Selling Your House

I did not imagine it would be this hard.
After every thing else this month.
It has been a headache and at times a body ache.
It has been stressful and work.
And a money suck.
But I am in the process of selling the rental.

It was always the plan to sell it.
Sooner than later actually.
It was actually not the plan to rent it.
But the market crashed and we had no choice.
And now the market is on its way back up.
Your neighborhood is hot right now.
People want to live there.

The sell process has been going to so smooth.
Thanks so much to our friend's help.
It will all be done in almost a month timespan.
It is going to a young couple.
Who I know will love the house as you did.

But alas I am a bit emotional at it not being mine.
Maybe its normal to be a bit sad at selling a house.
Maybe it's not just a grief thing.

I keep thinking of the first time I was in the house.
Getting stuck at the gate.
The way I wouldn't let you hold my hand closest to you.
There was a scab on my hand so I made you hold my other hand.

I think about the time you gave me a key to your house.
I was waking up from a nap and instead of leaving I had a key to leave when I wanted.

The silly fights I started because I was scared of getting close to you.

I remember when I proposed.
Watching you from the patio move from room to room.
Flipping on all the lights.
And then your face when you saw me on the patio.

I think about our parties.
Halloween.
July 4th.

Watching TV together.
Your big pile of clothes in the guest room.
Our bright yellow, thankfully temporary, bedroom wall.
Your attempt to match the color of the front door.
Putting up the new light fixture in the dining room six times till you got it right.
So many memories.

I hope to find some time in the next few weeks to just be there.
Maybe you'll join me.
For one last time.

The Peace Lily

When Roger died, I asked for others not to buy me flowers but plants.
I could not handle more dead things laying around my house.
So I received a few plants.
Three are still living.
One small peace lily, a larger peace lily, and a vine.

The vine has been amazing.
It has grown a lot and has even bloomed a few times.
It sits in the kitchen where it fights with the blinds for light.
It is also a succulent so I do not have to worry if I forget to water it.
Which tends to happen.

The large peace lily is living yes but it has never been very healthy.
I guess it does not like its location.
The leaves are ragged edges all year long.
It has never bloomed again.
I am not sure if it has even grown much.
But it sits right outside the kitchen window and I stare at it wondering if I should move it or just let it be.

The small peace lily has waxed and waned.
A few times I thought it was going to die.
Sometimes it would not get watered.
But it always came back.
Last summer I even had to repot it.
So in a new pot and outside on the patio it went.
I figured if it died outside at least I wouldn't have to witness it in my kitchen.

This past weekend as I was walking by the windows to the patio I noticed something.
I walked out onto the patio and noticed two things.
Two blooms.
After four years, it has finally bloomed again.
Finally.

Maybe it is a sign.
Or maybe it is a sign that I needed.
Yes, I did the right thing by re-financing my house.
Yes, Mr. X is a good match and will be an excellent husband.
Yes, things will be good this time.

The Other House - Part 2

As I noted, at the end of January, my renters moved out.

And in that, Mr. X and I have done a lot of time at the house preparing it for new renters.

We had to paint about half the house, install a new over the range microwave, steam the carpets, and some light cleaning.

Well after we selected the new color.

And as we were painting the walls, I started to think.

[Painting does that to me. Maybe the monotony?] 

"Would Roger like this color?"

"What would he think?"

"Wow, would he even recognize it now with all the new colors inside and out?"

And then meeting potential new tenants.  

I miss his handling most of this.

I miss him being in charge of the other house. 

And as another family moves in over the next few weeks, I wonder what he would think of them.

Am I choosing the right people?  

Will they be good to the house?  

Not to mention how this is all happening in February.

Of all months, February.  

At least it is not August.

The Other House

Much to the surprise of a lot of my friends, I own a second house.
Roger's first house.
And since we moved out in 2007, I have had the same renters.
They are awesome.
They take care of the house.
They take care of the yard.
And just fantastic people in general.

