Yesterday while working my community service hours at the
Goodwill Outlet, I missed three calls from a restricted number usually
associated with my agents calling for me. I started a recent post similarly,
but this will end contrarily. This time instead of getting an angry call later
on from an agent with something to prove, this agent simply came inside to talk
to me, and never brought up the missed calls, which I didn’t even notice until
well after she had gone. What a difference.
Of course while she was there I asked her the status of my “lockdown”
which she said would probably last another week if I didn’t hear otherwise by
today, which I have not. There is no point in arguing or trying to get one
agent to controvert another so I just nodded and agreed with everything she
said. Keeping my mouth shut has actually never brought me any trouble, quite
unlike the opposite.
She awkwardly handed me a plastic container which holds a
cup for urinalyses and I took care of business. I didn’t want to make things
obvious so when I was finished I put the cup in my pocket and left the
bathroom, went through the sales floor and out the front door to meet the agent
who was now waiting for me in her car. I’ve never been in a situation that
probably looked more like a drug deal than that, and I’ve done a lot of drug
deals! I walked across the street after eyeing both ways for traffic, then
slowly pulled my pee out of me pocket and put it in the car through the window
so she could see the results on the side of the cup. Satisfied with the outcome,
she said I could dispose of it. So I slyly slid the container back in my
pocket, did an about face, and said, “Good day”.
The rest of the day was about as humdrum as a day can be. I
watched an entire season of Airline
Disasters which made me never want to fly again. It reminded me of a little
sort of prayer that I say before takeoff on any flight that is bringing me to a vacation. Maybe it’s not a prayer,
but I ask god to please make sure that if I have to be in a plane crash, let’s
take it down after the vacation is
over. Because, really, what am I going back to? Work? Yep, that’s about it.
And then suddenly, just as fast as the weekend came, it was
over and I woke up to a Monday. Today is February 8th. Five months
since my release. One month until my freedom really opens up. I remember a year
ago writing something quite similar about being a month away from boot camp. I recall
that at this point, a month out, I was no longer afraid of running, not knowing
the aerobics tape, or getting yelled at. I was excited to get to a new place
that wasn’t Moose Lake, and ready to take a huge step in turning my life
around. I was still out in the garments building sewing crotch flaps to brief bodies,
yep, I’ll never forget that. I was a little nervous that something stupid might
prevent me from getting there or through it successfully. A fight, high blood
pressure, or even a quarrel with a grumpy C.O. could have meant another 21
months in prison for me. Everything aligned properly for me, mostly because of
the choices I made, and the inclination I had to be humble.
That’s why I’m not distressing about this restriction, or
lockdown, or whatever you want to call it. I’m not in prison. I don’t want to
go back on a technicality. So I just let it all slide off. It’s all I can do.
