Diaries I Read:
Saturday night B and I had a pretty late night at my company Christmas party (which, by the way, was awesome! I love my company!) On Sunday morning, I was enjoying a very sound sleep, warm and snug in my bed, peacefully dreaming and reveling in the fact that I had not set the alarm clock the night before.
Then, at 6:30 am, the phone rang. I missed the first three rings, then it rang a fourth time and the person must have hung up when the answering machine picked up. So I nestled back into my pillow.
Ring. Riiiiiiing. RIIIIIING. RIIIIIIIIIIIING!
It rang again! This time, I heard that someone had left a message, but I couldn�t tell who it was or what they said. So I figured that if someone was going to call us twice at 6:30 on a Sunday morning AND leave a message, it had to be important, and I started getting out of bed to go check the answering machine.
Just as I got up, the office phone started ringing. That really freaked me out since only our family (and B�s customers and colleagues, obviously, but they wouldn�t be calling on Sunday) know that number. At that point, I was getting pretty scared that something was really wrong.
I picked up the phone and said (in a voice whose croakiness surprised even me), �Hello?�
Voice: �Hi, is B there?� (It sounds like B�s mom.)
Me: �Yeah. Is this S?�
Voice: �Yes (cheerfully).�
Me: �Is everything OK?�
Voice: �Yes (with a hint of a giggle!).�
M: �Okay. Hold on a sec.�
I go back to the bedroom and tell B that his mom is on the phone. �Everything�s okay,� I add.
It�s 6:30 in the freaking morning! Does she realize that? Has she forgotten that there�s a two-hour time difference? Has she forgotten that it�s SUNDAY?! Is she out of her mind?!
I go to the bathroom and come out to find that B has turned on the TV. �You�re not going to believe this,� he says. �They captured what�s-his-face.�
�Who?� I ask.
�Saddam.�
Now, to be fair, B usually IS up by 7:00 at the very latest, even on weekends, and his mom was expecting him to be awake. And he does live and die by the FOX news channel. But come on, 6:30 in the morning? Please.
Luckily, I fell back asleep quite easily and slept for another two hours, and maybe, just maybe, I slept a teensy bit better knowing that Saddam was in custody. Hmmph!
Anyway, moving on from my rude Sunday morning awakening, here�s the thing. They�ve GOTTA stop showing those images of Saddam on TV. You know, the ones where he�s all dirty and unshaven and bedraggled and sad-looking? The ones where they�re checking his teeth and picking through his hair like some poor mangy abandoned dog?
Because I�m starting to feel sorry for him.
I�m really NOT sorry for him. I�m glad they caught his murderous butt. I�m glad he won�t be able to torture people and rape women and tear families apart. I�m glad he won�t be able to steal from his people and erect statues of himself all over the country and build palace after gaudy palace while his people are starving on the streets.
They need to start showing the footage of his men kicking people in the neck and shooting people in the face and women crying over their dead, bloody sons� bodies and the mass graves full of men, women, and children.
I don�t want to feel sorry for him. But there�s something in me that does. There�s something in me that hurts to see a man broken like that.
What�s up with that?
The same thing happens when I see other criminals on TV. Like that sniper�s accomplice. You know, the 17 (or something)-year-old kid? I see him on TV, looking all sad and puppy-dog-eyed, and I feel bad. I want to believe he didn�t do it. I don�t want to hear that they�re going to give him the death penalty.
Or like the footage of that stubby little old man who allegedly kidnapped that college student from North Dakota? I look at him and I think, �He�s someone�s grandpa. He�s just an old man. He can�t be that evil� and I feel bad seeing him in the orange jumpsuit and shackles.
I have to stop myself and remind myself of what they�ve done. I have to try to put myself in the shoes of their victims, of their victims� families. Would I feel bad for Lee Malvo if it had been my husband or mother or father or brother he�d shot? Would I feel sorry for a little old man if he�d kidnapped and raped me?
You know who I don�t feel sorry for when I see his mug shot and pictures of him in court facing trial? Scott Peterson. That guy did it, and to see his cocky grin just infuriates me. They�d better never let that guy out.
So anyway, they got Saddam. It�s kind of hard to believe. He�s like the modern-day Hitler. It just doesn�t seem real. All of this stuff going on doesn�t seem real. And it so is.
Now I just wish they�d catch Osama.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004