Y’know, nothing ends the day better than coming home to find your window broken and the contents of your entire home open to the world.
Oh, I take that back. Nothing beats coming home and finding your home broken into but nothing missing.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m very, very relieved that our stuff is still here. I’m glad the house wasn’t trashed. But holyfuck!… I have never felt so violated, so helpless, and so paranoid in my life.
We don’t know what to think about this. Was it just some random asshole who happened to be in the area? Or was it someone a little more purposeful… someone who carefully watched and planned? Was it one of the punk-ass neighbor’s punk-ass kids? Was it that harmless-looking old lady next door who works in her garden all day long? Who knows?
The big question, of course, is why didn’t they take anything? Did they get scared off? Or did they just come by to check out what I had, and are planning on coming back and cleaning us out, say, tomorrow?
Now that’s a comforting thought. I’m sure I’ll sleep restfully tonight with that on my mind.
Of course, I have a billion other little thoughts running though my head: that it’s someone who lives in the area, that they watched me leave the house today, that they know when we’re not home, that they’re armed, that they’re underage and even if we catch them, they’ll get off with a slap on the wrist, that I should brand our name and address onto every valuable item in the house, that material possessions aren’t worth getting hurt or killed over, that thumbtacks glued on the insides of my window frame would make an excellent deterrent…
::deep breath::
I almost wish they’d stolen something. As odd as it sounds, I’d feel better. At least then I could convince myself that they were done with us and wouldn’t be coming back.
Pigfuckers.