I am a lucky girl

On to jury duty, Day 2. My interest level in this endeavor is waning in direct opposite proportion to the likelihood that I'll be on a jury. Which is looking quite certain at this point, since I've made it into the box. Where I have been diligently knitting my sock. I can't seem to keep track of the whole every other row decrease thing, so I've had to rip out a few rows here and there. I hope the judge appreciates that. I'm conflicted about the jury gig, as I guess most people are—with the exception of the entitlement clique, that means you, Mr. continuously texting the office jerk—like your input is somehow more necessary than the cardiac specialist politely listening in the back row, who are deliberately antagonistic to the court in order to get released. I don't really want to do it, it is inconvenient; it is the priveledge of living in a democracy. Bleh. All signs point to my making the final cut because I have been fortunate enough to have had a life untrammeled by crime or violence to cloud my objectivity. Not that it should really matter. I had no idea that: A. Violent crime was so common, or B. So many victims of same choose not to report it for one reason or another. Voire dire turns out to be a nonstop litany of horribleness people perpetrate on one another under the radar. I may be naive, but the thing about statistics is that you have to stand up and be counted if you want them to be accurate, even if you are one. So much for the greater good. I wonder if these people get vaccinated. I like my lucky bubble, and I want to stay in it. I would be happy to have other people in it with me. Thank you.