I was beginning to feel calm again. After an evening of feeling invaded by strangers, I was beginning to find my way back – I even wrote about it. And then I remembered something, phoned J, went to check and fell straight back into the deep hole of “someone has been going through our personal belongings and has taken what they thought might be useful”.
At the same time I thank someone above and feel fortunate. Fortunate it wasn’t the apartment they broke into. Maybe they took things, but they didn’t take the things I fear the most to lose – they weren’t close to those things. I’ve still got the computer with all the photos and all my writing. I’ve still got my jewellery, my books, my CDs, my furniture, my clothes.
Last night J found our storage room padlock had been cut. At first nothing seemed to be missing. We thought that maybe someone from the owner’s association had needed to get in, but it seemed weird they hadn’t come knocking on our door to let us know or had left us a note. We locked the room with a new padlock and left for dinner with J’s parents and his sister. While eating I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, who had wanted to get in, what they had been after. I wanted to leave, to go home and find out what had happened, and at the same time I was frightened of what I would find missing once I started looking thoroughly.
What was taken was not things that are precious to us, things that would mean considerably less – if anything – to those who would end up with them. But they were still our things. They were things we kept and wanted. And maybe it’s silly to shed tears over a bottle of Icelandic vodka, but 1) we had never tasted it and 2) it had been given to us by a really dear friend who wanted to bring us something special the first time he visited us in the apartment two years ago. And maybe a bottle of cask strength Talisker would mean nothing to most people, but we bought it four years ago at the Talisker Distillery on Isle of Skye – and besides being a great whisky, it was a memory of the first summer vacation we spent together.
The calmness and quietness of weekends often make me remember. Suddenly I’ll smile because of a memory that’s coming back to me, one that I had forgotten. This weekend the only memories that are coming back to me are those of what is no longer ours. The more you look, the more you discover is missing. This afternoon I suddenly remembered that two bags were missing. As I went to look I – of course – noticed other things missing as well.
This weekend was meant to be calm and quiet. Instead I spent my days knocking on neighbour’s doors to tell them that there are no longer padlocks on their storage rooms and maybe they should go take a look. I wonder about insurance. I go from “oh well we have to get on with life” to “STOP. I don’t want to find any more things missing!”
However impersonal things they took, I still feel as if someone peed all over my territory. I want to beat the crap out of them and yell at them. I want to go to sleep and wake up and find everything to be different, better, easier. I want to take longs showers and wash off that feeling of being invaded. Because that’s how I feel: INVADED.