I knew this day would come.
I prayed it would not.
And it is a bittersweet feeling.
They bought a (different) house.
I am happy for them.
But I am sad to lose them as renters.
Since they moved in, (we) I have never had to worry about the house at all.
I did not even really have to think about it which is probably why my friends do not realize I own a second house.

Today as I was thinking about the house and my renters, I remembered something.
The night before.
They saw him last.
Roger had gone to that house because of Tropical Storm Fay rains.

I remember Roger recounting his visit.
Talking about how their oldest son asked about me.
My renter later told me how he kept saying "my wife" like she did not know my name.
She said it was really cute.

And now the last people to see Roger are leaving my life.
I could hope they will keep in touch but I know that is unrealistic.
Sigh.

Community

Most people think that New Yorkers are cold, rude, and there is no sense of community there.
I would disagree completely.
While I lived there, I had community.
A very nice one.
The Greek diner for Sunday morning breakfast.
The dinner across the street from my office who knew my order by my face.
Butter roll with sweet-n-light coffee.
My neighbors who always said hello.
Even letting me hang out in their home when I locked myself out.

When I moved in with Roger in the other house, his neighbors barely waved at us.
I craved community.
I wanted people to say hi to me.
Borrow sugar.
And then I discovered the neighborhood I live in now.
I was excited when I first found it.
The grocery store is in walking distance.
There is a bakery locally owned.
Loads of small businesses.
My neighborhood has outdoor movie nights once a month.
Festivals for every sort of event.
Yet, my neighbors ignored me.
Most people on the street or in the grocery store will not even make eye contact.
Even the few people I have met who do live near me, do not really try to be friends.
Especially since I do not have kids.
I was disappointed once more.

Today I realized something.
The school I will be working in is in my neighborhood.
Some of my fellow teachers live in my neighborhood.
They are friendly.
And as much as I hesitated to take a job within my neighborhood.
I will get my craving.
I will have my sense of community.
I will be part of something big.
Part of a "village".

All because three years ago.
Three years ago and I am here.
Living in a community.
Working in a community.
I love it.

New World Record

Growing up my family moved a lot.
My mom and step-dad did not even own a place until I was a sophomore in high school.
In kindergarten alone, right after my biological parents separated, I went to three different schools before Christmas.
Between 1999 and 2003, when I was on my own, I moved twelve times even staying one location for 18 months.
So yeah, I am more accustomed to moving then to staying.
I can move an entire house and do it well in about a weekend.
Another skill I can add to my growing resume.

Yesterday however I realized something.
I have not scoured the grocery or liquor stores for boxes for almost four years.
I have not thought "Man, I do not want to have to change that after I leave."
I do not believe I have ever lived forty-eight months in the same location in my thirty years.
A new world record for me.
The house is different of course.
And wow has life changed.
But there is something comforting in staying in one place and having a real home.
In going to the same grocery store and driving on the same roads in the same direction.

Of course, with all these nice comforting feelings, I had to realize how if I have been in one place this long, it means Roger has not.
It means I have lived in this house for over three times longer than he did.
It means Mr. X has lived in this house about half the time Roger did.
And will surpass his time here before 2011 is put on the shelf.
It means that one day, Roger will only be a sliver in this house's history.
And all of that is kind of weird for me.
A lot weird for me.

A New Plan

When I first moved into Roger's place, I felt out of place.

Not due to Roger at all.  He tried to make me feel at home.  

I did not help the situation much and for that I am sorry.  

I did not know where to put my things.

His house was already decorated for the most part.

At least as much as he was ever going to do to it.

He was a bachelor.

His rooms already had their purposes.

Curtains were hung.  Furniture placed.

I put my things and my decor in the holes.

I tried to combine our things.

But soon after I moved in, we bought this house.

And it was our home.  

Roger and I had many plans for this house.

We planned an arbor in the backyard.

It was going to be over our patio and extending into the back.  

It was going to be beautiful.

In five to ten years.  That was the plan.

But then things changed.  Plans shattered. 

Our home became my home.

I remember in the first few months of grief trying to make our house into my house.

I painted rooms.  I moved furniture.  

