It has recently come to my attention that there has been some negative comments in regards to my writing, so I'm going to directly address him or her.
First off, I know that the comments were posted early on. When I was first in county jail. No, I didn't mention anything about specifics of my accident at the time or how I felt about losing a close friend of mine. I didn't reveal that until later, obviously for the reason of keeping anonymity in the writing and focusing on the experience of being incarcerated itself.
An anonymous reader wrote, "Stop acting like the victim in all this. You're there for a reason and that reason is not to help your less fortunate inmates. Your actions put you there so show some repentance."
I'd just like to say that if you've ever misconceived the idea that I feel I'm a victim in all this, I apologize. Because never once have I felt like the victim. Never once have I blamed anyone but myself for what has happened and never once have I had any type of bitterness for being in prison. Yes, I've described conditions, yes I've complained about missing home and everything else, but each day I remember to be thankful for so much else and everyday I pray for my friend and her family in addition to my own. The only think I pray for myself it to have the strength to get through another day so that I don't have to make my family and friends worry as much about me. And life would be meaningless if I don't try to make what I can of it and it would be a waste of me even surviving and I can't let it be a waste.
I am fully aware that I'm here for a reason. Even if it was a genuine accident. But when I am face with other inmates who lack certain things like love and self-worth in their life that has brought them to where they are, I automatically wish to do anything I can to help them out. I may not be a perfect person, but nobody is. None of you can sit there and tell me this is something that never could have happened to you. But I'll tell you one thing, I am quick to learn from my mistakes. I will never drive distracted again, I will never even drive late night again white tired, I will never have more than a sip of a drink and get behind a wheel. I will never under-appreciate my family and friends and will never take for granted anything that comes into my life.
And yes, I would trade all those lessons and more for the life of my friend back, but I can't. So I can only live out the rest of my days for her and for those that love me and have brought me back from dying as well. As I've said before, for some strange reason, I survived (against my own will). Anyone who truly knows me knows how I felt and continue to feel about my friend and the accident. They know that I didn't want to live for a long while and only pulled myself up for the sake of others. They know that I used to write e-mails to my friend constantly wishing for a response. My friend in Heaven also knows how much I love her. So for any one who doesn't know, stop judging based on nothing and if you really care that much, find out the truth about things before saying something false.
If you'd also care to know the real truth, I'll let you in om something. I think about my friend every single day. Of course I fucking do. My heart constantly pains no matter how much I know I have to stay strong and be positive. Do I write about it in every single entry? No, I don't. Most of my readers - my friends - want to know how I'm doing in here, what details I face every day and I try to share that with them. I want to express how much I'm staying strong and growing. People know my sorrow and pain for the loss of my friend and I don't have to remind them of that each and every day. But if that would please you, fine. Yes, I'm more sorry than you'll ever know. It huts me to think of the pain her family must have gone through and still are facing with the loss of their daughter. I miss her constantly and I rethink the scenes of that night in my head over and over again. I talk to her in my head as if she can hear me. I ask God why he didn't take my life instead. I think of everything I can do in my lifetime to even make 1% of it right. When people in prison complain about being here for X amount of time, I think to myself that they should be happy about it. Yes it sucks, and yes, I don't want to be here, but if given the actual choice of NOT serving my time, I wouldn't pick it. I chose the plea for a reason as opposed to trial. I was scared shitless to come here, but I was as ready as I could be and I knew it'd be fine because if I can make it through losing my friend, I can make it through anything. Which is exactly what I'm simply trying to do. The rest of you can think what you'd like, but my friend in Heaven knows how I feel and that's all that truly matters.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
27 weeks: Ow.
I am currently witnessing an entire self-mutilation. A prison tattoo being down by one of the girls in my bunk area. She just mixed up the ink from a pen with crushed led from a No. 2 pencil and some shampoo. Now, she is literally stabbing the girls arm with a needle one deep prick at a time. OW. It hurts just watching.
Pimp says she's done this many times - half of the tattoos on her own body were done by herself. Instead of the freehand work that most prison tats consist of, Pimp actually stencils it out first and applies the stencil on the body with deodorant.
The girl is getting her grandmother's name inked onto her forearm pretty big, from top to bottom. I'm watching her hide the pain as she curls up her toes and squeezes her fist.
