Thursday, April 19, 2007

white letter and thoughts

How to make sense of so many different things in life that keep hurtling at us? I don't know how to feel, what to do, what is right or important, or who to believe so often. I guess love is the common denominator and the great equalizer, but sometimes I feel like in the name of love I'm closing my eyes to point and shoot at whatever I think is right at the moment. It's so hard to hold on to sanity, to God, when you're not always sure just where the heck He is or what He's up to. He's inside, but my heart's divided. He's everywhere, but gee sometimes I need a spiritual GPS.

Oh well, in the midst of the questioning and such, here's Brandon with a letter to add to the craziness (uncensored)!

"It's April and we're being snowed in as I write (No, wait, it stopped. Ok, It's back. No, It stopped again). No weatherman can make money here, it's impossible! If anything it keeps you on your toes and gives you something to cry about. My cellie (Shane) is formulating a show schedule from our neighbor's TV Guide and trying to figure out how we're going to watch "House", "Deadliest Catch", and "Oil, Sweat and Rigs" at the same time. All the shows we like are on Tuesday at 9PM. As it is he's angry I dropped cigarettes and took to the corn cob pipe I originally bought as a novelty. After smoking it a few times indoors the cell had taken on a strong vanilla smell, like someone had vomited a pound of Nilla wafers while baking cookies. Not realizing the pipe had left such a lasting odor, I would ask Shane why the cell smells like a cookie factory. "It's that f-cking pipe smoke!" Considering we share our living quarters with a toilet, I thought it was a vast improvement over the trapped fart smell that always seemed to emanate from it. I appeased him by rockin the cob outside or when he's not around. I do however plan on having some form of tobacco with my evening coffee....dammit.

He goes on, "Yesterday Shane threatened a guard he'd stand for count naked (or nearly so, at least), substituting a sock for a fig leaf, if you catch my meaning. We knew the CO pretty well anyhow, and he wouldn't have cared. In the end my cellie decided to fashion a sumo wrestler's get-up of a long john top and pose next to his locker. The CO thought it best to count our cell with a hand over his eyes."

Ok, time to do something. Oh, I have to go to the chiropractor. Brandon has tried to call us, so I hope next time his news can be in person!


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