I keep waiting to get enthusiastic about running further, faster, and better; but this week all I’ve wanted to do is run away. Well really, I want to beat up the burglar who thought it was okay to invade my home and steal from my family.
Some people get scared when their homes are burglarized. I get angry. I mean, really mad. As in, I screamed like a crazed crack whore at a teenager who cut across my lawn this weekend. If I were that kid, I’d do it again just to see the show.
So at a time when I should be getting excited about finally having time for speed training, I’m interviewing security companies and realizing we’ll have far less under the tree than originally planned. I saved all year to get some of the items that were stolen, and now there is nothing. At least we have each other.
This weekend I worked really hard at making happy memories in the house with the kids. They have been so fearful. And they have been angry too. My youngest insists that the bad guys stole his favorite yellow marble. Of all the things that are missing, a marble is the least likely thing to have been taken. But to a traumatized six year old, it is the most important thing in the world.
Actually, considering how thorough the crook(s) were, not much seems to be missing. Sadly, most of what is gone belonged to the children. They even went through all the boxes in the attic, bowling ball bags, in the closet, and threw my violin around. I suppose they were upset when they realized it wasn’t a gun or something.
So now, when running would really help my stress levels, it isn’t really that much of an option. I’m behind at work, the house still isn’t completely to rights, and we’re bleeding money. I swear, if we didn’t have bad luck, we’d have no luck at all.
I promise my next post won’t be so depressing.