The condensed version: somebody broke into my place thru a side window, took my stereo, dvd player, all my cds and dvds, stuffed it into my emptied sail bag, and took off thru the back door. Technically, nothing irreplaceable is gone, and no physical damage was done. The police wrote a report and my life is slowly returning to normal.

The extended version: I came home and was surprised the back door was open. I mentally berated my roomie but whatever...it was Tuesday, the family was gathering at the Grant Park movie, and it was *sunny*. In the living room, I couldn't fathom why my roomie would dump out my sail bag onto the couch. I know he's got his own bags...but then I turned and saw the gaping hole next to my tv, where there used to be electronics and now there was a web of wiring. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do more than clutch my phone and call upstairs. "Have you had anything stolen? Is anything gone? No? Could you come down here? Please?" And then...it hits. I start to call my parents at home. They're not *at* home, they're on their way to meet me in a rather interesting twist of fate. I call their cell and my dad can't understand a word because all I can do is try to breathe and cry and wave my hands (where's the videophone when you need it?) to stop the tears and tell him that they took my stuff and fall apart because someone just violated my personal space. My parents are on their way. I'm letting my landlord in to commiserate with me and be a body to visually cling to as I refuse to make sense of what happened. How does one call the police? 911 or 311? Nobody's shot, it's not in progress, there's nothing to do, so 311 it is. Being on hold is one of a million things in this world that remind you that you're not in control, the phone system is exactly what I do not need at this point. I need a vestige of control. The police system? HANGS UP ON ME. I call back, try again, get a detective sent over, and then sit, only to spring back to my feet to pace back and forth thru the length of my house. I count my books. I discover my jewelry box entirely disheveled but all pieces intact. Another spate of crying because they were in my bedroom and that's too much. I call my best friend who had this happen a few years ago, and figured he'd have something funny to say. Turns out I was right, and again--it's the need to have a friendly voice telling you that it's gonna be ok, that it happens all the time to all sorts of people and this too shall pass, and as I hiccup laughter thru the tears, I think maybe it's gonna be ok too.

The detective comes and we talk about the whole thing and what we think happened, and my landlord is there and he saw the chairs but didn't know what to make of it, so now he knows and I know that nothing's safe ever and there's really no exception that that particular rule.

Damn.

So they got chairs off the back patio, hoisted themselves up and thru a super-high window, grabbed the stuff (but left me my speakers, remotes, vcr, and tv) and then searched thru the front closet for a bag large enough to carry all this stuff. My sail bag was the only thing usable, so they nicely dumped it onto the sofa and took off. Since I never really liked that bag, it's a small consolation.

MLB shows up with ice cream and freaks the detective out--the detective asks me pointedly as he's taking my report if I've ever seen 'that man looking in the window' before. I look out the window--some random suited man. He asks me again and I deny knowing that in the green shirt, but since I don't see said green-shirted man. Then MLB is at the door and it's all clear--MLB is the mystery man. The detective recounts the story and MLB laughs--he was trying to figure out who the detective is! Now, if you've never had an incident like this, what happens is that there's a lot of questioning and discussing, and then complete silence while the report is filled out. Luckily for the detective, MLB listened as I talked incessantly about everything and nothing to fill the empty spaces, and then jammed in some ice cream to keep me quiet every once in a while so he could talk. My folks showed up just as the friendly detective was finishing, so I then recount the whole thing as well as give them a tour of the place! We have to wait for the ET, who is going to dust for prints. We're against the clock, because I have to meet a bunch of people for the movie downtown!

'CSI: My Apartment' is pretty cool. He dusts and fans and dusts and fans and finds...nothing. Things to know in case you're either contemplating theft or fingerprint hunting: only smooth surfaces the size of your fingertip or larger are any good. Any type of texture is bad, including the surface of the cable box or vcr or, y'know, air. Glass, baby, glass is where it's at.

Off he went, and off we go, down to Grant Park to spend time with the things that really matter: friends, family, food, film. (Ok, the last one is just icing. But you know how I feel about film...) Home to find the back door UN-fucking-LOCKED. My roomie? IS TOAST. The only thing that saves him is having my parents there... the fuming and swearing was at a minimum because they don't condone swearing and 18 years of influence isn't easily tossed aside. I wait up for him so we could have a little chat, which goes much more calmly and quietly than expected, and I felt like a parent feels--just terrible disappointment that he couldn't do this one thing right and think about how his actions affected others. (Ok, now I'm talking like a parent. aaahhhh) He's incredibly sorry and can't believe he did it, and since I am exhausted, I consider that chapter closed.

I try to compile a list of missing music and movies, which becomes an exercise in futility. I only remember the most recent purchases since I just got my credit card bill, and my absolute favorites that normally would get me thru this crisis at full volume. This leaves a rather large vacancy--appx 20 dvds and 80 cds vacancy, in fact. My birthday and Christmas this year are pretty much a given this year!

Watched the Tall Ships come in with my parents the next day, saw a movie, hung out with friends, spent little-to-no time at home to avoid the echoing emptiness, and am slowly readjusting. It could have been worse.