"Police are searching for the killer - or killers - of Bob Woolmer after revealing he was strangled in his hotel room on Sunday. During a press conference in Jamaica police confirmed Woolmer was murdered - he showed few signs of struggling with his attackers - and there were no suspects.
"The pathologist's report states that Mr Woolmer's death was due to asphyxiation as a result of manual strangulation," Karl Angell, the police spokesman, said. "In these circumstances, the matter of Mr Woolmer's death is now being treated by the Jamaica police as a case of murder." " (www.cricinfo.com)


What is one to do when one hears a disturbing news report such as this? Short of going out and buying everything (except the kitchen sink) to keep murderers and your own paranoia at bay? A famous person, strangled to death. Not 'died from a drug overdose'. Not 'disappeared off of the face of the Earth after losing control of the airplane'. Not 'shot from behind the grassy knoll'. Absolute murder. Even the word is chilling enough.

OK, I know what you're thinking. Millions of murders each year, and this is the first one that hits home. Well, that's about right. I'm 17, and as you do, turn a blind eye to the news regularly. However, since a particularly shaking event that happened two weeks ago, I've lost a great deal of what was left of my childhood innocence. So now, when I hear of a cricketer's death due to strangulation, which crosses into one of my three main passions - cricket, mathematics and computers - I am horrified.


"Bob is a large man and it would take some significant force to strangle him, but we don't know at this point how many people were in his room. There was very little evidence of a struggle." -Mark Shields, Jamaica's deputy commissioner of police


This is just my 17-year-old rant, not any new knowledge that nobody has ever thought of. ...Just thought I'd clear that.

Murderers are soulless, gutless, cowardly shells of human beings that should have never been pushed out of the womb.

The only person who knows who killed Bob Woolmer is in no state to tell us, mainly because he's now not alive. Clearly, they don't have a soul, and they don't feel guilt. I've always wondered why we don't give them ironic punishments, simply for feeling no guilt. And then some of these murderers get away with it, meaning that a human life has been utterly wasted for no reason. And to think that all this has been sitting in front of me, for the past seventeen years.

Murder.


Update: it turns out Bob Woolmer has died of natural causes and that certain authorities have fucked up. That annoys me more than if he had been murdered. I'm keeping this log here, though. It's a nice little reminder of the fragile state of the world and its people. Carry on.



Ok this is like my first of many daily logs which will probably usually be boring. But, oh well, here goes nothing.

O.K. today has been going relatively good. I woke up had my sweet bowl of maple oatmeal creamy goodness, and watched the first 15min of Pokemon. Call me weird but at 6:30 in the morning there isn't much on.

On my walk to school it was cold and it sucked that I had to hold this stupid diorama of my room. Well, I got to school and guess what. My love Angelica was back from a ten day suspension. I kinda think that she gets my drift that I'm attracted to her, but she has a boyfriend. During class there were a few close moments where our faces were just inches apart, but ERRR!!!! Close but no cigar. I long for the smell of her nighthawk black hair, the gaze of her penetrating green eyes, but I can't have them. She said that If I asked she would go out with me, but she has a boyfriend so it wouldn't be right if I did ask. *SIGHS* Anyway maybe one day something will happen... but not today.

Other than that I am predicting that my day will be pretty uneventful (I am typing this at lunch time) but I wish I could have more time together with her.

I haven’t been able to sleep for two days. It’s not uncommon. It actually happens to me a lot when I’m at school. I just look at the wall and sigh. I tell myself to stop thinking, stop thinking, don’t think of something else, just stop. Of course, these are thoughts, and they don’t help. But sometimes I can’t turn my brain off. Instead, I go to the gym and work until everything, including my brain, goes numb and tired. That’s something to talk about later.

I have been worried, because I have been waiting on my letter. It’s been a long time coming. Just one little envelope, going from Athens to Augusta. What was taking it so long? When were they going to send it? I put my family and friends off for months. When is it coming? March, I’d say wearily. March. Leave me alone. You know I’ll tell you when it comes. I don’t want to think about it, about any of it. Leave me alone.