I covered furniture and I put up new photos.

But then I had this thought: "What about when another man moves into my life?"

I knew it would be odd to one day share this house with another.

So I sorta stopped making it my house.

I did a few things here and there but nothing too drastic.  

I wanted to wait.  

To change my house into a new our house again.

This Saturday morning, Mr. X and I woke up extremely early for a weekend to prepare for a new plan.  Our plan.

No more wood arbor.

But a screened room instead.

With pavers on the ground.

And a door.

A place to host friends and family.

Our family.  Our friends.

Our plan.

I want Mr. X to feel at home here.

I want this to be our home.

My hope is that Mr. X does not feel out of place.

Living in a place he cannot invest hope and dreams and plans.

I hope it is different for him than it was for me.  

I hope and I hope.

Two Relationships

Supa Fresh has a blog page on facebook.

She gives a thought or question of the day then asks for others' thoughts.

I sometimes respond and sometimes just read the responses.

As usual, the responses vary with each question.  

A while back she asked about our experiences with our first contact with a new dating partner.  

For myself, I have never felt guilt about being with Mr. X or the few other gentlemen I dated.  

I have never felt like I was cheating.

I have never felt like Roger was angry with me for falling in love again.  

However, recently, I have noticed perhaps why.

Not on a conscious level.  

Not often.

Not always.

Not even fifty percent of the time.

Only a very slight amount of the time, I feel like I am still in a relationship with Roger.

I have found myself doing things because Roger would want me to.  

Or because he liked a certain thing.

Or because he liked something a certain way.

For example, a few weeks ago there was a turtle in the driveway behind my house.  

I knew it was more than likely the turtle would get run over at some point during the day.

Roger loved turtles.

I love animals too but this was a turtle.

Turtles were Roger's thing more than mine

I had to save him.  

For Roger.

Mostly.

Then, a few months ago, a friend of Mr. X was splitting from his wife.  

He was setting up his own apartment and did not have much stuff.

I decided to give him a few Coke glasses and an old kitchen table of Roger's.  

A table Roger loved.

A table I did not like much.

Roger redid the seats with upholstery he picked. 

The friend got back with his wife and God only knows what he did with the table.

Or the other things.

And it makes my heart sink.

I feel like I was disappointing Roger.  

Same thing happened on Thursday morning.  

I had a lot of extra household items from Mr. X moving in.

Some his, some mine, and some Roger's.  

I called Amvets to come pick up the stuff.

This young guy came who just basically threw everything into the back of the truck.

My stomach was in a knot. 

I have to remind myself that I am not in a relationship with Roger anymore.

This does not happen often.

But just a sliver of the time.  

Just a slip into old habits, I guess.

  

Just for a moment.  

Ding Dong

Yesterday I had to go to the rental house- Roger's first house.
I have not been there in a long time.
My renters are fantastic and I rarely have to go to the property.

But starting at the exit off the highway.
Yes, the same highway the accident happened on.
The memories starting flying into my head.

The hundreds of times I drove this exact path to Roger's house.
The hundreds of times we drove this path together.

Driving into the neighborhood, it was strange.
Most things are the same but things are also different.
Trees are a bit taller and fuller.
More ducks are lining the street near the front.
The pavement has been redone recently.

As I drove down the street the house is on I wondered if anyone recognized my car.
I wondered if they recognized me.
I seriously doubt it but I still thought it.

I had the house painted last year so at least that looks different.
The big oak tree in the front though and the palm tree I could see from the master bath.
They are the same. Bigger, but the same.

Then when I rang the doorbell.
I almost for half a second expected Roger to come to the door.
I felt this sort of anticipation of seeing him.
I looked in the side window hoping to see him walking toward the door.

I remembered the times I would ring the doorbell even way after Roger gave me a key.
I did it as a joke.
Knowing he was probably under dressed.
I would see his feet first as he got close to the side window.
Then his skinny legs.
And his smile.
I would smile as he answered the door in his boxers and making sure no one else could see him.
"Why did you ring the doorbell?"
"No reason" as I just smiled.

