Earlier this evening during our weekly time at the park, there was a little altercation which apparently prompted someone to notify the Pasadena police. As it turns out, the policeman who showed up was the same one who was with me in ER that night. He apologized for ruining my sweatshirt by cutting it up. I told him I was more upset about ruining a new pair of jeans. He reassured me that he had no part of that. While we were chatting, another policeman contacted him to ask if I happened to be there because he had a question about where things stood with the court. I haven't heard anything concerning that recently.

As to the altercation, it seemed apparent not just to me but to a number of the people who come out regularly to join us that this was a consequence of pent-up emotions following the attack, and I elected to take the officer aside and explain what happened in that light. The officer was very understanding about it.

I can't help but feel like what happened remains the 500 lb. gorilla in the room that nobody wants to acknowledge. I also understand that my taking the initiative in bringing it up runs the risk of people perceiving it to be about me, even though I really don't see it that way.

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A former member of the group visited earlier tonight. She'd gotten married and moved to Chicago where her husband is going to school. It was good to get a chance to chat with both of them.

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My scar *still* itches and hurts. I wonder if that's normal.

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I made ratatouille.  I noticed that one regular didn't care for it and left it on her plate when she threw it away. I might have been offended except another person immediately went over and picked all of it off her plate in  the trash and ate it.