Why Can't I Have Nice Things?

[hrj]

So now they took my car. From out of my driveway. Last night while I was sleeping. And once again I get to do the whole thing with police reports and insurance companies and turning my life and schedule upside down to deal with details while trying to maintain a competent professional life and keep up with all my personal commitments. I know I do a good impression of brushing it all off and just carrying on, but what I really really want to do is go crawl in a hole and cry and not come out again until the world is a friendly, pleasant, sane place where I'm allowed to have nice things without random anonymous assholes breaking them or taking them away from me. You know, if someone were actually specifically targeting me for persecution I'm not sure how different it could be. No, don't answer that.

Maybe my life would be simpler if I just sold this house and got a nice little just-me place somewhere with a lower crime rate. No burglaries, no car thefts, no vandalism, no hassles of being a landlady. I'm so very very tired.

Comments

[onalark.livejournal.com]

Ugh.

My house in St. Louis was broken into once, and things were often stolen from the garage. I didn't know I was carrying around the stress of living in a place that wasn't safe until I moved to Irvine for my new job. Irvine is ridiculously squeaky clean, and normally my nature is to rebel utterly against that kind of sparkly perfection, but there was something so...relaxing about knowing that I could walk out at night and not need to fear for my safety.

There are days I miss my little brick house, because it was small and cozy and mine. It still is mine, in fact -- I rent it to a family because I can't sell it. In the meantime, though, I am getting used to feeling like safety is normal. It was one of the many subtle things that changed in my life after I changed my geographical location.

The decision is tough. I wish you best. Please take care.