On Blogging, Captivity, and Sanity

Hello again and welcome to the Roost. I understand this thing is doing pretty well in readership. (As most if not all of you know, I do not personally maintain the site. In fact, I’ve never laid eyes on it. I handwrite the content and my very dear friend Anna posts it for me.) I am not sure how I feel about so many reading my thoughts. I suppose I may not have really considered it all that much. (That might actually be a good thing– not thinking too much about it, that is. I have always been pretty private… before this place, anyway…)

I am not sure how I feel about so many reading my thoughts. I suppose I may not have really considered it all that much. (That might actually be a good thing– not thinking too much about it, that is. I have always been pretty private… before this place, anyway…) I have never even kept a journal– not really, anyway.

I have never even kept a journal– not really, anyway. I do have a composition book in which I write meaningful quotes. A sample, out of a book I read a bit ago called Live by Night by Dennis Lehane (wonderful novel) goes: “Violence procreates. The children your violence produces will return to you as savage, mindless things, You won’t recognize them as yours, but they will recognize you. They will mark you as deserving of their punishment. They will punish you for the carelessness of their creation. Violence breeds violence. That is an absolute. But it never returns in a way you can predict.” (That was a “knock me down on my ass” moment reading that novel, and I had to write it down.)

But this blog is about the most open I have ever been. For example, I have never told anyone in here about some of the stuff I wrote in that holiday post I wrote. So this is all pretty new to me.

I suppose my reasons for blogging must go beyond the selfish, as I carry on doing it regardless of the response or lack of response, and deplete my ever-dwindling supply of postage with each entry. There must be some altruism there, right? Or perhaps not… maybe I just need to write to get some of the frustration of this place “off my chest” so to speak. Maybe this is my last flailing attempt at maintaining whatever I have left of my sanity, which can’t be much.

A place like this does change a person. I don’t care how mentally strong a person is– they cannot live in an environment like this for years and years and be the same as when they arrived. I believe I have mentioned watching others go insane in here, but I don’t think I have touched on realizing that you may be joining that crowd. I came in with some background in philosophy but at some point, it begins to become more and more difficult to “wax philosophic” concerning how a society deems people (even people they deem “bad”) and make any sense of it.

I came in with some background in philosophy but at some point, it begins to become more and more difficult to “wax philosophic” concerning how a society deems people (even people they deem “bad”) and make any sense of it.

I even wonder if perhaps my jailers are insane. (Not all of them, mind you, but certainly the ones in charge.) Some of them are not what you would call “the cream of the crop” of society, after all, and those seem to be the ones that advance most readily. (I have seen my share of petty, vicious, small-minded, lying reprobates climb the ladder to success at the Arizona Department of Corrections.)

I remember a time when prison guards would take off their uniforms before they went home because they didn’t want their neighbors to know what they did for a living. (And it wasn’t because the profession was bad…it was because of the reputation of the profession and those who performed it.) They were as bad as, or worse than, those whom they were hired to keep in cages. And that has not changed. The last I knew, about a quarter of the employees who work for ADOC have had felony contact with law enforcement but are given “preferential treatment” by the system because of their “high stress” jobs. And most of those continue to work for ADOC (except for the ones they can’t hide, which is rare– an ADOC corrections guard named Santiago that used to work for this unit who got a “sweet deal plea agreement” and is now sitting in protective custody right here in the Florence Complex prison for killing his own mother– if memory serves, he beat her to death with a cooking pan. I honestly can’t recall all the details…but please tell me again how the death penalty is supposed to be a deterrent? He worked on death row! But this example provides a reasonably accurate picture of many who work here.

But I feel I need to state here that I have seen decent people work here, too. But it must also be stated that most (not all, but surely most) of the good ones do not work for ADOC for very long. They see how fellow human beings are being treated and just cannot morally abide it…they leave the profession altogether. (Compassion is not just looked down upon here; it is vehemently and systematically discouraged.) And the ones that do stay, at some point they either lose their compassion or find a way to pretty thoroughly suppress it. I try to take all of this with the proverbial “grain of salt” but, wow, it is difficult sometimes.

As you might imagine, I have a great deal of time on my hands to think about things. I wonder if, on some psychological level, society just needs something to demonize and hate. When you step back and look, that statement is not as farfetched as it may seem at first gloss. If so, then I think I may be part of the element that serves that purpose.) Some people sure seem to have a lot of hate, though.) But I guess I can sort of look at it this way: At least I am “serving a purpose” right?