One prick at a fucking time. The needle is literally being driven halfway into her flesh each time. And this is only the first layer of the outline. Pimp likes to go over it 3x to make it dark and when she colors it in, she will be using 3 needles at once to make it faster.
Now she's slapping the girl's arm and making it bleed to absorb the ink better. This is insane and yet, I can't stop myself from observing. I think I'll go to bed now.
Pimp says she's done this many times - half of the tattoos on her own body were done by herself. Instead of the freehand work that most prison tats consist of, Pimp actually stencils it out first and applies the stencil on the body with deodorant.
The girl is getting her grandmother's name inked onto her forearm pretty big, from top to bottom. I'm watching her hide the pain as she curls up her toes and squeezes her fist.
One prick at a fucking time. The needle is literally being driven halfway into her flesh each time. And this is only the first layer of the outline. Pimp likes to go over it 3x to make it dark and when she colors it in, she will be using 3 needles at once to make it faster.
Now she's slapping the girl's arm and making it bleed to absorb the ink better. This is insane and yet, I can't stop myself from observing. I think I'll go to bed now.
26 weeks: What helps me not feel so alone.
For any of my friends that have been scolded by me or night be scolded by me in the future for not visiting or writing in a while, I'm sorry. I totally realize that people outside of prison have busy lives, but I can't help but feel a little disappointed or upset when I don't hear from you guys for a while. It's just because you all are greatly missed, so think of it that way.
I highly hope that none of you will have to ever come to prison to know just how much mail and visits mean to an inmate. They say when you come here, you get to see who your true friends are and I'm happy to know that I have a wonderful family and friends that have continuously proven to pull me through any difficult times in my life.
I smile when I think of all the concerned calls and visits to my home after my accident, provided rides to places when I had no car, seeing me at the hospital or at home after my surgery, taking me out to eat before getting locked up, everything. When I get out and start getting my life back together, the first thing I'm doing is treating you all, one by one, and thanking you for all the love and support. And being in prison too, thank you for the visits, for the letters, for the pictures and books and magazines, for the jokes to fill my days with a little laughter, and most of all for your thoughts and prayers. They have continued to keep me strong and well, despite everything that has happened.
Now, this doesn't mean that you won't get a scolding letter from me if I haven't heard from you in over a month. I'll still be like, "Where have you been?!" But that's only because I miss you and am wondering how you're doing and would like to hear from you regularly.
We don't have much in here but to rely on the love and support from others to get through each day. Trust me, I see people here who don't have that, and they become horribly miserable. I understand how others can have such anger issues, insecurities, and bitterness at the world and it makes me grateful as hell. We all really live off the basics and that shows more than ever in here, being stripped from much of anything else. I go to bed each night, thanking God for getting me through another day and for all the love I have continuously been shown and wishing well to everyone I care for. I've honestly never felt as much love in my life as I have since the accident and I promise to never fail to acknowledge it around me ever again.
I highly hope that none of you will have to ever come to prison to know just how much mail and visits mean to an inmate. They say when you come here, you get to see who your true friends are and I'm happy to know that I have a wonderful family and friends that have continuously proven to pull me through any difficult times in my life.
I smile when I think of all the concerned calls and visits to my home after my accident, provided rides to places when I had no car, seeing me at the hospital or at home after my surgery, taking me out to eat before getting locked up, everything. When I get out and start getting my life back together, the first thing I'm doing is treating you all, one by one, and thanking you for all the love and support. And being in prison too, thank you for the visits, for the letters, for the pictures and books and magazines, for the jokes to fill my days with a little laughter, and most of all for your thoughts and prayers. They have continued to keep me strong and well, despite everything that has happened.
Now, this doesn't mean that you won't get a scolding letter from me if I haven't heard from you in over a month. I'll still be like, "Where have you been?!" But that's only because I miss you and am wondering how you're doing and would like to hear from you regularly.
We don't have much in here but to rely on the love and support from others to get through each day. Trust me, I see people here who don't have that, and they become horribly miserable. I understand how others can have such anger issues, insecurities, and bitterness at the world and it makes me grateful as hell. We all really live off the basics and that shows more than ever in here, being stripped from much of anything else. I go to bed each night, thanking God for getting me through another day and for all the love I have continuously been shown and wishing well to everyone I care for. I've honestly never felt as much love in my life as I have since the accident and I promise to never fail to acknowledge it around me ever again.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Still 23 weeks: Moving foward with or without you
I'm not having such a great day. I was so happy to see my sister last night, but this morning I got into a little spout with my dad. I don't really want to get into the details, but let's just say there were plenty of emotions, tears, yelling and anger. (The latter from my Dad.)
