Sitting here in the tiny living room of our small rented townhome, my daughter is doing her homework on her laptop and I write the account of my illegal voting trial on my desktop; it appears as though we have both nearly completed the long journey we have endured alone but together.
Since the fateful afternoon of 26 July 2007 which saw me being arrested for being in the wrong place and I cannot say, the wrong time because I had phoned 911 myself to get the cops there. However, I hadn’t given a thought to the ex lying to the police as she lied to everybody else.
She was believed over me, well she was given the time to talk I think in part because of her petite size and her spigot turn on like, tears. I will not go into any sort of detail on the matter because that would just be a rehashing in my mind and I have definitely moved on and am ready to begin the next leg of my interrupted journey. I only wanted to express to you the reader, that it has been five years, not of jail, but probation, which to me, was like a jail sentence because some of my freedoms had been taken.
One of those freedoms was my voting privilege and that was what I spent this past year (since being served papers in August of 2011) trying to shed light on my reason for voting …I did not intentionally break the law.
One of the Washington County prosecutors’ compared what I did (vote illegally) to murder because he said, “The law had been broken in both instances.” Huh, was this guy crazy? Allow me to share briefly, my mistake:
I told my social worker over the phone, “I am tired of this whole ridiculous mess! It’s as if they are digging and snooping just trying to find something, anything when they should be looking at the ex. I mean she was the one who stole my identity and ruined my name all over the world, (I now realize that it makes no difference because I’ll never be a world traveler) sabotaged (unknowingly) her daughter’s computer and mine purposefully. I crossed her threshold without being invited in ergo the burglary charge. A felony charge that began the grief.
What I would like to do is to admit that I voted; ahh, but the reason for doing so was because of my Traumatic Brain Injury. Things I’d been told and and the poor thought processing.”
When I received that letter from Washington County Corrections saying, “Your special conditions of probation have been completed.” I assumed that my probation had ended also. But apparently I was lied to again by another of their errant legal system. (The first was Luke Stellpflug public defender in the initial case that spawned all legal troubles), The second culprit was the probation officer I was assigned to – Randy J. Kopesky, MBA/MMA the program manager for “Low Risk Unit” (LRU), now car salesman. He told me that if I did nothing else wrong and fulfilled all requirements early that I could get off in one fourth the time if the attorney would write a letter testifying to my diligence. But if the attorney would not write the letter, he (Randy), could get me off with half the time, I was looking at two and a half years probation tops and that was from January 2008.
Let’s visit what I did on the morning of November 2nd and see if there is a reason for doggedly pursuing me in such a manner… I walked in the office of my daughter’s school and there was much talk about voting, then when I left, “Make sure you vote today!” Turning the radio on in the car, “Polls have been open for about an hour now but of course the votes won’t be tallied until the booths close tonight; so be sure to get out and vote today!” As I drove from my daughter’s school I had to listen to words like that and so just before turning to go home I made an unwise split-second decision. I did not turn to go home but drove directly to the voting place (St. John’s school or St. John’s Church, I cannot recall.) I voted and though I was shown a little card before voting I asked, “The card is just wanting to know if my address is correct and stuff, right?”
“Yes” she replied.
I told the lady my picks and she filled the tiny circles in for me because of the lack of dexterity I was not able to do it myself. I was given an “I voted” sticker and showed it to my daughter when I picked her up from school. She was proud of me and I gave her the, “I voted” sticker.
And there you have it. I did not yell at anyone nor touch anyone. I could not fill out my own voting card because of my lack of dexterity. Oh, and I did not murder anybody or even attempt to harm another. I voted because of all the hype filling my head and because of mental processing difficulty resulting from the traumatic brain injury.
Mid January all will be forgiven and forgotten.