Fog

Today, after visiting with the men in the jail, I drove out to the state penitentiary to get indoctrinated, printed and ID'd. The topic in the jail was anger. Dick asked if anyone disagreed with the author that anger could be useful. One man missed the point, talking about how making others angry was a game or a way he manipulated others. Another man said he got angry when he called his fellows to prayer (he has made himself muzzain and apparently cultural police as well) and they stay in bed. A third man asked him, "Why is that your business? Are you Allah's bailiff?" At the end of the session I thanked them for their openness and willingness to share with the rest of us. The muzzain, who has been confrontational with me previously, licked eyes but did not answer, The other two shook my hand as they left.

At Wyoming, I was amazed at the intimacy of having my prints taken. The woman DOC cop stood next to me and gently but firmly held my hand and printed me 4 times, twice for the State, twice for Homeland Security. Our bodies were side by side as she rocked each finger on the ink pad and then rocked it on the paper, our arms entwined, her leading the dance and me following.

Afterwards, my escort brought me back to the waiting room and the receptionist called the Chaplain's office. She apologized to him for not reading his note carefully; I was supposed to see him first and get printed second. Now, he had a service to conduct, and I would have to reschedule. I was amused that he did not come out to tell me, and although she apologized to him, she did not to me. Why was I not angry? I merely shrugged and smiled and drove the hour home. And watched the fog rise up off the snow banks, like ghosts rising from dead bodies, drifting across the Thruway, lost souls looking to catch a ride, torn to shreds by the heavy material semis ignoring them in haste.

I got home in mid-afternoon, with two large coffees and three donuts under my belt, but my limbs were heavy and I could hardly get into the house. I fell into my easy chair and slept for three hours. Then I drove back to Brockport, played duplicate bridge for three hours and came home. As I write this. I once again am fighting exhaustion. I will soon drag myself upstairs and struggle to get undressed before I fall into bed.