I half expected him yesterday.
Except then I remembered this is not his house anymore.
And he does not live there anymore.

Comparison

Everyone knows it.
Most people even say it.
Do not compare the dead husband with the new guy.
And I try not to.
Mr. X is different in most ways.
In some ways however, they are similar.

They both liked drafting in high school.
Both are a bit nerdy.
Both a bit handy around the house.
But Mr. X is much more outgoing.
Much more physically affectionate.
And I could go on but I will not.
Because I should not.
It is not good to compare.

However...
When Mr. X moved in, I gave him some drawers in the bedroom for his clothes.
This was bound to happen.
I do not have millions of drawers so the odds were good.
But I was still a bit weirded out.

I was putting some laundry away.
Some of Mr. X's underwear was ready to put into the drawer.
Out of habit, I opened the drawer where Roger's underwear normally resided.
And to my surprise, Mr. X's underwear resided there in the same exact drawer.
Freaked out, I decided to see if his socks were in the same place.
Yep. Socks in the exact same drawer.
I could not even open the other drawers.

Now I know its not huge.
But it was still freaky and weird.
I did not mean to give him the same drawers.  Some of them are not but some are.
Mr. X just happened to organize his things the same way.
So weird.

From "His" to "Ours"

I announced a few weeks ago that Mr. X is moving in.
As we get toward the two week mark, so far so good.
It is a nice change to see him everyday.
To prepare all our meals together.
To share the household chores.
To wake up with him each morning.
And we are also starting to decorate together.

When Roger first died and I decided (I do not think it was really a decision but...) to stay in the house.
But somewhere in something I read in the millions of grief related advice, it stated if I was going to stay, I should change things around.
To make the space different.
So I painted the kitchen, the family room, the dining room, the living room, the master bedroom, and the master bathroom.
I slip covered some of the furniture.
I rearranged the furniture.
I bought new sheets.
I rearranged some artwork on the walls.
I started to make the home mine.

Then at some point I stopped.
I realized that some day I would want another man to live here with me.
That one day I would want the house not just to be mine but "ours" again.

When Mr. X moved in, I wanted to make him feel comfortable.
I wanted this house to become his home.
So his table is in the kitchen.
Pictures of his family are up.

And then, we started looking at the office.
It still looked like Roger's office.
As much as I have tried over the last two years, it still looked like the same basic set up.

So in continuing with my efforts to make this a home for Mr. X and me, we decided to re-do the office together.
We are taking down Roger's desk.
Selling part of it and giving the other part to my roommate.
I am getting a brand new desk that I have been eyeing for a long time.
Installing a huge wall size bookshelf for all our combined books.
And setting up Mr. X's desk as well.

I am not sad about changing this room.
I am really excited about this new room.
The physical ones and the emotional ones.

Three Years

Three years ago, this picture was taken.
I was giddy.  Roger was sick.
Three years ago, we moved into this house.
I finally had the stability I needed.

I had dreams of Christmases to come with family and friends.
Of Thanksgivings with the Jimenezes.
Of July 4th parties with all our friends.
Of Halloween parties.
Maybe some neat flowers and gardening.

I wanted to make "our" place.
I wanted to paint the rooms.
Decorate in "our" style.
We had the perfect niche for wedding photos.
Roger dreamt of having a personal gym at home.
Maybe one day of teaching some small groups again.
We had our offices.
We had tons of room to grow together.

And Roger's mom had dreams too.
She wanted to hear the pitter patter of feet as she stated during her Thanksgiving grace prayer.
The one and only Thanksgiving we had together here.

And as I have stated, I reflect a lot.
I reflect on then and now.
It is not a new habit for me.
Quite an old one actually but it is a bit more melancholy now.

I started thinking of how different my life is now.
I live in the same house.
A small feat for me as I have not lived in the same house for more than 2.5 years since I was in middle school.
A girl who in the span of ten years moved about twelve times or more.

