I got approval on my end to write you directly. So hopefully this letter finds you easily. There’s no doubt I will better relate to you once we’re both out of prison. I just ripped up a two-page rant on how miserable I am. I realized you’re already living my hell, so there’s no point in going over the small differences. No doubt you’re upset at me—but get over it. There’s no one more upset at me than myself.
I asked for a job change. I’ll be changing from line server on second shift to a cook on first shift. I’ve had enough of certain people on my current job shift. Staying any longer I might act out, which wouldn’t be of any good. I’m not sure how I’ll like going to work at 1 A.M., but my hope is I’ll have a quieter, less drama-filled work environment.
Forgive my grammatical and punctuation errors. I’m not as refined of a writer as you are. Speaking of which, I just took the education assessment test the state requires new inmates to take. First you had to test to see which test level you would test from. Ha—dumb. I landed with the “advanced” level test. Then it was four hours of math and reading tests. I think I did pretty well in all the categories. I later found out that the parole board looks at you more favorable if you test low. Not sure how true that is. Seems that would be ass backwards, so I’m sure it’s true. Nothing in the “correctional” system makes any sense. But I won’t go there.
Dad came to see me last weekend. As he walked over to the vending machines I really noticed how aged our father has become. It reminded me of my own age and how I’m really not as young as I feel. I know there’s plenty of years to be had with him still, but these will be gone just as quickly as these last twenty plus years. And before you know it my own years will have slipped past me. We really are only here for a blink of an eye. Soaking up the moments with the ones you love truly is what it is all about. I wish sometimes I could get our family to see that. I’ve asked Dad for at least a decade to make more time—correction—spend more time together. I don’t know. I just know how different I want to be as a dad. Maybe different isn’t the right word. And by all means I’m not doing any better by putting myself where I’m at today. Anyway, enough putting my foot in my mouth. All I’m saying is having a close family is important because in the end it’s all we have. I’m sorry for any shortcomings of being a good big brother. Landing myself in here doesn’t help you in any way. But maybe in the end it’s for the better. Maybe I can be a better brother, father, and son through this experience. I’m determined to learn something from this.
I’ve signed up for welding, horticulture, and several self-help type classes. I’ve always wanted to learn to weld and to be a better green thumb. I’m not sure what exactly the other classes are I’ve signed up for, but they look good for parole, a parole I’m sure I’ll be denied my first go around. The “victim” will surely object to my parole at two and a half years, which will set it back another year. So I should be headed home in another three years and two months. So that gives me a bit of time to learn something. Ha.
It’s funny how my victim couldn’t consent to the use of her own body and decisions. Yet they like to try offenders at that age as adults all day long. I’ve met plenty that were underage and yet were sentenced as adults for their crimes. Anyway, I’ll refrain from going down that road tonight.
I’ve been reading the Game of Thrones series. I’ve seen several seasons on HBO, but I’ve missed the last two. I have all of the series to keep me busy for awhile. I’ve also took on reading the entire Bible in a year. B gave me her one-year Bible when I left. It’s broken into daily readings of part Old Testament, part New Testament, Psalms, and Proverbs. I know you’re currently an atheist so I won’t bore you with my learnings for now. I’ll just say that you shouldn’t judge a faith by its cover (the hypocritical “Christians”) and that there’s gotta be something good about a man who preached grace. I also have asked for a couple of subscriptions to some magazines to keep me sane. I have to give you props/commendations for being such a minimalist in prison. Never once did you ask me to get you a subscription or money or a book. Fuck that—send them all to me. There ain’t shit here in state prison. You want something, you gotta buy it.
Anyway, that’s all I got. I’m tired. Visitation really kinda wears you out. Waiting, anticipation, the visit, and then the letdown when it’s over. Mine are only two hours long. Fucking dumb.