Two weeks ago, while I was at work, someone used a crow bar to bash their way into my home. They then proceeded to steal my most valuable possession – my laptop – with some four years of my writing on it.
I didn’t find out until the next day because I was at a sexy sleepover the night before. Unbeknownst to B and I, while we were scoffing Baskin Robbins, there were police traipsing through my apartment together with an upstairs neighbour, whom I’d never met but who’d discovered the break in. Even though I’ve lived there for nearly three years, no one had my phone number to call me.
Later that same night, my part-time housemate got home very late from work and encountered a busted in front door, and a note from the coppers asking me to please call them. Unable to raise me from my blissfully unaware slumber, the only sensible and safe decision was for her to stay at a friend’s and leave my home open to the night sky.
The next morning after yet another failed attempt at an early gym session, I checked my phone to find her urgent missed calls. I didn’t listen to her voicemail before I called back so she had to break the news to me over the phone as I stood there in my nightie and sadly listened.
The first thing I asked about was my laptop because I think I knew that it was gone. Then I asked after a few other bits and pieces as she wandered through the apartment recounting the sobering scene as she went. They had been quite conscientious – for robbers – we learned. They hadn’t tipped over shelves or emptied drawers just for the bloody sake of it. In fact, thankfully, they didn’t steal very much at all.
Within five minutes, after a supportive and much-needed hug from B, I was in the car for the short drive home. I was in a strangely resigned state while I drove, but I did also nearly hit a dog, so maybe there was a little angst in there as well.
I reluctantly bounded up the stairs to be met by my forlorn housemate and a door that had been worked over so well it wasn’t really a door at all anymore. I was soon to learn that my next-door neighbour’s apartment had also been attacked in the same horrific manner. They are overseas. I don’t think that is a coincidence.
This is not the first time I have been the victim of a break in. Back then, some 10 years ago, they again stole my computer so I guess I have some history in losing my words to pricks who probably can’t even spell karma.
This time, however, I am more sanguine with what happened, which does sound a bit like an oxymoron I admit. For one, they stole very little in a material sense. It can all be replaced. Two, I got a very nice new green solid-as-fuck door that no bastard is likely to ever get through. Three, I met heaps more of my neighbours who I know have my back, and mine there’s, from this moment on. Four, they stole all of the downloaded content, whose origins may allegedly be a little bit suspicious, so my slate and my conscience is clean. Five, being in love and being a bit lazy of late, means that over recent months I made very little progress on my screenplay. Sure I lost the first 10 minutes of it, but I think I can remember how it goes. And I truly think this time it will be even better.
So when it comes down to it, my philosophy over the past fortnight has been that those fuckwits may have invaded my home, but they’re not going to invade my head. I am the winner in this battle because I truly believe that what goes around comes around.