violation

I think my friend Mike had the best response in hearing of my most recent addition to the list of beleaguering things in my life: "Are you sure you did murder a nun in a past life?"

Indeed, if you look at the last two years of my life, the concept of karma has some sort of credence. I have a hard time really committing to the whole idea; I've grown to subscribe to the 'shit happens' clause more often than not. Still, if I did crawl into the 'karma's a bitch' bubble, you can bet I'd be rushing off to have a past life regression done post haste. I might do one anyway just to see what they come up with. I must have been just horrible in the 19th century.

I know a lot of other people who would crumble underneath this. On paper, the last twelve months certainly seems to be absolutely the worst year of my life ever, but it doesn't *feel* like that. I'm not sure if I should chalk that up to the growing experiences that -- depending on how you look at it -- either gave me the emotional strength and stamina to rise above it with a smile on my face, or... have essentially left me emotionally dead inside (this is a joke -- I was emotionally dead years ago [also a joke]).

This is definitely due in large part to the security net I have in place: at work, I'm indispensable. I'm well-insured. I've got a roommate who has stepped up to the plate and taken care of me when I was completely helpless. And I have family who has rallied their support around me.

Though I can't help but wonder if any of this would have ever happened if I hadn't left New York...

--

So Tuesday night, I'm arriving home at about quarter past midnight after a long day at work. As I approach the front door, I notice its slightly ajar -- closed against the frame, but just a nudge would open it back up. I figured the roommate has come home from the store and is unloading groceries. I pushed open the door and called out his name. No response. The door on the DVD cabinet is standing open, and the door to the back porch is unlocked. I poked my head outside to see if he was outside; he is not.

I go back towards the kitchen, calling his name. As I entered the dining room, the silverware drawer is open, and the two junk drawers on the buffet are as well. Roommate's bedroom door is open. I call his name again. I stepped into his room. All of his dresser drawers have been pulled out. On the bed are two big souvenir Coke bottle banks from the world of Coke, emptied out. I grab my phone. No answer.

"Joe*, call me immediately. I think someone's broken in."

I went into my room. Several of my drawers have been pulled open. My drawer of random documents has been opened. My old passport is on the floor. Letters, lyrics, old bills are strewn on the dresser. My Bank of America debit card, which was on my desk, is missing.

I call Joe* again. This time, he picks up. Laughter and music in the background, and I brace myself to ruin what is certainly a fun night out.

"Please tell me you were frantically searching for something you lost earlier today."
"No...why?"
"Come home right now. There's drawers open and stuff out of place. Your room is a mess." I went back into his room to describe what I see. "Your drawers are all open. Clothes on the floor. Both our change banks are empty on your bed. Empty plastic box... what the...? My debit card is on your dresser!"
"Call the police! I'll be home in 5 minutes."

Called 911 and started the ball rolling. I walk around and start to notice almost every little thing. The kitchen window is cracked and looks to have been pried open from the top. Roommate's camcorder bag is out and camcorder is gone -- but charger and tapes are not. The lid to my change bank is on my bed, but the bank itself is on Joe's bed.

Joe* gets home before the police arrive. I show him everything and we start to try and identify what's missing. The camcorder had been stashed in his closet, but was now gone. The police officer arrived and looked around. He asked what had been stolen. At that point, all we'd found missing was the camcorder and the change. He went out to the car to start filing everything and told us to come out if we found anything else missing.

I went through my papers -- everything was in place. Joe was in his room going through his secretary desk and called out "My credit cards -- gone."

I walked through the kitchen. They left the silverware -- antique silver. We're dealing with someone truly stupid here, apparently. I went into the laundry room for a second. Joe came out of his room and joined me.

"Weird. They went through all my drawers, stole my credit cards and some jewelery, but left a digital camera and an iPod sitting in plain view on the dresser."
"Looks like they didn't get anything in here."
"Prime... your bike."

He was right. I was standing exactly where my bike is stored. It is gone.

All told, our robber(s) caused a little over $1,000 in theft and damage. My bike, Joe's credit cards, camcorder, jewelery, about $150 in spare change, and both of our man-purses (presumably to carry the stolen change from the banks). A cracked window and damaged frame in the kitchen need to be replaced. There is still the potential for more things to show up missing -- it'll be one of those things where we suddenly realize some gadget we use every six months suddenly isn't there.

The police officer said we'd hear from investigators the next day. We're three days later and have heard nothing. I guess this case won't be investigated. Its frustrating too, because that window probably has scores of fingerprints on it, along with our dressers.

We didn't lose much, in the grand scheme of things. What's more baffling is what was left behind: aside from the camera and iPod, they also left a laptop (sitting on the living room couch), Playstation II, DVD player, stereo system, 2 desktop computers, antique silverware, and a massive DVD collection worth maybe $5,000. Weirder still, aside from drawers pulled out and papers in general disarray, our robber(s) left things generally in decent order -- no furniture shoved around, no lamps knocked over -- the window was even pushed back closed so kitties wouldn't get out (Daa -- kitties are fine).

Joe* and I stayed up another four hours after the police left trying to straighten up a little and figure out if anything else was taken. I fell into bed around 5:30am, Wednesday morning -- more of an exhausted unconscious state than actual, restful sleep.

And now, since then, the walk home from work has been kind of agony. My head swims with what I might find when I open the door. Sleep at night is not very restful but it's getting better. I walk down the street and can't help but wonder if every person I pass is the asshole who did this. I'm trying not to let paranoia seep in but those thoughts are appearing. More than anything, the general sense of violation is rattling, and getting comfortable again is going to take a while.

We had homeowner's insurance, but they're looking for documentation on EVERYTHING. My bike meets the deductible by itself, but hell if I know where the receipts are. This could be a pain and I may just have to cut the loss.

We're both shaken, but aware of how much worse it could have been. Thanks to everyone who's called or emailed or commented.