Anna tells me that she has received a few mean-spirited and petty emails concerning her role in helping me to reach out from this cage– really, people?!– I guess when you’re anonymous, it is easier to be rude. The internet was not all that big when I was on the outside. People seem more polite when they have to look you in the face. At least where I lived they were.

I would like to know what the issue is? What is it that people fear that makes them lash out like that? (Because, mark my words, they are afraid of something…I guarantee it!) And to lash out at Anna of all people… the gentlest, kindest human soul I have ever known.

But what is it? I live in a cage under sentence of death. I can’t hurt you. So, is your fear that people will know that I am not a sociopathic monster? That, hey, I’m just a person just like everybody else! And maybe people will start asking why someone ends up on death row, instead of assuming the solution lies in just committing another murder and that will solve everything. (Yeah, I’m not the sociopath here… I didn’t keep hundreds of people in cages only to strap them down and pump them full of caustic chemicals to kill them…can you imagine the trial on that one if anyone but the state did it?) But it’s me– us– that are supposedly the monsters…it’s perfectly fine for the state to murder us. Think about that absurdity for a moment… I’ll be honest, it makes me laugh when I consider the stupidity…but then again, my sense of humor has always been a bit warped.

I suppose I have rambled on long enough about nothing in particular. (The whole title of the blog does have “ravings” in there somewhere) and that is what this post is about…nothing. If I want anyone to take something away from it, I will refer you back to that quote from Live by Night: “Violence breeds violence.” If violence procreates, then what, as a society, do you breed by condoning what the state says it does in your name? Revenge is one thing, but you have to be able to sink your own teeth in a thing to get that. A sterilized little murder by proxy, tucked away from the sight of all but a select few witnesses? Now that is the act of a barbaric monster!

When I was on the outside, it was my habit to give gifts to those I care about on the eve of the Solstice (as I write, it is now that very day, the 20th of December). But as I sit destitute in a cage, that is lost to me (as are so many things) I will give you one of my creations in the form of a poem I wrote.

I was asked to write a blog on what my last day alive would be like. I wrote a poem entitled “The Pithing Pen” about a year ago, before I started writing to Anna or doing this blog. It is metaphorical but does get the point across.

Please remember to thank Anna, without whom none of this would be possible. Dear friend, words cannot express my fondness or my gratitude.

 

Jigsaw Man

I have yet to tell you about my past within this system. Let me put it this way: whatever may happen to me, it won’t be anything really new for me. I have had mail “lost”, my religious property disrespected and destroyed without cause, the few things I am allowed to have purposely broken, lost, taken for made-up reasons… these things were done to me on purpose and with malicious intent. It is part of surviving within the “violence control unit” section of this prison unit. 

The following poem was written when I was housed in VCU. It is one of my oldest pieces. 

I am in pieces — parts of a whole I suppose.
Sometimes the pieces don’t fit — or if they do,
Then not in the correct places.

I wonder about if I am put together properly.
Shouldn’t there be instructions? An owner’s manual perhaps?
One would think there would be something.

Pieces fall out sometimes — when I don’t notice is the worst…
All of a sudden I realize I need something and it’s not there!
I just had it! Where is it?
Did I leave it somewhere? What if someone picked it up?
An innocent? PANIC!

You can bet there is no return address on it.
And I know that I will never find it if I go looking for it.
It just doesn’t work that way…

I can’t throw away the pieces that I don’t want.
That never works. (I’ve tried.)
Just when I think I’ve gotten rid of something…
There it is again! Like gum on my shoe, it’s sticky.
It’s just hiding until you least expect it.

I hope that someday I can figure out how all the pieces fit.
I think that maybe if I can get them all in the right places,
then I’ll know stuff… I will finally understand.

Of course it may not work out for everybody…
Maybe all the pieces are mixed up for a reason…
I’ve thought about that too– perhaps it’s better off with me bein’
A jigsaw man.

All I Want for Christmas is My Civil Liberties

Hello again! It seems as if the muses do not wish for me to mentally “move out” of this place today, but something else has given me cause to rant.

First I need to give you a bit of background. I am only allowed to keep so much in my cage. (This is, of course, to make it easier for them to throw things around, as stated in a previous post on being searched.) For this reason, I am allowed to put legal work (only legal work) into a supposedly secure storage area.

