march 15 2025
the best day of my life

I want to preface this by saying the title may be slightly misleading-march 15 was not the best day of my life in question (although, it was pretty good).

after spending a couple hours dillydallying about fisherman’s wharf and pier 39 in San Francisco, I decided to take the cable car back to my hotel (only the cable car took us half way, kicked us out, and told us to take the bus, which I opted to walki the mile, I decided I needed to walk that extra scoop of ice cream off). anywho, I was sitting in the cable car, distracting my mind from being present, scrolling through tiktok while also on facetime with my long-distance best friend. i saw a tiktok that nearly stopped me dead in my tracks. he was posing the question of “what was the best day of your life?” and I really thought ‘wow, I can’t pinpoint that’. and of course, the comments were filled with similar thoughts to my own.

what’s even worse, I could immediately think of an exact date that I’d consider the worst day of my life. I can tell you all the details about that day. almost as if I can relive it.

so it had me thinking, what could possibly have been the best day of my life? and a lot of people like to go the route of they haven’t lived it yet, they haven’t gotten to the best day ever yet. but that proves the point.
that proves that we are always just waiting for the next best. that we’re always comparing every good thing to happen to something else. that enough is never actually enough. success isn’t successful enough. happiness isn’t happy enough. every good thing could be better. we have so deeply engrained in us the ideal that the grass is greener on the other side. that’s what drives people to infidelity. because there’s always someone else out there that could be better, right?

it’s the potential we hold onto, the hope that we grasp onto. I think it gives us purpose- knowing the best day ever has yet to come. that we will always have something to look forward to because the best day has yet to happen. (at least, for the glass half full kinda people- optimistically scouring the earth for meaning, searching for the positive in every situation, seeing the world as beautiful and abundant.)

but I don’t think that way. I think when we are asked what the best day of our life has been, it’s conclusive only of what we have so far experienced. it’s a day that’s subjective. and may continue to get replaced as we live on, and value other things and find other events more fulfilling or more joyful.

it’s much easier to pinpoint the worst day ever because we don’t want to top it. we don’t want to one up some really bad shit. we want to leave it in the past. horrible days beg for our acknowledgement because they drain the life out of us. experiencing a day so bad that you were so painfully aware of all of your surroundings down to the smell of the stale air in the brick room of the house that was built in 1812 that you were standing on. down to the sound the floor made when you stepped on the creaky wood on your way out the door for the final time. you’ll remember exact phrases you said, exact ways that you felt. tastes, smells, sights, absolutely consumed you in a moment that left a forever imprint on your being. maybe not everyone’s worst day of their life was a traumatic event, but I think a lot of people have experienced trauma in even smaller scales.

horrible events beg for us to be sucked into them. they are so energetically draining, like a black hole, an energy vacuum. the energy we put towards negativity requires more effort than feelings of joy, which is why negative memories are far easier to remember than those that were joyful. bad things are often synonymous with our uncontrollables in life. because, unfortunately, we are unable to control everything in our life, which can lead to unfavorable things taking place. and, well, that’s life. but it takes a decision, effort, to make a positive thing happen. it takes effort to have the best day ever, and the worst day ever is typically one that happens TO us, rather than for us, perhaps.

though, I believe joy requires more autonomy. it’s like the paralysis of decision. deciding which day we can proclaim as the best feels like too much pressure. there’s where the pressure to be perfect comes into play. the pressure for the best. we have more choice in the decision of the best moments in our life than our worst. as I feel joy is a passive feeling, that is fleeting because it feels good to flow with the emotion of. and experiencing pain or suffering is much more active, as we spend the time in efforts to resist the feeling, rather than sitting in it and going with the flow. it’s easy to get in the boat and flow happily along the river, it feels good, natural, easy. it’s much easier to be joyful and have a happy memory. but you’ll remember the time you had to row upstream in a storm and all of the effort you had to put in to keep moving forward. same way our brain works through memories.

somehow, joy takes effort and happens naturally all at once. that’s the duality of it. it can be easy, and so difficult.

so, I was thinking about my best day. and I think where I’m struggling is that I want to combine a bunch of favorite memories to make the most perfect best day ever. I find something wrong with each day that I start to think is the best I’ve had. nothing is sufficient. it doesn’t help that I’m a happy crier, it doesn’t take much to make me feel emotional in a good way. and every time I feel so encompassed in my emotion, my eyes swell, I feel so deeply. that’s why I’ve been pondering my best day ever, wracking my brain of every positive memory I have ever had in my 24 years of existence thus far.

luckily for us, we’re likely to replace our best day ever time and time again. it just means we experience way more good in life than bad, and thank the Lord for that.

my most recent best day ever was in Belgium.

