Me: A Chicagoan back on home turf; a lawyer; missing my second home of Amsterdam.
I’ve just gotten back into town. I’ve got a huge deadline looming. I’ve procrastinated and I’m nervous. Just waiting to get through to the end of the week, starting with a big, long day of work today.
Reward is my birthday on Saturday!
Here goes nothing.
I was out of town this week. I went to Mexico with great friends and I got tan and drank tequila and gained approximately one million quesadilla pounds. It was perfect.
Except. While I was gone someone broke in my apartment. Someone pushed in a window and rifled through my things. It seemed at first that nothing was taken - my watch, a pair of good earrings, a necklace, were all there. But I discovered upon my return that this horrible person, or these horrible people, did take things. Important heirloom pieces that I can never replace. Pieces that are likely in a pawn shop now, being picked over yet again, sold for a fraction of their actual and sentimental worth.
I am happy to be safe. I am happy my sweet little cat is safe. I have taken new measures so this will never happen again. But I feel so violated, so anxious, and now so angry at the loss of these possessions. They’re just things. But they’re important things. And they’re MY things.
I’ll move on, forget the ring I can no longer wear, the earrings that I won’t get to pass along to my daughter one day, but I will not forget this sense of violation of my home, my security, me.
Onward. But I hope these thieving bastards get caught for something else.