In order to be allowed to do this, the prison has to agree to some conditions. The first and foremost one– and the one I will be telling you about– is that, when requested, the prison has 72 hours in which they must get me the requested box. (The boxes are numbered so that they can be found and pulled.) This is because people on death row are under active appeal and must have timely access to all legal material, as most of us have inadequate legal assistance (they are called “dump truck lawyers”) and we do a fair amount of work on our own legal cases. So now that you have that information…

Four days ago I put in a request to get a legal box out of storage. As it was not delivered yesterday (the 72-hour-deadline) I was on the first asswipe that walked through the block about getting with someone from “property” (where legal boxes are stored) and asking that my legal boxes actually be dealt with as prescribed under law. (I was nice and polite about this. You know, the whole “honey vs. vinegar” adage) and I waited to see what would happen.

What happened is: hours passed, and no legal box. So, shortly before it was too late for boxes to ever show up, I inquired once more about the situation. This is where it becomes very ironic.

I was told that the unit deputy warden was leading a tour around the unit, and I would not get my legal box until the following week. Upon further questioning, I was told that this tour was members of the ACLU (which oversees that our civil liberties are not being violated.) I was also told that legal visits were as much as half an hour late for people to speak to their lawyers (we are allotted time in one-hour blocks to see our lawyers. If you miss some time, there is likely someone after you that needs to see their lawyer as well.) To be fair, I doubt the lawyers from the ACLU know anything about this. But I know that the deputy warden indeed did.

So I am being denied timely access to requested legal material guaranteed to me under the law because administration was showing the lawyers from the ACLU that my rights are not being violated. (Rights like reasonable access to my stored legal material.) People were being denied the right to discuss matters related to their death penalty cases because the administrators were showing the lawyers from the ACLU that people’s rights (like access to legal counsel) were not being violated.

I exist in a world that not merely functions but thrives on such absurdities as this. I used to get pretty upset over things like this. (By “upset” I mean I would hold the Arizona Department of Corrections personnel responsible for their actions.) But over time, and through much meditation, I have figured out that reacting to every little thing (even things that are very stupid on their part) is only allowing them to get into my head and exert more control over me…so now I more carefully and more strategically pick my battles.

We have no outside advocates here…not really anyway. Our legal counsel will deal only with issues that pertain directly to our cases. (They claim there is not enough money for anything else.) They call occurrences like the aforementioned incident “issues of confinement” and say they call into the category of civil law and are not their concern.

But only rarely…very rarely…can we find a lawyer willing to take a case pro bono (without pay– we have no money either) because when taken to court, the Department of Corrections claims “isolated incident and new procedural measures are now in place to assure it won’t happen again” (which is almost always a lie!) and the court rules in their favor and the case is dismissed. And we can no longer bring cases to court ourselves because the state legislature passed a law that took away our legal library because inmates who were willing to invest the time were winning too many cases.

I try not to live with a lot of anger, but that can be difficult to do in this environment. I have begun to ponder the question of what may happen to me if the prison finds out that I have a blog and am telling the outside world about this place and what goes on in it.

The system does not like the truth. It functions on lies and the public’s willingness to believe lies that serve a purpose that may protect “the greater good”. (Or what they call “the greater good” anyway.)

So You Want to be a Pen Pal

Greetings and welcome once again to Muninn’s Roost. I have been promising a post concerning pen pals so I will see about doing that for you. I have actually tried a couple of times but I always got caught up on several issues.

I am actually in a bit of a quandary over doing this post. On one hand, I wish to do this for several reasons. (IE, I have been asked to do so, I would like to help people to obtain a good open relationship of some sort with individuals on my side of the bars that would benefit from it, I think it a worthy subject…etc…) but on the other hand, there are people here that I certainly would not want someone I care about to be in contact with for any number of reasons. (There are sexual predators, “con artists” that simply want to use people and have little if any sincere intentions, and there are of course just plain ol’ bad people.)

So I guess I should simply start with a cautionary note… or at least a personal suggestion: know who you’re going to write to before you send your first letter. And know yourself. Figure out what you are willing to put into the friendship beforehand. (Also, you can always decide to modify your commitment as you get to know the person and feel more at ease with your friendship.)

