home sweet home

It feels wrong to complain about missing things, when I am lucky enough to have such things. I have a bed to sleep on, a loving supportive family (including my friends), a place to call home. It was moving day today. It was exciting, but I felt it in my gut that something would go wrong. My storage unit was broken into, and my things were stolen. I don't really feel much, to be honest. Mostly numb. So numb from this entire experience.

It feels gross when someone has clearly invaded your space. It is saddening to know that people will steal without any remorse or conscience of what they're actually doing. The big black footprints on my couch are a reminder that someone was there. I look at those footprints and see someone who is likely sad. No, not all people are terrible. Some are, and I feel bad for them. I can only hope they learn how to live more kindly. Or maybe karma comes in a box similar to the one that they broke into.

While it is a mess, and yet more headache to deal with, when I'd hoped it was all over; it's a certain loss that leaves room for something new. I mean, I have things to replace with new things, and things are things. I went 6 months without those things, and though it was sad to see what had happened today; there's always a way to fix these losses by focusing on what you have over what you don't. I have much to be happy for...

I have a place to call home. That's where the heart is.