I had some explaining to do the other day. My husband found out I'm writing about Blago. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you wasting your time like this?" I can't help it. It's not being wasted. Last night we went to dinner. I had worked all weekend in the cold and rain. It was nice to sit in a comfy booth. The waitress said something that really perked me up. "Do you want your potatoes baked, mashed, or fried?" I've always taken that question for granted. Now I realize it's pretty special to have that choice. Who said my time's being wasted?
It's been one month since Blagojevich walked through those prison doors. Time to touch up my grey. It's not going to be a pain in the neck for me. I can't help but think it's about that time for Blago as well. Watching the grey grow in isn't going to be about vanity for him. Each centimeter of grey hair is a measure of the length of time he's been away from home.
His attorney has said that Blago is having a hard time sleeping. He has three cell mates. I don't think it's the cards he dealt himself that keeps him up, or borrowing a quote from Charlie Brown, "Sometimes I lie awake at night and ask, where have I gone wrong?" There's a toilet in the room. How would you be able to sleep if three other guys were using the toilet that sits a few feet from your head? I've been grateful each night as I pull the covers over myself.
Have you ever had a, "Big Mac Attack?" I haven't. I've had a, "Whopper With Cheese Attack." It happens every few months. All of a sudden, I NEED one. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I'm not obese. I just love food. When I was pregnant I had an intense craving for a Sizzler Steakhouse baked potato. Go figure. One night, I literally stopped for a baked potato on my way to a dinner party. What does Blago do when the attack hits? This is the question I ask myself on his first month in prison. There's a crazy show called, "Mob Wives." One of the characters is the niece of a mob guy who spent time in jail. She told a story that actually haunts me. The guy she was visiting had a craving for pork chops cooked with Italian spices. She went to see him in prison with pork chops hidden under her breasts. Cooked, with Italian spices.
No offense, but I don't think Blago's wife could pull that off. I'm just grateful that I'm able to indulge when the attack hits me.
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