That's fucked up

Somebody just broke into my house.

While I'm home, sitting upstairs.

Fuckin' hell.

a pretty Canadian break-in

OK, cops just left.

There isn't much of a story. I was sitting in the office doing the Good Work and listening to loud cranky music. Leechwoman to be exact.

I hear rustling with one corner of my brain. Not unusual with all the tarps hanging all over this place, but then something clicks, Hey, all our windows are closed. What's blowing those tarps around?

So I go to the top of the basement stairs. I can see the interior coldroom door. It's wide open. I know I left it closed.

I get that cold still feeling in my core that always marks an adrenaline rush. I walk downstairs and start looking around.

Bedroom window is wide open. The screen has been pried off. Drawers are open and some things have very obviously been tossed around. There is plaster dust all over the bed from where they climbed across the sill.

I. Walk. Very. Slowly. Into the bathroom and storage room. I am wishing I still had my lead-filled baseball bat. I miss my lead-filled baseball bat. If I'm a good girl and ask Santa, you think he'd bring me another lead-filled baseball bat?

There's nobody here. I go outside, sit on the porch and call the cops.

"Is there a chance he's still there?"

"Um... maybe?"

I call Axel and tell him what's going on. After a couple of minutes, I finally say fuck it, grab a tire iron and go upstairs to the construction zone. Nothing. I'm just coming back down when the cops show up. They look around, make a few notes, and leave.

The really fucking creepy part? I just got off a series of midnight shifts and I was asleep in that room an hour earlier. If I was working tonight, I'd still be in bed.

Now I'm thinking of putting bars on that window.