My sister was right about something though, and that was that I can't let what my parents say or how they feel dictate my own daily life and general productivity and determination as well as self-esteem, no matter how much it hurts at times. I know that they are hurt too and they have every right to be upset with me, but I can't let it get me down. I just have to use it to give myself even more strength and energy towards making something of myself, to make it not a waste of me being alive. I'm moving forward and I know I'm on the right track right now and I just wish for my parents to see me for who I am today and not for all the mistakes I've made in the past. I want them to move forward together with me.
Being miserable in here is truly depressing. I can't eat a delicious meal to slightly cheer up my mood. I can't call up friends and vent it out. I can't really escape my thoughts and feeling in here at all. But in a way, maybe it's a good thing. They say the only way to overcome your fears is to face them. So having no choice but to be surrounded by all of these mixed emotions, I took a nap, cried to myself and wrote a letter trying my best to verbalize my thought to my parents. I doubt its helping much, but I feel better knowing I tried, instead of running away like I always did.
I can't really allow myself to fall into depression in here, so I choose to control my own life. I'm going to bed tonight, swollen-eyed and aching and I will wake up tomorrow, refreshed and grateful for a new day.
My sister was right about something though, and that was that I can't let what my parents say or how they feel dictate my own daily life and general productivity and determination as well as self-esteem, no matter how much it hurts at times. I know that they are hurt too and they have every right to be upset with me, but I can't let it get me down. I just have to use it to give myself even more strength and energy towards making something of myself, to make it not a waste of me being alive. I'm moving forward and I know I'm on the right track right now and I just wish for my parents to see me for who I am today and not for all the mistakes I've made in the past. I want them to move forward together with me.
Being miserable in here is truly depressing. I can't eat a delicious meal to slightly cheer up my mood. I can't call up friends and vent it out. I can't really escape my thoughts and feeling in here at all. But in a way, maybe it's a good thing. They say the only way to overcome your fears is to face them. So having no choice but to be surrounded by all of these mixed emotions, I took a nap, cried to myself and wrote a letter trying my best to verbalize my thought to my parents. I doubt its helping much, but I feel better knowing I tried, instead of running away like I always did.
I can't really allow myself to fall into depression in here, so I choose to control my own life. I'm going to bed tonight, swollen-eyed and aching and I will wake up tomorrow, refreshed and grateful for a new day.
23 weeks: Random frisk search
I just had my breasts totally groped by an officer during a random frisk. We were outside enjoying the nice weather. I had my book with me and I was sipping on some cold iced tea when they told everyone in the yard to line up at the fence with our hands up.
The guards patted us down one by one and he fucking actually groped me. I feel rather violated. We get patted down all the time for visits and they touch your breasts. Then again, we get completely strip searched after visits but that's by female officers.
I wish I could have taken a picture of the scene outside. Me, lined up with about 100 other inmates, hands up against the fence. My book in one hand and cup of tea in the other. The entire situation was a little humorous, I admit, but I didn't appreciate being felt up!
What a day. Well, my sister is officially back home for a month and I'm overly excited to finally see her tomorrow. I can't wait to simply give her a great big hug. =) I hope the officer doesn't grope her when she comes in - probably not though, they won't risk that shit on anyone but inmates.
The guards patted us down one by one and he fucking actually groped me. I feel rather violated. We get patted down all the time for visits and they touch your breasts. Then again, we get completely strip searched after visits but that's by female officers.
I wish I could have taken a picture of the scene outside. Me, lined up with about 100 other inmates, hands up against the fence. My book in one hand and cup of tea in the other. The entire situation was a little humorous, I admit, but I didn't appreciate being felt up!
What a day. Well, my sister is officially back home for a month and I'm overly excited to finally see her tomorrow. I can't wait to simply give her a great big hug. =) I hope the officer doesn't grope her when she comes in - probably not though, they won't risk that shit on anyone but inmates.
21 weeks: My little field trip in shackles
Today was anything but an ordinary day over in the maximum/medium compound. After breakfast, I headed over to another building for my beauty appointment. I was getting my nails done for $1.00. Eh, kills some time and makes me feel slightly prettier. But when I got there, the officer told me to return to my unit to go to the hospital. Now why on earth was I wanted in the hospital?
