One word says it all. At roughly 3:30 p.m. yesterday we were dismissed from jury service after coming to a verdict of not guilty on all six counts in the case of Quincy Atwell. If you feel like paying a subscription fee, you can read the original news article about the attack here and this morning’s piece on the court case here.

I have not read either article and I have no plans to ever do so. Our verdict mostly came from the fact that we all had reasonable doubt as to his guilt based on lack of evidence to prove that it was not self-defense. My personal feelings are just that and, at least right now, I have no plans to share them in this space.

I will say that yesterday was utterly torturous. The deliberation itself went pretty smoothly, but trying to concentrate and listen through a massive migraine was not my idea of fun. I admitted quite honestly to the other jurors that if it had been work, I’d have called in or gone home. None of us knew what would have happened if I had done that or how or if it would have affected the case.1 Not to mention, this far in I wanted to see it through to the end.

Anyway, I’m still feeling plenty lousy this morning so all the pent up snark will have to wait. In fact, I’m crawling right back into bed after I hit “Publish” on this post.

  1. We had been told we could call in if there was an emergency or something, but that was before we had entered deliberation and the alternates had not yet been sent home.

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