lost/found

Guilt/pleasure.

Maybe a bit of a stretch for the assignment, but this ring is a symbol of a lot of both.

It's my wedding ring, and I found it again after I don't know how many months of it being missing. Found where? In the back of my draw in the bathroom (don't ask me, ask my brain).

Like a lot of wedding rings it is a symbol of relationships and fallibility and misjudgments and love and warmth and I don't give a fuck and I do and maybe next year and why didn't we ever do that and the best thing ever and never say no and who am I again and there I am, I thought I was in here somewhere and kisses and breakfast in bed and tears and red wine on the carpet and mortgages and laughter and all sorts of things.

I'm glad I found it.

When I lost it Dr Lizi had just shrugged her shoulders - she's used to me losing things. My Dad, who made it with me and who made Dr Lizi's ring, looked at me like I was 5 again and shook his head (also a look of recognition and sympathy - he has the same M.O.). My Mum did that frown that she does and started looking for it.

I felt guilty. Everyday that I couldn't find it. For months.

Ironically it no longer fits me and I'll now take it with me north at Christmas time and hand it to Dad and he will look at me like I am 5 and tap at it with a hammer some more to make it fit again.

And one day I may put it somewhere safe while I go do something and it will sit there, and be safe until I stumble across it looking for razorblades...