Day 11, 12 pm They’re saying I’ll get out any day now, and that’s good, because I’m seriously done with sleeping on concrete. I would write that when I go home, I’ll be much more appreciative of everything I have at home, but I don’t appreciate anything. It’s simply not in my nature.
The only thing I’m excited for is to be able to step outside freely, with my hair blown dry and my clothes pressed clean and my cigarettes in my pocket instead of in the warden’s. That’s getting old right quick. Also, all the girls in here keep asking me questions, like what clubs to go to, what movies to see, what guys to date, what cigarettes to smoke. It’s like they don’t know anything! Part of me wants to tell them to mind their own business and shut up, but then I realize that if nobody wants anything from me, then I’ll really be in trouble.
Day 10, 1 pm
I really appreciate my family bringing me Twizzlers. It fixates me orally, so I’m not thinking about the cell I’m confined to, but rather, the music I’m dedicated to writing in here so the second I get out, I can record an album and it’ll be a monstrous hit. I can promote it on all the talk shows that are already begging me to give them a post-jail interview, and by the time the album comes out, I will have revamped my entire career in music. The fantastic thing is I’m so emotional in here that writing the songs comes so easily! Not even the biggest or best producer in the country is going to want to add or delete anything from my lyrics because they will be (or are already) perfect. I don’t know why everyone in prison isn’t writing down what they feel — the walls are so concrete here and the bars so so barred that your emotions become uncontrollable and you just gotta do something with them! (Without having to use anything illicit, of course, which makes it dramatically less fun.)
And yes, I do expect to get my hair done before I leave jail. What’s the big deal?
