This morning I walk out to go to the office, I round the corner of my building, putting on my helmet and the thingy that stops my pant legs from getting caught in the chain.  I turn to unlock my bike and I find it sitting there minus the rear wheel.  Crippled.

I'm shocked and not shocked.  Sad.  Angry.  It feels awful to be robbed.  You feel violated and helpless.  Explosed.  

I stomp off to work on my other vehicle: my feet.  I'm grouchy today.

I go to the art gallery after work with Ceri and that cheers me up.  Walking home later I'm carrying some thin hope that maybe I was seeing things; it wasn't MY bike I'd seen this morning.  I look at the spot and there it is.  My bike.  Crippled.  

I'm not so patient when it comes to life's inconveniences.  And I know, in the mind of the thief, it's got nothing to do with me; but in my mind it's all about me and I can't stop thinking about the lurking tire predator, laughing at me; challenging me to fix it.