And understand what it is you are doing…if you find someone who is sincere and simply wants to connect with a world that has mostly turned its back on them, they can actually be emotionally damaged in any (or all) of several ways.  (Of course, they will “put up the front” of being big bad convicts…we all do…) But they can have trust issues. If they are in a “lockdown unit” like I am, they can suffer from paranoia, or they might just be pretty insecure in general due to a traumatic family background. (Unlike myself, a well-adjusted and completely normal and rational individual… I can’t believe I just wrote that with a straight face…) So, starting off a relationship of some sort and then just deciding not to write anymore at some point can actually have a profound effect on some of the people in this situation. (I actually started to write to a couple of people not long after I got here and decided to stop due to them just seeming to “live on” with their lives that I no longer seemed to fit into… I did not do the “pen pal thing” for a long time because of that– and if you are wondering, it is the profound loneliness of this world that spurred me to reach out once again.) So keep that in mind. Mail can be pretty important in a situation like this. Every letter I receive from Anna is like a ray of sunshine beaming into a dark and oppressive world… I am not exaggerating…every letter from her makes me smile as few things here do.)

Now… all that said… when Anna first offered to do this blog for me, my first thought was, (and I expressed this to Anna) “Oh! Perhaps I can get more people to write to me using this blog thing!” (I did not even know what a blog was. I had to ask Anna!) But it has grown beyond that. I guess I could say I kind of feel a responsibility toward the blog, and toward my readers.

So, my fist instinct is to say, “I know some people deserving of reading out who are sincere and not predatory or sex offenders.” But that is putting a lot of responsibility on me and I am not real sure I want that. (I do know some good people, though.) So I am just going to use myself as an example of what I would want, and let you good people figure it out for yourselves.

Be honest. With your first letter, let the person know what you are looking for, or at least why you decided to write to them. Whether that’s friendship or Christian outreach or whatnot… be upfront about what you are looking for.

(And be aware, some in this situation have “found God” for the first time and are quite…enthusiastic about sharing their faith. Others, like myself, try to find solace in inner peace and are somewhat private about such matters. And if you are contacting people in here (0r elsewhere) for reasons of Christian outreach, I don’t think there are many who enjoy being “preached at”. Although I would not doubt you can find some who do. That’s not to say you can’t be a religious person yourself– Anna is profoundly religious and I respect her faith greatly– just don’t be a jerk about it. I could go into the psychology of people who “find God” when they are condemned to die but it is not that difficult to figure out so I will spare you to explore that on your own should you wish.)

I personally like to have a picture of the person that I am writing to. It seems to help connect the words to a tangible idea. If I have one I send a picture of myself along with the first letter I mail. (There are pictures available on the prison website, but I dislike those pictures of myself, because I generally do not look too pleased to be here in them. Of course there are people who smile like idiots at whatever camera points in their direction… I don’t quite understand why people would wish to look happy in a “mug shot” but to each their own I suppose…) One of the “pen pals” I had long ago used to send me pictures of himself going just about everywhere. It kind of gave me a sense of living vicariously through his travels. (If you are wondering, he passed away some time ago.) Anna sends me pictures of her cats, so I have gotten to watch her kitten grow up.

And, for the record, I am not very fond of the term “pen pal”. That’s just a personal thing, though– Anna is my friend, pen or not.

As far as how to get connected to someone in a situation like mine… most of the free sites you will come across (like the Death Row Support Project that you will find mentioned on my blog page) are Christian outreach of some sort. However, if you are secular, try not to let that put you off. (I don’t think you have to join their religion to participate.) And going through one of those programs does not necessarily mean you will get an inmate who is a fire-and-brimstone-breathing amateur tent revivalist…although I suppose anything is possible…) There are “professional” websites that charge us money to get on them, and you can better tailor what you seek I suppose. But I personally am glad that Anna did not go that route. I would have never met such a kind and terrific person had she done that.

I have spoken to people on my side of the bars about it, and most (but not all– there are one or two who are an exception) don’t much care to write to people who take on the task of writing to a large number of people who are locked up. I can’t say why this is, as I personally don’t mind. (I look it as being about the same as having friends on the outside. If you have, say, four friends, talking to one does not detract from interacting from another.) Perhaps it is a time thing or a quality of interaction. If someone writes to, say, ten or fifteen people, their interaction with them would be more superficial than if they focused on a friendship over time. I had not really thought about that before; that could change my mind about it now that I think about it– but perhaps it is simply because friendships are so rare in here. I know a lot of people in here but I can’t say I would call any of them true friends. Prison is a dangerous place full of personal agendas…you can never be sure if someone is truly your friend or wants something from you… I know one thing is for certain: I would not want many (if any!) of the people in this place in my home if I were on the outside. In the time I hae been here I can only think of three that I would. I guess that is kind of sad now that I think of it…

Upon going back and re-reading this, I hope I have not made it sound like more trouble than it is worth. I truly do not believe that to be the case. I know of people who have had friendships struck up through the mail, and those friends have been there for them for years. When they speak of their friend it is with kindness and true concern if the situation warrants it. And with some, I have seen their whole demeanor change when they speak of their friend. (Personally I am rather private and like to keep the two worlds of this place and the outside separate but that is just a personal choice.)