As I walked into the maximum compound hospital, an officer is waiting for me with handcuffs and shackles. I was scared shitless to say the least. What did I do? What's going on? They told me they were taking me to the crazy unit, C-cottage. Home for inmates with mental illnesses, stress disorders, suicidal tendencies, etc. But now, I was confused, worried and even more afraid.
The officer then told me it was for a job interview. Thank God for that! People are crazy enough over here!
So apparently, there were only two of us being considered for the position based on our files, education level, and obviously not having been in trouble before, and not receiving any charges during our stay here as of yet. The paraprofessional position there is the highest state pay in all the correctional institutions of the state. A whopping $6 a day - approximately $200 a month. Let me tell you, that's like gold in here. I live pretty well of for an inmate spending about $100 a month on commisary. Then again, I don't eat a bunch of junk food and I don't stock up on more pairs of shoes and shirts than necessary. Why waste the money? That extra money could go towards court fines or debts though. But I'd have to live over there, work 7 days a week 6am-9pm, and that doesn't include when they wake up you in the middle of the night for emergencies.
I'd love to have the experience of helping those in need though. It's quiet over there, more quiet than I've seen in all the months I've been incarcerated. I definitely would enjoy that peace, although I'd be rather lonely considering the paraprofessional is to maintain a fair distance from all the other inmates there in order to create a space for respect in addition to trust so they can come to you for just about anything.
When it comes down to it thought, I'm leaving for the halfway house in a little less than a year. The other candidate has a 25 year sentence. Inmates/patients over there supposedly grow attached to the paraprofessional and can quite easily lose it when they suddenly leave. So for that reason and the fact that I can't bring myself to leave Lo (I'd be quite lonely too not having a friend to go through this together), I'm not going to pursue the position. At least I know these women would be in great hands with the other candidate, as she seemed like a kind-hearted individual that has grown a lot of the years. I guess I'll have to stick with my crappy housekeeping job for now. I had quite a little trip today though, out of the compound, through grounds, and into an entirely different world for a few hours, all in shackles might I add. Maybe deep inside I wasn't ready mentally and emotionally for what would have come of this position even though I'd be up for the challenge. Then again, the drama and constant yelling over here is far from easy to deal with, too.
As I walked into the maximum compound hospital, an officer is waiting for me with handcuffs and shackles. I was scared shitless to say the least. What did I do? What's going on? They told me they were taking me to the crazy unit, C-cottage. Home for inmates with mental illnesses, stress disorders, suicidal tendencies, etc. But now, I was confused, worried and even more afraid.
The officer then told me it was for a job interview. Thank God for that! People are crazy enough over here!
So apparently, there were only two of us being considered for the position based on our files, education level, and obviously not having been in trouble before, and not receiving any charges during our stay here as of yet. The paraprofessional position there is the highest state pay in all the correctional institutions of the state. A whopping $6 a day - approximately $200 a month. Let me tell you, that's like gold in here. I live pretty well of for an inmate spending about $100 a month on commisary. Then again, I don't eat a bunch of junk food and I don't stock up on more pairs of shoes and shirts than necessary. Why waste the money? That extra money could go towards court fines or debts though. But I'd have to live over there, work 7 days a week 6am-9pm, and that doesn't include when they wake up you in the middle of the night for emergencies.
I'd love to have the experience of helping those in need though. It's quiet over there, more quiet than I've seen in all the months I've been incarcerated. I definitely would enjoy that peace, although I'd be rather lonely considering the paraprofessional is to maintain a fair distance from all the other inmates there in order to create a space for respect in addition to trust so they can come to you for just about anything.
When it comes down to it thought, I'm leaving for the halfway house in a little less than a year. The other candidate has a 25 year sentence. Inmates/patients over there supposedly grow attached to the paraprofessional and can quite easily lose it when they suddenly leave. So for that reason and the fact that I can't bring myself to leave Lo (I'd be quite lonely too not having a friend to go through this together), I'm not going to pursue the position. At least I know these women would be in great hands with the other candidate, as she seemed like a kind-hearted individual that has grown a lot of the years. I guess I'll have to stick with my crappy housekeeping job for now. I had quite a little trip today though, out of the compound, through grounds, and into an entirely different world for a few hours, all in shackles might I add. Maybe deep inside I wasn't ready mentally and emotionally for what would have come of this position even though I'd be up for the challenge. Then again, the drama and constant yelling over here is far from easy to deal with, too.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
20 weeks: Some things are beyond understanding
The question for today is: Why am I alive? Whether or not you believe in fate or inadvertantly making wrong choices or being in the wrong place at the wrong time or simply bad luck, nobody really knows what the truth is.
