by Brian A. Wilkins
This day corresponds with Friday, September 5, 2008. Click here for the complete “55 Days In Maricopa County Jail.” As of today (May 16), I still do not know whether or not a federal judge will hear my habeas corpus petition. Again, I don’t stay at Holiday Inn Expresses and I’m not a lawyer. I screwed up by amending the petition a first time (which is legally ok), but accidentally removed the Arizona Attorney General as an “additional respondent,” which is required as a respondent according to Local Rules of Civil Procedure. I amended the petition a second time, but didn’t exactly do it as a motion, which you are supposed to do. So again, we’ll see. One way or another when I find out, I’ll be posting copies of the petition, the sentencing documents, and several other dockets, along with moving forward with the next remedy I can use.
I’m not only depressed beyond human tolerance, but I’ve become a complete hypochondriac in this place. I wash my hands at least 10 times per day and try to shower at least twice a day, but that is deterred by the fat, ugly female guards that watch me like I’m a Cinemax porn movie, or the homo-dude ones who are even worse. Those disgusting freaks don’t even try to be discrete about their staring. Funny how these guards walk around here with latex gloves on all day. Even they know this place is a cesspool of germs, viruses, and bacteria.
Because of Labor Day or whatever that holiday was a few days ago, commissory just came in today and I finally got the items I truly need to have control over my freedom: emory boards. I also purchased a few extra combs. Why? I’ve decided to file one of these combs so much, that the edge of it is sharp enough to slit my wrist. It will definitely take some time and effort, and the comb will likely never get sharp enough to cause zero pain upon execution of the plan, but this is my only hope. I asked a few guys if they could somehow take the blade out of the razors you’re given to shave…even offered them 5 “items” if they could pull off that feat, but it never happened.
I feel particularly good today because I now know I’ll be free in 17 days; on September 22. That will be the last day I wake up in here. Only because of Rodney’s influence is why I’m waiting that long. He says I should give the court system two more chances. Again, there are two more of those puppet shows scheduled for me: one on the 16th and one on the 22nd. So out of respect for the man who is like the little brother I never had, I’ll wait until then. Plus, again, it will take me a while to file this comb enough to cut anything. Regardless, knowing I will wake up in this place only 17 more times is liberating. I once again have control of my destiny and I know I will never have to be a part of this Peach/Pasty world again.
While Rodney and I were playing a few games of chess down in that main area, that O.G. dude was the dealer at the poker table. All of a sudden he yelled out, “don’t touch the money mutha fucker!” at this dude Smokey, a “pisa.” Rodney and I just looked at one another and didn’t even have to say anything because we knew what the other was thinking. “WHAT DAMN MONEY??” These fools are fighting over some crusty cards with the corners torn off of them, in which 40 of them equals “a stack” or one “item.” I can see how this place can turn people into animals though. Again, many of them who have been in prison say they would rather be in prison than in here. At first I kind of looked at them like they were crazy, but its starting to become more understandable.
Monster was gone when I woke up today. They took him to prison to serve his time. All the guys that were here when I got here are fast disappearing and more and more of these young dipshit knuckleheads are showing up. Rodney told me how one of them was talking about stealing some of my commissory because “he doesn’t share with anybody.” Rodney pointed the kid out to me and I spoke loudly, saying, “I hope someone does mess with my stuff,” while staring at the kid. Needless to say, no stealing ever happened. These kids are 18-year-old knuckleheads who think they are tough because they are in jail. Sad, just sad.
I started doing some filing on this comb. Yeah, this is probably going to take the full 17 days. I was working on it for about 2 hours and it’s finally starting to look like progress is being made. I’ll have to get more emory boards from commissory next week, or get some from someone else. I will sleep well tonight, for when I wake up, I’ll only see this place 16 more times.