And although my address is stable.
This is not the life I thought I would have standing on the lawn of our new home that day, smiling from ear to ear.
I have a roommate again.
A situation I did not foresee ever happening again.
I am not with Roger.
I am with Mr. X.
I am not working.
I am in school full time.
I am not a software analyst consultant.
I am going to be a teacher.

Yes, I have our place.
But now "our" is a different pair of people.
It is scary to me to see how different my life has become.

What will the next three years hold?
What will the next year hold?

Changes

A change is about to occur here in my house.
Next month, Mr. X is going to be moving in with me.
We have been dating for almost a year and I feel like it is time.
We feel like it is time.
Time to step up our relationship to the next level.
On May Day, it will become our home.

I was nervous about announcing this.
I am sure some people will be shocked that in less than two years since Roger's death I am ready to have someone else move in.
However, I felt like I was stalling my decision for the sake of what other's think.
For other's feelings.
For society's rules.
For what others deem as normal and good.

But that was not fair to Mr. X.
It was not fair to me.

It is a scary change.
Commitment-phobia is slightly engaged.
Death-phobia is highly engaged.
But it is also exciting.

However, I hate the term "moving on".
No, I am not moving on.
I am moving forward.  Life moves forward.
"Moving on" sounds like I am forgetting Roger.
I still think of him.
Every. Single. Day.
I still have tears that gently roll off my cheeks every once in a while.

I still love Roger.
And I love Mr. X.
Amazingly, I can do both.

Backyard Update

Last month I wrote about my plants.

I was so depressed looking at my backyard.

I cried as I realized everything was dying from the extreme cold and the bitter winds.

It was awful.

A couple weeks ago my doorbell rang.

It was my yard guy.

He said almost everything was dead.

He asked if he could cut everything back.

He said things may come back.

Or maybe not.

"Sure" I said as my stomach dropped.

With the time change, Florida also changes the water restrictions.

So tonight I was outside changing the sprinkler system.

I looked back where the banana trees used to be and I saw the first picture.

It was depressing once again.

I wanted to cry again.

I grabbed some fertilizer for the other plants.

As I was sprinkling the small pellets around, I noticed something else.

The second picture.

I got closer.

And I noticed something.

Something amazing.

I have some baby banana trees coming up.

Yes, the old ones are gone and dead.

But there are new ones for me to take care of.

I probably will not have bananas for a while but I have banana trees!

I have banana trees!!!

Some of the other "dead" things are coming back to life as well.

Some new sprouts here and there.

Some new life peaking out from underneath the old dead leaves.

Hope.

Surviving despite the conditions.

Renewal.

New life.

I Remember

I remember when I had the flu back in December 1998.

My boyfriend-at-the-time put me into a luke warm bath to cool my raging fever.

Then he had to rush me to the emergency room as the fever was not coming down and I was shaking violently with cold chills.

I remember Christmas 1999 in Florida.

Same boyfriend and I were very poor in my first apartment in Orlando.

He strung up lights in the shape of a tree and taped up ornaments because we could not afford a real tree.

I remember May 2000 when another boyfriend and I got our first puppy.

The puppy was sweet and smart and we took turns taking care of her.

We had huge dreams.

I remember October 2001 on my twenty-first birthday.

My friend Tom took me to a local bar for my first legal drink.

We played Trivial Pursuit cards at the bar and listened to U2.

I remember March 2002 on my first European vacation.

I was standing on a bridge in Stockholm as the sun was setting.

The first guy I loved standing next me and we were trying to keep warm.

I remember October 2003 trying not to pee in my pants.

A group of coworkers and I were going through some haunted houses around Halloween.

We were giggling so hard at being so scared.

I remember December 2004 standing next to the Sydney Opera House.

It was an amazing day of "flat white" coffee, walking through gardens, and sipping Australian beer.

The warm wind whipping through my hair and on my face.

I remember June 2005 riding on I95 in a huge Uhaul.

I cried leaving my New York City and all my friends.

But I was excited about returning "home".

I remember July 2006. Realizing I was ready for marriage.

I remember April 2007. Buying a house.

