dear burglar,

Dear Burglar,

Perhaps you thought, when you came in my house yesterday and took my stuff, that I could easily replace it. Maybe you thought it wasn't that big a deal to take my laptop, for example, which you will no doubt sell for $100 somewhere so you can get high.

Well, you are wrong. My ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE was on that computer. I am a writer. This is how I EARN A LIVING. You have taken my notes for work in progress, half a completed novel, hundreds of family photos, and at least $1000 in digital music you will never listen to unless you are a big Neko Case fan, which I seriously doubt.

And I also want to tell you that the thought of you inside my house has inspired a primal, not-very-peaceful violent rage in me that I can't remember ever feeling before. If I had come in while you were there, I believe I would have been driven to beat you to death with the lacrosse stick propped near my front door. That's how out-of-control mad I would have been to see you in my home, near my children's toys and beds and bedrooms, with your scummy hands on my belongings.

Just thought you would want to know how I am feeling this morning,

Catherine Brittain Allison Granju