if only

The first time your car is broken into, it really bums you out. You feel creepy that some faceless dude was in your car, going through your stuff. You’re pissed off that someone took your radio or all your new CDs you got for Christmas or, heck, took your whole car.

The fourth time, however, you’re much more zen about it. The car is no longer really yours. You’ve ceased to think of it that way. It’s a piece of junk, something that you’ll just drive until the wheels fall off and you’ll leave it there, on the side of the road. You have no desire to make the car look nice or to take care of it in any way.

Last night, some faceless dude pried my door handle with a screwdriver and hopped inside the Steal-o-mobile, for the very fourth time. He was downright artless compared to the third thief/thieves, who managed to take the car for a joyride and not even so much as crack the window. THAT was a pro job.

Regardless, I’m happy to report that Thief #4 is a would-be thief. Better still, a failed thief. He got into the car, rummaged through it, then found that there was nothing of value to steal and left. He left the car unlocked and all the compartments open, as if to say “Hey, I broke into this car to steal something of value. These places are where you should put things of value so that next time I won’t be disappointed.” Despite being angry about it, I’m also feeling satisfaction knowing that he went to all that trouble and left with nothing. If only I could’ve cracked his skull with a baseball bat, surely that would’ve been the icing on the cake.

I’m ready to move. I’m so out of this neighborhood it ain’t even funny.