Burglary and the Sins of Planning Ahead

So I got robbed.  As in, gave my friendly dogs giant bones, guaranteeing BFF status.  As in, left a condom on my floor, and taking every dime of my money I'd saved for my editor - and left in cash in my bedroom to prevent accidental spending - and vandalized my house.  To be fair, the thief DID leave a quarter in the place of my envelop of cash.  You'll have to forgive me if his generosity just feels like a na na nana na...

It's HORRIBLE.

Three years ago, I got my truck stolen by a creepy dude that I had known, but refused to have any kind of friendship.  I had taken my children shoe shopping, and when we walked out of the store, I found myself looking for my car.  You know the feeling...you're sure you parked it in a certain place, but your mind eventually jumps to the possibility of theft.  Right about that time, you usually stumble onto it, and you sheepishly put that idea out of your head.  

Not me.  It really was gone.  Plus, there were only maybe 20 cars in the parking lot, and not many places for an aging 4Runner to hide.  I ended up getting a ride home, reporting it stolen, and then starting what would prove to be the end of my relationship with my insurance company.

My truck was old, so I honestly hoped that if the thief was going to inconvenience me by stealing my car, he should at least have the decency to set it on fire or destroy it in some other complete sense that would result in a check to buy a new one.  Imagine my frustration when it was found, walking-distance from the store, not a charred oozing marshmallow, but perfectly intact, including most of the dirt coating the outside.

I say most, because the creepy guy wrote "I love you" with his characteristic smilie face.  There were beautiful, perfect fingerprints on the glass window beside the affectionate note, but the police that recovered the vehicle did not take them.  In fact, they felt I was extraordinarily lucky to get the truck back at all, and the missing subwoofer in the back was a small price to pay for the lesson of...what?  Leaving my door unlocked?  Key in the ignition?

The fact is I had done neither thing, and since they steering column was not broken, the only possible method of theft was a key.

Did you know that when you go to a dealership, you only have to provide proof of ownership to get a key cut from any VIN number?  And that proof can be something as flimsy as a photoshopped DMV registration, altered from any existing one.  With a fake id, anyone can do it.  It does not need to be notarized, or official in any other way.

When I opened my truck, with the cop peeking over my shoulder, I found my registration on the seat, laid flat to clearly show my address.  My garage opener was missing, and the unspoken statement was that I know where you live, and you'll never know when I'm coming.

So...we were renting...we moved!  Yes, it took a few months to get out, and in the meantime I was so afraid.  You can not know how frightening it is to not have a place you feel 100% safe to sleep unless you have been through it.  I had endless nightmares.  I bought a gun.  

It's been a couple years, and now this happens.  I bought my house... I can't leave.  I still have editing fees to pay for my book that was scheduled back to me last Wednesday, but is still in the process of being made more awesome..  I still have house payment and other expenses.  

I am such a planner, and being a student means we already cut all the corners we can.  I already bought school clothes and supplies for the next year, but might have purchased differently, more conservatively, if only I'd been robbed sooner!

Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.  But I'm not getting the money back.  It's gone.  The cops say they've got no way to help me, and I should just change my locks and be more diligent, changing my habits and leaving all my damn lights on all the time.  Somehow, though the cop was a great guy, clearly really trying to help, I walk away from this situation feeling like somehow, I'm the one who dropped the ball, rather than the person who robbed me shouldering the blame.