So I do truly think that reaching out to someone in this situation can be beneficial to both parties, actually. You can meet someone that you might not have been expecting to. I find people are a lot alike no matter where they are. Their concerns, likes, dislikes, etc. are all pretty much similar. And people in here have the unique experience of having a lot of time on our hands so they consider current affairs, both local and world, a bit more deeply than the average person whose life is very busy. (I do not have a television set, but most here do, and they watch shows like world news and 60 Minutes religiously and then talk about it and reveal interesting– or amusing in its absurdity– insights into what they have seen. My personal avenue for information is NPR, so I can even contribute on occasion.) And, believe it or not, a lot of people on death row have a level of higher-than-average education than you generally find in prison.

And, believe it or not, a lot of people on death row have a level of higher-than-average education than you generally find in prison. And you can get lucky and find some amazing artists as well. (I myself have a meager talent in that area…I wish I had more time to devote to it for drawing things for Anna, but I have no source of income, so I end up having to draw things for people in here to send to their families so I can get soap and shampoo and writing supplies that I need.)

That is a common theme here– those who can draw do so for those who cannot draw but have families that support them financially. (The competition can be fierce!) But a few here like the flowers and some other things I draw, so I can get a few commissary items usually…but I digress… as I was saying, I do believe developing a relationship with someone in the situation I find myself in can be to the benefit of both parties. I simply advise some measure of caution be employed…at least until you know the person well enough to know who it is you’re writing to. Like any other friendship, it can evolve and expand over time.

I hope I have not been boring or too general, but to be honest it comes down to that pesky “responsibility” thing. I don’t want people to think it’s all party balloons and whizz-poppers, because the truth is you can get a bad setup that just does not “fit” with your expectations in any number of ways. But, on the upside, there are more where that came from so you can always try again. (If you feel something is not working out for whatever reason, it is best to move on as quickly as you can, before any attachments are formed.) And you may just find something totally unexpected that enhances and enriches your life in ways you did not expect.

Well, there is your post on pen pals. I hope at least some of you find it helpful. Don’t know what the next post might be yet. (Crazy crap from in here or my life prior to this malignant fit of insanity called prison.) But I promise to try to make it interesting, in any case.

Bye for now…and remember, without the wonderfulness that is Anna, you would not be reading any of this. Thank you, my friend!

 

 

Having an Orange Christmas

(This post is dedicated to my father. You are missed. I’m sorry it took so long for us to become friends. C.L.S  6/10/1922 – 1/1/2014.)

Greetings again! I know that I mentioned I would do my next post on the issue of pen pals, but today is Thanksgiving, which brings to the forefront the issue of holidays spent in prison. I hope you forgive me for pushing pen pals back, but I promise that post is coming soon.

I suppose I should tell you that I have done the whole “prison holiday” thing many times. One would think that would make it easier, what with knowing what to expect and all… but in some ways, it actually becomes more difficult with time.

The family I was born into is all gone now. (Yes, I know, it’s ironic: I’m on death row and I’ve outlived everyone else.) My mother and brother died some time ago. My father died only three years ago. (The death of someone close to you while one is in prison can be very hard. They don’t let you out to see to the deceased’s affairs or attend any memorial services.) All of them died while I have been here. As the only ones left, my father and

As the only ones left, my father and I drew pretty close. (Far closer than we ever were on the outside- sad, that.) We had some years as the only ones left. I know my situation was emotionally difficult for him. I could see it in his eyes. He was dedicated, though– making the long drive every couple of weeks like clockwork, clear up into his 90s. (A two-hour visit took up about half a day for him, including driving time.) We corresponded regularly as well; I could almost predict the day they would bring me a letter from him. (He was a Marine and had a routine that would not be broken!)

He died suddenly; an incident occurred in which he was injured and he was gone before I could figure out what was happening. I could write a book on what it’s like to lose a loved one while you sit helplessly in a cage, but this post os not about that. It is about holidays spent in a cage.

There are children and grandchildren, of course…but as in a piece I wrote that accompanied another blog post: “the cage takes all that away somehow.” I do understand– really, I do– who wants to be saddled with an absentee parent or grandparent who was dumb enough to get locked up? And after a while, you’re just no longer in the forefront of anyone’s mind. They have their own lives, their own family, and today’s world is so busy. Understanding that, being able to move beyond the self, can make it easier. But if you let it, the loneliness can become almost palpable.

