious depression. Not sure where my life will go when I get out of here. Pretty sure I want to maintain bachelor-status for the foreseeable future, pretty sure I want to save as much $ as possible, pretty sure I have some really good ideas for making $ legally, and the like. Well. This gawd-awful terrorist called "Time" holds this fricking gun to my head and I begin to feel like something of a hostage.
My mother turned 77 on the 7th and she's doing pretty well, all things considered. But she quit smoking when she was 30 and wasn't a heavy smoker before then, even. I was a three--four pack a day guy for decades. So there's always that bullshit hanging over my head. I guess the only thing that'll save me is good genetics and somebody "up there" liking me a lot. Heh. In other words .... despair??
LOL.
Sometimes I have real doubts about any alleged talent I might have. I mean, this is a fairly new development. Nobody ever accused me of a lack of ego before, but now that I'm entering this "mature" stage of my life, aged to perfection, and all that senile crap, I look at some of these writers and gawd they are such masters at what they do. Michael Connelly, for example. You've not read him? The Concrete Blonde, The Last Coyote, and others which don't spring to mind just now. Well, he's a genius at what he does. And John Sandford. Martin Cruz Smith. Those are the writers (some of them, at least) that I look up to.
And of course they write these things a paragraph at a time. Well, they're the creme de la creemola, right? I would be happy with just something publishable that would give me a few thousand $ and the glory of being published. No, I'm not that "willing-to-die-for-art" kinda guy. I'm just a journeyman writer, riding this old worn-out starved-to-death hoss of a talent and I gotta make a move. Well. I piss and moan here, hoping this doesn't bore or exasperate you.
I reread Winter Prey yesterday by John Sandford. It's one of those series books, all of which have the word Prey in the title. And Sandford (pen name) won a Pulitzer for some real reporting some years back. Major talented fella who happens to make a ton of money reinventing the police procedural novel. Don't always love him, but....
The hot will soon be on us. Not sure what the summers are like up your way, but they are vicious maddog killers down this neck of the hoods. Those little shimmering heat waves coming up off the sidewalks and the sun bearing down like an extortionsist on a three-day crank-run. Sheesh. But at least I shouldn't be coming down with those freaking colds and such bullshit. Never got sick until I came to prison. And of course in here, one guys comes down with something, the entire prison sooner or later catches it, too.
Probably jump-start the Spanish again next week. We took off for about a month due to me not feeling well, and both Eric and myself are ready to get back to it. He doesn't study without me climbing all over his butt and likewise from here. So that's coming up.
Well, Cait, I hope you're doing well. I came down with pneumonia when I was 18 (nearly died) and would have died without penicillin. So you and I were both born in a good time. At least the things we need to make it through the crises are already here, in place, and we have access.
I feel stupid. Been beating myself up a lot lately, for whatever reason. Gotta knock that off. I want to live a life of exquisite integrity--would ya believe it? I just don't ever want to do or say or think or be anything less than the very best that's in me. A winner, in other words. Not talking about $ here. Talking about integrity. The kind I know you have. True blue.
Well, dear friend, I will bring this whiny piece-of-drivel to a screeching close. Life truly is good. I am ordinarily very grateful to be on this spinning, tilting planet, moving to and fro and up and down, watching the seasons come and go, doing that which I can to make the world a better place.
I'm so grateful to you, Cait. For you. Take care and write when ya can. Send the pic if ya can. Pix, if ya can. Don't overwork. Take some time out to stop and sell the gawddamn roses. Heh heh.
Big hug. DiXXX
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11 May 2004, Tuesday Dear Cait,
We turned in the winter coats yesterday, a great heap of khakis, a pile of buffalo skins. The weather is still cool of a morning, cool enough that it's good just to lie abed and keep the dreams pushing the morning back just a wee bit longer until Garza gets on the horn and the loudspeaker starts spitting its daily ration of whatevvah. With Weed Head lying in a great heap beneath a sheet over there.
He got a new radio yesterday, new headphones, and he's the type that wants it going night and day, 24/7. I shrug. We've had 40-some days of relative peace so I can put up with what he needs/wants for a time. He's a good guy. Won't be out unti 2012, so he's not in too much of a hurry to do anything.
Your letter(s) came last night. I read them aloud to Weed Head as he gets such a kick out of what you have to say., Can ya believe it? He didn't know who Bukowski was??? Friend of mine borrowed the book of Buk's poetry, so I will turn Weed Head onto it in a few dayz.
