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All That You Love Will Be Carried Away*
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Last year, my house got broken into twice. The second time, the burglars were more successful. They didn't vandalize my house, but wanting to leave through a door rather than the window they'd come in through,** they tore the place apart looking for a spare key to let themselves out. There is no spare key.
I haven't tidied things up. It's not just depression that's kept me from doing that; I simply cannot bear the idea that more is missing than I originally thought. My mother and I now talk about when things get stolen, what we'll do.
It was around this time that I mostly stopped wearing earrings. There were pairs I couldn't find, and also so many where I had lost one by going out into the world wearing them, I just couldn't bear it. Even with that, I managed to lose one of Pat's cat earrings on my birthday.
The day before my second cataract surgery, I lost Pat's wedding ring.
I wore it on my little finger, next to my wedding ring. The two identical rings were happy next to each other. I got up in the morning and saw that the small ring was gone, and my first thought was, "Where did I put it?" Because it almost seems as though I took it off in the night, in a dream.
At that point, I could use one eye or the other, but not both together, and neither of them worked terribly well for searching for small, round, silver things. I consoled myself with the idea that the ring, though missing, is still in the house; even though I can't see it, I'm living with it. It's like living with a ghost. Maybe Pat took it.
It's mostly my own ring I feel sorry for, being alone. I briefly considered putting on another ring, so it wouldn't be lonely, but a Peanuts cartoon stopped me. Lucy has stolen Linus's blanket, and Linus is inconsolable. Charlie Brown suggests he use a dishtowel to replace his blanket, and Linus scathingly replies, "You would give a starving dog a rubber bone."
Yes.
*Title of a story by Stephen King
**The window was two stories up, over the ramp that goes into the garage under my house. They reached it by dragging over a trashcan to the edge of the ramp, and leaping up to the window. I was burglarized by Spiderman, or one of the flying Wallendas. I now keep all my windows closed when I'm not home.
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth
-:- -:- -:-
Last year, my house got broken into twice. The second time, the burglars were more successful. They didn't vandalize my house, but wanting to leave through a door rather than the window they'd come in through,** they tore the place apart looking for a spare key to let themselves out. There is no spare key.
I haven't tidied things up. It's not just depression that's kept me from doing that; I simply cannot bear the idea that more is missing than I originally thought. My mother and I now talk about when things get stolen, what we'll do.
It was around this time that I mostly stopped wearing earrings. There were pairs I couldn't find, and also so many where I had lost one by going out into the world wearing them, I just couldn't bear it. Even with that, I managed to lose one of Pat's cat earrings on my birthday.
The day before my second cataract surgery, I lost Pat's wedding ring.
I wore it on my little finger, next to my wedding ring. The two identical rings were happy next to each other. I got up in the morning and saw that the small ring was gone, and my first thought was, "Where did I put it?" Because it almost seems as though I took it off in the night, in a dream.
At that point, I could use one eye or the other, but not both together, and neither of them worked terribly well for searching for small, round, silver things. I consoled myself with the idea that the ring, though missing, is still in the house; even though I can't see it, I'm living with it. It's like living with a ghost. Maybe Pat took it.
It's mostly my own ring I feel sorry for, being alone. I briefly considered putting on another ring, so it wouldn't be lonely, but a Peanuts cartoon stopped me. Lucy has stolen Linus's blanket, and Linus is inconsolable. Charlie Brown suggests he use a dishtowel to replace his blanket, and Linus scathingly replies, "You would give a starving dog a rubber bone."
Yes.
*Title of a story by Stephen King
**The window was two stories up, over the ramp that goes into the garage under my house. They reached it by dragging over a trashcan to the edge of the ramp, and leaping up to the window. I was burglarized by Spiderman, or one of the flying Wallendas. I now keep all my windows closed when I'm not home.
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth