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2001-07-15 | 1:31 a.m.

I think this entry is going to be a series of unrelated statements.

First I want to take a moment to acknowledge the tranquility of being home alone with Jasper.

Next I want to say that for a person who rarely gets out of the house, I have a hell of a lot going on.

DSL was out all morning so naturally I thought of 4,318 things I wanted to write in my diary.

When I finally did get online, instead of writing down all my thoughts, I ended up reading up on the diarist cam girl who attempted suicide while on cam.

Decided she sounds like a real handful.

Decided that the break-up note was pretty darn nice as these things go, not that she is likely to notice for many years, though of course it is always in poor taste to break up via e-mail.

Was reminded of the day my ex, Brian, called me from South America to break up after eight years together, while my Dad and stepmother were visiting, and when I asked him if we could put off the discussion until a later time when I might have a little privacy, he bleated, "This is the last time I'm ever calling you!"

Fucking useless coward. He was afraid of me.

It took me years to get over him, and I was a train wreck, but I never thought of killing myself.

Stayed up late last night watching Pay It Forward then got up early to help my sister with an errand that turned out to be a dud, so my mind was furry for the first half of the day and I eventually succumbed to a deep and soulful drool-on-the-pillow nap.

Seems like whenever Duff goes away, the wind picks up and everything starts banging around, which makes me nervous.

Continuing my Helen Hunt Sappy Chick Flick Film Festival, tonight I watched What Women Want.

Remember, it's research.

Took advantage of the downtime to write a letter to an old French friend whom I adore and have neglected horribly.

Stephen called today and we talked about A.I., since he's the one who asked me to go see it in the first place. Turns out he is puzzled by his own response, which was to cry uncontrollably through the first third of the movie. I guess we all have our triggers. He admitted that as a child, he cried watching Pinocchio because he identified emotionally with the idea of not being a "real boy."

Also talked to Bambi, who wants us to go to the county fair with her tomorrow. She needs someone else to come because it's too hard to take all those kids by herself. So I really ought to go to bed soon.

Talked to Frank who said he was disturbed to hear that the Leo-the-dog killer guy got three years and Curtis Dean Anderson got (what was it?) 251 years. He said he thinks people do not seriously consider what it means to put someone in jail. He is still stinging from his own night of incarceration and subsequent state torment. But while I agreed on principle that sentencing guidelines are too random, I argued that these two don't deserve anyone's sympathy. They were both violent criminals with a history of similar behavior. I understand what he's saying. If a first-time murderer can get out in seven years with good behavior, it seems like a kidnap and sexual assault should get you not more than 15 or 20 years max. But like I always say, child sex molesters are different. They are a special case. They don't rehabilitate, ever. So either they go to prison forever or they go somewhere else forever but they should not come home to roost in my town.

So we agreed to disagree.

I wish I had thought to remind him that once upon a time in this country, swearing in public was a capital offense.

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