Where’d She Go?
I’ve been missing for a while. I know that. So many of my friends have been yelling at me to write. So here I am with my mea culpa.
Back in November, while I was on vacation at the happiest place on earth, I got robbed. They got a lot of my good jewelry (the stuff I never wear because I’m afraid I’m going to lose it but I still wanted), my good camera (that I didn’t want to bring because I was afraid I was going to break it) and my computer.
I refuse to blog at work because I don’t want anybody tracing it back to me and firing me for doing personal stuff on company time. This may sound a little outrageous, but I actually know somebody who got fired for posting on her blog from her office computer and it’s made me a little gun shy. Also, there are very few people at the office who I feel need to know about my personal life. We’re newsies. We gossip.
The other thing, though, is that I didn’t know what to say. Being robbed was the most violating experience I’ve ever been through. It wasn’t just the stuff he took. It was that somebody I didn’t know, somebody who had nothing but malice for me, was in my apartment, my cute little space, the two rooms I had spent so much time lovingly decorating and where I had felt so safe. He had gone through my stuff, picked and chosen what he wanted. He went through my drawers, spilled my stuff all over the place, and the left. The police came and went through all my stuff all over again. They put black fingerprint powder all over everything and came up with nothing. I walked into my apartment and had to put my life back together, put things away, clean up the powder that got everywhere.
In addition to putting things together physically, I had to pull things together mentally and that’s a lot harder, because nobody can really help you with that. I cried the entire first day I was in the house. I thought I had pulled myself together a little bit, although I never slept more than a few hours at a time that whole week. Then, the Saturday after I came home, I was in the shower when I heard what sounded like loud noises on the roof. The police told me that they think the robber came in through the roof. I jumped out of the shower and ran to see if there was somebody else breaking in. It was then, when I was dripping wet in a towel with shampoo in my hair in my hallway, that I realized I really needed to get a grip. Because, seriously, what the hell was I going to do to fight a robber?
It’s been very, very hard. I still jump at loud noises and I still feel sometimes like I’m a sitting duck. But what are you going to do? I finally bought a new computer and now, I’m finally starting to write again. It’s all part of putting things back in the drawers they belong in.
Back in November, while I was on vacation at the happiest place on earth, I got robbed. They got a lot of my good jewelry (the stuff I never wear because I’m afraid I’m going to lose it but I still wanted), my good camera (that I didn’t want to bring because I was afraid I was going to break it) and my computer.
I refuse to blog at work because I don’t want anybody tracing it back to me and firing me for doing personal stuff on company time. This may sound a little outrageous, but I actually know somebody who got fired for posting on her blog from her office computer and it’s made me a little gun shy. Also, there are very few people at the office who I feel need to know about my personal life. We’re newsies. We gossip.
The other thing, though, is that I didn’t know what to say. Being robbed was the most violating experience I’ve ever been through. It wasn’t just the stuff he took. It was that somebody I didn’t know, somebody who had nothing but malice for me, was in my apartment, my cute little space, the two rooms I had spent so much time lovingly decorating and where I had felt so safe. He had gone through my stuff, picked and chosen what he wanted. He went through my drawers, spilled my stuff all over the place, and the left. The police came and went through all my stuff all over again. They put black fingerprint powder all over everything and came up with nothing. I walked into my apartment and had to put my life back together, put things away, clean up the powder that got everywhere.
In addition to putting things together physically, I had to pull things together mentally and that’s a lot harder, because nobody can really help you with that. I cried the entire first day I was in the house. I thought I had pulled myself together a little bit, although I never slept more than a few hours at a time that whole week. Then, the Saturday after I came home, I was in the shower when I heard what sounded like loud noises on the roof. The police told me that they think the robber came in through the roof. I jumped out of the shower and ran to see if there was somebody else breaking in. It was then, when I was dripping wet in a towel with shampoo in my hair in my hallway, that I realized I really needed to get a grip. Because, seriously, what the hell was I going to do to fight a robber?
It’s been very, very hard. I still jump at loud noises and I still feel sometimes like I’m a sitting duck. But what are you going to do? I finally bought a new computer and now, I’m finally starting to write again. It’s all part of putting things back in the drawers they belong in.
posted by Still Hopeful @ 9:20 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home