I arrived in Brussels and decided I wanted to take the train to Ghent. oddly, I have felt an overwhelming sense of comfort every time I’ve been to Belgium, a home-like feeling. this time was no different. on the 40-minute train to Ghent, I sat by the window. put my phone face down on the tray table in front of me, took my airpods out and put them back in their case, and just stared out the window. I do this thing when I’m traveling where I actively try to soak in every single moment, especially the mundane moments. (though I’m realizing I’m a hypocrite based on paragraph two of this.) if you lived in Brussels and took the train to Ghent every weekend, you likely would find ways to distract yourself, you would get used to the ride, bored of it even. not me, this was my first time. and looking out at the countryside, it was so eerily similar to parts of Kentucky where I’m from, and I started tearing up. the small part of myself that misses home was feeling engulfed in this moment. the little girl that was coloring next to me kept looking over at me and I’d like to think it was because she thought I was cool, but she probably actually thought I was ridiculous. I actually thought she was really cool, I was thinking wow, how cool would it have been to grow up here.

after getting dropped off in Ghent, I wandered through the streets, and this is what I have in my note’s app,

“the countryside of belgium, perhaps ‘the burbs’ inbetween brussels & ghent, actually look eerily like kentucky. and i feel weirdly at home.
ok everyone comes out on sunday to buy tulips & other flowers in ghent? thats cute. and the rich people have having bottles of wine & charcuterie in the middle of all of it”

that doesn’t tell you much. but for a moment, I envisioned myself living here, coming out on a Sunday afternoon to buy tulips and have a European brunch with family and friends, and I liked the way I felt a serotonin boost just by picturing that alone.

I decided to take a little touristy boat tour through the canals for 9 euros (where the f is the euro symbol on my keyboard?). I sat down next to a girl who said she’s from Vancouver, who proceeded to tell me about her corporate job that absolutely went over my head. I thought she was cool enough to share a boat seat with for 40 minutes I suppose.

when I took the train back to Brussels after having wine and the best brioche with chocolate chips, I wandered around (clearly I do a lot of that). ate more random little bites and stumbled into my favorite little park in the city where there is always live music and people joined around. by live music, I mean men who pull up with a guitar and sing typically. but it always speaks to my soul. and I get emotional every time. I sat and listened, I watched, I took some deep breaths to take it all in.

later that night, I stumbled into a cool reclining wooden chair looking at the cathedral where I sat to watch as the sun went down, and I felt God smiling at me. I swear. on my walk back, I got mistaken for a local and that made me feel like I belong in a cool girl way. I even got gelato and the man shaped it into a rose for me. I saw more people singing but this time in the Grand Place, and I fell in love with life all over again.

all of that goes to say, maybe that was my most favorite day ever. but then, I can’t help but to think there was probably a day in my life that tops that. part of me feels like the best day ever should have included a cool accomplishment, like when I graduated flight attendant training and was really emotional about it, or ran 20 miles for the first time, or hiked a mountain, my first solo hiking trip, or my first solo international trip, or something. but maybe my silly little 24-hour work trip to Brussels where I took a train to Ghent will sit there for now. and I won’t rush the next best day ever. somehow there is something really awesome about every single day, even the ‘meh’ days.

Dear Unsealed,
PSYCHOLOGY OF PROJECTION
The theory of the psychology of projection is a phenomenal viral situation in 2024.
There are people who project their ill feelings, anger, insecurities onto the closest empath standing in their way.
You spewed obscenities at me that day
As you do everyday
you blame me for your failed attitude
that is not subdued
I ask you why
Why do you project your insecurities onto me
You reply
It’s all your fault
It’s my fault you say
No, you just caught
In another lie
I sigh
Why?
You yell at me
You are nothing to me
So, let it be
I cry
I say
No
I could be your fake friend
Until the end
So, then you yell
To me
Not let it be
But cruel words of anger
That makes you a danger
To my world
To your world
To all worlds
As you carry on
With your blaming me
For your misdeeds
Of unconscious reprimanding me
Or any other empath
The victim of your wrath
You are jealous and angry
You sit around spewing obscenities
Of hate and bigotry of amenities
And talents of other people on Earth
So, tell me,
For what it’s worth
How do you wake up everyday
To your vile words of insanity
Of what may be your reality
To trash the Earth
With your dark soul
Of cruel intentions of old
As your soul was sold
To the vile fiery hell of hades
Of your life of death,
Here what I say.
Your dark empty vessel of skin
Can not win
You are the demon of Earth
For what it’s worth
You are not anything
You are a blank empty soul
Of nothing
But your lies
Your ego
You cry, you scream
At me
Let it be
You are the epitome of humanity
Garbage dump
Dump Dump

Hold my hand. Gently grab these fingers and walk with me.
I have something to share with you.
Let’s go for a walk.

