It’s 64 degrees outside. No clouds. Perfect hiking and running weather. Most weather is though. I spotted an empty seat by the only window in the secured room. Everyone else got on their iWidgets or flipped through magazines from 2010 that discussed pertinent topics like celebrity weddings and gourmet meatball recipes. I sat down next to the window and starred out at the mountains for twenty minutes while waiting to go into the courtroom. How do people remain sane in solitary confinement or jail cells without windows? Maybe they don’t. I can’t even handle an hour. I’ve noticed over the past few years that, when given the option I will without hesitation choose the window seat. I’ve tried to keep my elbows down when rushing through crowds to get there. If I can’t be out in It, I want to at least look out at It. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m okay with being inside from 10pm to 7am is because I’m mostly unconscious during that time and thus unaware of all the exciting things I’m missing out of doors.
The sight of the mountains gives me the itch. To move. To breathe deep. To sweat. During jury duty you can’t scratch the itch though. You have to breathe in the stale, controlled and conditioned air of justice and civic duty. I’m somewhat excited actually, to see what case I might have a hand in deciding. Until we walk into the court room and there’s no windows. I’m never going to be a lawyer, I say to myself. Though I’ve been told there’s more to being a lawyer than being in a courtroom, I’d rather not take the chance.
Despite my interest in the case I’m the first juror dismissed (maybe they knew about the itch?). My slight disappointment is eased once I step outside and realize there is time for at least a two-hour run in the hills before heading back to work. Maybe 2 and a half if I hurry.