- Mr. Jangles -

Mr. Jangles was a  pet mouse from the movie, "The Green Mile".  Mice, as well as spiders are common pets for men doing time.  Here in Florida there are small lizards and geckos men catch and keep as pets.  Anything to distract you from the present and occupy your time.

The confinement I'm currently living in is infested with mice and rats.  As soon as the main lights are shut off at 10 pm, the floors become alive with furry rodents.

During the days, I set aside something small from my trays.  A little lettuce here, a piece of cookie there.  At the end of the day I have a small mouse buffet assembled.  I find it entertaining to watch these little guys hop around and scurry back to their homes, carrying their treasures.  They cause me to laugh out loud at the comical way they chew an item in half to make it easier to carry.    Then dart off to stash it away somewhere safe.  While right behind them another mouse carries away the other half of their prize.  Shortly after the mouse returns and realizes someone raided his stash.  So he runs in circles looking and searching before he finally realizes he's been had.

And so, a few days into my stay I was given a room mate.  A young Haitian kid, age 24.  He was amazed by the mice and decided he wanted to catch one for a pet.  The plan was, lure the mouse into the room with food.  Then block his escape route.  The small slit directly under the door.  Meanwhile the name of Mickey Mouse has been given to any mouse he sees.

The lights shut off for the night.  Almost immediately Mickey Mouse shows up.  As soon as he's eating, the bunkie jumps down and sits on the floor in front of the door.  Pressing his leg longways against the crack.  Mickey Mouse is now trapped in the room.

In order to take the mouse, you must first catch him, then toss him into the stainless steel toilet basin.  The basin becomes a water-tread-mill as Mickey mouse tries to breast stroke, then doggie paddle his way to freedom.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, well---you get the picture.

Before long, he begins to tire and his head slowly drops below the surface.  At this time you extend your hand down to his level and allow him to climb into your palm.  You have become his savior.  He recognizes your scent as the hand that saved him.

And should he decide to run once he gets his bearings, repeat the process as needed.

Mickey Mouse had a hard time getting with the program.

After the third attempt to tire him out in the toilet bowl, he still had enough spunk to launch himself out of bunkies hand and race for the door.

In a last minute effort to stop his escape, bunkie throws himself in front of the door.  Mickey Mouse runs up the leg of his shorts and just shy of the mother-land, bunkie manages to grab him and hold him through the fabric.  As he reaches another hand up his short leg to retrieve Mickey, he lets out a squeal and screams--"Mickey Mouse bit me!!"

At this time I'm nearly falling out of the bed laughing.  There goes Mickey mouse back into the toilet.  Except this time bunkie is reaching for the flush button.

Now I'm the one jumping out of the bed to save the mouse.   I reach in and pull the mouse out, gently setting him on the floor by the door.

He looks at me and I swear his eyes don't say thank you.  I think they said screw you- as he drags his wet ass down the hall.

Needless to say, bunkie doesn't want a pet anymore, and the mouse hasn't been back since.  He's probably holding a little sign outside our door.

"Don't go into room 2102"
They'll drown you in their toilet!!!

Hang My Head and Cry

Sitting in a small room on a cold steel bunk.  I'm once again left to my thoughts.  For every move we make in life there is some reaction.  Everyone has those days where your going a little too fast and before long the blue lights are chasing you.  As you pull over you sit there smacking your steering wheel and come up with a dozen things you could have done differently.  Once again I find myself in confinement.

The officer who walked me to confinement had a heart-to-heart with me.  He told me I only have one year left, its time I quit thinking like an inmate.  He's right.  I'm a calculated risk taker.  That's been my life for 9 years now.  Know the rules in and out, then decide if the punishment is worth the risk.

I'm sitting here now with my fate in someone else's hands and I don't like that.  It is indeed time to quit being an inmate and change back to a civilian.  This problem I'm faced with now, has the potential to change my release date.

I just told my mom the other day how much I will need to pay attention once I'm home.  If I jump into someone else's car and head to the store---get pulled over and there's a gun or dope, I'm headed back to prison.  If I'm in a car that's pulled over and records are checked, I'm the one they draw their guns on because I have a record with law enforcement.  I've stopped to consider all those things about out there....and just placed myself in a similar predicament in here.

Now I'm waiting for the officer to come and tell me the damage.  Please hold while I bang on the steering-wheel.

Be Somebody

When I first fell, or was booked to do time, I had just snorted two oxys prior to court.  Then, when I felt the courtroom about to unravel I reached into my pocket and ate the other two that were waiting for me.  That's 4 eighty milligram tabs and its only 10 AM.

That's how my days began.  Needless to say those first days in prison were detoxing.  The cold sweats, diarrhea, vomiting.  The mood swings, depressed, alone, sobbing.  Like uncontrollable sobs that shake you to the core and finally have you in dry heaves.

And I did it on my own.  In a prison cell.  Looking at walls that could tell a thousand stories like mine.

That was a long time ago.  Yet I find I reflect on that.  Just so I don't forget.  I can't forget the beast that lives in addiction.  And as I've said before....drugs are readily available here so staying clean is a choice.  It is MY choice.

Finally I'm here at the end.  My one year countdown.  The journey is over; just the final few steps to take.

Like a soldier training for duty I have worked myself with training this entire time.  Now, at the last year I have went full throttle.  I have worked out my entire stint.  When I began to notice a talent to draw I began to put a lot of time into it.  I saw how much the tattoo man makes here in prison and I thought...I can do that.  And I decided where better to learn than where you have endless clients non-stop?!

So my art career began.  Art became how I did my time.

Go to the rec in the morning and in the afternoon put on some music and jam while doing art.  I have put myself through art school while here.  Some men come here and lay back and allow their people to take care of them.  For me, I changed trades.

That was a major step for me in another direction.  I've done construction work my entire adult life.  And I don't like it but it paid the bills.  That has changed.

I'm eager to devour any insight or knowledge I can find about this trade.  Through books, magazines and word of mouth---I have so much to learn.

Anyways...I got this man.

Work and how to make money isn't something I worry about now.  I think about the things that have pulled me down in the past.  My very first use of drugs was to numb the pain of giving my daughter away.

After years of abuse I had taught my body the release of self-medicating.  Whatever the problem, I could adjust it with drugs.

Prison enabled me to step far enough outside that hold, (that addiction) to actually see my life.  I was then able to go back and find the root.

Rehab needs you to do that to be successful at recovery.  Fix the root problem.  Counseling, whatever, and work past that.

I found the root.  I went back to a fine white line scraped on the top of a CD case.  And I see now that I made a wrong turn.

That thing that nearly broke me made me who I am today.  That little girl calls me Dad.  I don't need to self medicate.  While I was here I handled my business.  Not only did I pay back this time, but I worked on myself as well.  And I sit here a changed man.  Still with lessons to learn....but nonetheless changed.

Plenty of times I lay back and think about a ride on my Harley.  The freedom.  But I also let myself go back to the places I used to live.  And I see how far I've come.

I know my grandpa would be proud of the changes.  If I died tomorrow I would go in peace. But that's not my story.  I get to come home.  I accept my second chance at life.  My life becomes something.