Reality breaks in. Literally

Mom just called to tell me that our storage bin had been broken into, probably last night.

She’s devastated.

I am in my writing bubble, so life is all zen-like and shit. Which is probably good, because she was Freaking. The. Hell. Out.

We’ve moved a million times since I was a wee lass. We never owned a place, just rented. We’ve gone from the projects (back in the day, when they weren’t totally tragic) (oh, and like WOW, I’ve never admitted that, so holy shit and forget I said all that) to a duplex to a house to them being in a tiny townhouse and me not having a place to go if everything falls apart.

Which it damn near did.

But in any event, we had gorgeous, gorgeous things to put into this series of abodes. My grandmother? Impeccable taste. Simply wonderful. We didn’t have money, but we made sure to get the best that our meager money could buy when we were in need of something. Not to mention, the artsy stuff she created. God. Porcelain statues that she’d made for fun. Things that are all we really have left for her, save for my personality being a damn-near exact replica of hers.

In any event, the shit we could manage to fit into the storage space, well, there it was. Emphasis on WAS.

Sounds like it was an inside job, as to get out of the storage unit, you’d have to climb a fence. But with a $3,000, huge black-lacquer REFRIGERATOR on your back? Please.

I’m trying not to think about the family heirlooms that were destroyed and/or taken. She said nothing’s salvageable — whoever did it had a rocking-and-rolling good time destroying what little our family has to its name.


But what I said to my mom is to be grateful that we’d finally gotten my grandfather’s guitar out of there. Thank god that it was the storage unit and not their apartment that was violated. Thank god they weren’t IN or NEAR it when it happened.

Everything else? We’ve been living without it for five years. Sad, sure. Tragic, no.

I’m trying not to think about what was lost or about the thugs who did it. Karma will anally rape them someday, no doubt. And we will be stronger and have even nicer things to replace the things my grandmother had tried to leave behind for us. Maybe someday, we won’t be dumb enough to leave them in storage but, rather, I’ll get a nice place that we can call home permanently.

Because long-term is a word we’ve never really known — in a good sense, anyway. But it’s high time that changed.

Like I told Mom, now she can quit paying all that damn money and be so stressed out by all the shit — she can pick up and move at a moment’s notice, which is what she’s always wanted to be able to do.

I’m not sure when I got so rational, but maybe my blood-pressure medication is finally working. 😉

3 Responses to Reality breaks in. Literally

  1. Ted :

    Oh wow, I’m so sorry to hear that.

  2. Caterwauling » Blog Archive » Mute :

    […] here’s no fridge, stove or washer, which — wonderful — those things were stolen from our storage unit just last week. The ones she has now came with the place, as did the rats, mice a […]

  3. Barb :

    That really sucks, I’m sorry. But at least you’re seeing the bright side of things. 🙂