Why Don't We Have a Confession for This?

Yesterday was going to be a really happy post. I was housecleaning most of the day, and I was going to post about the smell of the sheets drying in the sun (we care about our carbon footprint over here at Fourth Wall) and happy clean bathroom floors and pictures of cats. Around 4, I took myself to the Bonjour Cafe for a croissant and to study Latin, and at 5 I went to the bookstore to look at knitting books. Louis, friend of the other Alice who has been checking on the cats, called me about 5:15, and asked me why the back door was open. I thought nothing of it, remembering that I had forgotten to close the back door that leads out to the porch, and told him that everything was okay.

When I got home, however, book purchase in hand and ready to blog about it, I couldn't. My laptop was gone, and in a sign of true proof that I had not simply misplaced it, the power cord was missing as well. (My iPod is gone, too, but the other girl's laptops are in place.) So I called the police. I called Louis, and confirmed that what *he* had meant was that both the back door *and the door to the porch* were hanging open. I called Mom, Louis came over to help me talk to the Police, and when everyone was gone I called Mordu and cried.

Remember that resume dance? Yeah, the resume was on the laptop. My BA was on the laptop. My pictures I have of Wales are backed up on CDs and on Facebook, but the pictures I took of my garden and the city when I was back in San Francisco are gone. So's about $150 worth of iTunes purchases (I know I should back these things up, thank you). And I spent last night tossing and turning over the fact that some stanger had walked into my bedroom with dirty laundry on the floor and taken my laptop off my desk with the nice peaceful postcard of a buddha statue and lots of cheerful notes to myself to remind myself to drink more water and do yoga and so forth and stolen my laptop with my music and pictures of my baby cousins and my cats and little notes from people in my life and my WRITING which is my LIFE and oh my GOD the browser was open to a KNITTING BLOG how non violent can you get and it's all my fault for forgetting to lock the back door before I left and not checking to make sure that the door to the porch was locked.

We have confession to free us from our sins, but how do we free ourselves from the guilt of all the stupidities that aren't exactly sins? (My only comfort is that the computer was set for a Dvorak keyboard, so I hope it takes the thief one hell of a long time to figure out how to use it.)

There are no words to thank: Mordu, who a) let me cry to him and made his best efforts to send a hug though a telephone line and b) insisted that I call Hays and Kathleen to take care of me;

Hays and Kathleen, who a) picked me up at the apartment, b) served me a grilled cheese sandwich, organic cherry tomatoes, and Anchor Steam, c) watched a movie with me (the movie was "One Day in September," which was perhaps not the best choice for the mood but very informative anyway) d) took me to the Med for milkshakes, e) and let me sleep on their couch;

Pam, who ate brunch with me this morning and was, as always, full of love;

Mordu's mother, who has wished lightning down on the thief and for the return of my laptop. Don't mess with her.

If you're wondering if there's anything you can do to make me feel better, I have a few suggestions (I'm so not above begging):

1) If we've been somewhere together recently and took some photos (like, say, the Golden Gate Bridge), I don't have those photos anymore. E-mailing some of yours is easy and would be lovely for me.

2) If I made you a mix CD since December, if you could copy the CD and burn me a copy--that's the only back-up I have of some of my favorite music.

3) If you live in Wales, and can get your hands on a Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg window decal like this one, I will happily send you a present from Chicago or Toronto in exchange. I like having it to spark conversation with people about the Welsh language. That said, it was a hard identifying mark to explain to the police.

4) I have to re-write the resume. I may have to re-type my entire BA. Care packages of chocolate will be responded to in some kind and gracious way that I shall soon devise.

5) Pray REALLY REALLY HARD that the sore throat that I'm getting is not some sort of terrible disease that will require me to go to the emergency room since I haven't paid the summer Student Care fee.

I love you all, and I realize that I'm pretty lucky: I'm safe, the cats are safe, my jewelry, camera, checkbook, and wallet are safe, I'm not responsible for the loss of any of my roommates' stuff...but it still sucks.