Stolen

I stayed at work late on Wednesday. I spent my overtime (not paid) browsing TMZ/USA Today for juicy news that would prepare me for Quiz Night at Crocodile Lounge so I could impress my old coworkers with my trivia skills. Then I made a stop at Forever 21 and stood in a line of 20+ NYU students so I could try on a pair of skinny bright blue jeans.

The moment I stepped into the fitting room and pulled back the curtain, my phone started vibrating. It was Kayla.

“HAVE YOU BEEN HOME YET?”

“No, why?"

“I THINK WE GOT ROBBED.”

The moment she said robbed, she hung up. I dropped everything I was holding and stared at myself in the mirror.

I have experienced a feeling similar to this very few times. It’s like everything tingles and then you’re numb. It feels like you have no control of your body and can’t form words or think or feel or live.

I called Kayla back.

“We did get robbed. This is not an April Fools joke, Mary Clare. I think you need to come home. Right now.”

I immediately called my Mother and the melt down began. I pushed though crowds of people – shaking and talking a million miles a minute. I finally collapsed on the steps in Union Square – in between protesters and skateboarders – and started sobbing.

I don’t remember getting home, but I’m pretty sure the whole train was staring at my clenched fists and swollen eyes.

Breakdown two happened when I realized they broke in through my locked bedroom window, knocking down all of my books and crushing a picture of Evelyn as a baby that I had in a white frame. They ransacked through our bedrooms - pulling apart our desks and drawers and moving furniture – leaving with our computers, cameras, jewelry, iPods, speakers and video camera.

Kayla and I go back and forth between anger/sad breakdowns to just being thankful we're safe.

I just want this mess to be over. I hate the quietness of the apartment and having to surf the Internet on my BlackBerry. I hate that all my photos and writing and music is gone. I hate that I was going to convert all the high8 video tapes from Vegas/the cabin/Chicago/Green Bay into DVDs for all my friends, and now I can't. I hate having to sleep with Kayla because I'm scared and I hate watching her hide the last of her precious possessions in the closet when we leave the apartment. I hate how we're all paranoid.

And with all the hates, there's a nice balance of love. We have renters insurance and I have the most wonderful and supportive family and friends in the world.

Not sure what I'd do without all the loves in my life - they keep me floating.