Dear No One,
I’m writing you a letter because there’s
nothing else I feel like doing. I wasted the morning playing Earthworm’s DnD
game. Once I stopped running mine, he and Eor took it upon themselves to keep
the legacy alive. They guilted me into making a character and I regret it
already. It isn’t a terribly constructive way to spend my time.
Back in the cell by 10:30 I lay down and
brooded for the better part of an hour. Either the morning or the game put me
in a negative mood. The Doc put in to up my Wellbutrin but that hasn’t gotten
through to the pill line yet. I didn’t ask him to, but he was probably on
point. He is a very perceptive person. Psychology cannot always be wrong. The
names of the last three medical students slipped my mind, and I am annoyed at
myself for that.
Limitations are the source of my malaise.
Living incarcerated is the art of distracting ourselves from our impotencies.
For example, I won’t be able to kiss another girl until I’m in my forties, but
I get to watch CNN and nineteen other equally captivating channels until then.
The highest salary I can attain is about a half dollar an hour, but I don’t
have any bills and I can sleep ANYTIME I WANT.
I can’t be with my family, but I can squat
315 and probably more soon. I have benefits, advantages that other people in
this situation do not. Many inmates beg or demand more money from relatives
than I do. But only I have chivvied my people into setting up a website and
querying agents for me, as far as I know.
I read once that when you buy a lottery
ticket what you are actually buying is the right to dream pleasantly. So all
that my family does for me, all that I draw and all that I can write may be no
more than that; a pleasant dream and a distraction from the reality that I
cannot bodily escape. Even if Dragon’s
Summer is picked up by an agency and they sell it to a publisher for some
great sum, it still won’t send me home.
It would be a vindication of sorts. It
would add something onto the end of my biographical byline other than bipolar
bank robber and high school dropout. It would be a financial boon for me and
mine, and likely a host of other positive things. Yet I would still be here. I
wouldn’t get to kiss the girl. And I would have to find another pleasant dream.
Yours,
Yours,
William Myrl (19)
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