The devil has hands, and he uses 'em for holding!

It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that much. Sitting in that room for 48 fucking hours. Actually more like 49 1/2 because they took so long to let me out, those assholes. You're stuck between these walls, 8'x10', nothing but a sink/toilet, mirror made from stainless steel, phone that doesn't work and the hardest bed you'll ever sleep on with the hardest pillow you'll ever rest your head on.
For the first 24 hours I seriously went insane. It was solitary confinement at its finest. I mean, sure, you have a window to look out, but there's only like 2 inches you can actually see out of. And believe me, peer I did. I watched the outside world like a hawk. Noticing anything and everything. Cars driving up and down the street, mainly those that belong to the GCPD. This was my main way to pass the time, well that and sleeping I suppose. It's hard to sleep because of how cold these rooms are though.
The first 24 hours seemed like never-ending. They really did, and I'm not exaggerating in the least. You try sitting in a room with not even a book or a piece of paper and a pen. Nothing whatsoever. These walls were a canvas for my thoughts but they could not do my thoughts any justice. I kid you not I was starting to hallucinate, to a certain extent. There's certain ways your mind will mess with you after you go over the same things over and over and over again. You think you see things move that aren't even there, or things that are there that would never move. I did everything I could to pass the time, count bricks in the wall, sleep, whistle, sing, pace the room (what was there to pace), listen in to the TV that played outside for the police, hell I even tried to make a shank out of the hard-plastic spork they gave me to use. That didn't work out so well...I guess I'm not cut out for this business. I attempted to reach anyone whose number I could remember. The only person that answered my phone call was Madison, but after she apparently went through something to make a connection it told me that I'd be able to get through in 30 minutes. And so I waited. And waited. It was the longest 30 minutes of my life. When you're in that situation and you know you're expecting something so great as even talking to one of your best friends, the anticipation kills you like you have no idea. I cried my eyes out as soon as I got through to her the first time. No one else would answer my phone calls. You know that saying, "A good friend will come visit you in jail, a great friend will bail you out of jail, but your best friends will be sitting next to you saying, man, we fucked up!" Well I didn't have anyone to bail me out or anyone sitting next to me laughing at how badly we fucked up. I didn't have anyone to answer my calls, but I did have Brian and Madison (I found out after I got out after going through my texts) who came and tried to see me. If the guards would've told me that I would've felt so much better, but they didn't. So after what seemed like an eternity of me staring at the clock, I finally tried to dial back to reach Madison. "We're sorry, that number is restricted." You wouldn't have wanted to see how pissed I was at that moment. I started punching and kicking the phone so hard I almost knocked it off the wall. I threw the biggest fit in my life. You would too though, had you felt like everything in the world had just been stripped right from your fingertips...they were the only ones willing to take my call and now I couldn't even talk to them. So my day went on. Did I mention the food is terrible? Cause it is.
As I was sound asleep in the first night of my stay, they brought someone else in. Some 45-year-old lookin mexican man. I didn't feel so safe behind these walls anymore. Not that I was scared of this man, he was harmless. I just had become used to being all alone for so long, or so it seemed, that I felt like he was invading my space. But human contact was appreciated much the same. I was beginning to lose it, so this was probably good that they brought someone for me to interact with. Came to find we had something in common, we were both in this room for the same reason.
We didn't talk much. I think he really wanted to talk but I just didn't feel like dumbing myself down to his level of conversation. He was a real...what's the word I'm looking for? Well he acted like he was 14, basically. Real spacey kinda guy.
Day 2 brought a familiar face to my holding cell, and in case you haven't caught on, that's 3 people sleeping in an 8'x10' cell with also a toilet/sink taking up some of the room allotted. This guy's name was Justin. I'd met him once before at Luke's house, he sold drugs for a living...and apparently made a good living at that. The first thing he said to me was, "Hey I seen you at Luke's before that one time." And I replied, "Yeah I think so man." And he said, "You wanna do some coke?" I just laughed. "Nah man I'm straight, thanks though." This guy was crazy cool though. Just the fact that he had the audacity to sneak that in even though he would only be in holding for 6 hours. I guess it would make the time pass by faster. We talked a lot. We talked about everything. His father who had just passed. His "stupid ass" girlfriend. How he knows my cousins Zach Marez and CJ Covington (go figure). He even promised to come back and get me at 2 a.m. and he would have a pack of cigarettes for me to smoke on when I got out. I took his word for it. Almost wanting to really believe it. He gave me his phone number and everything. I still remember it. 620.805.2211...So 6 o'clock came and went, as did he. When I saw him leave, I felt like part of me was walking out that door with him. It was the strangest feeling. It was like it was my time to go almost. But nonetheless, I still had a good 8 1/2 hours left behind these walls.
The hours stretched on forever. I decided it was best to try and sleep it out. Because there was nothing I could do to make the time pass by any faster. What's funny is the only song that kept me sane throughout these 48 hours was "Jesus" by Brand New. I would sing it to myself and I could feel peace for just a brief moment. And everything was okay for that moment. And nothing mattered. Not this room. Not these walls. Not these laws. Not these unanswered phone calls. Not my fine. Not what my parents would think. Nothing mattered. And for once that was alright with me.
I woke to the sound of the jail-guard opening my door and I felt free and I swear I almost jumped out of my bed and ran out that door, but I was mistaken. He was putting another inmate in the cell with me and this other man. He was a big black guy. Scary almost. I noticed the time and was so happy I only had 20 minutes left, the guard said he'd get started on my paperwork. I told this man he could just have my bed because I'd be out in no time. "So what are you in for?" I asked. "Uhh...wreckless drivin', possession, traspassin', open container...somethin else too, I forgot." I knew what this guy was all about. I could tell by the inflection in his speech, his attire, his attitude. He was a drug dealer. Now I really didn't want to talk to him anymore, and I think he felt the same. It was now past 2:30 a.m. Past my time to leave. Still no sign of my release. I waited 'til almost 3:45 a.m. because more and more people were being placed in holding. It was a busy night for the GCPD I suppose. But I was in no mood to be waiting around until they felt like letting me go, I should've been a free man already god damn it!
I pounded and pounded on the door until they acknowledged me, as if they had forgot. How convenient for them. Finally they let me out and I shook my inmates hand and wished him well, as he would spend another entire day in this cell by his lonesome. And know exactly what that's like. And I don't wish it upon anyone.
They gave me back my things, and took all the cash I had and wrote me a check for the amount (I guess people get mugged right outside the police station after they're released, odd? maybe. ironic? very.), made me sign a few documents and on my way I was.
I saw that I had about 35 text messages and about 42 missed calls, 20 of those from my parents. Only about 3 of the text messages were from people knew I was in jail because I called right before I was arrested. The rest were people wanting to know if I could help them get beer or help them get a party started or if I knew where the parties were at. I started to question my relationship with a lot of these people. Is that all I really am to them? Shocking. I tried calling Justin, but he never answered. I didn't really care though, because I was free and that's all that really mattered to me. I didn't feel like walking home though, it was really chilly out last night. But everyone who I called didn't answer. And I felt like I was right back in those walls where I had no means of contact with any of the people I wanted to talk to. Until one of them called me back. It was Elias, he was with Cory and Tyler. They came and got me and said they were on their way to the truck stop. How amazing, I thought. I couldn't think of a better way to start my freedom than by hitting the good ol' truck stop. Smoking cigarettes and eating breakfasty food sounded amazing. So I took them up on the offer, and they paid for my food and bought me cigarettes because all I had was a check written out to my name from the GCPD.
They seemed to not think of it as a big of a deal as I did, maybe because they'd also been there before. I thought it was hell, and I never plan on going back.

