Fortune Cookie

There's an old superstition that says if you open your fortune cookie and the paper is blank, it means you're going to die.

And that would be entirely true.  You are going to die, or failing that, you're going to be the first person in the history of the world to live forever, and how likely is that?  I mean, seriously.

I don't know why I was thinking about fortune cookies, it just occured to me because, after all, I did get a blank fortune once.  It was about twenty years ago, but I do remember that the children were all quite impressed and watched me with great interest for weeks.

Apparently because they expected my death to be somewhat spectacular, and they didn't want to miss it.  They got on the school bus saying things like, "Promise you won't die before I get home!"  Not tearfully, like they might miss me if I was gone.  More like with intent interest, like I was a science project and I might go bad while they were away.

After weeks had passed and I hadn't died they got kind of tired of the whole thing and moved on to more reliable interests.  You know, they went back to making the goats faint and trying to string the baby up as a horse thief while playing Old West.

So, either my blank fortune meant I was going to die but it hasn't happened yet, or God was trying to give me a hint that I was going to have the most boring future imaginable and did I really want to go on.  Or God had already met the Sergeant and knew he was in my future and it was only a matter of time before I obstructed justice and went to prison, so why bother writing it down for the fortune cookie?

I did go to court and it turns out the judge is the nicest man you ever met.  He does not yell at all, which I was very grateful for because you know how badly that yelling thing usually ends up--it's either me and the coumadin and a boxcutter, or an emergency visit to the therapist and frankly, neither one is all that fun.

I have to go back on account of I didn't have an attorney and the judge is very nice like that, he wants you to have every chance, really.  Or possibly he got tired of listening to two hour long rambling accounts of how it all went wrong but was not really the person's fault, and a lawyer can get it said in three sentences or less.

But either way, he's a gentleman, so I don't care.

The public defender people said they would like to help me, but really I am too rich and so they can't.  They have obviously never been introduced to my $900 light bill and my husband who has that lecture on why we will never retire.

But it's good to know that on paper, at least, we are tremendously successful and would someone kindly inform the neighbors, because I am pretty sure they don't know it, yet.

So, anyway, I suspect that in the final analysis I will end up being represented by Bill the Lawyer who got his Juris Doctorate from the same place I got my clergy certification, and who probably lied about passing the bar.  Or he just didn't know that walking past the Iron Horse was not "passing the bar" in any official capacity.

I'm thinking I'll probably get the death penalty.

Of course, that will nicely do away with the need for the overdose of coumadin and the boxcutter, so it's all good, really.  Also, it will not be ALL MY FAULT and I am damned sick and tired of everything being all my fault, so I can't say as I would mind all that much.

It is some consolation to know that Emma is also in the doghouse over the "all my fault" thing, as it seems her parents get right irate if she flips the walker with Ada in it, thus resulting in a concussion.  Also, locking the new kitty in the microwave, climbing in the dryer to hide and using one's Suzy Homemaker broom to sweep the cat box.

I believe it is only a matter of time before she offends the sensibilities of some Deputy and ends up in the cell next to mine.  And I look forward to it, because confining Emma is likely to be the last thing they ever do before building a new prison and getting all the inmates back from the Grand Caymans.

Ah well, there is hope for me and Em, yet.  I have great confidence in things coming right in the end,

The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine, you know.  Be advised, power of any kind incurs a comensurate amount of responsibility.  If one were to forget that, and not exercise power judiciously, well.

I would not like to be the one explaining THAT to the Judge.  And I don't mean the one sitting in the courtroom, either.  As Harry Potter said to Lord Voldemort, try for some remorse, it's your only hope.