the beach at Arbroath, Scotland

22 April 2004
on the eve of my own destruction

i have to preface the following story with this statement: i really, really, REALLY hope that i'm wrong. because if i'm right i'm not sure how, or if, i'm going to able to handle it.

i came home from school yesterday around 7 pm. i wanted to cook. i noticed that the pot that had sat in the sink for the past few days (full of water, so it could soak) was gone. it was the pot i wanted to use, and so i looked around the kitchen for it. on the potrack, in the cabinet, everywhere. our kitchen is not big, and there aren't many places to put things. i looked through the living room and dining room, and then down to the basement, thinking maybe one of my roommates had used it in the studio. nothing. i went back upstairs and noticed there was still a ring in the sink where the pot had sat.

i was annoyed, but i figured one of them had used it. liz came down a couple minutes later, and i very pointedly asked her about it. she said she hadn't used it and hadn't seen it. kelly was home a little while later, and i asked her the same thing. her reply was same: hadn't seen it, hadn't used it.

the last time i could remember seeing the pot was wednesday morning. i have no memory of taking it out of the sink, washing it, or putting it anywhere.

it's a fairly large pot, maybe 12" x 12" x 12". i use it all the time. but the most important part of all this is that it was my Nana's pot, my great-grandmother. it's an ancient, heavy alumnium pot with a little crest etched into the front of it with a knight and horse on the crest. i love it because i like thinking that she cooked out of it for many years, and my mom did, and now i do.

(i'm tearing up now even as i write this)

i can't think of what happened to it. actually, i can: i've come with several senarios of what could've happened to it.

1. i moved it somewhere and simply forgot i did (highly unlikely, unless i'm going all Sybil)

2. one of them used it and simply forgot that it was in their room. (annoying, but entirely forgiveable)

3. one of them is hiding in their room to spite me. (insane)

and the one i REALLY hope didn't happen:

4. one of them put out of the garbage on wednesday night, the first time in months that i didn't have to do it. they put the pot in the trash, either thinking it was a piece of crap or again, just doing it to spite me.

like i said. i really, really, REALLY hope i'm wrong.

because if i'm not? one or both of them willfully destroyed my property. i have NO idea how even begin to wrap my brain around that. i have been a royal bitch to them, needled them endlessly to help clean the house, stalked around and sighed and made faces and been generally unpleasant. all this i admit to, because i know i am not a perfect person; perhaps not one that's suited to living with roommates. but i have never, and i mean never, considered destroying, hiding or misplacing something of theirs. that, to me, crosses the line. and why? why in the fucking world would they take a cooking pot? it's the sheer bizarreness of the whole situation that makes me think that no, they would never do that. it's too strange.

so i have no idea. i'm going to wait and see if it shows up in the next week or so, and if it doesn't, i'll either confront them or write them a letter. i was unbelievably upset last night, and even called my mom and cried like a hysterical freak, but i thought that was because i was PMSing in a major way. but tonight, even writing about now is making me cry quite considerably. i feel like a piece of my history has been ripped away from me.

last night, i also:

nearly started an electrical fire in my room while trying to rewire a lamp; results of which were a loud pop, a horrible smell, a ruined power strip and a small burn mark on my carpet.

stepped on a pin and drove it a half inch into my second toe. it was neither bloody nor particularly painful, but pulling a piece of metal embedded that far into your flesh is never a pleasant process.

clearly the universe is trying to kill me off.

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