Is it boring? Or are you busy? So the other day, I toted a pocket-sized notebook with me everywhere I went, scribbling down every single thing I did. At a. He gives me 10 minutes to throw on some clothes and escorts me to the isolation cells, where I strip down again for a thorough search and begin a three-hour suicide watch. He opens up surprisingly quickly about the many horrors of his childhood.
I almost cry several times. I wake up at 10, thanks to all the hooting and hollering outside my cell. I take a few minutes to center myself, climb from my top bunk and am met by my service dog in training, Ross. As I dress, Ross wags his tail and prods me with his cold, wet nose, which never fails to make me smile.
I then hike down the Rock our term for the cell block to the communal bathroom I share with 48 other inmates, brush my teeth between four young kids who are rapping, handle my morning business on the toilet, and return to my cell once again, where I pour Ross another bowl of water, buckle on my pouch full of treats, then venture back out into the bowels of our unit with the dog in tow.
We spend the next 40 minutes training him to follow my commands. Next, I grab my tablet and a cup of instant coffee, and hurry to our JPay. There, I pay a guy a ramen noodle soup for holding me a spot in line, then plug my tablet in and upload and download emails.
I repeat, be on your bunks and be visible for count or you will get a ticket! During count, I write a few emails to be uploaded later and listen to the news on the radio as I lie in bed waiting for the guards to make their rounds. Sure, they start at the same times each day: 5 a. On this particular day, I get lucky. I run a few miles, do pullups, pushups, sprints, and finish with weights and stretches. When the prison opens its massive, razor-wire-topped gates at for a controlled mass-movement to the yard, I head inside like a fish swimming upstream through a river of convicts.
