Fuming

Years ago, when I moved into a new apartment, a couple of days after the moving truck had left, my door was broken in, and burglers ransacked the place. Being me, they didn't get much: something of immense sentimental importance (which reminded me that the memories it represented were so much more important than the memento itself --- after a few weeks of fretting about it --- so from that I learned a useful life lesson), a jacket, and a stereo. Clearly I was not as good a haul as some, and probably much less than they had hoped.
Still, the feeling of violation persisted for months. The stomach-tightening, mind-twisting sensation finally went away, and now, decades later, I can look back and just remember it, instead of reliving it.

Today I am fuming for a less intrusive, but still upsetting, violation. Our yard sign announcing our favoured candidate in an upcoming election was ripped out. And of course, the party offices are shut on Sundays, and the candidate is not expected to win the state, or come anywhere close, so he only has one office, in the state capital. Nowhere near here.

So, after a little creative googling, I printed out a copy of this, which I found here.

Yours, donating another $20,
N.