Not sun-kissed and heaven sent. We're all fallen soldiers and forgotten angels, of the WAR that keeps going on for ages... Take notes because it's not going to get any better. I keep writing it, in an unsent letter. Dear hell can you save me?
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
59
• Freya"
"Well, I've made it to 59, that's pretty cool. So how do you like your new job? I really was glad to hear that, that came along for you. You stick with it, do your best like I know you will."
"So it has gotten warm here. We had 2 or 3 days of 105, but the wind always blows a little, so it's pretty pleasant. Lots of green. There is a cotton field outside the fence. They have a really big garden here, a lot of the boys are working on it. It looks like you can grow about anything on it."
"I went from 189-164 in about 8 days, all fluid. The pills I've been taking are finally taking a hold of me. They are going to take me to Abilene to see a specialist to see how far along the genotypes have gotten. There are 3 levels. I'll most likely be able to finally get treatment and get rid of anywhere from 50% to 80% of it. Rhonda has sent me a lot of materials on the matter. She is pretty smart, come to find out. She's getting ready to go back to work here soon. I sent you guys a big envelope filled with many things. You guys can split them up. There will probably be at least on thing each of you guys will like. Oh, and I made an attempt at Jackson Pollack. It's in there with the rest of that stuff. I've done a real good mural of Aztec art on my cell wall. I like it. You know, it's a funny thing. When I was a boy on the farm, my bedroom was smaller than my cell. The door that lead to it went through the bathroom, which was composed of a slop jar.
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