The Defense rests. Those three words, long-awaited by many, were spoken on Thursday by Defense attorney Jose Baez, representing Casey Anthony in the Orlando, Florida courtroom of Judge Belvin Perry. Anthony, accused of murdering her two year old daughter, Caylee, did not take the stand. Probably a wise move considering the web of lies and betrayal she has spun since her daughter went missing three years ago.

In the pre-trial days and during the times that Casey was released on bond and then taken back into custody, she allegedly stole money from her mother, ran up charges on her mom’s credit card, forged checks, committed petty theft, and got a Bella Vita tattoo which means “Beautiful Life” applied to her shoulder while her daughter was still missing. Are those the logical actions of a distraught mother who doesn’t know where her child is?

Although I have been following this case consistently, there are too many twists, turns, and too much overstuffed baggage for me to begin to try to write a reliable timeline. I will leave that to someone who will be paid big bucks to do it.

If you have not had the opportunity to follow the trial on the court TV channels, try to imagine Judge Perry’s courtroom as a Wimbledon tennis court with a net strung between the Defense team and the Prosecution team. Then, picture the Anthony trial as a theoretical blame game tennis match with the judge serving as referee while the jury and court spectators turn their heads from side-to-side, and watch the ball being swatted back and forth over the theoretical net into the courts of Defense attorney Baez and Prosecutor Jeff Ashland.

Here are some of the details that have been revealed during the ongoing “matches.” Baez serves the ball into the opponent’s court with his opening statement. He maintains that Caylee Anthony was not murdered as originally reported. Instead she accidentally drowned in the family swimming pool. He further theorizes that Casey’s failure to report the matter to police was the result of her alleged sexual abuse in her youth by her father, George Anthony and brother Lee. Swat! The ball soars across the net.

Ashford alleges that Casey Anthony used chloroform to render Caylee unconscious, so that her daughter could sleep for a while to allow Casey freedom to hang-out and have some party time. She may have used too much chloroform which could have resulted in the little girl’s death. Damage done, Casey then nonchalantly duct tapes her daughter’s head and puts a little heart-shaped sticker over the girl’s mouth before discarding of her like a bag of trash. Swat! The ball goes back across the net.

Baez sends it sailing at high speed back to Ashford with another hypothesis of what ifs. And Ashford smacks the ball back with details of Casey’s lies about Zanny the nanny, who according to Casey took Caylee. Lab test results of air samples and other forensic evidence taken from Casey Anthony’s car are entered into evidence; allegedly indicating that a decomposing human body had been inside the trunk. Set!

More revelations about Casey leading police through the hallway at Universal Studios, under the pretense of taking them to her fictitious office at the job that she did not have. Disclosure that cadaver dogs pick up a scent in the Anthony backyard. Swat!

The meter reader discovers Caylee’s body and pokes a stick in her skull, thereby contaminating the scene before police arrive. Slamming the ball — back at ya!

From server to receiver. Back and forth they volley. Evidence from the computer in the Anthony home reveals numerous extensive searches on the home computer for chloroform. Swat! Cindy Anthony, Casey’s mother said that she was not at work, but was at home on the day of the chloroform search and that she did the search. Was that a mother’s desperate attempt to save her daughter?  Swat the ball back across the court!

Two of Cindy’s supervisor’s later testify that that Cindy was at work on the day she claimed to have done the search on the home computer, not at home that day as she said.  Swat!

At some point during the trial an acquaintance of Casey’s testifies that Casey said to her, “Oh, my god. I’m such a good liar.”

Then, a whizzing ball zips across the net revealing a tale about an alleged affair between Casey’s father and search volunteer, Krystal Holloway. Duck! Didn’t see that coming.

Between shedding alligator tears on cue in the presence of the jury and directing stone-faced glares to her parents as they wept on the stand, Casey put on a performance worthy of “The Bad Seed” Academy Award.

And then, yesterday a 28-year-old court spectator, some might call him a court jester, Matthew Barlett was held in contempt and levied a $623 fine plus six days in jail after he was caught flipping a birdie at the Prosecutor.

As the session continues today, day 33, Casey Anthony trial junkies are anxiously awaiting the rebuttal case. The devil will surely be in additional details.

A side bar:  Lifetime Movie Network denies paying $2 million for movie rights to the Casey Anthony story.

Do you keep a journal?  Have you ever gone back and read some of what you wrote years ago and then asked yourself, “Did I write that?” Were you are amazed that you ranted angrily about something that made you cuss someone out on paper or did you write in detail about a romantic daydream in which you fantasized being with that special someone like Billie Dee Williams or Paul Newman? Yummy!

Many U.S. Presidents kept diaries. So do some authors. Lewis Carroll, who penned Alice in Wonderland kept a diary. Even Oprah Winfrey does it. She said, “Keeping a journal will absolutely change your life in ways you’ve never imagined.”

Over the decades, I have kept a journal now and then. Currently, I am in the now stage. I actually started my very first diary when I was about 13 or 14. It didn’t have any juicy stuff in it. In fact, as I think about it now, my diary was totally unexciting. Like many boomers of limited means who reached adulthood in the late 1960s or early 70s, I didn’t have anything very exciting to write about. School activities. A boy I had a crush on. Fights with my siblings. My adolescent years were boring. I’m talking Leave It To Beaver and The Partridge Family boring. There is absolutely no comparison to what I imagine is in the diaries of some of today’s teenagers. OMG! Blush. Blush. Is boiling water hot? Does a fire ant sting? Can you say triple X-rated teens gone wild? You get the point.  

But back to mine. One day my mother discovered my diary in its poorly selected hiding place under my mattress (I’m sure today’s teenagers are much more creative) and apparently it was no trouble for her to open the flimsy lock on it. Afterward, at the first opportunity, she let me know that she had read it by vocally lashing me with some of my own words and private thoughts. I felt as violated as I imagine a rape victim must feel, so I tore every single page of that little book into tiny pieces and then threw it in the trash. I promised myself I would never keep another diary. That promise didn’t last long.

Some years later, when I was grown and on my own, I started journaling again. In my mid-twenties I had page-upon-page of my experiences scripted in a couple of three ring binders. Life had gotten more exciting. Then, when I was thirty-something, I destroyed those, too. Second dumb move. If I ever destroy another one of my journals I hope someone will put me in bio-checkmate. I doubt if anyone can remember every aspect of their own personal history without recording it. So, why did I destroy my diaries a second time? That’s a post for another day.