Ok kids, its been a while, and Mama's been sick with a winter cold and traveling all over the frickin East Coast for Thanksgiving with the boy. So sorry about the hiatus.

I was thinking about something that happened in the summer that was very cathartic that I never got to write much about. So I am going to do that now. Perhaps I will experience another cathartic feeling. A re-catharting, as it were?

There was a ring. It sat on top of a shelf, getting absolutely no attention for a very long time. While he packed to leave for good, while I sat on the bed and watched him pack himself out of my life, I happened to notice the ring.
"Is this yours?" I asked
"Oh, yeah."
"Where is it from?"
He paused in thought. Then, "I think I actually found it on the ground somewhere."
I picked it up and put it on. It looked lovely. "Can I have it?" I had to ask.
"Sure."
To me, it was a symbol of our connection, to be cherished long after he was gone. To him, it was just a shitty thing he found one drunk night and kept accidently. This could have been the metaphor for our entire relationship. I know that now.
He would never have given me anything like that on his own. And I wanted it--something crappy he found, because I could invoke meaning out of it where he couldn't. Just like in our relationship. Strange, the correlation.

So time passes and life passes and long after my heart was broken a few too many times by his disinterest and lack of compassion and whatnot, I still wore the ring. New life, new city, old stupid ring. I rather liked how it looked on my finger--black onyx with a flowery band of tarnished silver...I didn't wear any jewelry, just this ring. And once I truly felt his hold on my aching heart slip away into the black waters, like Leo at the end of that Titanic movie, I felt the intense need to rid myself of the ring that didnt even symbolize anything all along.

But I didnt do anything about it for a very long time. I had the plan all set--take my girlfriends out to lake Michigan with a bottle of wine and have a little ceremony before tossing it in with strength and pride, a purdging of sorts. But I never found a good time to do it. Months and months passed, I found a wonderful man I love more than I thought possible, but still the ring remained. Who was I, Gullom?

Then one night, after one too many Strong Island Ice Teas or 6 shot Margaritas or something to that effect from my favorite watering hole, I found myself with strangers and friends all drunkenly lounging on the concrete shores of Belmont Harbor, Lake Michigan yawning out before me as far as the eye could see. I felt so drunk I knew the bad time was coming for me, the time when I yack and call it a night. But before it came, I had a duty to perform. I was inspired to throw the ring here, now, among these strangers I barely knew. It was time, I just knew it.

I called for everyone's attention, and proceeded to explain my situation. Everyone was very supportive of the ring tossing, so I pulled it off, freed myself, and chucked it out into the murky depths of Lake Michigan. It felt so overwhemingly good to do.

And as I sat drunkenly down at the edge of the water, I realized I had been holding on to the past, and all my anger and hurt. I felt it slipping away with the rings demise. I deserved what I had now--a loving, wonderful boy to explore the world with, and I deserved not to be taken for granted or fucked with. It was a calm, peaceful feeling. Satisfying.

Then I crawled away from the group and leaned over the edge of the concrete and hurled all my insides out. Right into Lake Michigan. Right into the waters in which I had thrown the ring. And I gotta tell you, it felt good. I puked all over the ring. I purdged literally and figuratively.

Embarassed and newly sober, I wiped my mouth and lay on the cool concrete, thinking about how strange it all was. But how good I felt now. It was over. Finally.

So that is the story I wanted to share. I was happy to do something so dramatic and silly, since I have never been the type. I tend to keep everything people give me and cherish things boyfriends give me, even if they are as meaningless as a shitty found ring. I have learned not to form attachments to such things. Its the feeling between two people that carries a relationship through this lifetime. Not supposed symbols.