Five in the morning call outs have a tendency to be annoying. That phone ringing scares the ladies and a whole new round of 'what do you do' starts up. Before the sun is up, I'm not terribly inclined to answer those questions. You know, mornings are a wonderful excuse to be rude and I hate to have to use it, but the questions get old.

Half the time I get these calls, I'll stumble into the kitchen and find Ted there, coffee on. I would love to know how he knows. I would also love to know when he sleeps. But, in the morning, I don't care. I want my coffee, I want my orange, and I want to go. I'm up, I might as well.

Morning call outs are not the most fun, even in LA. But they are always, and I do mean always, interesting. You just never know which famous person's body you are going to end up standing over. That's why I love this job.

170 words

Never can get enough fruit in prison. It is just not possible. SO I am making up for it now.

Spirited Fruit Salad

Ingredients
# 1/4 cup pineapple juice
# 1/4 cup orange juice
# 2 teaspoons orange-flavored liqueur
# 1 teaspoon honey
# 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon or cardamom
# 1 cup cubed pared cantaloupe
# 1/2 cup green seedless grapes
# 1/2 cup sliced strawberries
# 1/2 cup blueberries
# 1/2 cup pitted dark sweet cherries

Directions
# In bowl, combine juices, liqueur, honey, and cardamon.
# In large bowl, combine cantaloupe and remaining ingredients.
# Add dressing and toss to coat well.
# Cover, chill 2-3 hours.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

I've given this a lot of thought lately. And I have ruled out some things. My first thought was a Flemish bunny. You know, those big suckers. Fifteen pounds of pure fluffy bunny. You wouldn't want to be that. Unless, of course, something decided to eat you. That might be inconvenient.

So, then I moved on to a whale. Maybe a Blue whale. Or a Humpback. Swim long and deep, eat all day, sing for a mate. Hell, just sing. That might be nice. I told Reese that and she asked if it was quiet down there. I think she was trying to tell me I talk too much. But I can tell that she likes it, deep down. After all, she took an interest in my reincarnation musing.

When I told her that I had changed my mind and wanted to come back as a panda, she was confused. She said that pandas were cute, which I think was an insult. She only looked more confused when I pointed out that they seemed cute, but that they were really mean. Not that I'm mean, because I'm not. But it made sense at the time.

I've since changed my mind again. I do want to come back as a whale. A whale or a dog. There is a great debate about whether or not the dog has Buddha Nature. Those that believe a dog to be sentient would say yes, since a dog is always one with the present. Those who believe that a dog is no more sentient than a vegetable would say that he simply cannot have Buddha Nature, since he is not aware of the present. I would want to come back as a dog to see who is right.

293 words

Children laughing
People passing
Meeting smile after smile
And on every street corner

In prison, there isn't much cause to celebrate Christmas if you aren't religious. Santa does not come, you do not get presents. Your family might bring some cookies or a cake, which will be x-rayed before it even gets to you. If you don't have family, then Christmas is just like every other day. There are no carols being sung, no Christmas specials on the television. You might get turkey or ham for dinner, but it tastes like ash. There isn't a lot to celebrate when you are locked up.

This is my first real Christmas in twelve years and I intend to make the most of it. After shift, I go down to Beverly Hills and watch the shoppers. Families hustling from store to store, employees wearing Santa hats. And everyone is smiling. That is the strangest part for me. I'd become accustomed to the scowls of the guards and the cons on Christmas. Of course, I can't help myself and I meet every smile I get with one of my own.

Even though it doesn't snow here, even though I don't need a jacket as I watch people, it feels like Christmas. I like that. Now, I need to decide what to get for Dani, Constance, and Ted. Never thought I'd be Christmas shopping again.

218 words

Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, where's it going to end? - Tom Stoppard – Czech Writer

The first year I was in Pelican Bay, I knew that I would be spending the rest of my life there. There was nothing anyone could say or do to change my mind on that. I had been convicted of homicide and sentenced to life in prison. Life is an eternity, especially when you face the prospect of spending it inside the same grey walls as hundreds of other men who had nothing to lose. You very quickly lose the will to care.

An eternity is a very long time. It is immeasurable. And yet, people insist on measuring things against it. The entirety of my life is an eternity to me. But, to a stone, the entirety of my life is but a drop in the bucket. So, how long is an eternity for a stone? Or, how about a tree? Barring being cut down to make paper or a house, how long is an eternity for a tree? And, in that time, what would a tree see? Do trees have a consciousness? Do they think about what goes in around them or do they just spend their lives reaching for the sun?

An eternity is but a life span. That makes it relative. I was in prison for an eternity. The life I knew was over when I walked through the doors into Pelican Bay. And it was over again when I walked out.

An eternity is now and it is more than any one man can grasp. He can only try to reach for it.