There are a hundred plus things that could make kept my friend alive today if just one was lightly altered. There are a hundred things that could have prevented the accident from happening in the first place. There are a hundred things that would have resulted in my own death as well. Some of these things could have been directly affected by my own decisions, but many not.
I don't know why I survived. Although I can't help but question it, the fact remains - it wasn't up to me. I've always believed that there is a reason behind everything, but what is the reason for taking my friend's life? The life of a young woman, kind0hearted and sweet, a daughter, a sister, a friend to many. Wouldn't changes have been made in all of our lives from the tragedy of the accident in itself? I don't know.
How am I still walking and breathing today? If you saw my car, you'd ponder the same thing. Many people die with concussions alone - Why didn't I? For a while, I didn't feel like I was evening living. Sometimes, I still wonder if it's all a bad dream and one day I'll wake up from it.
All I know is, for some odd reason or another, I'm here. If you ask me, sometimes the ones who aren't with us now, rest their souls, are the lucky ones. The ones that won't feel the hurt and pain of those of us left behind. And that is what made me draw up the will to live again. Because I wouldn't want to inflict that type of pain that I felt with the loss of a loved one to others that love me. It would be selfish of me to do so. I had no other choice but to believe there is a reason I'm still here and to be grateful for that live accordingly.
So if any of you out there feel that I deserve to be the one dead, that I should be grateful I'm even in prison, maybe you're right. Maybe the self-centered part of me wishes I could have died too. But what am I to do? Kill myself and bring more pain to others who don't deserve it either? For some strange wondrous reason, love is in my life and surrounded me when I needed it most. You can't tell tell me what you would do because you weren't in my shoes. You weren't there, although it could have very easily been you in my place. How many of you have driven a car when you're tired, or had a couple drinks? (My last drink had been hours before the accident by the way and we had went to eat before getting behind the wheel.) How many of you have texted or talked to someone on the phone while driving or put on makeup in the car? How many of you have ever speeded or ran a red light? Well if any of these options are applicable to you, you could be in my place as well. Somebody, or you, could have died you'd be sitting here in prison with me. Consider yourself fortunate and be grateful that you aren't. Because if there's one thing that's worse than being dead, it's having to live knowing another person's life was in your hands - and even worse, having that person be one of your close friends, someone you know and love and miss every day.
There are a hundred plus things that could make kept my friend alive today if just one was lightly altered. There are a hundred things that could have prevented the accident from happening in the first place. There are a hundred things that would have resulted in my own death as well. Some of these things could have been directly affected by my own decisions, but many not.
I don't know why I survived. Although I can't help but question it, the fact remains - it wasn't up to me. I've always believed that there is a reason behind everything, but what is the reason for taking my friend's life? The life of a young woman, kind0hearted and sweet, a daughter, a sister, a friend to many. Wouldn't changes have been made in all of our lives from the tragedy of the accident in itself? I don't know.
How am I still walking and breathing today? If you saw my car, you'd ponder the same thing. Many people die with concussions alone - Why didn't I? For a while, I didn't feel like I was evening living. Sometimes, I still wonder if it's all a bad dream and one day I'll wake up from it.
All I know is, for some odd reason or another, I'm here. If you ask me, sometimes the ones who aren't with us now, rest their souls, are the lucky ones. The ones that won't feel the hurt and pain of those of us left behind. And that is what made me draw up the will to live again. Because I wouldn't want to inflict that type of pain that I felt with the loss of a loved one to others that love me. It would be selfish of me to do so. I had no other choice but to believe there is a reason I'm still here and to be grateful for that live accordingly.
