A Hoe Is a Garden Tool

Sad and Tired, Tired and Sad

In this episode, The Felonist moves through three weeksdefined by two words that echo again and again in her Albion journals: sad and tired. The emotional landscape is anything but quiet — it’s a storm of homesickness, spiritual doubt, poison ivy, sleepless nights, longing for her daughter, and the kind of heartache that spills into tears and curses hurled atGod. Yet even in the chaos, she keeps writing, keeps searching, and keeps trying to make meaning out of the ache. Sad and Tired, Tired and Sad captures the relentless internal war that prison ignites — a battle fought with tears, longing, fury, and the stubborn, involuntary resilience that keeps a person alive even when she can’t see a reason to be.

A Hoe Is a Garden Tool

As the Felonist settles deeper into life at Albion, she wrestles with the meaning of love — how to practice it, protect it, and survive it inside a women’s prison. Between reading Thomas Merton and Corinthians, homesickness, and the grind of her prison programming, she searches for the “bright line” between surrender and self‑preservation. And in the middle of all that soul‑work, one offhand comment in the unit bathroom — “I think I whacked my nose with a hoe” — sparks a tense, funny misunderstanding that reminds her just how quickly language can turn volatile behind bars.

Uncrushed and Unintimidated

The Felonist continues her early days at Albion, still riding the shockwave of the “cork popping” healing that left her clearer, lighter, and unexpectedly connected to something bigger than herself. As she moves through Phase One, she’s writing nonstop, walking miles, praying deeply, and rediscovering her humor and problem‑solving instincts. Between beginning her work assignments, deep hunger, long talks with other women, and the grounding presence of the writings of Katharine Graham and Rita Mae Brown, she starts to feel something she hasn’t felt in nearly a year: uncrushed, unintimidated, and unexpectedly hopeful.

Pop Goes the Cork: Arrival at Albion

The Felonist arrives at Albion Correctional Facility after a brutal transport ride and steps into a women’s prison that’s calmer than Bedford but still a cage. As she tries to stay connected to Grace and navigate the unit’s dynamics, a prison healing service delivers a shocking moment—a literal pop, “like a cork,” that shifts everything. The Albion Diaries begin with fear, clarity, and an unexpected release.

Only Crazy People Eat Shit

In this episode I learn what “crazy” really means in prison. You’re not crazy if you’re playing with your shit, painting with it, acting out with it, using it to get attention or get moved. That’s coping. But if you’re eating it? That’s a different story altogether. Check the crazy box. As I’m trying to understand the mental health landscape inside a women’s prison, I start to see that Bedford isn’t the end of anything — it’s the beginning of the real work and the real sentence. I’m writing through synchronicities, shouting matches with God, the collapse of my marriage, the tiny law library victories, the fear I’ve carried since childhood, and the slow, steady shift from despair to purpose. I’m learning the difference between self‑effort and self‑punishment, between fear and faith, between surviving and actually fighting for my life. This isn’t a conclusion. It’s the moment I finally understand I’m just getting started. And then — poof — I’m gone.