ardent bullshit comes down every faultline gushing heavily into jest kindly luscious melons nodding openly post quakes resting still to undermind various wonderous xylophones yawning zealously

Friday, October 14, 2005

Last Night I told a stranger all about you

Dear Jaimers,

By the time I arrived at the "Welcome to the Oxford Federal Penetentiary" rubber mat it was sprinkling outside, three-quarters dark and I was completelyoff-balance. The whole tone of Friday was one of a music video director attempting to emulate a dizzying sensation. However, this wasn't a music video, Madonna would not pop out of the bushes and begin vogueing at any moment, as I soon grasped with the whoosh of the opening door to where I was to see P. Immediately, I smelled a familiar smell. Ohmigod, sanitized filthiness. I began fighting the vomit that'd crept up on me somewhere near Madison. I entered an eerily familiar room the size of a volleyball court, filled with plastic chairs & tables, vending machines, a television and families. All these kids, Jaim. Yeah, I know, convicts have children, too. This one little girl, she must have been about 5, stared at everything but her family for a good hour. From 10 feet away you could see her fighting her father's presence, the whole time her mother urging she talk to him, look at him, listen to him. Maybe she noticed I was looking anywhere but the person I was in to see as well.

They have it pretty nice, considering.

To elaborate more about my favorite part, the vending machines... There are blocks of cheddar cheese in them. So I asked P what that was all about in an attempt to spark somewhat meaningless conversation. He responded that some of the guys bought and ate them, plain. Wonder if they ever crap. And all of this is going through my head to avoid the inevitable. Visiting time's up. Great. "Bye, I'll see you tomorrow morning". Kiss kiss.

I stayed at a place called Crossroads. I asked the owners if they'd seen Robert Johnson hanging around anywhere. They didn't get it.

Saturday morning proved all business. I marched into the drab room with hot air balloons painted on the wall and laid it out. "I can't do this anymore." There, done, the band-aid quickly ripped off, wound exposed.

From here on out, I didn't give a shit what was said. Stones got thrown. Yes, they were stones of hurt. The ones thrown at the other person when you want them to feel as bad as you do. So he threw away... "I knew you wouldn't be strong enough to go through this with me"..."Oh yeah, motherfucker? Not strong enough? I'll show you just how strong I am. I'm gonna do it just to prove you wrong" is what my first brainwaves sent, thankfully caught by logic, only to agree with him. "I guess I'm not".

It's not a matter of strength, it's a matter of willingness and I'm not willing, haven't been for quite a while. But he knew exactly how to hurt me, make me start to doubt myself and think maybe I don't know what I want or what's best for me. Ah, T must have given him notes at some point. But I didn't go back on my decision.

The thought of waiting at home after a day at work, picking up the kids, making dinner, correcting homework, finally to sit down at 9:00 p.m. while my mate is at a meeting, telling me it is all going to be okay as long as I listened to what he told me and trusted that God was going to take care of us and not to get so upset when he lost his temper (I won't hit you, I'll only hit the wall) and where had I been and who was I with and was I aware that all men want to do is fuck you, friendship is bullshit and why can't I write more and send more pictures was enough, enough, enough. So it's over.

How's Scotland? I miss you.

Con un abrazo fuertisimo y un monton de besitos,
emiliana

p.s. don't trust whitey.

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