I have a tough post to write.


I’m the victim of burglary.


A few nights ago I crashed out in the spare room at the Dailey residance because my little old house on Lemon St. was too hot to sleep in.  I returned home in the morning to gather some deoterant and work shoes to find empty spots in the midst of trashed rubble where some of my valuables used to sit.  The new shiney lock I put on the back door was bent, the wooden doorframe cracked and trails of my belongings pushed around on the floor.


The thousands of dollers worth of stuff that I lost doesn’t bug me as much as the things I’ll never get back… like pictures, letters, home videos, music that I put a year into recording and all the other stuff like that which escaped.


I’m just glad I wasn’t at home in bed when the thief arrived.  I guess that’s all I can say right now.

6 thoughts on “

  1. TheBlankOne says:

    Thats so horrible. I dont think that the people that steal realize that they are more than just stuff, they are stealing memories, things that cant be replaced with money. I remember when my someone broke into my car and stole my cd’s, I was sooo angry, i felt like a part of me was missing. In these kind of times its easy to forget God, I pray that it doesn’t happen to you.

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