It was almost a week before I stopped wearing my ring. I was attending a handfasting. I’ve been such a hermit lately, and it was incredibly short notice. Still, I felt an urge to go, so I made the time.

I had gone to Meijer’s to pick up some food, as it was potluck. Not much better than kettle chips. Anyway, I parked in the driveway, and just… froze, I guess. I was staring at my ring, and I didn’t even realize it. It felt wrong to wear it into a ritual setting, especially one that was a joining of lives. It felt like I’d be lying to them, to myself, and to the gods. I took it off and dropped it in the cup holder in the car, amongst the pennies that she keeps there.

I didn’t get in the car all Sunday, and any of Monday morning. By the time we were heading into work, I was panicking that somehow the ring would no longer be in the cup holder. I was deathly afraid of it getting lost or stolen. My chest would tighten up any time I thought about it.

Another cliche, used over and over again because it’s true. Used so much that the intensity of its meaning is lost until experienced.

The ring was still there. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket, next to my keys and change. You can hear it clink when I walk, usually. The ring has always had such an amazingly clear sound… I don’t know what to do with it. Do I bury it in the yard, leaving it behind with the house? Do I take her suggestion, and have it melted down into something else, into a new meaning? A new significance? Do I pawn it, and get some practical use out of it, and hopefully let someone else attach meaning to it?

I keep thinking that this would all be so much easier if could just get out to California, and start with the moving on.