In no way am I glorifying prison. I am simply highlighting the unexpected humor I have found to sustain my sanity and endure this time. Growing up nervous and scared of anything and everything afforded me the opportunity to use my silliness to cope with those hindering feelings.

In prison, I have found amusement in the bugs and rodents, in particular the ants and mice that reside on my unit and at my workplace. Ants take their role as social insects too literally. I thought ants were seasonal, a summertime bug. They have changed my thought pattern completely. These institutional critters thrive 365 days a year without hibernation and with an every-ant-for-themselves mentality. Ants are dominant at my place of employment. These aquatic characters teach backstroke lessons in the coffee at 7:00 a.m. and synchronized swimming lessons at noon. Swim lessons are not their only forte—they also pose as artificial fruit. There were muffins on top of the fridge, and one staff member told her coworker that they were blueberry muffins. I, on the other hand, knew better and offered up my sound advice, informing her they were ants. Upon an up-close and personal inspection of said "blueberry" muffins, I was right.

I have come to accept these crafty social insects as my peers. They rule my workspace, along with Jerriatric, the undetected mouse who is a juice connoisseur. Jerriatric is the juice master, but I had to find out the hard way. I used to place juice on the worktable. The next day I would return to work and notice the juice had a small hole on top of the lid and smelled spicy. This hole posed a mystery, but did not stop my coworker and I from drinking the juice. Unbeknownst to us, the mouse was biting the container. Then, one day, mice droppings were discovered on the table near the juice, and that solved the mysterious hole dilemma: we may very well have mice germs! Jerri's juicery was short-lived. His little theatrics have come to a halt. No one knows his whereabouts. Maybe he made parole? Or, perhaps, his status dropped and was drafted? Whatever the case may be, his siblings, cousins, nieces, and nephews are making up for his absence by terrorizing my housing unit.

The mice are the highlight of the unit for me, although I am terrified of them. They are athletic, adventurous, bold, and come with department identification numbers, also known as DINs. These mice find ways to make me scream with fright and laugh about it later. They partake in shift change with a daily routine obstacle course of antics, which consists of conducting cell searches, going on rounds, verifying the count, and standing or sitting for the count.

My precautionary steps for a mice sighting are to scream, drop, and run—in that order. Scream, drop whatever is in my hand, and run to my room as if I had Jackie Joyner-Kersee speed, agility, and legs. Some of my peers and I were choice selections to experience these multitalented orphans staking claim to our property: one mouse took the liberty to christen a sweater with yellowish watery liquid, one stood in the middle of the floor to watch the morning news on TV, and another used a blanket as a maternity ward. One of my many mice encounters involved a scholarly mouse that enjoyed my books in my room. I had a bag of hood books under my bed, and a mouse decided to find interest in them, leaving poop as evidence in the bag. I removed the hood books and replaced them with Danielle Steel books. The mouse never came back. I guess romance novels were not that lil’ fella’s cup of tea. Thank you, Danielle Steel, for being a mouse repellant.

I am grateful that God instilled in me a jovial disposition, which has been my anchor within these walls. I enjoy casting a rainbow and unicorn effect on this barbed wire setting with laughter to help somewhat ease the pain of being away from my loved ones. These bugs and rodents that I once thought were worthless have brought value to each day. Thanks to these comedic creatures, I am allowed to turn their daily shenanigans into something to joke and laugh about with the staff and my peers.

AL-Shariyfa Rahil Robinson is a mother of four adult children and five grandchildren. While incarcerated, she incorporates writing as a form of rehabilitation. AL-Shariyfa believes laughter is a part of healing and shares a chuckle with anyone she encounters. You can contact her through JPay, AL-Shariyfa Robinson 17G0044, or by mail; address: Bedford Hills Correctional Facility PO Box 1000 Bedford Hills, N.Y 10507

Vera believes in using our platforms to elevate diverse voices and opinions, including those of people currently and formerly incarcerated. Other than Vera employees, contributors speak for themselves. Vera has not independently verified the statements made in this post.