Won't The Past Go Away?

I'm a bit too shaken right now to go visiting.
I don't know how I feel.

I've just put my own flat back into shape.

I didn't really know whether I wanted to write about this at all, but I felt you all deserved some explanation and I think I do want to talk about it, just not to anyone in Real Life.

May 14th.
It passed without me twigging. But it shouldn't have done. May 14th.

May 14th is that special anniversary.

On May 14th 2004, the Judge said Four Years.

On May 14th 2006, I walked free.

On May 14th 2007, I no longer had to report to a probation officer- although in fact, they cancelled my probation long before that.

I never stopped to think that in a technical sense, the sentence didn't end until May 14th 2008.

I have said goodbye to Ecstasy. I have said goodbye to Cocaine.

Partly because I've outgrown them. Partly because I've found things to fulfill me that aren't those two substances. But mainly, because the game just isn't worth the risks. Even using these things leaves yourself wide open.

I made a decision my thirtieth should mark an end to even sporadic recreational usage, and it's something I mean to stick to.
In spite of the drivel talked about both those chemicals, they are very easy to walk away from in some ways. They aren't physically addictive, the attraction is psychological. I'm not saying I've suddenly decided they are evil- I haven't, it's just that while the law is what it is, I now have too much too lose for brief moments of chemical high.

My bank balance, my career, this blog and the people in my life, are all sound reasons for giving up on a ten-odd year love/hate relationship with chemicals.

And I don't really miss them.

Three times in the last two months, I have refused offers on a Friday night to go to a party, where such activities would be going on. And on all occasions I have said 'No, I'm really not doing any of that any more.'

I came home today to find my door had been forced. It had been pulled to, but it was open.
The place had been turned over.

OK, it was a tip this morning. But this looked like the work of burglars.

Yes, they'd been through everything. Everything.

They took nothing.

But they left me two souvenirs.

A pile of dirty blue rubber gloves by my waste bin.



And a warrant lieing on a chair in the living room. A warrant to search the premises to look for controlled drugs and evidence of drug dealing equipment.

A little note 'We searched your place for drugs. There weren't any. Goodbye!'

Why? I asked myself.
Why do this to me? I'm thirty now. I was twenty four back then, when I was arrested.

I tidied up. I smoked- I've smoked about ten fags this evening and had about three coffees. My nerves are all over the shop.
Could someone have it in for me?

It was only when I looked at the warrant again, I saw the reason.
The warrant was applied for on May 14th, 2008.

So a computer somewhere says- 'His sentence is totally expired- give him a routine check.'

While I'm at work. Which involves leaving me with a front door which is a security risk and I'll have to repair out of my own pocket.
And the sense my privacy has been invaded, that people I don't even know have been going through my drawers.

My home. Where I feel safe. My home, which I work very hard to pay the rent for. Legally.

Tonight, I really DO feel Crushed by Ingsoc.

But I actually feel better now I've talked to you lot about it.

I'll be OK tomorrow :)

But I've only got one thing to say to my burglars in blue.

FASCIST. POLICE. STATE.