January's been a busy month. Exactly twenty days after our unceremonious exile from one side of our housing unit, Hopper and I were served another eviction notice this morning.
Today's move was rumored for a couple of weeks beforehand, Phase Two of ERDCC Great Glorious Plan to consolidate workers on whichever side of the prison their job is located. For reasons obscure, all canteen workers now must live specifically in 6A. A week back, Hopper lost his industry job, and I took a promising position in recreation (more about which I'll say later), placing us at the top of the bed broker's list of possible victims.
I was reading when a guard dropped the news: "You're moving." We packed yet again. We grumbled yet again. We pushed a cart with a wobbly caster yet again. Away we trekked to 1A, the former ad-seg unit at the other end of the camp, where sliding doors and stainless-steel toilets remain standard. The crash and bang of doors is going to be an issue. Extra-powerful flushes, not so much. At lest they aren't making us adjust to a whole new cellmate to boot. Hopper's perfectly agreeable and I'd like to keep him awhile.
We live like hermit crabs here, packing at a moment's notice and going wherever they tell us to go, just to curl up until the next big idea by the powers that be. Prison sucks.
Moving is always stressful. I'm sorry they haven't let you both settle in somewhere and establish a sense of permanence. I hope they do soon.
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