It’s an extremely rare line of thinking for me but once in a while I think life would be much simpler in prison. It is a juxtaposition of thought because going to jail is pretty much my worst fear, second to losing a child. And even though I’m big I’d be terrified of the shower room, to state the obvious. Getting past these rudimentary fears and I’m golden snuggled up in my cell.
Think about it. No bills to pay. No taxes taken off your hard earned pay cheque. No crappy cell phone service or dropped calls. No early morning job or job at all. Smoking is encouraged. Lots of weights to be lifted and lots of time to do so. No car breakdowns or getting stuck in winter.
There would be no girls to chase ending in heart break. There would be structure, from meals to sleep regulations. It would be me in my own world, like it pretty much always has been. Sure, I wouldn’t shiv a cellmate but I would prefer the solitary lifestyle.
Of course this could never fly knowing that I have kids on the outside loving me and missing me. I’d have to be one of those single and childless middle age people for this to work. Also I am a fan of space so I wouldn’t fare well incased and locked up. I would probably lose it on day one if I’m being honest.
There would be work whether doing laundry all day or kitchen duties or whatever and the only currency would be cigarettes. The boredom might be enough to do me in now that I think about it. The food no doubt sucks and again there’s that shower nightmare come alive. Not only the possible back door invasion but just the idea of showering with a bunch of hardened criminals who aren’t female makes me want to obey all laws and then some.
I suppose surrendering my freedom to the people in blue isn’t the smartest move I can make. There are better ways to unplug from the daily grind or portions of it anyway. A leave of absence from work or having a family member take my kids for a week are a couple. Neither involves having a further criminal record or sodomy.
In the end I know the jumpsuit isn’t for me, though I do look surprisingly good in orange. The card games can be played with my kids, not with a table full of rapists and serial killers. I won’t need to get a cake sent to me with a file in it. I don’t file my nails anyway. And my wrists are just too darn big for the cuffs. Keep them for the less giant of criminals.
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