So if any of you out there feel that I deserve to be the one dead, that I should be grateful I'm even in prison, maybe you're right. Maybe the self-centered part of me wishes I could have died too. But what am I to do? Kill myself and bring more pain to others who don't deserve it either? For some strange wondrous reason, love is in my life and surrounded me when I needed it most. You can't tell tell me what you would do because you weren't in my shoes. You weren't there, although it could have very easily been you in my place. How many of you have driven a car when you're tired, or had a couple drinks? (My last drink had been hours before the accident by the way and we had went to eat before getting behind the wheel.) How many of you have texted or talked to someone on the phone while driving or put on makeup in the car? How many of you have ever speeded or ran a red light? Well if any of these options are applicable to you, you could be in my place as well. Somebody, or you, could have died you'd be sitting here in prison with me. Consider yourself fortunate and be grateful that you aren't. Because if there's one thing that's worse than being dead, it's having to live knowing another person's life was in your hands - and even worse, having that person be one of your close friends, someone you know and love and miss every day.
5 months: Put on that poker face and give it your all
I have this continued problem where I wish I could help solve other people's issues for them. I hate seeing friends sad or in pain. Who doesn't? I keep thinking, "If only they could see things this way, if only the could realize..." But everybody goes through their own journeys in life and sometimes all you ca do is be there in the sidelines and encourage them or help them if they fall; you can't play the game for them.
I'm sure my parents have always felt the same way about me, and perhaps its where I get my worry wart side from. But I had to go through my own experiences and learn things in my own way, only recently truly realizing how they were only trying to protect me from having to feel any hardship and pain, however unavoidable.
Being incarcerated, I can't physically be there for those I care about like I have always tried to be in the past. I'm not just a phone call away, any day, or night. I'm lucky and grateful that my sister is managing quite well these days; although I expected nothing less from her.
Yesterday I learned that a close friend of mine is in the hospital after overdosing on a prescription drug that could have killed her. She is ok now, but she could have died. Let me tell you something; I couldn't help but thinking that maybe she wouldn't have ended up there if I had been there for her, to talk to her and calm her. I'm so glad she's okay, but how did she let herself get to that point? But like I said, everyone has to go through their own journeys in life and I trust that the wonderful people that I love so much are strong and capable of getting through anything. Please just remember how much people care about you and how special you are. Please remember there is always a different way of looking at things and things happen for a reason. You can make the best out of any situation or you can dwell on the negatives and let yourself get caught in a downward spiraling path to destruction. Please don't choose the latter.
I've been reading a lot of great books recently, some of which are inspirational. People who are in so much worse situations than both you and me and yet are so positive and grateful for each day as it comes.
Multiple people asked me to day what's wrong. I guess they could read it in my face (maybe that's why I'm not as good at playing poker as I'd like to be). I just hope that everyone takes care of themselves and appreciates all the good in life as opposed to concentrating on the bad. There are always going to be bad things that happen to everyone throughout the entire course of their lives, but living consumed in it, that is like not living at all. You can choose what to make of your life even though you can't choose all the things that happen to you.
"We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand." - Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture
I'm sure my parents have always felt the same way about me, and perhaps its where I get my worry wart side from. But I had to go through my own experiences and learn things in my own way, only recently truly realizing how they were only trying to protect me from having to feel any hardship and pain, however unavoidable.
Being incarcerated, I can't physically be there for those I care about like I have always tried to be in the past. I'm not just a phone call away, any day, or night. I'm lucky and grateful that my sister is managing quite well these days; although I expected nothing less from her.
Yesterday I learned that a close friend of mine is in the hospital after overdosing on a prescription drug that could have killed her. She is ok now, but she could have died. Let me tell you something; I couldn't help but thinking that maybe she wouldn't have ended up there if I had been there for her, to talk to her and calm her. I'm so glad she's okay, but how did she let herself get to that point? But like I said, everyone has to go through their own journeys in life and I trust that the wonderful people that I love so much are strong and capable of getting through anything. Please just remember how much people care about you and how special you are. Please remember there is always a different way of looking at things and things happen for a reason. You can make the best out of any situation or you can dwell on the negatives and let yourself get caught in a downward spiraling path to destruction. Please don't choose the latter.
I've been reading a lot of great books recently, some of which are inspirational. People who are in so much worse situations than both you and me and yet are so positive and grateful for each day as it comes.
Multiple people asked me to day what's wrong. I guess they could read it in my face (maybe that's why I'm not as good at playing poker as I'd like to be). I just hope that everyone takes care of themselves and appreciates all the good in life as opposed to concentrating on the bad. There are always going to be bad things that happen to everyone throughout the entire course of their lives, but living consumed in it, that is like not living at all. You can choose what to make of your life even though you can't choose all the things that happen to you.
"We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand." - Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture
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