Jazz has pulled my coat off the rack and is sleeping on it in the front hallway. When the literature says that Eskies shed in the spring, it doesn't mention the three weeks or so when every room in the house is knee deep in clumps of fuzzy white wool. Every spring, I wear out a vacuum and have to buy a new one. She keeps scratching herself and pulling off clots of fur, then dropping them and moving to another spot. "Here's a clean spot..." Unfortunately, the carpet is a sort of red rusty color, which shows the fur to great advantage. I keep taking her on the deck and brushing her, and getting enough fur to make a few more dogs, but it doesn't seem to help. Someone bred these dogs with sheep, I swear. Still, she looks so cute with tufts hanging off her. Like a llama, but smaller.

When people speak badly of you, you should respond in this way: Keep a steady heart and don't reply with harsh words. Practice letting go of resentment and accepting that the other's hostility is the spur to your understanding. Be kind, adopt a generous standpoint, treat your enemy as a friend, and suffuse all your world with affectionate thoughts, far-reaching and widespread, limitless and free from hate. In this state you should try to remain.

-Dhammapada

hmmm. not asking for much, are they?

I'm studying prosecutorial discretion. Some folks have spent a lot of time writing almost unreadable articles on the subject. In an effort to stay awake, I went to read it in the bath. Ran the risk of drowning. I still have far too much work to do... I'm currently chasing "unendorsed warrants" and whether or not you can sentence someone via video monitor. For the record, you can't. Not in BC, anyway.

More today about the events of yesterday. Not nice... sounds like a very nasty party.

Dear kate,
Here is your horoscope
for Tuesday, May 20:

Patience is your strong suit. Take notes as your experiment plays out along its logical or surprising lines. Who knew that you could have this much fun without breaking any laws?

Well, I went to court. and so did this gentleman. He wasn't given bail, surprise surprise. The courtroom was full of kids, 17 or 18 yrs old, most of them, and every now and then one of them would break into tears. Also there were the mother of the victim, who was dry-eyed but very tired looking, and the mother of the accused, who sat in the same row as me... I took tons of notes, lots of other things went on too, and I'm hoping to get some sense out of what I wrote down. A woman got a week in jail for shoplifting 6.99 worth of cosmetics. Another woman had a bench warrant issued for her, but it turned out that she had just gotten the wrong courtroom, and when she did show up, her lawyer said, "She's here now, so we can throw out the warrant." In some ways it was more formal than I thought it would be, there were a lot of requests to adjourn things to later dates, but in some ways it was less formal. The accused people sat in among all the grieving kids, and the judge was actually very sweet to some of them. One guy with a 'failure to provide a sample of breath' charge was also up on possession of marijuana, and the judge said to him, at one point, quite mildly, "Four ounces is rather a lot of marijuana..." Another guy with an impaired charge told the judge he was taking welding at the college, and the judge said, as if they'd just been introduced socially, "Welding is a good career choice. I wish you the best in that."

Another young man was up on armed robbery charges (stole cigarettes and phone cards by brandishing a syringe full of blood at the cashier) and when the judge was sentencing him, he said, "Many thousands of people go out every day to their minimum wage jobs standing behind counters in stores, and we have a duty to protect them from people who come with guns or syringes..." Guy's lawyer wanted a conditional sentence, but he got jail. An interesting morning, all in all.

Another holiday. Another day at the mall. I'm working on a difficult paper, one which seems to have no backbone and threatens to drop into little pieces on the floor if I look at it wrong. I've got three weeks to finish it yet, but I've also got another one due in a week and a half, and a book review and a midterm. I'm crabby today. Tomorrow morning I'm supposed to go and observe at court, so I can write about remand. Might be interesting, I guess we'll see...

so, it's really not true about the monkeys.

woohoo. I manned a Police Week booth at the mall for my evening. As a change from, you know, manning a lottery booth at the mall all day. A few people commented on the fact that I'm "everywhere". Well, maybe, but not all at once. I think I will probably end up manning the same booth at a Safety fair on Thursday. We had a police car in the middle of the mall, and a fair number of people came over to look at it, climb inside, ask to take it home, were we selling raffle tickets, etc. All in good fun.

I want time to go a little slower, right now. I've got a lot of essays to write, and school is winding down for the kids and there's all these other demands on my time... And I'm tired.