Gawd///everything in chapbooks? Like w-a-a-y kewl, Doodette!! LOL. Hey! You can get like five sheets of typing paper in a one stamp letter--and that's only one ounce! I'd forgotten about the 15 oz thingie, but that would be like, um, 15 x 5= 75 sheet limit? Something like that. So, yeah, your poetry and all that could have come in the one envelope. Might have needed two stamps is all.
And, once again, sorry about the non-hookup telephone-wise. This should go out in time for you to get it on Monday at the latest. So... I will call this coming Monday at 10 PM my time (11 yours) and the window will be from your time eleven pm until eleven-fifteen? I should be able to do that easily. And I know that you have more interesting things to do than talk with this old over-da-hill fella, so maybe once a month and I'll write ahead of time to set up the appointment?
So ... you doing okay and all that??? The May 10, 2004 issue of Newsweek is devoted to womens' health issues, so you might want to check that out if you didn't already.
My news: my cholesterol level went from 206 right around Thanksgiving to 152 as of a few weeks ago. H-u-g-e drop, eh?? LOL. I think most of that must be due to my going on that Common Fare (mostly vegetarian) diet back around Thanksgiving. At any rate, I am now firmly in the "normal" category in that department, blood pressure fine, and still exercising (walking) about an hour a day, often two. So ... I'm still taking the one 325 milligram aspirin tablet a day but experiencing slight ringing in the ears which is a common symptom for those who are sensitive to it. What can I say? Doing as well or no doubt better than we might have expected. Hope you are, too.
Gawd, aint-it-awful when ya start sharing all this type of stuff with others and you think it's so freaking interesting when the other person is probably nodding off and trying to thinking of something pertinent to say. Grin. Hey, girl, we're still here and I'm counting my blessing in that department.
We head into summer. Oklahoma has the most gawd-awful weather ever invented by gawd or demonic forces. There'z this w-i-n-d that blows like a freakin banshee and you walk along leaning into it about a 45 degree angle and nearly takes you up and carries you off--not that that would be a bad thing necessarily. But it never quite gets that strong. So it's just, um, sand and grit blown into yer eyes and loose clothing flapping madly about and caps and hats flying through the air and inmates rushing to catch them. Just yer basic stuck-in¬hicksville weather. Can you imagine that people in the free world actually choose to live around here? Ain't that a kick in the head???
Well, this was the home of the Dust Bowl back in Depression Daze. And this county--Canadian County--is named for the Canadian River which is where Black Kettle and his people were peacefully camped for the winter when a force of blue-coated Federales under Geo. Armstrong Custer came along one fine winter morning and massacred the whole bunch of them--old men, women, and children. And Black Kettle wasn't in the slightest hostile. Ohwell.
Got a letter from my son recently. He's now teaching karate up there in Vancouver, B.C., Sez he gets tremendous respect from his students because of the two years in spent in Japan studying under the creme de la creme, the elite of the elite in the world. Has a band and learned guitar so rapidly that he's already playing in clubs where my daughter's band played just a few years ago. Good kid. Takes after his Mum. Heh, heh. J/k. They both say they got their creativity from me.
There are so many new faces here, Hon, that I can't keep up with the new ones. I walk across the Compound now and there are greetings on every side of me-¬ and a bunch from people I don't even know. I can see how guyz get institutionalized and prefer inside the wire to the Free World. In here, you have a family of sorts. You have guys who have known you for years. You've gone through LockDowns and Strikes and Riots and whathaveya together. Bonding. And out there? Who really cares about the average convict out there? It's so difficult to find work, so difficult to suddenly begin having to shop for your own food, cook, get up and go to work... all that. I'm not in the least bit institutionalized, but I can see how some can fall into that. My former cellie Tommy Ray Higdon goes out there AGAIN the 10th of June. And I look at him and I can see how uptight he is at the prospect. The Free World is a major stressor for him. He can't handle more than a few months of it before he starts doing heroin again. And then they violate him, of course, because the piss tests are getting harder and harder to beat. So now what you have are all these inmates planning to go to Mexico or points south just so they can smoke a joint without being hauled back into prison on a PV.
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Thurs., 13 May 2004. We were sitting outside on the benches when quite suddenly there was this at-least 15° drop in the temp. Just your classic cold front moving in, all set to spawn some Okie tornadoes. The COs are watching the weather. Already Education (hah!) has been cancelled and we're looking at a Compound Shutdown soon. Perhaps.
