The Journey's the Thing…

The first thing I read this morning told me that I am free, that I don’t have to fight anything or anyone anymore. What a relief. I, of course, at breakfast, ruined that by bringing up the sticky subject of my sister’s stubbornness. I tried to be very open minded but I found myself getting frustrated and in deeper than I wanted to go. So I gave up and we changed the subject. The “we” I am referring to is my mother, who at the age of 81 needs someone around just in case. There is plenty of room in the house and as of yet this living arrangement hasn’t cramped my busy social calendar. But I don’t need to fight anymore. I need to remember this. I can work on myself today, and let other people just be.
So many wonderful things have happened to me in the last few months. I was writing a gratitude list last night(!) and it occurred to me that I have it really good. I am sober and getting somewhat sane, my family loves and supports my goals, I am building a circle of sober friends, there is no one coming to drag me away (anymore), I eat, sleep, play, work, and relax very well, and I am working on going back to school soon to finish my BA. Amazing. I dropped out of college (Denver University) in 1985 because I wasn’t getting what I wanted (more beer) and took the route of The School of Life. I worked in restaurants, went to culinary school, eventually became a chef, made the money, all that stuff. So now I am going back to school and will be majoring in journalism. First, however, I must write a 2-page paper for my orientation meeting. I was given a choice of subjects:
A. Describe your job, and how it is easy or difficult.
B. What obstacles have you overcome, and how?

Pretty vague stuff. I may take question A, because it’s easy. Strangely enough, I’ll be writing about a field in which I no longer work and which practically killed me. I guess it will be easy.

I recently returned from a stunning trip to The Balkans (Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and Greece) and have put up a bunch of pictures so please feel free to check them out. There are also pictures from The Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome and a growing album of my airplane models. Having a hobby is relaxing for me. I can lose myself in the building of an airplane kit, focusing on the tiniest of details. Go here http://photobucket.com/albums/a248/jono1965/ and check ’em out.

If you read my last entry you will note that I had the misfortune to spend some time behind bars. I know that what I did was wrong. I was willing to fess up, say “guilty”, and let the hammer come down. On the day of my final trial I really had no idea where I would go or for how long. The most terrifying moment was the 5 seconds before I was sentenced. The DA was feeling generous, however, and he only sentenced me to 2 years, non-mandatory, to the local county hotel. I was able to earn “good time” and was finally released on September 3, 2004. I will never forget that date. There were tough times in jail. Some were truly terrifying. There were times of great inner peace. The food was horrible. Fried carbohydrates for almost every meal. I gained 40 pounds. I have since lost 30. I spent a lot of time reading and am lucky to say that I had the resources to have books sent to me from the outside. I also had 2 magazine subscriptions. I am probably the only inmate in the history of that particular jail to receive The New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly. I also kept a journal, in which I kept a daily log of happenings, fears, and hopes. Of the 1800 pages I wrote, I think that most of it is pretty self-absorbed drivel. I did have a period of a few months where I wrote haiku as well as my regular journal entries. I tried to write 2 or 3 everyday. I ended up with about 250 total, not including a “long” haiku story about an apple blossom and her adventures on the river. I hope to use that as a text for a children’s book. So in the spirit of my own past adventure, I’ll publish 3 haiku every Tuesday, written while incarcerated, in no particular order.

#7
Concertina wire
secures the perimeter
from the basketball

#102
I’m never alone:
at my most solitary
God touches my soul

#6
A parole letter
written by a friend and read
by faceless strangers