I got a letter from my friend who essentially adopted my dog. He’s doing just fine. From my mother I was under the impression that he was on his death bed. Sometimes I think she says things just to make me feel bad. And sometimes it works.

I would like to clear a couple things up for the record. First, I have never in my life touched heroin. I don’t know if it’s because it is generally associated with needles and I’m deathly afraid of needles, or if it’s because I just don’t like downers, but I have never used it. Also I have not used cocaine for over a decade, so when my mom randomly accuses me of having been charged with four felonies of possessing all sorts of shit, I get a little annoyed.

I was only charged with one count of 1st degree – sale – 10 grams or more – cocaine or heroin or meth. Mine was meth. I plead guilty to, and was convicted of, possession – 6 grams or more – 2nd degree – cocaine or heroin or meth. In the hotel, they found 52 grams @ 86% purity, of meth. For my first drug charge, realistically I was looking at 84 months. I do not know where her 11-year figure comes from.

Second: Yes, there was a bake sale. Prison industry consists of many things. They strive to educate us during our stay. From construction to baking. We have the opportunity every couple of months to buy homemade cookies. I mean giant cookies. All proceeds go to the cost of confinement. In fact, every penny we make, spend, and receive while we are locked up is “taxed” and the cost of our living, as a burden to society, is reduced.

Just in the last fiscal quarter, in this prison alone, the phone calls we made (not collect) contributed over $250,000 to our housing, meals, wages, and clothing. The guards are state employees, so the tax payers foot that bill.

On a much smaller note, in my first post I made a joke about my hard-to-spell-and-pronounce last name. But she omitted the last name and kept my joke so it looks like I’m an idiot. My mother is not dumb. But she lacks common sense. I had sent her a list of changes, explanations, and side notes, but it looks like she chose a different route. I hope this makes it to print.

Mom, I love you dearly. If anybody else put you though what I have put you through, I would not hesitate to torture them…Dear God…twice now, a different person has stopped by my cell, stared at me until I looked back at them and I shit you not, they both said, “What you doin’? Writin’ letters?” and then they proceeded to do this little weasel laugh. You know like “heh, heh, heh.” I didn’t get the joke if there was one.

This is my last piece of paper. I will try to find more but it may be a few weeks until I can write again.

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