Weed Head finally got a new radio and some dynamite headphones and now it's classic rock 24/7. Love the music, but I'm the type that needs a break ever now and then. I'll wake up in the night to hear the Stones wanting to may-i¬please-introduce-myself and it's hell (cough) to get back to sleep . So I bought a pair of headphones (old junkers) myself and will get a radio soon enough and will lie there with the sound of white-noise static hissing in my ears all night long. Sigh. It's just one of those things. Weed Head was there before me, and this is how he does his house. Shrug. Slept in past 9 A-freaking-M this morning--both of us--and that just never nappens, so you can see the deal.
I begin now to feel the transfer drawing ever closer. I'll be quite a bit closer to you, but still far enough that you wouldn't wanna drive the van down unless you were driving down to Florida or something. And we'll have to get you on my Visitor's List before anything at all can happen. And it's totally k-e¬w-l if you're unable for wahtever reason to visit. I know yer voice, I ve seen your pix, and I think you're the Cat's Meow. And, anyway, here I am at this somewhat (cough) elevated age--AGED TO GAWDDAMN PERFECKSHUN, DAMMIT!!!--(grin) and I'm just at peace and kewlness with whatever and whenevvah. Ya dig? I'd like to do the Buk-thingie with ya once and, some poetry readings. But that's like w-a-a-a-y down the road. Just one of those little fantasies to keep a man going.
I gotta get that pix off and the info in the next week or so. Coming in just right. Your timing was exquisite.
And ya sent love!!!! Damn. Wow. It s like my locker is flowing over now with ramen noodle soups ... bananas ... peanut butter... and the like. It's great to be able to snack when the hunger starts pounding on the door and wailing like a banshee and ya look down and it's the walls of yr abs it's pounding on and that gawdawful noise is yer freaking stomach threatening to sue ya. Heh.
I've got four volumes of prison journals that I'm gonna try to mail outta here. You can or can't accept legal-sized mail? You would or would not be willing to store them for me until I get out? I shouldn't ask. I can send them to my mother, but she's the type who would toss them in a closet and the mice would get to them and, well.
Don't worry. It's kewl whatever. I hate asking.
So ...I want to get this in the mail so you will have it in time to be reminded that I'm gonna call this coming Monday. That's four days away from now, so you should get this right about good timing-wise.
Loved yer poetry. I want to hear things from your childhood, if it's not too painful to write about. I would like someday to see this autobiographical series of chapbooks that cover it all. MsALLthat.
We're right at seven years since we met, although it toook awhile for us to become friends. The old Poetry Cafe has come and gone, but I'll always remember that place. For good and for bad.
I am just not the same person. I am such a kinder person now, and I'm not at all sure where that came from. Just that I know I wanted to clean house, get the garbage out, and begin living a life of ultimate honesty and integrity. You're kind of a role model for me in many ways. Giver? Cait. Loyal? Cait. Creative? Cait. Feisty? Cait. Brave? Cait. Sexy? Cait. Outrageous? Cait. You have such an incredible built-in attractiveness about you. Not coming onto you here, just acknowledging what is for me a FACT. You go, girl!
I gotta make copies of this letter for the journal. I hope it doesn t get lost. A man goes to the Hole and some of the COs just toss stuff. We've got some decent ones this quarter, but you never know if a substitute is working who doesn t give a shit. So I have everything in those black.,plastic spiral«thingies and will probably take those off when I mail it out to whoevvah. My daughter wants the journals, but I'm leery of sending them as stuff has come back marked "Unable to Deliver" and all. She's the historian, history major, as I m sure I've told you a few thousand times.
If they give me six months of halfway house, I'm twenty-six months from the door, Hon. That's getting "short." Well, short means different things for different folks. For me, I think short will be 19 months. That's how long I was in Altus (where the pic of me on the bench was taken) after Liz and I broke up. 19. Gawd. Drinking a liter of vodka a day, living In roetry Cafe, being totally outrageous.
Sober now coming up on five years. And it's not that there isn't any booze in here. Hootch all over the place, guys staggering around of a weekend, but I never touch the stuff. Have no problem being around it, don t preach agin it ... just ... I've done my share and more. Now marijuana ... now that's a different story. I've always loved it, and once I'm off paper ... we'll see.
I'm rambling. Forgimme. Old Man Dennis Fletcher has been running this Law Library since 1995 (before you and I even met!) and they've told him he's got to move on the end of the month. A devastating blow to the effectiveness of this place.
Ahhh...huge thunder from out there. Surprised they haven't closed this down. Gotta go make copies, just in case they run us in.
Hey, I luvya. You're the world to me. Always always ever forever,- eternally,¬and one more day after that. Yer pal...DiXXX P.S. Hope you're feeling good, Hon. Pic of you recently?