I can't watch the war. I can't. I'm a big chicken, I admit it. Ever since J was born, I can't watch even fictional upsetting stuff, so this . . . is out of the question. I keep hearing people say, "No, I didn't see it, I was watching the war." Yeah, I'm ever so grateful that my co-workers aren't talking about "Survivor" and "Joe Millionaire" any more, but, well.

No, I don't know what I think about the war. Well, okay, what I think now is that 1) it doesn't matter what I think and 2) I just want it to end.

J has a big scratch on his cheek. Some kid in his class really did a number on him, and he is totally unfazed. I was really concerned when I saw it, but J's dad went a bit, um, wild with rage. "Tomorrow when I pick you up, show me the kid who did this." Ulp. That kid may need to change schools.

Can I just ask, is anyone reading? I just wonder who you are, if you're there.

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