I have memories, of course. (I live on memories in this hole.) Growing up around family during the holidays, the warmth, the laughing, the aggravation, the yelling… enjoy every moment you have– if it ever disappears, you can’t believe how much you will miss it…trust me on this one!) I even look back on what at the time I thought to be major incidents of dire consequence and smile fondly at the memories.

Then there are “the firsts” that I cling to as a drowning man clings to a life preserver… I remember as if it was only yesterday the first Christmas tree that my son could focus on and really see. It had glass balls of red, green, gold, and silver, and enough lights to illuminate a small city, I’m sure. I held him sitting on my left forearm, high enough so he could see over my shoulder. He just stared in wide-eyed wonderment– we must have stood like that for ten or fifteen minutes. (My shoulder had a drool spot that was four or five inches across–not an exaggeration! I then sat him on the floor in front of the tree and took ornaments off of it and handed him the different colored ones and let him look up close at the shiny glass balls. (For a long time after that, everything he thought was pretty was “shiny” for him.) Truly I remember this as if it only just happened. (Much to his chagrin, my son– who, like Anna, is twenty-five years old– can be a small child to me sometimes.)

But I can’t make new memories– not ones that I want, at any rate– so us singing the Muffin Man song as he sits in his high chair and watches me make his favorite blueberry muffins, or singing his “bath song” (we had a song for everything) while he gets cleaned up after the muffins. (I swear, I would watch him and I still have not a clue how he got muffin and blueberries ground into the hair on the back of his head!) These are the memories I hold onto desperately.

But now my holidays are empty and alone. No family, no children or grandchildren, just the cage and the convicts. Some in here handle it better than others. I wonder if not having a television might be part of what makes it easier for me. No holiday commercials, no seeing families gathering. (Makes it rough on keeping up with affairs both local and abroad, however. I am the last to know anything, and only what and when my neighbor deems noteworthy.)

But the level of “behavior issues” goes up this time of year. The prison attempts to control that to some extent… they allow people to buy “special holiday-only” food items off of the prison canteen list. (If you get into any sort of trouble you are put on “loss of privileges” and cannot participate.) I suppose the “comfort food” items can be of some help. But one must of course be able to afford these things. In the state of Arizona, those of us on death row are not allowed to have jobs in prison. Some inmates have family or friends that are willing to send them a little money, but if you have been here for a while like I have, you don’t have anyone on the outside anymore to do that. Again, the cage took all that away. To be honest, I can have trouble obtaining postage to maintain this blog. Stamps, envelopes, paper, and pens must all be obtained through the prison canteen. No one can send any of that stuff.

I suppose it could be said that I have “behavioral problems” at times. Not being able to participate in such things as the holiday canteen items makes that control kind of moot for me. (And they can’t take away a television set I don’t have, either.) On an intellectual level, I know it is/was my own actions that led me to the place that I am… but one simply cannot blame themselves all the time. (I shudder to thing on what sort of psychological issues that might lead to!) So blaming the system or the prison on some level for something can be a viable option. (As long as you don’t contemplate too deeply your reasons behind it and it all falls apart.) So things that happen, sometimes admittedly small things, can cause an exaggerated reaction. (I am sure there is some clinical definition for this behavior but I am afraid I don’t know it.) And being one that understands the mechanics of the thought process that gets me to that point doesn’t help in the least, either… I still find myself falling victim to the behaviors. (My own personal brand of crazy, perhaps?) I don’t know.

I guess it comes down to loneliness causing complex emotional reactions and behaviors. It seems that walking through the memories of my past life can only help so much. Still I cling to them, however…walking through stores decorated for the holidays, remembering the excitement and wonder of the season when I was a child, reliving times when I had family and friends close around me and the laughter and good spirits, watching my child experience these things…is living in the past healthy? Not likely. But it is all I have left in my brick and metal oubliette. It is truly a place to be forgotten. I just hope it doesn’t become a place of forgetting for me…without the memories I don’t know how I would survive.

Well, thanks for letting me rant on about this place. All the suggestions about future blog posts were great and I will see about writing some of those for you.

Don’t forget to thank the person without whom none of this would be possible… Anna, you are a treasure that I am very lucky to be able to call my friend. Thank you so very much!

And thanks, everyone, for stopping by. Happy holidays to each and every one of you.