I was not what you would call “cautiously optimistic”. I was what you would call “arrogant”. I knew, long before it got here, what my letter would say. No " We are sorry to inform you- ". No " We encourage you to try again next year, but-". Just a simple, straight forward, "Congratulations". Honestly, I wasn’t afraid. I was ready. I was so confident that I steadfastly refused to apply at rival schools. I thought briefly about applying in Scotland. I applied to Michigan State, but failed to actually go to their website to find out when my GRE scores were due, because I didn’t think it mattered. I was dropped from the application process some months ago. I had been steadfastly apathetic up until this point. But I still didn’t care. I was still in the running for one school, the school I wanted to attend anyway.

And then the dreams started. And then the sleep stopped.

The first dream, the rejection dream, opened my eyes to a stark reality. I ripped open the envelope to find that all my plans, all my hopes, all the things I always thought I was entitled to were just dust. Just dreams. And I woke up to the cold chill of utter heartbreak washing out from my chest, down my arms, making me cold and uncomfortable. It stayed with me for hours. A chill went down my spine. It occurred to me that perhaps this, the biggest of all things, wouldn’t just happen.

That’s been the reality for me. I am somewhat ashamed to admit it. I have never truly had to work hard at anything. I am just one of those people sometimes. I have had people stare at me in dismay and disgust when I divulge this information. I study for a few hours a few days before the test, and somehow I still end up with the top grade. That is not to say I ace everything. If it is not my subject, then I get out of the class with a C. There isn’t much gray area here. I do or I don’t. I don’t try. So now, swimming in a sea of people working as hard as they possibly can, how can I be sure it’s going to be enough? And how can I take it away from them when I still haven’t decided what I should do if I get in?

I didn’t sleep for two days. The tension became palpable, the threat loomed, and I got caught up. I got scared. Everyone approached me with the look in their eye. No one will ask you, out loud, if you got accepted. Most people are walking, hunched, yoked with failure and disappointment. You approach instead with the look. You are willing, with half-closed eyes and a firm jaw line, the information to just pour out of other individuals. If it does not, you cannot ask. The answer will be unpleasant for both parties.

My sister called to tell me the letter was sitting on the counter, two days after local residents had been informed. I stared at the wall all night. I thought about driving home. I tried to control myself on the drive, rushing all the way home after class. We sat in the sun and I opened it.

Dear Rai Tai,
We are pleased to offer you admission to The University of Georgia College of Veterinary Medicine…

Tuition is roughly $5,000 more a year than what I am paying currently, but I am no longer going to be receiving my steady supply of scholarships. I must prove that I am not disease-ridden. I have to initiate a rabies series. They have helpfully informed me that each of the three injections is a mere $170 at the health center. They have also tactfully suggested that this is only an offer, not a guarantee, and that I should treat my final semester (and the grades received therein) as such.

Now comes the adult part of life. I have to find a place to live, a way to do it. I can decide if I want to get my own pet, and I have to cook and clean and shop for myself. I will be so deeply in debt I don’t really want to think about it. There is still something delicious about the thought of having my loans to pay off. It is the mystery and the… adultness… of it all. I have a career path. I have a goal. I have the hardest four years of my life ahead, and for the first time ever I will have to work. Hard.

In delicate print at the bottom of the letter, it informs me that UGA is an Equal Opportunity/Affirmative Action Institution. I know this to be painfully true. Males were accepted over females. All my applicant friends lacked the necessary equipment for acceptance. I have to make this up to them. I have to prove that I can do this, that I want this. I am almost sure that it is the truth.

We had a celebratory dinner where I broke all my own rules. They brought me ice cream and sang. They announced, to the whole restaurant, that I am going to be a veterinarian.

I am going to be a doctor.

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