.:] Here I Am [:.

Whis usually how I start an entry in my paper journal but I can't find it right now cause My stuff is scattered and I'm flustered. But I need to write.
The garage was broken into again. This time they took stuff. Alot of it. All while my pops is down in FL. All while I was in the house. I'm scared. I feel even more unsafe here in the hood. Funny I never would think that an officer would use the word " hood."

"Do you recognize any of these guys from the hood?" he'd asked me as we watched the video tape. My father had installed a security camera after he had a break in a while ago. Here we were watching these guys go through my father things- his tools, his various electrical wires, the buckets of stuff I'd never really cared about until they came in handy while I was fixing things this week. I feel so guilty. I was the last one in the garage. I was so sure that I'd locked the garage. I always check the door. My father NAGS me about it all the time but there is no sign of forced entry.

We watched as yet ANOTHER guy comes into the garage and rifles through my portfolio. I dont even want to see the damage done to the peices inside. I left it lying on the ground. I know they are all old sketches and crappy pieces but I started tearing up standing next to the officer while I was watching this stranger go through my old portfolio.

i gotta get out of here. Just when I started to fix this house. Just when I'd decided I'd really make an effort to be a better roommate to my dad. Now, again, I can't stand this place. where I am. who I am when I'm here. I hate it here.