Yesterday started out so nicely, paperwork that Mr. Wolff was waiting on for admission arrived in the mail, I’d done three loads of washing, cleaned the bathroom and even managed to brush my hair and put on makeup.
Eve and I went shopping and picked up the rug I’d had my eye on for a third of its original price. We had coffee with my gorgeous friend whose belly has begun to swell with baby number four.
Then we came home and the back door was ajar, at first I figured I hadn’t slid the bolt across properly, but then I saw the glass.
It’s not the first time we’ve been broken into, and again it’s to feed someone’s drug habit. Only jewelry and cash missing, cash that Mr. Wolff had been painstakingly saving to upgrade his dying iPad that next week could have been bought. Sure it’s a first world problem, it’s not starvation or disease. But it is a new window and back door in a position that is going to be completely changed rendering the door and window obsolete and stopping other projects planned for this weekend. It’s feeling invaded and watched again, knowing that they knew exactly where to find our things.
At least now my anger has fueled me through the rest of the cleaning and most of the way through reupholstering the bed. It’s reinforced my need to let go of things and continue to clean out and donate those things that we don’t really need that are languishing and taking up space.
It’s made me realise that I don’t believe in karma.
It’s made me want a bigger dog who doesn’t cuddle up to strangers breaking in to my house.
And a security system and maybe to move house again. So much for letting go of things