norah and i went to the beck concert. and it was awesome…until we came home.
to find our apartment burglarized.
the tore through my things, norah’s things, our things. they stole her foreign money and cameras (both of them). the took my crappy worthless jewelry that had no value except to me. the ring miss magdalen gave me before she died. bracelets and trinkets, from my parents and friends…and oh god…from my gram…things i can’t remember i had because i kept them put away neatly and tucked into jewelry boxes. “safe”… just the other day i was pondering getting rid of the ring that the rocktard gave me. selling it or…i don’t know, something. pretty as it is (what? i love blue, it’s my favorite color)…it lost its appeal to me, and i stopped wearing it, because i didn’t really like it anymore. and now, i don’t have to worry about such nonsense trivialities because that ring is long gone.
someone else, some stranger has it. someone i don’t know came into my house, destroyed our property they (he, she, it…whatever) sent our bathroom sink crashing down from the wall and caused a leak. they tore up the bathroom. they scattered all of my keepsake papers and ticket stubs. useless things, the kinds of things that have immeasurable value to me, personally, but would be worthless to anyone else in the world. someone was in my house, in my room, in norah’s room…they were with my kitten, my lola. they saw my things, they looked through them…they touched them…
they were in my room.
pictures of my baby brother, my friends, everything is in my room. me, basically.
i feel sick.
i just want to curl up and cry and sleep it all away but i am uncomfortable in my own bedroom. my skin crawls. i don’t know what’s in the shadows. i keep staring at the window, cursing it for failing, for so easily opening and letting some stranger into my house, my life. i feel weak and useless and god i want to puke and puke forever. but the bathroom is a disaster area. i want to crawl into a corner and hide from the world; additionally, i want to prowl through every room, menacingly waving my cattle prod and guarding the apartment & my roommate & my kitten. but i don’t want to be here.
thinking about it too much makes me feel sick.
i feel sick.
i hate this.
ironically, all of our CDs and DVDs and electronics and anything of remote “value” is still in one piece. still here, funnily enough our burglar didn’t take it. i should be grateful. or something. but i’m not. i’m pretty pissed off and scared and generally in shock. or something. why did they leave the dvds but take our cotton ball container? why did they take norah’s collection of near-worthless pesos and my few sparkly baubles but leave the gamecube? why did they pick our apartment?
fucking WHY damnit!?!
fuck.
I’m so sorry. This happened to a friend of mine- she couldn’t go back to the apartment afterwards. Just going back is something big.
Fucking thief; fucking incompetent criminal bastard.