I remember February 2008. The happiest day of my life.

I remember June 2009 sitting at my favorite Orlando park with an amazing guy.

I was realizing I could be happy, again.

My heart was starting to go pitter patter, again.

So why in 2010, I am so afraid of forgetting.

I will not forget you, Roger. I must remember that I will not forget.

I do not have to try to remember these other moments.

They are all there.

And if I do forget some small details, it is okay.

It is okay to forget.

It does not mean I do not love you.

It does not mean we were not real.

It does not mean you were not special.

"Peace" Lilly

When Roger died, I got flowers and plants.

Which was nice and I realize people do not really know what to do, so giving plants and flowers is what they do.

But the flowers died.

And I do not have a green thumb.

Now I am down to two plants from that week.

One small peace lilly in the kitchen that hates me and will never bloom.

And one plant also in the kitchen that is actually kinda cool but it never blooms either.

But it is semi-healthy.

The latest round of plant deaths actually happened a few weeks ago.

Maybe a month ago now; time sucks.

Florida had about a week of below freezing weather.

I covered all the plants I could with bed sheets.

I had no idea what else to do.

I covered Roger's banana trees, the crotons, and some other random plants.

After the first morning, I realized I made a grave mistake.

I forgot the peace lilly plant outside my kitchen window someone gave me.

It hated me too for the last eighteen months.

It never bloomed and would always have some leaves turning brown constantly reminding me of Roger's death. Maybe I should have planted it somewhere else.

That first morning it looked awful.

Like I had murdered the damn thing.

I wanted to cry.

I tried covering it up the next few nights of miserable cold.

It did not help.

The plant is pretty much dead.

I see a few specks of green on the main stem but I do not know what to do know.

The crotons are dead.

All their leaves dropped off.

Damn them!

The banana trees... I am not sure.

I know for sure that some of them are completely gone.

But there are a few specks of green on a few of them too.

They really make me sad. I cried as I heard the wind ripping through the dead leaves.

Roger loved those trees.

We even moved them from the old house to our new home.

And now I pretty much have killed them too.

Even his aloe plants look like they are sick.

I am hoping they survive me.

I have no idea what to do to help possibly save these sick plants.

But why can't they live?

Why do they have to die too?

Why do they have to be so much work?

Ugh...

Coming Home

Last night I was watching some television.

I knew in one form or another I would probably cry.

I mean, it's "Grey's Anatomy" and "Private Practice".

It is almost a given that something will make me cry.

Something happy or sad or sweet or whatever but I almost always cry.

This even occurred before "everything" happened.

Last night on "Private Practice" there was a widower.

He had just lost his wife to cancer.

He did not want to leave the hospital with his infamous plastic bag to return to their shared home.

I completely got the plastic bag thing like a knife in the leg.

Not quite completely debilitating but still painful.

I remember my own plastic bag.

All of Roger's clothing put into a simple clear plastic bag labeled "Patient's Belongings".

A person's entire life is gone and all they give you is a plastic freaking bag.

My plastic bag actually came home with me the day of the accident.

Before I knew he was going to die for sure.

(I am not sure how the things in his ICU room came home. I have absolutely no idea or remembrance of this fact. I do remember there was not a lot of paperwork at that time or anything to do which felt odd.)

It was weird returning home for me.

The house was prepared for Roger and me to be on vacation for the weekend.

The cats had extra food and water.

Things were relatively cleaned up.

It felt odd to be home so soon when I was not planning on being home until Monday.

And it almost felt like I was invading a sacred space.

A different dimension or something.

It was weird that Roger was not with me.

Holly and Scott were with me instead.

But not Roger.

I did not realize then that Roger would never come home with me again at that point.

Not in a "normal" way.

The bag was put outside on the patio.

Who put it there I am not sure.

I vaguely remember looking inside the bag.

Carefully examining the contents.

His jeans were bloody.

His shirt was missing. And that still bugs the crap out of me.

I took a shower.

One of the last places I distinctly remember Roger at in our house.

I did not have the same feeling as the character in the show.

