Letter #4: Notes From The Inside

Dear reader, as I write this letter to you, it is 01/19/2026. I have been in the custody of the Bureau of Prisons for thirty one days, one full month. I figure that as a milestone worthy of penning another letter to you.

The time has simultaneously crawled at a snail's pace and raced by quicker than I can understand. From day to day, time moves unbearably slowly. The time crawls by, I feel as if I'm walking through quicksand, every step an enormous effort.

A minute feels like an hour, an hour feels like a day. But at the same time, it feels as if just yesterday I was surrendering myself to FPC Morgantown.

The one month milestone has been able to creep on me surprisingly quickly while I was concerned with how slow time has been passing. I was sentenced by Judge Dusty Coate excuse me, Judge Denise Coate for a period of sixty months of incarceration.

One month down, 50 nine more to go.

Prison is a totally alien environment. Everything is seemingly backward and designed to frustrate you. As many prisoners have said to me, BOP stands for backward on purpose. And they really aren't wrong.

Here is a quick example: Because The U. S. Taxpayer is now responsible for my health and well-being, I have been placed on the waiting list for a dental check, cleaning and any basic work that might be needed Being

a logical person,

I concluded concluded that the wait would not be too long considering the population of FBC Morgantown is low (around 160 inmates) when well over 800 can be held here. It wouldn't take too long for my name to reach the top of the list.

I was then informed that the waiting list included all inmates within the entire BOP at every facility. So, even though our dentist here only has 160 people to see, I must wait for someone in Oklahoma who is higher than me on the list to receive treatment before I can be seen.

Backwards on purpose. Nothing works logically or as expected.

On my twenty eighth day here, I received my A and O which is mostly a box checking operation as well as All.

On my twenty eighth day here, I received my A and O which is mostly a box checking operation as we all have been oriented by the other inmates in the twenty eight days we have been here. In any case, we were told that being here is not a punishment.

The punishment is the sentence the judge hands down. The time away from family. Being here at the federal prison is just our home for a short time.

They tell you this with a straight face while counting you five times a day, forcing you to work for slave wages and restricting the number of people you can communicate with per month. Not a punishment.

There are vaguely motivational posters placed around the inside of the housing unit. Most are so saccharine they would make me queasy. I could do without the HR of prison, thank you very much.

They are all clearly printed from the Internet without permission as they are all pixelated to hell. And there is one that is my favorite. I get a good laugh whenever I walk by it or think about it. There is a vignette of an iron barred cell door with the words, You are only incarcerated by the walls you build yourself.

What a hilarious thing to put in a prison. I would love to imagine a CO or administrator putting that up because they found it funny. But I know it was more likely someone who put it up because they found it inspiring and insightful, which I suppose makes it even funnier.

Over the month

I have been here I have somewhat succeeded in finding a routine, something many people who have been to prison have told me is essential, and sticking to it. I wake up every day at 4AM. This suits me greatly because I am the only one awake at that time and getting any sort of alone time in prison is surprisingly difficult,

at least while you are in general population. If you are in solitary confinement, it is very easy. Upon waking up, I make myself what I have taken to calling a prison latte, which is a mug of hot milk made from powdered milk with two heaping scoops of Folgers and in

Upon waking up, I make myself what I have taken to calling a prison latte, which is a mug of hot milk made from powdered milk with two heaping scoops of Folgers instant coffee added in. I collect my pen, notebook, and my prison latte and find a well lit area.

Where that area ends up being tends to change by the day. There is no rhyme or reason as to which overhead lights the COs turn on throughout the week.

Usually, I end up in the common room, or the computer room, whichever one has lights on, or enough light bleeding in from the hallway lights. I sit and write for the next hour. I write these letters to you, a daily journal, or responses to any mail I have received.

I return to my bunk to await the five a. M. Count. At twelve a. M, three a. M, five a. M, four p. M, and nine p. M, and ten a. M. On weekdays, we must be at our bunks as two guards come by our beds and count us to make sure we are all still there.

I await the count by beginning my full body stretching routine. I learnt this routine many years ago during martial arts training, which focuses on stretching every major muscle group from neck to toe. It has been an essential part of my day since I wake up so sore and stiff from the paper thin mattress on the sheet metal bunk.

Stretching makes me feel somewhat normal.

The 5AM count usually takes place around 05:20. Two guards walk briskly by, their chains and keys jingling with their gait as they presumably count you by shining a bright flashlight in your face. To be fair, only one particular CO does that. The others seem to be a bit more courteous and mindful that people are still trying to sleep.

While stretching, I listen to my AMFM radio. This radio is my prized possession. It connects me to the outside world unlike anything else in here. At 5AM, I tune to the local public radio station ninety point five, which plays BBC World Service news and documentaries.

I look forward to these daily programs greatly. At six a. M, the telephone and computers turn on. I check my prison email first. The computers aren't like normal computers. Imagine instead a 1990s PC terminal with extremely limited functionality and designed specifically to be as frustrating as possible.

It costs $06 a minute to read, reply, and compose emails, so I try to be as quick as possible without reading and responding to any emails I receive from my approved contacts. Right after checking email, I call my wife Lauren.

There are eight payphone style telephones in the housing unit, but only two of them work before 5PM. There is no real reason for this restriction. BOP backwards on purpose.

The telephone line is usually quite bad. You often have to yell to be heard, and a computerized woman interrupts you often to announce a reminder that it is indeed a call from a federal prison, as if we weren't aware.

Despite the frustrations of the phone systems, I live for that 6AM call. You only are allowed

Despite the frustrations of the phone system, I live for that 6AM call. You only are allowed five ten minutes per month, and the most you can spend on the phone in one session is fifteen minutes.

