Good morning, my friends. It’s a sunny and very windy morning; in fact, the wind flapped a curtain in my face, that’s what woke me up. I have a cup of coffee. My plans for the day are simple: do the laundry, and sell the little chairs.
Yesterday was another slow day. I pushed myself to do a workout. My ass is sore this morning, and I’m sure my arms and back will join in the protest later today. If I need it, I’ll have another soak in the tub tonight.
I spend a good amount of time cleaning out another kitchen cabinet yesterday. A few weeks ago I cleaned out the cabinet with the plates. This week I cleared out the glasses and my least favorite stuff, the plastic storage. I’ll have to work on the cabinets that hold the pots and pans next, and I’m not looking forward to it. That particular cabinet is big, but there’s only a small door and limited access to the back part of it.
Shawshank called twice yesterday. He’s hesitant to unpack much. I think he’s unpacked a book (The Raw Shark Texts) and a couple of pictures and nothing else. A bunch of his fellow detainees felt bad about the delay and brought back a lot of what he’d given away. After Friday’s dinner, one of them came to his door. A few of them had come together and made a “home cooked” meal for him, comprised of rice, sausage, mackerel fillets, and powdered refried beans.
“It wasn’t anything I’d have ordered off a menu,” Shawshank told me. “If you had told me what it was made of I wouldn’t have touched it, but it was really fucking good.” He gave me a quick lesson in prison cooking, like how to cook rice in a trash bag and the latest jailhouse drink that supposedly tastes just like an orange creamsicle.
“I kinda regret wasting the last 93 days not talking to more of these guys, they’re really nice people,” he said. He sounded better than he has in a long time.
We worked out a phone schedule for the next few days. He doesn’t expect he’ll hear anything about his departure until tomorrow at the earliest. He wants me to know any new information on his departure as soon as possible. The sooner I know anything, the more time his parents have to prepare things. His ICE caseworker seems to think he’ll cross through New Hampshire. I think it’s likely they’ll drive north through New Hampshire and cut into Vermont towards the very end of the trip.
I’m so tired of all this uncertainty.
It’s time to put some clothes on and start my few chores. The earlier I finish stuff, the more time I have to binge Dark and play Pokemon Blue.
