Ain't That Some Shit

I just really don't know anymore.

Arrived back from my trip today to discover my house had been burgled.(There's a word you don't get to use everyday. Thank god.)

They took everything they could fit through the window. My old computer. My new tv. All the clothes in the closet, but left the hangers. My video camera. My DVDs. The pair of shoes I was going to wear to Tink's wedding.

The fuckers even stole the cheapo quilt right off my futon.

Most impressively of all, they stole the shower head. That's right--the fucking shower head. I can't even bathe.

They searched every nook and cranny of this tiny apartment. They took their time. And they took what's mine.

Even if I was employed, I couldn't hope to replace what was stolen. It would take something like 5 years of gainful employment to be able to afford it. Many of those items were gifts or hand me downs--things I could never afford on my own.

And then there's the stuff that can't be replaced---like the five years worth of pictures stored on my computer. Or the jewelry from my great grandmother--not valuable but very sentimental. Like those two necklaces from old beaus.

The burglar, while violating my space, also critiqued my taste, in a manner of speaking. He left the old VCR, the old tv, and my crappy little alarm clock.

He also left two DVDs: The Pretender (a horrible Christian "lesson" film someone gave me as a joke) and A Man For All Seasons. I suppose it's not very ironic that a burglar doesn't prefer moral fare.

Tomorrow I get to continue the inevitable cleanup associated with this type of mess. I have to get the window fixed, locks changed, etc. The police will be by at some point to dust for prints. I have to get a new key doohickey for my car, since the thief now has my spare.

I have to say this feels very specific, very targeted. For them to break into my place and not the unit next to me, which has been empty (though furnished) for over 6 months now. And to search the place so thoroughly. It just doesn't feel random. But where does that leave me? The police didn't even bother talking to all my neighbors.

I don't mean to sound whiny, but this really doesn't seem fair. I'm not a rich person--the things I had (just had to retype that from have) are the result of years of collecting and gift receipt. When I do spend my money, I spend it carefully. My winter peacoat and alpaca cloak were one time purchases. My MBT shoes were found on sale (though still expensive).

I may not be a very good person, but I've never been a thief. Why do people think it's okay to take from others? I've never understood it.

While in Tahoe I had a little bit of luck at the casino. I ended up taking home a little over $100. I guess some part of me should have figured out that the normal universal principles would be in effect, and that for that small bit of luck I would be visited by a geometrically inverse portion of bad luck. I just can't seem to catch a break.

And if it's not luck, but some kind of karma, I sure do wish somebody would enlighten as to what it is I'm doing that so damn wrong that it deserves the track record of this past year.