Still kicking. It’s just that most of my time at the computer lately has been spent reading articles on architecture, and now on dance, and soon theatre and film.

I am making short lists of keywords for input to a web-based data system, although I won’t be able to enter them until I get access to high-speed internet service. That means renting someone else’s computer in a location that has high speed, or buying a dish and satellite service. We’ve been tossing the idea around for a while and really only need to make a commitment to it.

I am also looking for dates in Canadian history that can go onto the company calendar for 2005. Exact dates in my subject areas are not easy to find, as the information to be found in them is more by year than by exact date. But I’m making the attempt. So far, through many many hours of reading, I have found only one that is suitable.

Scott was vacuuming and fiddling with the computer this morning when I’d normally read my email, so I emptied and defrosted the deep freeze instead of following my usual routine. It was a job long overdue.

As a result of the frenzy I’m thawing some frozen corn on the cob for supper. They were left in the husks when I threw them in there in the fall and Scott tells me that wasn’t the thing to do. We’ll find out tonight, when we try it with some filleted fish I found at the bottom of the deep freeze.

My eyes are dry and tight today after a crying jag late last night after everyone else in the house was asleep. I sat up and watched the national news before I went to bed. A young Albanian woman’s story about the murder of many of her family members — she took 16 bullets herself — was featured. And the body of a nine-year-old Toronto girl has been found; she was kidnapped from her home five months ago.

I went to bed after that and could not put the senseless human suffering out of my mind. It was when I felt the unbearable longing of a mother for a child she will never see or hold again in this lifetime, that I had to leave the room so as not to wake Scott.

Bedroom door closed behind me, I sat out in the dark living room, and had a good cry, quietly, so as not to have to explain my anguish to a man who would, if I woke him, be chagrined to find me in such a state. It would be difficult to explain why I was sitting there suffering because of the suffering of others. But sometimes I do. Sometimes I can’t just focus on the moment I’m in, on my fortunate life and the present safety of my children and loved ones. Sometimes I can’t help but feel the pain of other people.