My car was broken into just now. It’s the 3rd or 4th time since moving into my house. This time they grabbed the prescription glasses from the center console, which is an asshole thing to do and I guess so sort of a last straw on the matter.
The petty crime of daily life. It reminds me of Madrid. Or Prague.
For the longest time I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I lock my car all the time. And now I’m reading an article about tech that allows you to echo the signal from a fob inside your house. A repeater.
I need to move my keys away from the door. I need to put them in an iron box. I’m reading articles like this at 2:42 in the morning. That’s the biggest loss. The insomnia of details.
I’m left with a feeling of inevitability. Entropy. Here I am trying to exact some level of control over the system. And I recognize that’s all this is: my house, my car, my glasses for driving. A constant (and losing) effort to bring about some control over a diminutive area of the world.
I had a similar thought yesterday as I sat on the patio and looked at the tree growing next to me and the stucco walls: how all this had been pushed and moved around and manipulated to provide shelter, and how it was constantly trying to return to some previous state, and how it would eventually do so. A sand mandala. Just on a longer timeline.
Do I find joy in maintaining these little slices of order? Because that’s the question. It feels both invasive and like a return to nature when those man-made boundaries are crossed. And now my old friend, the dead of night, is here waiting for me.
