life

My childhood home was robbed today. Whoever they were, they took the TV, Dad's binoculars (both sets), Dad's wedding ring (he's been meaning to have it resized), some of Mom's jewelry (garnet earrings and garnet ring), and a jar of coins that may have been maybe $50. Mom&Dad's room was trashed; my old bed (I got a new one for the apartment) was tossed over.

Typing it all up like that, it really doesn't seem like that much. For some reason, that unsettles me more than anything. Like, why break in for so few things?

If the dog had been in the yard instead of her kennel (it gets so hot here during the summer); if tigris_lilsis's car had been in the driveway (she took off sick from work); if we had a magical security system that fried anyone with ill-intent - if if if if unto forever...

*sigh*

I've just been in an odd mood since I heard. It's not my home anymore; I don't live there. I've been gone for about a month and a half. My old closet is full of things that couldn't fit in the apartment and an empty safe that the thieves didn't find. But I still feel violated. And angry. And a little afraid. A part of me wants to cry; a lot of me wants to rage.

All in all, they didn't take much. Nothing that can't be replaced. (We didn't even pay for the TV, originally; Mom won it at a convention. All it cost was the gas required to drive home.) Of all the outcomes of a burglary, this was far from the worst.

But still. I just... don't know what to do, or say, or feel.