Last Friday afternoon, we were burglarized — the crank-headed assholes stole my new laptop along with a six-year-old Dell from up in my daughter’s room. The computers were apparently the only items taken, although drawers and boxes were dug through by the before-mentioned assholes.
Nothing else of any significance or importance seems to be missing — what a fucking shock, however.
(Illustration found here).
There’s a sense of violation, a great violation in having someone come into your home, into your private life and steal shit while you’re away, especially something like my laptop, to which I feel tethered in a lot of ways.
I finally got another laptop — a used Dell yesterday evening and I’m finally back into the ether.
The laptop doesn’t have a mouse — the thieving assholes also took the mouse, the carrying case and a small briefcase in which I carried around all my computer shit, discs and whatnot.
And I’m going to get a new mouse today, but right now I’m using that totally-fucked, frustrating, and exasperation-inducing touchpad on the laptop — I so, so hate-with-an-intense hate those things.
Those built-in mouse devices are made to create stomach ulcers.
Screaming at 4 a.m. such vile and nasty words, I should be ashamed — but I’m fucking not!