Pre-Post Ramble #1
Most of the time there is a lot of stuff I cut out of my posts. It’s a bunch of rambley digressions and ranty offshoots that really don’t have much to do with what I actually wanted to write about, but a lot of it is, I think, interesting. Or at least it’s stuff that I selfishly don’t really want to delete, so I’ve decided to make a special category called “Pre-Post Rambles” and post it anyway.
Sometimes I feel like I’m constantly plagued by self-doubt. But then I kinda think that’s a good thing, because it makes me always question myself and what I believe. That doubt has motivated me throughout my entire life, and a lot of the time it’s gotten me into trouble. Official trouble, I mean, like arrested for selling pot when I was 18. I wouldn’t have tried pot in the first place if I wasn’t so doubtful about the old “pot’s a bad thing” status quo.
For me, if everybody is telling you not to do something and the best reason they can come up with is something like “you might like it too much” then whatever it is, you should probably try to do it right away…
The option – to believe bullshit like a sheep – sucks, right? That’s what I did with sex, drugs, sex-work, politics, being a loudmouth bitch…. and, for me, all of the results have been positive. The crappy results have been some of the most positive ones, in fact.
Landing my ass in jail at 18 was a huge eye-opener for me in so many ways. Don’t get me wrong, it totally sucked – it was a relatively cushy jail actually – but it still totally sucked. It sucked because I wasn’t free; inmates could get tvs in their cells – I had one, but I still wasn’t free, we could play cards all day, smoke cigarettes, choose our cellmates, go outside and play softball – and yeah, I feel like a totally spoiled asshole for even listing all that stuff – but the point is, that I still wasn’t free. Cells locked at 11 pm, occasional tossings (searches) of cells, being forced to obey seemingly pointless rules like not turning around when you wait in line, not being allowed to have razors – or q-tips – and the harsh (only verbal and procedural) correction or admonishment by the guards when you did ‘step out of line’… all that just totally sucked. I can’t think of better words really – totally sucked. But holy crap did I learn a lot about people and politics and assumptions.
So many and I mean – so many – of the women where I was were taking the rap – or sharing the rap – for their boyfriends and husbands. The story was always, “well, he woulda got more time than I will/did because he has priors” – and it was mothers of children who said this. One had come in pregnant (before I got there) given birth while there, had like 3 days with the baby before the little girl went to her grandmother, and the grandmom would bring the little girl to visit the mom every weekend. When I got there the baby was already 18 months old. The mother/prisoner was still defending her decision to take the rap. Well, I don’t like that wording, defending sounds too harsh, I don’t blame her for defending that decision, because to do otherwise would have meant she had to face that she had traded in her life by doing so and that sort of realization would be devastating. Jesus Christ, thinking about it now makes me so sad.
That terrible situation all for drugs. Just drugs, not murder, not violent crime, not robbery. And please don’t – just don’t – bother telling me about the cost in turf war violence, and the cost of addicts robbing or stealing for money, or the cost to neighborhoods when drugs take over, or even the cost to people in the countries that the drugs come from – because all of that happens because the drugs are illegal. Google that shit up yourself, cause I covered that issue in my 20’s and I know there’s boatloads of info only a few clicks away.
Prohibition never works.