I know it’s in your nature to save me. To protect me.
I’m here to let you know, it’s okay.
I understand your job, but right now, your job is on hold.
I’ve got this now.
It’s time for you to take a break.

I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with it, but I’m okay.
I’m safe now. I’ve found the middle ground.
You don’t need to cover me with your comfort shield.
I’ve got this. I promise.

You can go lay down and rest.
Shut your eyes.
Silence the noise.
Relax.

Sincerely,
Me

Dear Music,

You have been my first love, my most loyal companion, and my greatest storyteller. Before I even knew how to express myself fully, you spoke for me. You carried my joy, my pain, my anger, and my healing in melodies, in beats, in lyrics that felt like they were written just for me.
When the world felt too loud, you gave me rhythm. When silence was too heavy, you filled it with sound. You have never judged me for how I felt-you simply embraced me, wrapped me in harmonies, and let me be.
You have been my bridge to places I have never been, to people I have never met. You break barriers, crossing languages and cultures, bringing souls together in a way nothing else can. Through you, strangers have become family, and stories have been passed down like sacred traditions.
Whether I was dancing in joy, drowning in sorrow, or standing in quiet reflection, you have always been there. Guiding me. Holding me. Reminding me that I am not alone.
Thank you for your presence in every stage of my life. For being my escape, my therapy, my celebration. Thank you for giving me the courage to tell my own stories. I will always love you. I will always need you.

Forever Yours,
AmbitiousBMarie

Life has a way of forcing you into stillness. When everything around you crumbles, when the weight of the world feels unbearable, when you’ve given all of yourself and still feel empty—you are left with two choices: break, or rebuild.

I won’t lie. There were moments I felt like breaking.

I have battled PTSD, bipolar disorder, mood swings, and depression. Some days, I could barely pull myself out of bed. Some days, I felt like I was drowning in emotions I didn’t have the strength to explain. And yet, the world kept moving. Responsibilities didn’t stop, expectations didn’t pause, and people still pulled from me, unaware that I was running on nothing.

Last year tested me in ways I never imagined. I ended a relationship I deeply wanted. One I poured my soul into. And it broke me. Not just the loss, but the realization that I had given so much of myself, yet I was never truly seen, never truly valued. I walked away with nothing but exhaustion, drained of my love, my energy, and my spirit. And then, life didn’t give me time to heal. The weight of being out of work, the unexpected surgery, the long recovery, the piling responsibilities—it all came at once. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could push through, but when my body failed me, when I could no longer do the things I once did effortlessly, I had no choice but to sit in it. To feel everything I had been running from.

Preparing for my son’s graduation should have been a moment of excitement, a moment of celebration, but instead, I found myself withdrawing. I just wanted to be alone. I couldn’t explain it, but I didn’t want to be around people. That’s when I knew—I had to go back to therapy. I had to see my psychiatrist, get back on my medication, and take control of my mental health again. Because no matter how much I prayed, I had to also take action. Healing isn’t just spiritual—it’s mental, emotional, and physical.

And then this year, the surgery happened. I thought it would be simple. Something I could bounce back from quickly. But this surgery was nothing like I expected. It forced me into yet another level of surrender, another layer of patience, another reminder that healing has no shortcuts. I cry a lot. I get emotional, and sometimes it feels like the world is changing too fast, yet somehow, it also feels like we’re moving backward. There’s so much hate, so much anger, so much division. And as I get older, I realize that time moves whether we are ready or not. I used to picture myself in a different place by now. I thought I’d be married, settled, moving in a rhythm that felt secure. Instead, I find myself constantly adjusting, constantly learning, constantly relearning how to exist in this world.

And January—it never gets easier. In 2020, I lost my father. In December 2021, I lost my child. That kind of pain never truly leaves. It lingers. It shifts. Some days, it’s a whisper. Some days, it’s a storm. I wanted that baby so bad. So bad. And sometimes, that grief still knocks the air out of me. No matter how much time passes, I still feel the loss. I still cry. And I still ask God why. But through it all, my faith remains my anchor.

