It's late in the morning; I’m forcing myself to sleep later than usual. Dec. 25th is not what I had expected. Our 5th mandatory x14-day lockdown of the year. Our release date from quarantine is Dec. 28th---x4-days from now.
    This means no family visits, no phone calls, no e-mails, no special meal, no pictures, no chapel services for prisoners--nil. Zero. Nada.
    Later on my top bunk, covered with a burlap looking blanket, on my right side, my head resting on a home-made pillow made of old textile fabric, I’m staring around my time-still prison cell.
    The small plastic mirror, rusty sink and toilet, dim florescent lights, with off-white painted walls, remind me of an underground dungeon. The blue door with paint chipping away, revealing prior coats, reminds me of how long I've been here. The thick sprinkler pipe running across the ceiling, reminds me of those who have committed suicide in the past. Finding a different path to freedom, I presume.
    Two weeks ago, nostalgia was getting to me. I was telling Ms. Saltz (my attorney), over the phone, how exhaustively demoralized I felt; That pending appeal will presumably crash-and-burn like every other thing I have filed in the Courts.
    Then my mood turned sour when we went on a quarantine lockdown.
I’m now spending one more Christmas under the weight of hopelessness and depressing feelings of homesickness; Particularly after receiving news from my Mon that my Dad has Covid-19. I wish I could call them on the phone. I wish I could hear his voice. The only thing I can do is pray for God to have Mercy over him, allowing him to live so I can see him once again.
    Others in here are also feeling the dismal effects of the quarantine. Late at night, I hear moans and cries of desperation, emanating from the cells next to mine. When day comes, no one mentions them. Everyone understands that even the hardest man can break-and-cry, longing for his loved-ones, during the Christmas holidays.
    Day by day, when the unit prison guards make their daily rounds, some try to make small talk/w them, as they pass-out our food trays, our medication, our mail, and linens, through the door slots. Everyone in here desires a social connection during the holidays. Our cell-mates can only tell us so many stories, before they begin to sound monotonous. X4-more days and this x14-day quarantine will be over. I've been reading, and listening to the news as much as possible (just as my cell-mate has). I've also been exercising myself to exhaustion so I can sleep more...to compensate for when I’m awake, constantly thinking…just thinking. Thoughts laden with punishing regrets, drowning me with the fact that I’m unable to undo, the consequential choices of my past.
    When I’m asleep, I dream of a new life. A wife and children. Something I never really had. Prison squashed it. My ex-wife was x3-months pregnant, and my son was barely x3yrs old--back in 1998--when I lost my freedom. Now she's re-married and living a new life. My sons are in their mid-20's and barely know their father.
    Yet, I must remain hopeful. No matter how bad this gets, I need to have faith and not fall-down into a well of depression. Been there and known that!
    Even the super-spiritual can fall-into pieces in this environment during the Holiday Season. I've seen it happen before.
    Imagine yourself locked in an 8x12 caged cell, x24hrs-a-day, with no place to go--with the exception of being allowed to take a x10-minute shower, x3-times a week. What they call "food", is usually made-up of pasta or rice, or bologna or mystery meat,… shoved through a small horizontal opening of the cell door (some call it a bean hole, others a pan-hole). Your only means connecting to the outside world is through snail-mail.
    Two visual outlets in the cell are there to comfort you. One is a small rectangular metal-mesh window on the cell door allowing you to see the other x51, x2-men cells under quarantine....and the other, is a small metal bar window on the far side of the back wall, next to one's metal bunk, letting you see fences over fences topped with coiled razor-sharp wire, separated by steel gates upon steel gates guarding one's surroundings. Just a day ago, if things couldn't get any worse for us, the blower-motor for the HVAC went-out, causing us to cry instead of sing "oh, the weather outside is frightful but inside it's just as cold…and since we have no place to go--they might as well put me in a hole". Instead of "let-it-snow, let-it-snow", rather, it's "let-us-know, let-us-know, how miserable it is inside!".
    Your only available options to cope with the quarantine are to listen to the radio, read books, and/or write letters. Even this proves challenging. The prison only allows x5-books per inmate, a limited amount of batteries, and your letters can take-up to x4-days to leave the institution.
    Don't get me wrong, I try to remain as optimistic as I can. I keep my complaints to a minimum. I trust that God is with us in our darkest moments.
    As I said before, I must remain hopeful, period. Not only bc I know the Presence of God is with me here, but also bc of all my supporters, who encourage me to stay positive and hopeful, let me know that my freedom is near--so is the Hope and Prayer.
    This is what keeps me going. This is what puts a smile on my face. This is what alters my mood. This is what keeps me strong in the most bleak and dark times in prison…during lockdown on Christmas Day, 2020.
    Edwin Rubis is serving x40-years for a non-violent marijuana offense.
#FreeEdwinRubis.