So I admit I haven't been keeping up with this as much as I would have liked to. But in light of recent events I just feel like it's good to get things in print.
Life is different. Friends have come and gone. Too many to start naming off. It's sad, but I guess we all grow up and move on. I guess maybe I'm just a little late for my calling.
Work sucks, kind of...I guess. I don't know. It's indifferent. It's work. Like, work...not just a job that you show up at and get paid to smile and look presentable and have the ability to pretend to be nice to people that piss you off.
School just started last week, I'm taking night classes and working the day shift at tyson. I guess I forgot to mention that part. I work at tyson. There...that wasn't so hard.
Never thought I would've ended up working there. I guess that's just the way the dice rolled or the way the nut cracks or the way the cards fall, whichever analogy works best for you. Not there's a "you" cause I don't think anyone reads this. But I'll keep it for aesthetic purposes.
I guess it was my english teacher that reminded me how important getting these things written down in a journal...blogging works for me. Pencil writing gives me cramps.
Speaking of which, my neck hurts really bad. Like, not my neck, but my neck muscle on my left side. So does my lower back. And my knuckles. And my feet. And my left arm.

Fuuuuuuuck.

I'm starting to wish I hadn't taken the friends I had for granted. I put off seeing a lot of people before they left...and I miss them so much it almost hurts at times. It doesn't help that my job is really boring and I just think about everything all day and therefore I'm kind of sad a lot of the time at work. People give me dirty looks because I'm quiet. Some guy calls me some name every time I walk by him, but I don't understand him. I haven't the tenacity to ask what he means by it, but I could care less really. He's not going anywhere in life and calling me names isn't going to get him but a cheap thrill for about 5 seconds. And I guess if I make someone's day for 5 seconds it's all fun and games.

I guess I have a lot on my mind. But now is not the time to sit here and keep writing because I should've been asleep 20 minutes ago. I am not going to want to get up tomorrow. I've got to wake up so fucking early.

I miss this...Blogging. Friends. Summer. Everything.