Well, I showed up at the courthouse on Thursday only to find out the sentencing was delayed and when we finally did get in to see the judge one of the defendants decided to reevaluate his guilty plea. In Plain English, it means that the criminals who broke into my home are also hell bent on wasting my time as well.

Luckily the judge didn’t care too much for it either, and it was written all over his face, so he declared that when it was time to reschedule their sentencing (if, and when, the moronic burglar decides that a jury trial would not be in his best interest considering I saw his face only moments before he and his friends, who will testify against him, broke into my home) it will be rescheduled at our convenience (mine and the neighbour’s who was also burglarized).

When I think back to that day, it just seems like a comedy of errors to me. Each of the two defendants had separate lawyers. One of them was ready to have himself sentenced; he even had his lawyer come and talk to us about what they would ask from the judge. Then, there was the other lawyer, who was put into a sticky situation by the other defendant’s family. Apparently, someone in the family was a lawyer and decided—that morning—to cause a stir.

I was sitting on the waiting bench next to them so I could overhear everything they were saying. Mind you, I tried not to listen, but it was difficult. All I can say is, I’m not a lawyer, but even I know what they were thinking was idiotic. Then when that poor lawyer had to go in front of the judge and say, Sorry, but we need to postpone again (I’m paraphrasing), the other lawyer made sure to get in there and mention his client had nothing to do with it and was ready to take his lumps.

Long story less long, I’ll be going back to court some time in Sept.

To make this whole situation more unnerving, my daddy yelled at me. He told me I shouldn’t be going to court over any of this. I told him that they were mandatory subpoenas and that I would get in trouble for not going. He told me to pay the fine. What it came down to was my daddy being worried about my conscience. Although I did nothing wrong—they were the ones to break into my home—I would still feel guilty when the judge sentences them to prison. And I’ll admit that with the first one, I did feel somewhat guilty.

I mean, a year and a half of this kid’s life is going to be spent in a place where men will most likely be treating him like their bitch, and that is due in part to what I said to the judge although I only spoke the truth. It’s like these kids didn’t just take stuff from me, they put me in the worst possible position when it came to their own lives.

Still, I eventually got over it. After talking to multiple people, each telling me that while I can mourn for them and their families, I shouldn’t feel guilty because they made stupid choices. I told this to my daddy, but he wasn’t buying it. So, now my daddy’s mad at me, too. All because three boys decided to break into my home and steal my stuff over a year ago.