Vernon was a lot of fun. A bit tiring, though, as I slept somewhat badly on the bus on the way out and then on Saturday night ended up staying up all night again because I was talking to some fascinating people (and drinking, which I almost never do...) My head is still reeling from all the information I took in, I'm trying to sort it out and decide where to file some of it. At 4 am Sunday morning we (James, Nancy and I) were discussing with two cops about how being in dangerous situations changed their view of life and death. Then someone pointed out the time, and James said to me, "aren't you supposed to be leaving at 6?" so we made some coffee and then the sun came up and I went home with a nice lady who had offered to drive me home so I didn't have to take the bus home. I spent a lot of time with three women who are RCMP from here and down south on the Island, and they all have a terrific sense of humor.

well, I'm off to Vernon until Sunday. Everyone else left this morning but I'm taking the greyhound. Which means that I leave here at 8:30 tonight and get to Vernon at 8:30 tomorrow morning... hope I don't have to sit next to any loons.

better chance of being struck by lightning And what he doesn't mention is that you roll the dice each time, so according to one of my customers who is a math teacher, you don't increase your odds very much by buying a whole bunch of tickets...

And the sun continues to shine.

Slow day today... The sun is shining, and the inhabitants of this town are all mowing their lawns into meekly manicured submission. So I got lots of reading done at work. Unfortunately, when it's slow, I also have to deal with the people who think it's funny to come with their tickets and say "You look like you need something to do." Umhm. Thanks.

It's Kirsten's birthday. She's twelve. She put on her orange dress, and we went to the school dance. Rachel and I danced a bit, and I sat with Paula and listened to her stories of how she's going to make a big success of her life and then rub her ex's face in it. Kirsten and her friends danced the entire time. Three boys and eight girls, from her group of friends. There was an inordinate (to my way of thinking) amount of slow dances, near the end. Kirsten and her friends danced these in couples, some boy girl couples, some girl girl couples, at arms length regardless of the sex. At one point, she was at arms length with Ted, whose father leaned over my shoulder and said, "Kirsten and Ted are burning up the dance floor". I looked, and they were just standing there, Ted with his hands on Kirsten's hips and Kirsten with her hands on Ted's shoulders. Not moving. On the way home, one of the boys, David, was walking with us, and Kirsten and her girlfriends were complaining about the lack of boys. I said, "But it's good for the boys," and David said, with this evil little grin, "Why do you think I requested so many slow songs?" M, who of course hates to dance, went to the movies.

This morning, a (presumably) teenage boy on the Habbo Hotel website married Rachel, who told him that she was sixteen. (she's seven) It's a funny site, you get to have a little animated lego-type person and navigate rooms and chat to people. Rachel took me there this evening, we made me a little lego girl, called her frog17 and set her loose. my frog-girl ended up taking a bubblebath with a very nice young man, who kindly offered to answer all her questions. Rachel, who was prompting me, kept saying "ask him to marry you, you need a boyfriend". Little rat.

If you had a choice of what to do on your Good Friday, did you go to the mall? If you did, for the record, you are part of the problem.

At about four o'clock, just when I was heartily wishing all the Easter shoppers to a similar fate as our dear departed Jesus, a man came to buy a lottery ticket, and he said to me, "I don't know why the malls are open today." In a tone of righteousness, he added "It's a sign of the times, you know."

What I wanted to say to him, was: The malls are open because you lot are here. If you didn't come, next year they'd be closed.

Yesterday the cold returned yet again. Apparently it needs to create some more phlegm before it goes into hiding for the summer.

Just for the record, the previous entry was not an attempt at sympathy-gaining. (Well, maybe a tiny bit) I was merely commenting on the strangeness of want. And the undeniable fact that the people I want to be friends with generally don't want anything to do with me... I am, as Cas has said of herself, very bad at small talk. I have been riding back and forth on the ferry for the last few months, an hour and a half each way into Vancouver, and not having a car to hide in, I have found myself stuck on the passenger decks, inside because it's raining, mostly, and sitting with random passengers. Luckily only a few of them have wanted to talk to me, but they do talk at great length among themselves. And I've noticed, by and large, that they talk about two things. 1. The things that they and their friends have bought, or are going to buy, or want to buy. A lot of this discussion revolves around cars and home decorating, and there's an awful lot of taking things back to stores because it wasn't just perfect, and relating the conversations of salesfolk who are unlucky enough to serve them. 2. Other people. In excruciating detail, judging every aspect of their friends and acquaintances' personal lives. "I just can't believe she would, can you?"

