I have a Celtic knot ring I got myself after the former husband left 3 years ago as a reminder to myself that while our love came undone, there will be another to come around. I told myself I wasn’t going to take the ring off until I found that again. Cheesy and corny and silly, I know, but come on; I had to grip onto something good at that time–likewise, I’m sure some of you have noticed I always wear a silver metal cuff on my wrist that says “be happy, be strong.” I got this the same day as the ring. I haven’t taken either pieces of jewelry off since then, ever. Three years. Thirty-six months. One hundred fifty-two weeks. One thousand ninety-five days. The bracelet is a reminder to me, like how sometimes you have to remind yourself to breathe…same with looking at this bracelet. I have to remind myself I can be happy and be strong.
Anyway, I woke up this morning because I was trying to roll over in bed, but couldn’t turn because my hand caught on my comforter. My ring broke and snagged on the blanket.
To some, this would be a minor inconvenience. Oh shoot, my ring broke! Oh well, looks like I’ll have to get another one. To me and the stigma attached to a ring I probably got on clearance at a chain retail store…I’m shaken up by this. Again, it’s silly and superstitious and I shouldn’t put such sentimental value on such a trite thing, but this is really messing with me. I broke something again. I broke it and I can’t fix it. This has become the metaphor of my life.
The skin around my finger is pale and indented from wearing the ring so long, so even though it’s gone, I’m still reminded of what once was.
Philosophical, right? Excuse me while I adjust my beret and light up a cigarillo, man. Snaps to that.