I am deeply spiritual. I trust in the Most High. I believe in the power of prayer, in the power of divine alignment. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray. I pray through my pain, through my uncertainty, through my grief. I light my candles. I speak to my ancestors. I trust that even in my hardest moments, I am never truly alone. And my advice to anyone experiencing something similar—love yourself first, pour into you, work on your healing, seek therapy, sit with your emotions, stop running. Search spiritually for God, pray, meditate, trust in divine timing. Don’t let your situation break your spirit. You are stronger than you feel in this moment. Always take a break for your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. You cannot pour from an empty cup. Love will always come. You won’t have to chase it. You won’t have to question it. When it’s meant for you, it will align effortlessly. And above all, life is short—so enjoy it. Live. Love. Heal. Breathe. Be present.

I am still learning, still healing, still growing. But what I know for sure is this: I will not break. I will rise. I will love again. But this time, from a place of wholeness. And when the time is right, when my spirit is aligned, when my heart is open and whole—love will find me. Not through force. Not through desperation. But through divine alignment.

In the quiet embrace of the fog, the world is transformed into a dreamscape; shrouded in mystery and wonder.
It is a sanctuary to God’s creatures who roam and call it home,
and to souls who either melt in the embrace of natures hug, or thrive in it during a hunt in the wilderness, venturing deep into the veil of fog for prey.

Today, I stepped outside to experience the serene air kissing my skin, the fog blanketing the woods in front of me beckoned me with its allure,
my eyes also catching the gold and brown leaves, whispering tales of autumn’s end.

I look to see the bare branches reaching out like fingers yearning to touch the misty air,
and in that fleeting moment, suspended in time, I captured a glimpse of the desire that emanated from the trees.

Its a reflection of my aspiration, to embody that quality in my life, to reach out and languish into the fog, being alive yet one with it would be a dream— as that would mean I would be forever trapped in a state of serenity or peace.

And if dreams become reality, then I implore whoever sees me fading into foggy stillness to keep from reaching out and let me be,
for in that moment I am happy,
I am free.

In the river of time, we drift and glide on life’s current, side by side.
We flow together, bound by routines and survival’s embrace, with some finding solace in their pace and others who bear burdens, heavy and wide.
Yet despite our different paths, the goal for all remains unchanged, to stay afloat and abide.

We journey on this temporal stream, experiencing moments both shared and a dream.

For me, floating adrift for nearly three decades, it was in my recent path that I set myself ablaze,
consumed by flames of renewal, a heart reborn. In time’s river, I’ll continue to soar.

In the scorch, I let myself burn, shedding the old, bitter me that yearned to extinguish God’s goodness within.
Anger and resentment threatened to consume,
plunging me into dark, endless gloom.
Yet, like a phoenix, I rose anew, enlightened, with self-awareness shining through.
From the ashes, l emerged, reborn and free,
snuffing out the flames that once consumed me.

As I rise, the future’s dawn, In 2025, a new path drawn.
No longer bound by insecure ties, the past’s weight, I bid goodbye.
Goodbye to burdens heavy shadows, threatening to cave in on me,
goodbye to the whispers of names and flawed reflections;
I’ll let the flames of courage soar, And watch the past, forevermore.

With gasoline, I’ll set it free,
from chain of doubt I’ll break with glee.
A resolution blazes, fierce and true,
In the horizon’s arms, I’ll soar anew.
From the ashes, I rise, wings spread wide,
embracing the sky, my spirit twirled.
Let it all burn, in the night’s embrace,
I’ll find my freedom, in this vast space.

Thank you very much
Hide quoted text

On Mon, Feb 24, 2025, 10:43 PM Lauren Brill wrote:
Click write a letter now in the top right once you are signed in and then you can put it in the “chasing your dreams” category.

Lauren

On Mon, Feb 24, 2025 at 10:25 PM Leroy Bragg wrote:
Thank you very much, where would I put the story at
On Mon, Feb 24, 2025, 10:15 PM Lauren Brill <lauren@theunsealed.com

