Prison Pete

Thursday, December 13, 2007
  Night Before Thanksgiving...
Tis the night before Turkey Day. Our four burner stovetop has been going all day with my fellow dorm mates all cooking up massive amounts of food. For some reason this year, unlike last year, I am not doing any cooking, nor have I asked to be included in any of the various groups that are cooking.

My next cube neighbor turned 45 on Monday. It was my commissary day so I told him I would be cooking him a dinner for his birthday. I made chicken cutlet Parmesan served over ziti. We do not have an oven but you can melt the mozzarella cheese by using one of our cast iron frying pans, elevated off the burner by three sardine cans. We happen to have a pot lid that fits just inside the frying pan.

Lately, when these long weekends come about I always start off thinking it would be a great time to get some serious writing for the blog done. As any of the regular readers know, the writing never gets done. I have been feeling sorry for myself over the last many months, and it has resulted in a marked decrease in my letter writing. Let us see if I can turn the tide around this weekend. I am still feeling blue, but there are some bright spots. So indulge me for a few minutes here and let me write some of the things I am thankful for.

I am already getting distracted from writing. As a an attempt to be nice to my best friend the editor, I am going to type most of what I get done this weekend into the memory of the typewriter which will hopefully cut done on the editing he has to do.

I am thankful for my parent’s support of me, in writing letters and sending me a monthly allowance. The new six-track keyboard was finally released from its extended stay in the package room. I am thankful for the pen pals that I get to correspond with and apologize for the time delay in my writing letters back. I am certainly thankful beyond words for my friend that keeps this blog rolling along and his support in building up my self esteem that my current location works so hard at trashing.

The above has been sitting patiently in the memory of the typewriter. The typewriter has sat abandoned in my locker for a week.
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