Yes, it was a happy place for us.

We were happy at home like the character.

But it did not feel right being home without him.

It did not comfort me the way it does now.

That whole first week, it was a reminder of everything changing.

Of everything that I was about to lose.

My home was not where my heart was.

Now, home feels good.

Home is my comfort.

My security blanket even.

Sigh...

Crazy Nightmare

Last night I had (another) crazy nightmare.

I hate when I have them.

I really hate when they involve Roger.

In this nightmare, Roger was brutally murdered by this young guy.

It was not the man from the accident.

This man lived in our neighborhood.

And of course I was scared to leave my house.

I do not remember why this guy killed Roger.

One of Roger's former co-workers also lived in our neighborhood (which is not true in real life).

He and his wife were over visiting me at my house when they saw the man looking in my windows (not the first time I have had a nightmare like that).

The former co-worker decided to hunt down this guy.

To revenge Roger's death.

So he ran outside.

Shot the guy down.

I know why these particular things were in my dream.

Conversations from during the day but...

It was a scary dream.

I woke up in a panic.

I hate nightmares involving Roger.

Why can't they just be normal lovely dreams?

Why can't they be memories?

Or something else?

Why must they be bad?

Ugh...

The Suitcase

As I have mentioned (many times), Roger and I were on our way to the airport when the accident occurred.

On our way to my high school reunion.

So our suitcases were packed.

They were in the back of the car.

The fire department had to remove the roof to get Roger out of the car.

The police searched through our stuff.

They said it was because they were looking for valuables.

For our protection.

Yeah right... I am glad that protected my 80G iPod so well that I never got it back.

In their rush of "helping" us, they messed up Roger's suitcase.

The one I bought him to match mine as a semi-joke for Christmas one year.

So we could travel together.

So we could easily spot our suitcases.

Plus he said he liked mine.

The police broke the zipper on the front pocket of the moss green suitcase.

They tore a big hole on the other front pocket.

It also had a spot of rust on the front from sitting under the replaced removed roof.

And it was dirty.

Probably even moldy.

But I kept it anyway.

I put it with all the other suitcases.

Upstairs.

Tomorrow, I have a roommate moving in.

Upstairs.

So the suitcases needed to be moved.

Hence I decided I needed to reexamine my decision to keep it.

Will I ever use it again? No.

Can it even be repaired? Maybe.

Would I repair it? Probably not.

I asked Mr. X to help me make the decision.

Since emotionally I was blinded.

Since I could not make a logical decision.

He looked at me.

He said I should keep it if I want.

He said it was up to me.

I begged him to help me.

To help me think about this logically.

The zipper could be repaired yes.

The hole was pretty severe, however.

And I have several other suitcases of similar size.

So I put it out to the curb.

I let the garbage men take it away.

It only reminded me of the accident when I saw it.

Not our honeymoon.

Not the trip to Arizona.

None of the good memories.

Only the worst.

So the suitcase is gone.

Gone...

So Stinky

Roger worked out a lot.

At least three times a week and sometimes up to five.

And with that he sweat.

And sweat. And sweat.

When he got home, his clothes would be completely soaked.

Which was fine.

We eventually came to a solution which I documented a while back.

But before that.

Before we moved into together, it was a bit of a problem.

Specifically for his love seat.

The way his family room was set up the love seat faced the television.

Roger loved watching television.

So he pretty much always sat there.

And he always sat on the left side of that love seat.

And he always sat there right after coming home from the gym.

In his sweaty clothes.

His stinky sweaty soaked clothes.

When I would come over, I sat on the right.

Eventually I started to smell something.

"Dear, what is that smell? It smells awful."

"I dunno."

I started to investigate.

It was the love seat.

It completely reeked.

I tried to clean it.

I tried to Febreeze it.

And the smell would go away.

At least for a while.

But then it would come back.

After I moved in, I insisted that we donate the love seat.

I had one and we did not need two.

Thankfully Roger agreed.

Then we came up with the naked solution...

A much better solution than a stinky love seat.