Home is not where the money is, you stupid shit

Q1 2012, for the most part, has been kinda good to me. Lots of catching up with old acquaintances, a bit of travelling, familial obligations, many fun group dinners, and work sillyness (which is thankfully in contrast to work boredom). I even made physical contact with my boyfriend for the first (and god help me not the last) time. But prolonged bouts of good fortune are only for the weak, yes? That's what I've been telling myself since my apartment got broken into on Wednesday.

He She IT, a.k.a. the morally bereft motherfucker, jumped three feet, risking a 6-story drop to the ground, from my fire escape to the itty bitty ledge of my open window. I know it's partially my fault for leaving a window open in this godforsaken town but GOD DAMN IT ALL TO HELL. It opened every box and went through my extremely cluttered desk. It rifled through every dresser drawer with Its greedy hands, including my underwear drawer, because where else would I keep my secret cache of DIAMONDS AND PEARLS? It undid my bed and went through my pillowcase covers, because I can't think of a better place to hide MY FUCKING LIFE SAVINGS. It turned on every light and looked through all of my closets and my bathroom. In the end, It only took a drawer full of jewelry -- most was cheap costume crap but there was a bunch of expensive gifts and several irreplaceable pieces that my mom had left me. And It exited through my front door.

My anger is still excruciatingly palpable. Can you smell it? Nothing is more emotionally withering, though, than the fact that I've managed to lose much of the only material vestiges I had of my mom. Rationally, I am fully aware that I should view this as just a material and financial loss, and not a failure. But my heart sinks every time I think about it. I've succeeded in restoring most things to its usual untidyness and clean off all the charcoal residue from the fingerprint powder. But I haven't touched my bed in days, its disheveled state a 3-D screen capture of the entire incident, and I've resorted to sleeping on my couch since then.

I'm pretty sure It didn't touch my couch. I think.

Home Again by MichaelKiwanuka