Written April 25th, 2015 from the California Institute for Women
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It's been one of those days. You know, the sort where the shoelace holding your bedroll together snaps, and you have to choose between jumping into the excess clothing bin for a dirty one, or using the spare you painstakingly dyed with kool-aid last week.
Your bunk is a mess, so you decide to start cleaning it- only to realize that someone replaced the disinfectant with water again and you're all out of the sanitary napkins you'd need to wipe down the torn metal surfacing. You step out of the room to ask an officer or porter to restock your supply, but someone 500 feet away starts a fight. Yard goes down, and you end up sitting on the cold tile of your hallway, waiting for permission to move.
You're right in front of another girl's room and you can see that she made a token-shelf out of toilet rolls. That's a good idea, you think, wishing you had seen it before you threw away all your empty rolls.
When programming finally returns to normal, work release is announced, so you leave your room as-is, closing the door tightly on your shoelace shambles, hoping that today is not that day that your cell is searched That would be embarrassing.
Either way, there's nothing to be done right now.
Hopefully, you'll find someone who can find you a brand new sheet in exchange for a noodle, and then maybe you can fix it all when you're locked in for the night.
There's no point in getting too worked up.
It's just one of those days.
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When I wrote this, I had the idea that this could be a sort of prompt. "#1OfThose", where people write about the days they have- that seem so normal, but are full of details that probably only a handful of people could truly understand. Written in a style without any real explanation, just- "here's how it went".
By the time it was sealed in an envelope and sent to Dave, it was too late, and I am only opening those letters now.
Have you ever cleaned a floor with a pad? It works magically, I promise.