From the "Thanks For Telling Me Now File" I actually did reach Mom and Dad last night around 8:15 PM for my biweekly five-minute phone call. I told them I sent a shopping list, and Mom blurts out, "Well, you better send another one to my cousin Bill in Georgia, since as of Monday we have put a hold on our mail."

So, I guess the letter I sent out Thursday evening will sit in their post office for a while.

Dad did order the NY Times for me and it starts on Friday. I do not quite understand how it takes over seven days to start a daily newspaper subscription. Go figure, what efficient computers!

Speaking of computers, how about the FBI computer system that has been under development and is not worth one cent, never mind the millions of dollars they have spent! Boy, I wish I had a piece of that contract! Oh well, former felons cannot work for the FBI. Their loss.

Lunch is making its way up now.

I realized that on the one hand I have been accused of lacking empathy. They also say empathy may indeed be a learned response. So although I write my feelings out in real time, like all prisoners, I do not get any empathetic feedback till much later when the incident has already passed into history.

So the question is how does this help teach me to be more empathetic toward others? Does it simply teach one to buck up, carry on, and plow through, feelings be damned? I know a lot of what I write does not seem all that important a day or so later when I reread a letter before I mail it.

On the other hand, the romance books make clear to me how important the little things can be in a relationship. Usually they show how the clueless male (clueless because he does not see the clues) screws up to the point of a major fuck-up in a relationship because he missed a small thing.

Well, lunch is done. My next scheduled activity is indoor Rec at 1:00 PM.

I passed on outside Rec this morning due to the fact that I took one of those Claritin 24-hour pills last night and it definitely gives me sleepless nights, more so than the usual prison demons, sleep inhibitors, noise, etc., so I knew I would never last one half hour of circle walking.

I am going to relax and read some more, actually not a romance, John Sanford’s Mortal Prey.  ¶ 3:04 PM