So for 24 years I have been a lube/tire tech, I have worked some Amazing jobs and never expected to move up, well after my Longest reign of 7 years at a job, I had a opportunity to get within 10 minutes of my home.So I hated leaving but it was time to go.The first day at this new job was SPECTACULAR, after that it was A NIGHTMARE, I regretted going to work, but I was working 5 days a week so I really couldn't leave.I received a call from my job I walked out on 20 years ago.It just so happened the interview was the day we were getting off work early for a Christmas party ( I didn't go to the party) I went to the job was Ready to be a LUBE TECH ( he didn't need what I was) So I figured a porter or something smaller,( I didn't care I WANTED OUT of that other job and I was willing to DO ANYTHING.My boss told me I was to be PDI TECH( ALOT BETTER and better pay) So I GREATLY ACCEPTED.I would quit this other job ( another story) And I'm VERY HAPPY I HAVE AMAZING COWORKERS, I'M HAPPY, and I love MY JOB AGAIN ( FIRST TIME IN YEARS) I THANK GOD for All the hardships cause it led me to my Final Auto shop.I don't know how long I have left to work on cars, But honestly I'm just getting started.PH 4:13 I Can do all things through Christ who strengthen me.

out of the echoing cave
By: Jim Kellogg
(The Queer Poet)
2-2025

the shards of glass
from the broken mirror
pierce the heavy and dark clouds
causing a turbulent storm
overwhelming and
tossing me around without direction
the invisible wounds have festered for years
leaking like droplets from a frozen river on a sunny day
i feel like i am trapped in an echoing cave

then…

i see her
my brave and cherished mother
a woman who shed her own tears
sometimes silent
sometimes wailing
she harkens me to the edge of the echoing cave
there…
she shows me an open window
an unexpected means of letting go

I see you.
Not just the you they pretend to notice,
but the you that lingers in shadows,
weighed down by whispers that won’t hush.
The you that wonders if silence
is the only way to be heard.

I won’t lie to you—
this pain ain’t easy to carry.
It seeps into your bones,
fills your lungs with the weight of nights
that stretch too long, too heavy,
too empty.

I know the darkside.
The way it calls your name like a lullaby,
promising rest where the world
only offers war.
I know how it feels
when the walls close in,
when every breath feels borrowed,
when hope is a language
you forgot how to speak.

But listen to me.

There are others who walked this road,
stumbled, fell, but still found their way.
Not because the weight vanished,
but because they learned—
somehow, some way—
to shift it,
to share it,
to bear it just one more day.

So if tonight feels like the last chapter,
I beg you—
turn the page.

Because the story ain’t done.
And neither are you.

What does it mean to have your dreams come true? I’m from a small town and my entire life I have heard “you can’t.” “You’re from a small town, it’s impossible.” Well, I am here to tell you, it is possible. If you were to ask any 10 people on the street, they would say “I wish I had chased my dreams when I was younger.” Everything has its own way of happening on its own time. And I am living proof. My first novel will be published on May 18th of this year, I have began to sing in public again after several years, I have someone who loves me for me and doesn’t look at me like an object and my family has seen my smile returned to me. Thank you The Unsealed for helping me achieve my writing dreams and I can’t wait to see what happens next!

feb 3
a journal on pursuit.
what if you did? what if you just kept going? what if that dream of yours wasn’t actually too big? that things start aligning, making sense. what if? most people look at what if in a negative light but what if something fucking incredible happened? what if you do in the future, in this moment, for the future? instead of the reminiscent ‘what if’, the optimistic version. perhaps there is no negative outcome of the pursuit of anything. as even failure has its benefits. even failure is a step towards achievement. as some movement is better than none at all. even when its redirection. even when it feels like the world is rejecting you, you are still on the path you are meant to be on, as long as that dream of yours goes nowhere.

truly, I believe everyone has desires deep within them that will never go anywhere. no matter if you try to supplement this desire by something arguably more ‘realistic’, it will never go away. nothing can ever scratch the itch of a dream you have except the pursuit of said dream itself. the more you hesitate, the more you cast fear and doubt on this dream, the farther it will feel. yet the stronger pull you have towards it. the more you tell yourself it isn’t possible, that it’s stupid to think you could have that, the more you will create a pull towards it. so why suppress it? why spend a life going after things you don’t truly want in hopes your truest desires will be fulfilled through supplementation?

most people say they wanted to be something, and decided otherwise as it didn’t seem practical. those people are not truly happy or fulfilled in what they chose to do instead. they are living a life of phony, of pretend. the active decision to not pursue their truest self. how can you argue with your own truth? as if your soul doesn’t reveal its own truth, but your mind will for it?

