August ’05 was the happiest, yet the 2nd most stressful time of my life. The people who saw my sunburned face, wild hair and chapped lips every time they turned on their TV never saw me tossing and turning in my tent or trailer on a nightly basis totally stressed out about the Rovian smear campaign and worrying about what lies were going to be told about me, or what attack was coming next. It seemed like everyone with an agenda from “Israel is the culprit” to “9-11 was an inside job” flocked to Crawford to have a moment in the blazing hot sun with me. Soldiers came from Ft. Hood to secretly be in solidarity with me and parents of live and dead soldiers also came: Mostly to stand in solidarity with me, but some to try and take Camp Casey over to mold it to their own agendas.
Er, aren’t their agendas her agenda? Mother Sheehan’s been batting her eyes at the Truth movement for months, and had some mighty interesting things to say about Israel’s role in her son’s death once upon a time. She later denied having made those remarks; Slate looked into the matter and found her explanation wanting.
Awfully cute of her pretending to be indignant at being used as a propaganda tool, though.