The farm

Nearly bought le farm today. Well, maybe nearly is a bit of an exaggeration. I had a few feet to spare. But it was disconcerting nonetheless. Had a meeting down in Mayaro today, a 2 hour drive to the south east coast. Always glad to get out of the office, I was pretty excited by the idea. Took my laptop with the fantasy of writing on the beach for an hour or two after the meeting. Wouldn't that have been neat.

Well, I did park on the beach around one, and had lunch there, but it's a very lonely coast, and as the saying goes, in space no-one can hear you scream. I angled my mirrors to let me watch all approaches behind me, just in case anybody had the idea of mugging the stupid single woman. Nobody did, but I scarpered as soon as lunch was over. Ah, well. Here are a few pics just to prove I'm not lying.

Anyhow, that experience wasn't exactly farm-worthy. What was farm-worthy took place along a strip of road called the Valencia stretch. It's a few miles of smooth straight road the brings out the Stiriling Moss in dumb people. I was driving mildly along when the car in front of me went into a tailspin and skated off the road in a cloud of dust. I thought maybe he'd blown a tyre. Then I realized he'd done it deliberately, to avoid the onslaught of a mini-bus (we call 'em maxi-taxis) whose dumbass driver thought it would be a capital idea to overtake 5 or 6 other maxi taxis at the same time.

I pulled and skated, he pulled and skated in the opposite direction, almost going up on two wheels, he had to brake so fast.

Nope, t'weren't a nice experience. Nosiree.

Jackass.

re the pix: I really ought to smile more, eh?

Be safe

Crime might change us in big ways, but it changes us in small ways, too. I noticed something the other day while I was watching a local talk show. At the end of the programme, the host congenially wished the audience, "Have a crime-free day."

I did a double take. Whatever happened to the standard, if a little time-worn, "Have a nice day?" Then I started listening. I was at the Post Office today. The post lady wished the lady in front of me farewell with, "Be safe."

I opened my ears, and I realise it's all around. We no longer say just "Bye" or "See you," or "Have a pleasant day." People are saying, "Be careful." "Be safe." "Hope you have a quiet night." We're all so aware of the situation, that even our hopes for each other have changed.

Sad, really.

I hate sick days

I hate sick days. I really do. They're so useless, mainly because when I'm home sick, I really am home sick, due to this annoying work ethic that I had bred into me that it's unacceptable to fake a sickie just for the hell of it. Thanks a bunch, mother.

It's 4 p.m. and this is the first time I've been vertical, other than to get something to eat or to go pee. Laryngitis, brought on by a wetting in the rain I got on Saturday while taking my kids to parade at the Kiddies carnival. (You can read more about that fine fiasco here.)

So here I am, home alone, kids where they belong, Rawle where he belongs, all the time in the world. I should be writing. Walking the dog. Watching baby daddy drama on Maury. But I'm too sick to do any of the above. Barely well enough to be coherent.

Damn sick days.

Madness

This was never supposed to be a blog about crime. It was supposed to be a cute and funny and even slightly rambling blog about whatever catches my fancy. And yet I find myself writing about little else. In the past few days I've been a little afraid of coming onto this site. Partly because I was worried about what I'd write, and partly because what I wanted to write about was so painful that I was afraid to confront it.

So much happens so fast we can't even digest it any more. Two 70 year olds (distant relatives of Rawle's) beaten to death in a house robbery, found with their 6- and 8-month old granddaughters slipping and sliding in their blood. yesteday, a 1 year old and a 3 year old shot accidentally by police in their own yard during a raid. And the political band plays on.

My birthday was 2 days ago. My grandmother, who is 92, called me with her birthday wish: "I can only hope that you live long enough to see your children grow up. That's all I have for you." Then her voice broke. Is this what we've come to? That we no longer can wish each other health, wealth, and happiness, but our only hope is to survive these terrible times?

I need to find some way to stop this spiral of horror and pain that I go through each time something like this happens. I know that I'm not alone; half the country is numb. We hide behind our burglar proofing and pray it won't be us next. We don't let our children play outdoors anymore. But what worries me is my mental state. I'm afraid to read the papers, and when I do, I wind up almost in tears. My response is not that uncommon, but is it normal? Or am I quietly going mad? Is this the beginning of a slide into depression? And if it is, would I be capable of recognising it?