The Internet Personified: Home Invasion Edition

The house got broken into three nights ago, as I was sleeping and K was away. I had this whole long newsletter planned for you this week, all about my rented treadmill and how we're enjoying composting plus how I've decided to go with off-the-rack clothes after all, since the tailor I discovered with so much joy is nonsense. But, then your house gets broken into while you're sleeping and suddenly, you're sort of nostalgic for the time when the last thing you think about before you fall asleep is how cross you are with your tailor.

It's not a good time to have a vivid imagination. It's also not a good time to start remembering bits and pieces from all the crime television you've binge watched, where was the entertainment in The Fall, where the killer stalked his victims in their own homes, passing by open doors as their attention was distracted. Why did I watch that, I wondered, even though I watched it with such avid interest, it just served to remind me now about how much violence is done against women IN REAL LIFE, why do I need to watch a fictionalised version of that.

But, I can't tell you how relieved I am to be alive and unharmed. The first moment I discovered the break-in, ie when I woke up at some ridiculously early hour two days ago, because I heard a phantom doorbell go off in my head, but was it really a phantom bell? Or some sort of warning sign? And I walked out of the locked bedroom, which I keep locked when K is not in town, mocking myself even as I do so: who is going to get in past all the doors, silly and which I shall probably never not lock again, and I noticed the kitchen door open, which is weird, because I close it every night, but I shrugged and went to feed Olga and as I'm talking to her, I look up and see the sliding door to my study is open and my grandmother's sewing box, on top of which I rest my laptop is open with half of it resting on my office chair, that's when I know. I didn't even need to pop my head into K's study next door to the bedroom to see the cupboard doors flung wide open, the hair on the back of my head stood straight up, my heart gave one mighty thump and then started to beat so hard I could feel it everywhere, and I darted back into the bedroom and sat on the bed and wondered who I could call.

The rest is just paperwork and speculation, smoking on the balcony while I talked a mile a minute to my friends who lived close by and came as soon as they could. I went to their house the next two nights, and the night before last, their AC rattled a window and I sat straight up in bed, my heart once again trying to leap right out of my chest until I remember where I was and talked myself through it. Last night though, I slept like a log and woke up refreshed and cheerful, so maybe I'm over it? That would be lucky, if it was just one day's trauma, and now I'm all chill and relaxed again.

People are like, "But how did he/they get in?" because we're all assuming he/they are men, and also my next door neighbour got robbed too, so it looks like he/they were on a spree. Jokes on him/them though, because for all this pain, they only got my wallet with 3000 rups in it and all my cards and my Shakespeare & Co tote bag which was the only souvenir I bought myself in Paris, and an old computer monitor and I hope they die I hope they suffer I hope they vanish off the face of the earth but only after enduring great pain. Pacifism and liberal guilt makes me wonder if I really mean these things, and then I'm really upset with my brain because why can't I have a good revenge fantasy without bringing guilt into it?

How did they get in? I don't know, the cops don't know, we have many theories though. They shimmied up a pipe/they used a ladder/they climbed up a metal grate. In the dust outside my kitchen window I see fresh footprints, they tried that access and couldn't get through, yesterday I had a giant lock put on it and double locks for all our sliding doors. I want to sit on my balcony with a shotgun across my lap and wait.

My new debit card arrived in the mail today, and the first thing I did was buy a new wallet and a new bookish tote bag so the nail my old tote was on doesn't look so empty and abandoned. You can't tell there was something there unless you know to look, but I had hung three bags in a row on my bookshelf, and I see the gap as obviously as a missing tooth.

Still processing--and hey, wouldn't this make a great personal essay though asked the freelance writer always looking for her next cheque--but that's what's been going on.

Have a great week and lock those doors.