Day 4

On Tuesday, I decided to go rollerblading when I got home from work. And I know some of you are saying, "but you work at a roller skating rink. I don't get it." Well, rollerblading for me is actually a decent workout, since I'm used to traditional skates. Plus serpentining through my neighborhood is always a challenge. But before I set out for my 20-minute journey, I took off my jewelry. And one piece in particular never returned to my right hand's middle finger: The ring.

I cannot find it anywhere. I moved everything in my bathroom, tore the couch apart, even overhauled my bed in an attempt to find the closest thing to a tangible soul I have. This ring has been with me since my sophomore year, and has been with me through thick and thin, from being stolen, washed, stuck in doorframes, you name it. People steal it to play with, stare in awe at the three intertwined bands. My finger is actually slightly deformed because of its permanent place on my hand.

James told me I was being ridiculous, and I should just buy a new one. Never. I knew the day would come when the ring would no longer be a part of my life, I just wanted a little more control over that date. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.