Solving

Today's lesson is in solving problems. Feel free to take notes. Also, feel free to write in with suggestions. I have several problems. Not major problems, nothing that has the power of death over life, or any serious, long-term repercussions. However, they remain problems, my problems which does tend to make me sit up and take notice. I can ignore other people's problems all day long and twice on Sundays, but when they become MY problems then suddenly becomes painfully serious. The nature of these problems is not really important. What is important, and what it has taken me a while to realize (and when I did there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth), is that I have created all of my own problems. At first this was a little sad, then after careful consideration it became funny (I mean life gives you enough trouble without you creating your own difficulties), and finally I developed a sense of pride. Pride that goofy as I am, I can still create something. I felt a bit like Frankenstein must have when that monster of his first twitched into existence. It is alive! Fantastic! Much rejoicing! Time to dance around the maypole, and celebrate life. Then reality reared its ugly little head, and brought the entire party to a screeching halt. Two things dawned upon me, first that I was an idiot for celebrating my new found problems, and secondly that I had absolutely no clue how to solve any one of them. Damn and blast! How could this have happened? I suppose identifying the problem/admitting the problem is the first step, and that was pretty easy. I figured them out rather quickly, but as I tossed and turned through my night of now quite interrupted sleep, it slowly sank in that a solution would not be forthcoming anytime soon. This was and is quite distressing. I know the problems, I have identified the problems, and yet they remain problems. This type of absurdity would make Camus proud. To think that I could have created these problems,and then be unable to at least attempt to solve them boggles the imagination. I like to think that I am a rather clever fellow, and yet here I am as lost as last year's Easter eggs. This must be why people invented worry beads.

Clearly I need a Hobby

So very bored at my job dealing with crime, I decided to look up other people's crime problems.

http://www.thelocal.se/13508/20080805/

Lovely story of some lunatic in Sweden killing the two (very young) children of her ex-lover. Fantastic stuff. Glad to see that there are nut jobs everywhere. Clearly, this woman is batshit crazy. However, as I was reading through the articles about this crime, I was appalled to find when the woman took the stand the following exchange took place.

When prosecutor Johan Fahlander then took over questioning, he immediately inquired about the letter Schürrer sent to Hellberg explaining that she had given birth to his child and given it up for adoption.Specifically, he asked her when the child was born, to which Schürrer responded, “Why do you want to know that? That’s not an important detail, in my opinion.”Although Fahlander pressed her, Schürrer continued to avoid the question, as is her right under the rules of Swedish criminal proceedings.

This little interplay floored me. I am a prosecutor (not a particularly zealous or good one but still) this is the stuff I get paid the big bucks to do. Though I have yet to have the pleasure of questioning a murder suspect on the stand. That this woman can get on the stand and REFUSE to answer the prosecutor's question boggled the imagination. Then to say that is not an "important detail". The prosecutors I know (myself included) would have went ape shit on this woman. You will answer the fucking question, you will answer it right fucking now, and you will do it with a song in your heart, and a smile on your face. Telling me what is an important detail is a clear attempt at suicide. If I ever do go around the twist and climb a watchtower I am going to do it in Sweden. You can get on the stand, and decide what to answer. Fantastic. You can pretty much tell the prosecutor to "piss off." How liberating would that be? I clearly could not do my job in Sweden, the first time someone told me this from the stand I would go bonkers, and have to be restrained. I figure my career there would last about 22 seconds. Then again as far as I can tell the whole damn country probably only needs about 5 prosecutors. The shock and outrage this trial has generated is rather large. These kinds of things (the murders that is) happen about twice a week in the lovely, and peaceful city in which I live.