Monday, September 20, 2010

lingering asAHlts

Today is day 120.  Murphy's law is in full effect.  I was supposed to be released by now, yet here I sit.  Some unknown error with the court's order and some uncertainty that it really says and means, "release this woman after she has been here 120 days!"  The CCDC mantra rears its head, "For it to be right, it requires thinking ... this is what it is, and all it can be."

So, here I sit because someone is afraid to believe that is written, that I am, indeed to be released now.  That they are supposed to do what is written on the computer (they never lie do they?).  They do that, you know, release people who are not supposed to be released.  I saw it happen twice in my four month stay.  One was a working girl; she was back with us by the following weekend.  The other was in on a domestic violence charge, so she'll likely not cause you any problems unless you know her ... and then, likely, you know all about it.

Sometimes I scratch my head and just glaze over at the wonder of this whole thing, as I have experienced a little slice of life that most people only either glorify or vilify, each to immobilizing degrees.  An experience I never in my grandest imagination thought I would experience -- putting people in them, maybe.  Standing vigil protesting the death penalty, perhaps.  And, I learned the truth that we all already know:  Jail is exactly how people think it is -- as all reality is.

Jail is "a waiting place" that immobilizes the mind more than it could ever imprison a body.  Living a life in the cycle based on the glamour of the thug life -- and there is a glamour about it, a whole society and social standing, with the only glass ceiling being one that is injected by a needle or strapped to a buzzing chair -- the form of structure of which is initiated in our public schools with their methods of inmate or, rather, student "control," their jargon and the like.  If there are lines painted on the floors in the hallways of your child's school, and one can hear words like 'lock down,' your's is a school built on the structure of a jail. (josb!)

But, for most of us, the paralysis is completely self-inflicted.  And the fear of doing ANYTHING that could possibly result in jail, living a life so scared of the consequences of making a decision -- as some decisions, regardless of intent, can invariable and inexplicably be found to be defined as criminal in some statute on the books -- or not.  But, the truth is, if you're in jail, they can keep you here just because we have abdicated our authority, rights and freedoms and now our governmental system allows incarceration at their discretion ... and, if it can be, it will be sorted out later -- months or even years later.  (josb!)

I have no doubt, when the court opens in the morning, someone will use a brain cell, make a decision and release me, and I promise I won't even press charges against them for doing so!

* * *

It is now, officially, my 121st day in Clark County Detention Center.  Ahhh, the moment lingers.

* * *

But, as the truth be told, it was I who was lingering.  Be VERY VERY careful what you say to the universe.

I had several writing deadlines I set for myself -- all extraordinarily ambitious because, of course, I'm going to have all this "free" time to just write (LOL!) ... anyway, there was my "mom, talk me a story" stories that I had to finish -- at least that little short story for my daughter the next time she asked me to 'talk her a story,' I could give it to her, and say, "here, go read it for yourself!"  jk, s!  That was the one I knew I could finish, should finish ... "or don't bother calling yourself a writer!"

YIKES!  My lips, my words, out loud to no one one but me, myself and I after I moved into my cel in protective custody.  Surely with all this solitude, aloneness, no distractions, I can and will write!

Of course, I kept putting it off, and putting it off.  And, it wasn't like I didn't know what I was going to write.  I had crafted the ending in my mind and knew what I had to write.  When packing everything up, I put it in there, thinking to myself, "I'll wait and type it at home, its so much faster than writing with these pencils."

I even read another entire Sue Grafton book as I lay on my cot, unable to sleep as the sun came up, then breakfast, then comes "free time" with the girls.  I'm in the day room, watching and listening to all the same things, I had to leave ... now!  After all I am not supposed to be here!

So, I tell everyone good-bye, sneak in one hug, and went back up to my room, voluntarily locking myself in my room, unable to get out again if I changed my mind to accept the freedom that was being offered to me.  I sat down, wrote my little blurb on the Grafton airplane book, then I unpacked my other writing projects, pulled out the story and wrote it out -- long hand.

I penciled "The End" and there was a knock on my door, it was opened ... "I thought u were ready to go!  Roll it up Clermont already.  Do you not want to go home?"  She laughed with me, this one did, as I repacked everything and told her, "Thank you, officer, for waiting for me.  But I could leave it all for someone else to clean up if I need to!"  And, she said the sweetest thing to me, "they're worse things they could do!"

She was one of three officers who shook my hand in four months.

peace & harmony,
elaine
'freedom must be exercised to stay in shape!'