I have taken to tucking the healing stone (Remember that and it’s powers? If not, I talk about it in one of my first posts) into my left side bra cup. The idea is that it’s as close to my heart as it can be on the outside, and where it does its work. The problem with this is that through this divorce (can’t wait to stop saying that) (can’t wait to stop using parentheses) I have lost quite a bit of weight. No surprise, but I have to latch my bra on the smallest circumference, and the boobs don’t fill out the cups like they used to. If I lift them up and put the cup right under them they look okay for about 5 seconds — then they bag and sag — both the breasts and the cups.
I have “lost” the stone twice, both times in bed. If you are paying attention, that means yes, I wear my bra to bed. Always. You can accept this, I’m sure. I’m very ritualistic, so if something isn’t in its place, it could be literally anywhere. The freezer, even. By the cat box. In the cup holder. Turns out the stone was still in the bra cup — it had just migrated to the other side.
(Lots of room). No parentheses! Lots of room. The second time was this morning. After a thorough check, it was not swimming around in the left bra cup. Instead of panicking, I thought maybe the universe was telling me I am done with the healing stone. Maybe it put all its little belongings in a kerchief and tied it to a stick and went looking for another heart to heal. I was cool with it. Seemed ok. I plopped back into bed to read a little at 4:40 am, which is the time I was born, and the time I usually wake up, and I had a Princess and the Pea moment. I had checked the sheets and blankets before, but nevertheless (nevertheless should never be used by non-lawyers, as well as parentheses) regardless, I was lying on it. Thank god. Who was I kidding when I thought I was healed? The lesson is that I just need to buy smaller bras. Moving on.