Another week over and done with. I’m ridiculously PMS-y this week. I can’t go into the snack aisle because I lack self-control. Also, my boobs hurt.
I know you were just hungering for that knowledge. You’re welcome.
Shawshank doesn’t expect to travel into the city for his hearing on Tuesday. He alternates between being stressed about it, and resigned to the fact that NOTHING IS HAPPENING. Several detainees were scheduled for courthouse hearings this week, but had video hearings instead.
I sent him a couple of care packages this week, and both should be getting there on Monday or Tuesday. The first is a care package of instant coffee and the like. He writes about coffee all the time. The second is from Shutterfly – the only way detainees can receive photos. I sent a bunch of pics of me and the kitties. He misses the cats, and he’s very worried they’re going to forget who he is. After his first arrest, they were pretty skittish about him for the first few days he was back home.
When Shawshank called tonight, he told me there’s a lot of drama going on in his unit. A group of detainees in his pod attempted to organize a hunger strike. They’re protesting their “unlawful detainment”. There were fights, and people brought out of the unit in cuffs. The CO’s warned everyone: if anyone refuses to eat, everyone is locked in. In addition to the full lockdown, everyone would lose their commissary stashes. “If you’re not going to eat our food,” the captain warned them, “you don’t get to eat your food.”
It’s been a stressful week, and I’m glad it’s over. Today, a regular came in and looked awful. She was picking up a bit of everything – antibiotics, bronchialdilators, rescue inhalers, steroids. She had a cough that wouldn’t stop. I wanted to bathe in Purell after she left. I haven’t slept very well the last couple of nights, and I feel like I’ve been eating ALL THE FOODS. Unfortunately, a big part of my terrible headspace is due to stress eating or giving in to my PMS urges that insist I need to have Takis Fuego chips. I get into a vicious cycle of “I’ll do better tomorrow.” By midweek, it’s “I’ll do better next week.” At the end of the week, I feel like absolute shit about myself, and figure “what the hell do I have to lose” as I stuff my face with handfuls of Cheerios.
Tomorrow, I reboot.
A long workout, followed by an afternoon of chores. Later, I’ll have my #selfcaresaturday bubble bath. I wondered this afternoon: corporate is cancelling all sort of shit because of the pandemic, does that include random drug testing? Because I really, really want to spend tomorrow night in the tub, eating the little bowl of cake BossRPh brought in for me, drinking something sweet and creamy, and smoking my face off. I haven’t smoked in over two years now, it wouldn’t take much to get me completely out of my head.
It’s a thought.
