I learned a long time ago that blogging about something when emotions are still raw and thoughts are unorganized pieces and the only words you can seethe forth are SHIT and MOTHERFUCKERS, is not such a hot idea. But, I'm ignoring that part of me right now and I'm going to write about the feelings I have. The feeling of being violated. Targeted. Hated or maybe just a random dumb fucker?
My car was broken into AGAIN last night.
Yeah, it's a vaguely petty crime but it was against ME. AGAIN. DO THEY NOT KNOW THEY ARE MESSING WITH THE DAUGHTER OF A FUCKING HOMICIDE DETECTIVE?
We went out last night to have dinner with friends and when we got home Marc went inside to let the dog out and I brought in the sleeping baby. Marc had the keys because he opened the front door and I followed him and went straight upstairs to put the baby to bed. No one locked the car. OOPS!
This morning at around 10 o'clock I went outside to get something from the car and saw that all-too-familiar stomach-dropping sight that is your glove box and car compartments spread all over the front seat of the car. My car has the clicker-automatic lock thing so I thought I was unlocking it when I walked outside, I didn't realize it was already unlocked and had been all night. Some good items, even cash were overlooked for Marc's Oakley sunglasses and my Target sunglasses.
When this happened once before I was upset and angry but I had knowingly left my fifteen-year-old-Camry unlocked because I didn't care if anyone stole my Rick Astley cassette. (Although now I realize I have lot all claim to the 80s, I digress.) But this is our family car. A new car. The car I drive my baby around in. And I don't even want to touch it.
After a neighbor's car window was smashed for a GPS just three weeks ago a few of us decided to leave our front porch lights on, you know, to help deter this kind of behavior. Is it kids? Is someone checking my door handles every night? (Um, most likely, YES) My baby was SLEEPING like five feet from where this crime against me was taking place. And that makes me want to puke.
I am angry and agitated and EVEN MORE paranoid than usual. I also feel scared. And helpless.
I want to move to Montana.