In prison, they tell you not to count the days. They say it only makes you dwell more on your release—and in turn, your lack of freedom. But anyone who knows me knows I love information and stats. So yeah, I count. That’s how I know yesterday was a good day: it marked my 80th day here and, by my calculations, the 25% mark of my sentence. If everything stays on track, I’m now officially one-quarter of the way through my time. Small victory, but I’ll take it.
To make the milestone more meaningful, I held off on finishing Around the World in 80 Days until yesterday so the book would match my own “80 days” journey. It was a great read, and yes, a book report is coming soon.
But the absolute best part of yesterday? A visit from my mom.
We got to spend from 9 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. If you’ve ever tried to have a real conversation in 15-minute bursts (the prison phone limit), you’ll understand how much it meant to have hours of uninterrupted time. My mom is incredibly smart and hilarious, and we share similar political and ideological views—something I can’t say about most people here. I won’t go off on a political tangent, but man, it felt good to talk to someone like-minded again.
So, what’s a prison camp visit like?
It’s not like the movies—you know, talking through glass with a phone. It’s actually more like something out of Arrested Development (one of my favorite shows). First, visitors have to submit a form for approval (you can find it here). Then, when they arrive, there’s a dress code, a metal detector, ID check, and only credit cards or cash allowed—no phones or electronics.
Once through all that, they enter a large room with clusters of four plastic chairs around a small knee-high table. When my mom was seated, they called my name over the loudspeaker. Everyone hears it, so you get the usual mix of congratulations and envy on your way down. I have to wear my “formal” greens—just green pants and a shirt—and after a pat-down and ID check, I’m allowed in.
And yes, I gave my mom a big hug. You get one hug at the beginning and one at the end of the visit. Each chair group is assigned to one inmate, and you can have up to five visitors at once. We sat and talked, just like we would at home on the couch. Other inmates and their visitors were around too, and sometimes we even introduce our families. But for me, the best part was the hugs—not just because I love my mom, but because I was hoping to leave a little bit of my scent on her shirt.
Why? Because of my dog, Guy.
One of the hardest parts about going to prison was not being able to explain to my dog why I was leaving. I gave him a long, emotional goodbye that day, but he couldn’t understand. I’m hoping my mom’s shirt carried enough of my scent and love for him to know I’m still out here thinking about him—and that I’ll be back.
Now let’s talk about the other great part of visitation day: the food.
I know, vending machine food doesn’t sound exciting. But when you’re inside, it’s a luxury. Even though this camp’s food is supposedly better than most, it still gets old fast. During visits, guests can buy food from vending machines set up in the room. And they’re not basic machines—there’s one for microwavable meals (with a microwave right there), one for frozen treats like ice cream, and two others for snacks, pop (or “soda” as they say here), candy, and chips.
Inmates can’t use the machines themselves, so it’s like being served by your own personal waitress—only mine was my mom. My friend Eric, who also had a visit yesterday, said it best: “I got the worst grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever seen… that tasted like the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.” Same goes for my pepperoni stromboli. I even had my first pop in 80 days—and four Reese’s cups. I was on a full-blown sugar rush until I crashed and took a nap at 5 p.m. Totally worth it.
It was a really great day, and I think my mom enjoyed herself too. She stayed at a local casino about 20 minutes away. FYI, if you’re planning a visit, you could easily make a trip out of it.
The whole experience lifted my spirits. The prison handbook and staff always stress the importance of staying connected with family and friends, and now I really see why.
It’s just too bad the policies don’t reflect that thinking. We’re limited to 300 phone minutes a month (that’s just 10 minutes a day) and only three visits per month. If they loosened those restrictions even a little, morale around here would skyrocket. I know I could’ve used more minutes last week, especially after hearing some tough news.
The Bureau of Prisons recently sent out a memo changing policy on halfway house time—cutting it to just two months for most inmates and four months for RDAP participants like me. A lot of guys had been expecting up to a year of halfway house or home confinement, which would come off their sentence. I was only expecting six months, but still—losing two of those months was a blow. Thankfully, they rescinded the memo late last week after some internal back-and-forth between Trump and union leaders.
So now, I’m back on track. I’m happy. I’m 25% done with my time—and already looking forward to my next visit.
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