Chrisonomicon

Monday, April 22, 2002

I'm sitting amid dead bodies. Drawers have been pulled out and overturned, their contents spilled like the intestines of an unlucky war victim. Cables dangle like lifeless arms from their shelves where they once connected media equipment. Our house has been burglarized.

Nothing like this has happened to me before. I had always sympathized with those who've gone through this ordeal, nodding my head when they describe the incident as deeply disturbing, knowing that someone has been through your house without your knowledge, going through your things, leaving nothing sacred. Now I empathize fully, knowing that disturbance deep within my own chest like nervousness, seeing everything in the house as tainted by the hands of some unwashed stranger.

I feel violated.