The seats on the ferries are either in long lines, or in little groups of two-facing-two, like on a train, and I prefer the groups of four because they're next to the windows. So, since foot passengers get on first, I usually manage to snag a window seat. Invariably, a group of four other passengers will arrive up from the car deck and attempt to dislodge me. They do this by sitting in all the other three seats and talking loudly about how sad it is that Norma or Marvin can't sit with them. Norma or Marvin will sit in the seat directly behind me, with some other poor solo, and they will all talk over my head. The first time this happened, I got up and left, but then I ended up sitting right next to the women's washroom, and getting my feet stepped on by all and sundry.

But the price of staying put is that I am forced to either try to read over their chatter, or stare pointedly out the window for the whole trip. Many of these little groups have seemed to want to impress me, for some reason, and I can feel them glancing at me while they talk of their recent purchases and the fact that they know the owner of the Canucks. (oh boy, oh boy) On Friday, on the way back, I had a group of four do this to me, three women and a man, and the one who sat next to me seemed fascinated by the fact that I was reading the Criminal Code, and I could tell she wanted to ask me why. Every now and then they will give in to their curiosity and say "Are you in school or something?" And I'll say, yes, and go back to trying to read.

They always seem genuinely bemused that I am willing to just sit there, and not either join in on their conversation or move. I wish, in a way, that I had kept a better record, because I'm sure there's some sort of psychological principle at work here. And I think it has something to do with why I don't have any friends......

I want too many things I can't have. I am referring to nothing material, I'm bad at material, I never shop except for food and twice yearly at a thrift store for clothes (if they don't fit, too bad. One of these days those folks who've started that wardrobe makeover thing Kirsten watches will show up at the door, and I'll feed them to the dogs).

What I want is more nebulous. Unfortunately, some of the things I want are more along the lines of wanting to want them. I'd like to have friends, for example, but although I have masses of acquaintances (retail does that) I am very bad at actual friends. I forget to call them, ever; I promise to write and then don't, or just write apologizing for not having written. I never go to people's houses. I guess the wanting is more the wanting to be the kind of person who would cherish friendships, nurture them and so on. People expect things, from friendships, they expect time and energy, and they are disappointed when I don't deliver. Strangely, sometimes I will want to be friends with someone and they will show me, in different little ways, that I'm not ever destined to be their friend. Someone whose name I won't mention told me a few years ago that I was her friend, for a few weeks, and I believed her. Then it came around to her birthday, and she said, "You have to come out with us, we're going dancing." I love dancing. The plan was that she was going to call me that evening and tell me where everyone was going. I washed my hair, and went through my wardrobe looking for something that didn't look as thrift-shoppy as most of my clothing. She, naturally, didn't call.

On Monday, she said to me, in the course of casual conversation, that she and her Friends had had a wonderful time on her birthday, they went out to dinner and then they went dancing. Just her and Her Girlfriends. Ok. point taken. She never called me a friend again, or suggested we go anywhere.

oh, tests are such fun. one final down, one to go.

Today was the Canadian Criminal Justice System. I swear, they did not discuss Jury Nullification in class. And, dammit, I guessed wrong. I said it was when someone got sick. Multiple choice sucks sometimes. There were, and I wasn't the only one to think so, too many "all of the above" answers. I know I got six questions wrong, and a few of them were because I started to feel that NO-ONE would make a multiple choice test with that many "all of the above"s because it'd be too easy, so I started second-guessing my answers. I thought I had five wrong on the midterm, and I turned out to have six wrong. So in this case, I should have seven wrong. Yup, I still obsess about my marks. You think I'd be old enough to know that nobody cares, but it doesn't seem to matter. Give me a subject to learn, and I'll be right there looking for the way to get the A's. Who am I trying to impress??? It's not like anyone but me has ever even looked at my university grades from last time around.

studying. ask me a question at the moment and you're more likely to hear the risk assessment factors considered at a parole hearing than the answer you were looking for... what do you want for dinner, again? adding to my confusion is my right arm, which is acting strangely again. The stupid superseven is up to 25 million dollars and a corresponding number of people want to buy it, making my work days an endless round of "I don't know how to play the superseven, can you explain?" and then when I do, their eyes glaze over and they say, "just give me five dollars worth". and, the support staff at SFU are on strike. nothing's ever as simple as it looks on the boxtop.