This is my eternity and I will not waste it.

268 words

Just for fun, create an NPC for your muse, someone who would interact with your muse in a way that no one else does. What would they be like, and what would their connection be to your muse? How do you think they would interact with the other muses in your character’s world?

You know, Charlie has been in prison for twelve years. I can see him having plenty of people he knew in the joint. But I don't think any of them would be anyone he would interact with in the real world. He is constantly trying to distance himself from what happened to him in the slam. That was just another life for him.

He is not the most popular officer on the force, either. Especially with the latest turn of events, Charlie is persona non grata, even in his own squad. His Zen approach does not help things. So a fellow officer is also out. Which really only leaves Charlie's myriad of women, as he makes up for his lost years at Pelican Bay.

So, Charlie's NPC would be a woman. A young lady who is smart and funny. She doesn't have to be the most beautiful girl at the ball. In fact, he would prefer if she wasn't. She would be up to date on current events, but would not be the type to ask him all about prison or how it feels to be out. That would be rude and she would know that Charlie is in the now, now. His lack of furniture would not bother her, nor would Ted. Those would just be the things that made Charlie who he is.

The temptation is to make this young lady a love interest. But she isn't. And both of them are okay with that. He doesn't have time for love, especially with what is going on now. But he deserves some fun.

I think her name is Mary. And I think she works at a grocery. I think she is just what Charlie needs to remind him that the world does go on. After all, we are all connected.

302 words

I have been working on NaNo. I'll be doing some prompts this week. Please remember, this entire journal is a spoiler.

Thank you for your patience.

There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.
-Andy Wachowski and Larry Wachowski, The Matrix (film, 1999)

When I got out, I bought a new copy of The Way of Zen. I have read two copies into the ground. Constance brought me a copy when I told her mine was falling apart. Some days, I read an entire chapter when I wake up. Some days, I read a single word or sentence at lunch. But I read some of it every day, and I have since I found it.

But reading it is not enough. The way of Zen must be practiced, too. The book shows the way, but it is up to me to walk it. Of course, that walk seems very strange to an outsider. My walk seems to annoy Dani sometimes. She just gives me the look that says he has no idea how she got stuck with the guy who lost his mind in prison. But I didn't lose my mind. I found it.

I found my path, I know it. And now I am walking it. Maybe others will decide to walk it with me before I am done.

177

Stranger danger. I was taught that as a child. Don't talk to strangers, strangers are bad and will take you from your parents. Would you believe that those same principles need to be applied as an adult. Strangers can be dangerous.

We think, as adults, that we will know who is safe and who isn't, based solely on our gut. Intuition can be useful, but it can also fail you when you need it the most. When you think you need a friend and you are in an unfamiliar place, you might try to make a stranger into that safety net.

As often as not, that can blow up in your face. A dangerous stranger, masquerading as a friend, is enough to make you never feel safe again. You might go into solitary, seeking solace in solitude. You might even be willing to live your entire life that way, so that you know you are safe.

That's not safety. That is living death. Stranger danger is a sad reality, but every friend was once an unknown and strangers can surprise you with their kindness. All you can do is live in the now.

193

What was the last thing that you ate that was so good, you didn’t want to stop eating it?

What was the last thing I ate that was so good I didn't want to stop eating it? An orange. They are so good, I bought an orange grove. I can't get enough of them.

You don't realize the little things you will miss until you are locked up. Prison takes your freedom, your strength, the things you take for granted. Prison also takes away fresh fruit. Sure, you can get fruit at chow time, but it just isn't the same as getting fruit that is nearly fresh of the vine.

I missed myself for a while, while I was inside. A cop in prison is not a pretty thing. But, after twelve years, I'm not just a cop any more. I'm a con, too. It doesn't matter that I was cleared, exonerated. To the people who worked to put me in the slam, I am still guilty.

Best thing I've ever eaten is an orange. And I am not about to stop eating them now. A orange taste like freedom.

171

I'm still trying to figure out this internet thing. Between this, cell phones, and instant messages, I feel a little out of touch. But that's okay. I'm here now. And that is all that is important.

The here and now, most now. The past is not that important, since it can't be changed.

But you probably want to hear about my past. I used to be a patrol officer with the LAPD. Then I was arrested and convicted of homicide. You might have heard about that. It was twelve years ago. I didn't do it. I was framed.

It took twelve years to get out of there. But Constance, my latest attorney, believed in my innocence, even when I was starting to doubt it. She got me out. She got me my job back. She got me a great deal of money from the city and the department.

But I'm not attached to that money. Not at all. Or my house. Or my car, my new car. My second new car, since Ted ran over the Bentley with a tractor.

I am a detective with the LAPD. And I will find the people who framed me, who took my life.