Well, it was a nice idea and all, having a relaxing evening to myself and finishing the last of the bookshelf and going to bed early and so forth. Then I decided to go by the old house and pick up some more of the bits and bobs left – clothes and laundry mostly, as well as food and a few key items. And discovered the house had been broken into! Hooray!

Yeah, so, I was pretty pissed. I had been saying to David for days we need to clear out everything ASAP, because I knew people in our little marginally ghetto neighborhood were noting that were weren't there regularly. The porch light had been unscrewed once and I'm all "Dude, I think this is a sign so they can figure out if we are here". I'd also like to state for the record I am NOT a paranoid person about these things. But I knew.

Anyway, I got there and the door was unlocked. So I stepped in, immediately called 911, and when they got on the phone I said "My house has been broken into". She says, "Are you ok?". I say, " I tell you who is about to not be ok is any motherfucker still in this house. Please stay on the line while I check it out." So I proceed to look all around the house and it was clear. Damn. I was seriously ready to kick some ass.

Then I got upset because they totally tore apart every box that had been packed. Spilled laundry everywhere. Clearly took interest in my ski boots but because they are stupid motherfuckers left them behind. Stole my Dyson! David's banjo! Our power-sander and jigsaw! I admit, I'm still pretty upset about the Dyson. But I do know that in the grand scheme, it could have been MUCH worse. Those were really the only items of any value that were still there. It was mostly winter clothes and such. I'm also happy we picked up the kittens last night because they would have been long gone.

It is quite out of character for me, but I am feeling very very very uncharitable at the moment.

Now I am having a bourbon at the new house after waiting three hours for the investigators (who I eventually just cancelled). It is 1:30am. I have to be at a training in the morning at 8:30am. For two nights I have been punched in the face by my wonderful but terrible-sleep-habits husband which means I will be operating tomorrow on three nights of 5 hours of sleep or less.

Wait, what am I talking about? what is this SLEEP I keep speaking of? Clearly a fictional concept. Nevertheless, I'm off to give it a whirl.