I think it's a hate crime. He thinks it isn't. He didn't like my response to his comments. It upset me. Maybe I can't handle opposition or debate on my own journal. Maybe I want to blather on about my emotional reactions and opinions and never be challenged. I just don't like it when people come by and stir my bubbling pot. If I am feeling impassioned enough about something to write about it, isn't it obvious that if you come on by and poke me I might just boil over a bit?
I do consider this to be my own diary. The fact that I make it public and open it up to the comments of registered Live Journal users has been the riskiest part of all of this. Most of the comments I get are loving and supportive and make my life a happier garden to play in. I'm just frustrated because I just can't find the right words to describe my reaction to this murder, to the fact that I believe the additional four years a hate charge sentence would carry, is appropriate. I believe this brutal murder was a hate motivated crime.
Plus I'm feeling sick, as usual, sick, sick, sick. My darling Beau-son has the flu and while I am feeling so sorry for him, I am also waiting for it to be my turn, or for the symptoms I am having to worsen. I am so tired of being ill. Nothing seems to improve my immune system and help me fight off whatever it is that has been hanging around and sapping my strength and energy for months, not sunlight, sleep, vegetables, fruit, water, vitamins, antibiotics, nothing.
Just a little while ago I heard someone at my side gate. No one should be coming in to my yard, not at this late hour. I feel so vulnerable here at night, in this big house with my child and my pets but without a partner to protect me. I had gotten accustomed to my ex locking up everything at night and always being there to protect me. We grew up together so I never had to make my home safe for the night, he just always did it. He locked the doors and turned out the lights. I stood behind him as we tiptoed out into the darkness to check things out. And even though it has been many years since he left, it has only been a year since I gave up having live-in help.
So I heard the latch at the gate and then I head some loud thumps by my front door and thought, "Oh shit, here it is, that moment you've been waiting for, the killer coming in the door, the killer coming up the stairs," so I jumped out of my chair and, semi-panicked, looked around the room for something to defend myself with. I'm sure you can imagine how ridiculous I looked tiptoeing down my stairs wielding an extra large can of Evian Facial Mist, only to discover that Malibu, my neighbor's cat, had come over the fence to snack on some dry food that I had left out for our neighborhood raccoon?
This may shock some of you but I actually do own a few guns. A few guns??? Yep. My Daddy was a gun nut. He liked to kill sweet little forest animals until my Mother and I shamed him out of it. When he died I inherited them. The problem with guns, obviously, is that they don't go well with children and pets. And I don't know how to make them readily available in a safe way. I don't know if I'd even want to. But being our block captain means I get to read the crime reports that are sent to me and it was more than a little unsettling when I read about a man with a gun assaulting a couple who live one block away from me. All in all a very grouchy evening. I'm going to go snuggle with my cats and my scary late night am radio. We're talking about chem or contrails tonight.