Civic duty

I'm on jury duty. I was selected for a criminal case that's expected to last through the end of the week. And the judge ordered us not to talk about it. ("But... I'm a writer!") I'll try to keep my mouth shut until it's over. Of course, it may not even be very interesting. You see, there's this guy who... never mind.


Daily trips to downtown Seattle. Hours nine to four with 90 minutes for lunch. Many places to eat and shop. A break from proofreading (my job). Lots of time to read during waiting periods. The judge seems nice.


A break from my job's weekly pay. An introvert (me) in a very cramped jury room with twelve other people, one of whom has already exclaimed, "Looks like we're a big happy family for the coming week! Better get to know each other!" (I gazed intently down at the February 2002 O Magazine I'd picked up from the table.)

I have such a sore place in my back from gazing up at the soaring birds on Saturday at Discovery Park that I got a 15-minute massage today. It felt good immediately afterward, but I'm not sure it's had any longer-term effect. Somehow I'll survive.

After 4:00, I left the courthouse and walked up Fourth Avenue. Oops - right into an anti-U.S. demonstration. I hope the local TV camera didn't catch me in that crowd. I stopped in five stores today looking for a flag pin for my shoulder bag and nobody had them. It's bugging me that I'm going to have to walk around downtown for the next several days where everybody's proudly showing their antiwar and idiotic "Impeach Bush" buttons and placards, and I don't have a flag to display. It seems pretty weird to actually have trouble finding one in stores, and I didn't get the impression that it's because they're sold out thanks to high demand.

What I'd really like is a fabric iron-on patch, the embroidered kind with gold stitching around the edges, for the front flap of my bag. Patches like that were a hot item when I was in grade school.