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Profits and Losses

Ironic that just last week I was talking up my neighborhood. Then we were burglarized. It's actually the second time it has happened. It sucks.

It takes time to get over it and meanwhile you look around and are angry and everything looks ugly. You want things to be different and think that maybe you should move to the suburbs. 

I think that periodically. It's when I'm most angry, as if it would serve them right if I moved. Of course, the city wouldn't notice. And the burglary wasn't personal. In fact, it was distinctly not personal and almost certainly was our own fault. We must have left a door unlocked because there was not any sign of a forced entry. We watched a movie and went to bed exhausted and failed to secure the premises.

Our loss.

People are hard up and we have lots of stuff. 

These things do make you remember to be grateful. Grateful for the fact that it wasn't worse. It helps to hear about people who are having a worse time, frankly. I took a personal day today, went to yoga and a cafe to drink wine in between getting a new wallet and ID card and datebook. I ate lunch at my favorite restaurant in town, a place that is truly a chunk of Nepal patched into State Street. I sat with one of most beautiful women you could imagine, a true Nepalese Didi, and she told me stories of other people whose fancy-pants homes were robbed while the watch dogs were locked in the bathroom and the security cameras dangled from the wires. They were immigrant families profiting in the U.S. who kept loads of cash in the house. Cash that represented loads of hard work and was meant to be sent to help out other people who needed it more. In other words, a lot was lost. 

Just listening to her gorgeous, accented English and hugging her tiny, plump frame made me remember that being human is both hard and soft. I lay in bed at night feeling so grateful for my luxuriously soft, cushy bed and downy comforter. Outside the muddy, early-spring ground is so filthy hard right now.

I ate and paid my bill. They only take cash. I didn't have exact change and Didi behind the register didn't bother to make change, simply handing me back a bill. One time I was in there she sent her niece next door to make change. Just like in Nepal. But in Nepal, a dollar is worth more than it is in Wisconsin. And the value of my loss is more than many live on for a year. 

What do I do? Get a police report number and file an insurance claim. Buy a new purse and a new computer. I'll get over it. Profits and losses. 

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