You then need to wait thirty minutes before you can use the phone again. However, five ten minutes means you can only make a single fifteen minute phone call per day and be left with three fifteen minute phone calls extra for the month.

So I call Lauren once per day for fifteen minutes, and place one fifteen minute call to my mother, my father, and my grandmother per month. Rationing the phone minutes is stressful. Making sure I have enough minutes left to make the calls I want to make is something I check and double check every week.

But not to worry, being there is not a punishment. Rationing my connection to the outside world must be one of those walls I built in my mind.

After my fifteen minute call concludes, I change into athletic clothing and head towards the recreation building, which usually opens around 06:30 to seven a. M. Most days. I have made a friend in here, and we play handball together most mornings for about an hour. It is good exercise and a fun game to play.

A nice way to kill an hour. If we don't play handball, I try to spend some time doing cardio or strength training in the gym, depending on the day.

By 8AM, I am back in the housing unit getting ready to make breakfast. They usually make oatfiel. Oatfiel. The fuck.

By 8AM, I am back in the housing unit getting ready to make breakfast. I usually make oatmeal with dried fruit and honey, but sometimes I will opt for a vanilla protein shake. I purchase all these items from the commissary weekly.

I choose to make both my protein shake and my oatmeal with powdered milk instead of water for extra protein and because it tastes better and creamier than just using water. Since I no longer go to breakfast in the chow hall at six a. M, I do not have access to any milk cartons.

Instead, I buy the powdered milk and either add hot water to it for oatmeal or cold water for the vanilla shake. I prefer to cook for myself whenever I can now. By this time, I have turned off the public radio station, the BBC World Service is off air, and has been replaced by NPR,

which is so self important and out of touch that I cannot stand to listen to it. I switched to one hundred one point nine FM WVAQ, where a fun and casual drive time radio show is airing. Josh and Nikki in the morning offers a casual and funny morning show that is easy to listen to.

They play whatever the hits of the day are, which I do not recognize at all, but most of what they play is quite catchy. There is one song performed by a female singer going on and on about Ophelia.

I am not 100% certain, but I suspect it may be Taylor Swift. I enjoy the song, which I guess makes me a Swiftie? Maybe someone will write me a letter telling me who sings that.

After my breakfast at around 9AM, I like to start my job. I actually have two prison jobs, but one is only on weekdays. Fuck.

After my breakfast at around 9AM, I like to start my job. I actually have two prison jobs, but one is only on weekends. The one I do daily at 9AM is bathroom orderly. Orderly is a fancy word for a janitor.

At 9AM, I close the B Wing bathroom and begin the grueling and frankly disgusting process of cleaning up after 80 men who seemingly are incapable of cleaning up after themselves. I am provided two rags, a spray bottle of disinfectant,

a straw broom, and a musty mop. I have come up with a system that seems to be efficient and the most sanitary.

I sweep the entire bathroom and shower first, trying to get all the pubic hair and dust into piles I can sweep into the dustbin. Afterwards, I spray and wipe down the shelf and sinks using one of the allocated rags.

I wipe away any hair or soap scum left in the sinks and ensure they are spotless. I then move on to the showers, spraying the shelf, bench, and faucet handle and wiping them down. Again, I am aiming to remove the errant hairs and dust.

Sometimes, there are other things I must wipe up that is not fit to discuss in this letter, but you can use your imagination.

Once the showers are complete, I wash out the rag and move on to the urinals. I wipe the top and

sides. And most importantly, the rim. It is not very nice, but it does Once

the showers are complete, I wash out the rag and move on to the urinals. I wipe the top and

sides. And most importantly, the rim. It is not very nice, but it doesn't take too long and it is satisfying when it's done. Once the urinals are done, I move on to the toilets, spraying the bowl, the rim, the seat, the flush handle, I wipe the underside of the seat and the rim down.

I use a toilet brush to scrub inside the bowl. Finally, I take the one unused rag and first wipe down the handles of the flusher, and then the top side of each toilet seat. Once all that is complete, I mop the entire floor including the showers and each bathroom stall.

It usually takes about forty five minutes to an hour. I work up quite a sweat, but I do Man, I'm really fucking up here. It

usually takes about forty five minutes to an hour. I work up quite a sweat, but I try to do a good job, and I also use that bathroom and I prefer my bathroom to be clean.

Once finished, I take a shower. One of the only perks of the job of bathroom orderly is that I get to use the bathroom while it's freshly clean before anyone else has the opportunity to desecrate it.

By 10:30, I am done

with the shower,

and the rest of my day is free. I am still working on how to fill this part of my day into my routine. Right now, I mostly read and nap, and then read and nap some more. I hope to become more productive with my time soon.

Maybe I will take some classes which some become of

I hope to become more productive with my time soon. Maybe I will take some classes when some become available to help fill the time. I try to avoid the several TV rooms as it seems mostly filled with people who do nothing else but watch TV, and get quite territorial about the remote.

Many times, each of the TV rooms will be playing the same football game, which I have no interest in watching. So TV is not a reliable or desired way to pass the time.

I cannot believe it has been one month already. It often feels like I am stuck in a bad dream I cannot wake from, an unending nightmare that me and many others hear with mere living. The most we can do is figure out a way to make the time go by as quickly as possible, so we can get back to our families and our lives.

One month down, 59 left to go. Thank you for reading. Kyone Rodriguez You can write to Kyone at Kyone Rodriguez K E O N N E R O D R I G U E Z, eleven thousand four hundred four-five eleven,

F P C Morgantown, Federal Prison Camp, PO Box one thousand, Morgantown, West Virginia, twenty six thousand five hundred seven.

Mailing guidelines. Please note you can only send letters, no more than three pages long. No packages or other items are allowed. Books, magazines, and newspapers must be sent directly from the publisher or an online retailer like Amazon.

All letters must include a full return address and sender name to be delivered.