for years, I could feel exactly in my soul what I wanted out of life. I wished to be aloof in a beautiful way, out in the world, authentically, organically connecting with people of all origins and finding a way to impact communities globally. I always wanted to be a famous writer. to spend as much time as possible creating. I’ve always had an adventure spirit, and a creative mind. I’ve always had a fear or not seeing enough, experiencing enough, meeting enough people, creating enough memories. since I was young, fomo has kept me up at night. the fear of missing out. my parents would always tell me, “the day is over, you can do more tomorrow.” but that answer never silenced the desire in my brain to do as much as I could. I’ve always been so hungry for life. it has always came naturally to want more, to challenge each day, to search for beauty in every single day.

admittedly, I have spent a lot of time pursuing other passions, hoping that my truest passion would go away on its own. how foolish of me. to silence my own voice. to suppress my own purpose and wonder why I cannot find purpose elsewhere? that nothing else in the world has felt like I’m meant to do it, makes sense why now. I thought I wouldn’t be able to be out in the world on my own, so instead I got a job to travel and make money doing that, which sounds ideal. but it doesn’t scratch the itch enough. it isn’t enough. it is not the authentic, organic, traveling I am craving. and it will never be enough no matter how many times I try to tell myself that is the only way I’ll be capable of what I want to do, an easier way out of what I actually want to be out in the world doing. I have always written, but have always put it on the backburner. I have always told myself that it isn’t good enough, that in no way could I be a successful poet, writer, on my own. that I had to have a normal job and it could always just be a passion on the side.

but these thoughts consume me.

these passions consume me.
that’s how I know they are meant to be pursued relentlessly. no matter what I try to do instead, there will always be a nagging voice in the back of my mind containing my truth, begging for my acknowledgment. begging for my honest effort, and full effort towards it. as nothing will work out for me until I am on the path of truth. the versions of me that has tried to suppress my truth are the versions of me that keeps feeling rejection from the universe in different forms.

so, that feeling, urge, deep in your soul will never go away. trust it. respect it. chase it. spend your life not only in acknowledgement of it, but in pursuit of it.

The couch. I bought the big leather couch, chair, and ottoman back in 1999 or 2000 I think. I was working on the boats at the time. Had a few boatguy friends that would come right before or right after season to hang out… some pretty big guys. I bought the big furniture in a time when you could get that set for $1500 I think. And it was built to last. I still can’t believe how well it was made compared to what you get now for the same price.

A crush and my brother helped me get it into the house..and it wasn’t easy.
When my ex and I bought this house it wasn’t any easier getting it in here.

Last Spring I tried to get it out of here by myself and quickly realized I might die trying. While it was still standing on end from my attempt at finagling it out the door, I cut out the material on the bottom and saw the bones of it… it was beautiful.. real wood, lots of it… straps were as high quality as the best ratchet straps of today. The springs across the bottom were thick and solid. I cut open the one cushion that had finally broke down, and those springs too, were heavy duty. I ordered a replacement spring pack, which was much lighter built than the original I found, not the old, solid, barely squash support of 25 years ago. I took an awl and sewed the leather back together. I bought a slip cover (pretty nice one) thinking, I could rescue this couch, build it back better and not just toss it away.

As time went by, I just couldn’t sit on it. It sat empty. It looked better on the outside, but it sat like a big ass sad emblem of itself. And it had been ruined from the inside, of another who defiled it.

Gone were the multiple big asses that sat on it, at times slept on it. Gone were the dogs that had curled up on it, scratching it ever so slightly with their paws. Gone were the times I could curl my feet under me, or lay across it with my head in another’s lap watching yet another hunting show…or even better, Walking Dead.

I had hinted to others that I wanted it out, for the past 9 or so months. No one took the hint. I think some things are just meant to be done on your own. So the other night….

I cut it’s coverings off… razor to leather… the leather on couches from back then was much better, thicker, more like hide. Cut out enough foam to get to those nice big chunks of wood that were it’s frame with the skillsaw. Cut it into two manageable pieces… scooted it out the door (still had to get the right angle to make it happen).. pushed it down the stairs, and dragged it to the the far end of the yard.

As I poured some expired peanut oil on it, and put a couple of dry pieces of wood in a cardboard box in the middle of it to get it started…. a sadness engulfed me… as the fire would soon engulf the couch. I had started this with anger, but it ended with grief. Like for real grief.

As I watched that fire (I couldnt believe how fast it went up), the last 24 years of time with this couch went through me.. along with the 21 years with him….it still took a couple of hours to realize that it was just time for it to go, and for me to let go of the idea that I had made it better, built it back better, and to let go of the idea that I could ever sit on it in comfort again.

It was grief.

Then, today someone mentioned to me that I had burnt a couch on the evening of the Super Moon. So there’s that.