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Friday, March 23, 2012

Not Much To Say Today

I just have nothing to say. I mean, what's the point? It matters not one iota in the GSOT (grand scheme of things) whether I post here or not. God still wins. God still has His way. I mean, fer cryin' out loud, He's freakin' God fer cripes sake! He's gonna get His way. In fact, I suspect He already has it. So whatever I think, say and/or do is not going to throw Him off His game in any way, shape or form. However, it may throw me off mine. And there in, as they say, lies the rub.

If what we're doing is not making us happy, then what we're doing IS in fact, a fucking waste of time. I don't mean happy like I-just-had-an-orgasm-happy, or I-just-got-stoned happy, or I-just-won-a-shit-load-of-money happy. I mean happy like Aaaaaaaaah-that's-fucking-soul-satisfyingly-fuckingly-good happy! Happy-that-can-not-be-fucking-explained-happy-but-can-only-be-experienced-fucking-happy. I mean, happy-you-know-this-is-what-you're-designed-to-be-and-do happy.

Unfortunately working in a prison was not any of the above. It was, in fact, the exact opposite. I mean, who the fuck grows up and says, "Gee, I wanna work in a prison!"? No one. One may come to the decision to do so with the expectation that it will indeed make one happier than one is at the present time in regards to his current situation of employment and life in general, but no one ever sets out with the intent from a young age - such as a schoolteacher, firefighter, ballplayer or any other number of professions one might aspire to - to work in a fucking prison. They just don't.

So the question is, "Well, then how in the hell do they end up working there in spite of such lack of intention?"

Hell if I know. It must be something in the subconscious or below it, or above it. I only knew I wanted out. Out and never to return. Never ever, ever, ever again. No matter how many lifetimes I had left. I was not happy working there and foresaw no time in there near or foreseeable future when I would experience such a universally-desired state-of-being. I'd come to the conclusion that no man deserved such a fate, no matter what the crime, because the crime of locking a human being in a cage trumped any atrocity ever committed. After 20 years of working in a jail I was convinced there had to be a better way. I damn sure didn't know what the hell it was, but I was also just as damn sure there was. Maybe someday I'd discovery it, but until then, I wanted no part of the current methods of justice and rehabilitation the great state of New Jersey was implementing. 

Add it all to the number of reasons I decided to help McMullen escape jail. Symbolically he was me. Symbolically he was every man trying to escape the system. Symbolically he was two-hundred and fifty thousand fucking dollars.

...No, check that. Literally he was two-hundred and fifty thousand fucking dollars, since that's what he was paying me to help do it. And that did make me happy. Fuckingly happy.