We were broken into yesterday. Brick through the window, all of our audio visual equipment gone, camera, cash, and about a quarter of my cherished record collection. The policeperson who attended thinks perhaps the sound of me returning scared them off, or they would have taken more.

I think, geez, what if they weren’t as scared, and had stayed around? What if the dogs were home rather than out with me (I’d taken them for a drive to a nearby field so they could have a run, or in our recently amputated Jett’s case, a walk and a roll in the grass).

So now comes the difficult period of working out what they took, collating a list and submitting an insurance claim. That’s a full time job in itself, since they went right through the house. I think there must have been a few of them, every room seems to have been raided, all except the garage. And it was the first day of school holidays – coincidence, or something more sinister? (Spoilers – the latter, I reckon).

We’ll probably never know who did it, how they knew my schedule enough to make their move (or was it random luck for them?!?), everything they took, where it goes… we’ll only know the hassle and rigmarole of sweeping up broken glass, dealing with the insurance company (which has already been awkward and difficult), going without music and TV until this is sorted out, which may be weeks.

We’ve been broken into before, so we fully understand the feeling of invasion of privacy. Of someone now having our laptops, full of our personal letters and photos, Lady Boomboom’s uni work, my novels and short stories. Thankfully almost all of it is backed up, but still…

When it happened I was so angry. And hurt. And as we all know all too well, angryhurt is a bad way to be.

“Aaaaarrrggh! I am so over people, get me out of here, away from anyone I know, let me live in a small shack on the beach and eat fish tacos and drink tequila every day and write stories and sell them online and never have to talk to another living soul again (apart from Lady Boomboom, and perhaps our tequila and fish taco supplier) because everyone sucks and everyone tries to rip us off and everyone goes out of their way to hurt us and, and, and… aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggh!!!!!!”

But then the insurance lady was helpful (it didn’t last), the forensic policeperson was lovely and compassionate, the insurance assessor made sure that the office’s error didn’t stand and had someone out at 7pm boarding up the broken window in a ‘make safe’ operation. Loads of friends expressed support publically (on Flopbook) and privately. Some even offered financial or material help, which we don’t need – but the offers were hugely appreciated.

So I found myself reminding myself yesterday evening that not everyone is toxic. A lot of people, but not all of them. Not everyone is a scumbag lying backstabbing cheat rat bastard. A lot of people, but not all of them.

Running away and hiding in another place won’t solve everything, it just lets the scumbags win by making us compromise for them.

We’re hurting, we’re struggling, but we’re not broken – and I know we will not let them break us.

They’re not tough enough to beat us. Not the snake emotionally abusing my daughter and Parental Alienation-ing her from us. Not the government raping and pillaging the country for money and power. Not the corporations abusing the environment for profit. Not the ferals stealing our stuff (my records, my beautiful records). Not the cancer eating at our beloved fur child.

None of them win. This is our world and we make the rules. WE WILL WIN, no matter how hard the fight is. We will do it on our own terms, and fuck anyone who gets in our way.

And on that note I will leave you with a poem from the mighty e e cummings (he insisted on his name being presented in lower case, and please note I have altered one word to make it more relevant to my own circumstances – as an aside, this was how I first learnt the quote and always remember it, rather than in its original form – but I digress…), written in 1958 and just as relevant today.

“To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you [something] else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; never stop fighting.” e e cummings, 1958

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