1 Boring Old Man

I really don’t like it, but I can see the merits. It’s a tiny piece, Libby’s indictment, but it’s the only piece that was showing for a very long time. Now, there are other pieces. But Libby is still the biggest piece that’s made it into a courtroom. For practical reasons, I want a conviction and am on pins and needles about it, flitting aimlessly from thing to thing, unable to really land anywhere. It’s become a beautiful day here. The dogs are coming in and out, delighted to have an open door for a change. The breeze is playing the wind chimes softy on the porch, and there’s a brand new 22" wide screen monitor hooked up yesterday for the graphics projects that are next on the agenda. Yet I wander around the house, frequently finding myself running the news and blogs to see if there’s anything worth looking at [on my very wide screen]. It feels like it did when my wife was in the overdue days of pregnancy. We knew it was going to happen – chronic pregnancy just wasn’t in my Medical Books. I guess chronic jury deliberations aren’t in the Law Books either.

But the waiting period has its merits. Back in 2004, in the time between the polls closing and the networks calling the election, I realized that this one really mattered to me – unlike any other in my time as a political consciousness – maybe 4o years. And after Bush won, I slid into a funk that surprised me. I don’t do funks usually, and this one was not something I could shake off. I wasn’t really depressed. I was chronically incredulous – new diagnostic term I made up finding nothing from my career as a psychoanalyst that fit how I felt.

What I’ve realized in this waiting period [this morning to right now], is that this little piece matters a lot more to me than I want to admit too. Oh, the practical part matters for real. It opens the doors to more investigation, more oversight, etc. But a few minutes ago, I figured out why the conclusions of this jury matter so much to me specifically. They are twelve American citizens handed a key to one of the biggest locked doors in the history of this country. They aren’t the Inspector General of the Defense Department like with Feith; they aren’t Congressmen or Staffers like with the SSCI Report; they aren’t Justice Department Officials like with the Investigation; they’re just people.

I know they weren’t charged to say what I want them to say. They were simply asked to rule on Libby’s guilt in a very limited dimension – what he said to the Grand Jury. But I’m going to hear it like I hear it. They’re people off the street, and the implications of what they say are as big as the Magna Carta or the Declaration of Independence, because this time it will be said by "ordinary people." Maybe that’s absurd, but that’s how it feels in this head of mine.

So that’s why I’m feeling like Tennessee Williams’ Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.