The Blanket.

I bought this big, wonderful, magical bedspread type thing. I paid a ridiculously low price on it at a thrift store.
Leopard print fur on one side and velvet on the other, it is extremely warm and sensual to lay on or under.
When I got it I took it to egg's and the first thing I said, even before I took it out of the bag was, "this is not a gift. This is mine. I am not giving it to you."

We slept on it and under it and had wonderful snuggles and giggles in it. Then he was a booger to me so I took it home.

While he was in jail he called me and said he wanted to snug with me under the blanket. The blanket is a snuggle magnet. When you are under it you feel so good you can't be upset about anything.

Either way, I took it home with me when he was being a poo the other day and I have it layed out on my bed and I sleep on top of it. I can afford these type of luxuries, for I am rich. Rich, I tell you.

He called me last night. He was dying. Cold, in pain, lonely, sad, cold. You know, dying. He begged me to come over and to bring aspirin because he was dying and nothing but aspirin and my love could save him.

Being the good little co-dependant I am, I rushed to his side, with aspirin, knowing that if I didn't he would die and it would be all my fault.

He was about three days spun and speaking in gibberish, drooling and basically being an annoying ass. Stand by your man, right? Right.
So that's what I did. Only lying down.

You see, when you are on methadone, and you do speed, it sort of cancels out the methadone and makes you kick. Which hurts. Plus you are spun, which doesn't feel very good anyway. I will never understand what makes people think that doing speed feels good.

6am. My alarm goes off. I get up drunkenly and stagger around gathering my belongings and considering not going to work. He says, "Why don't you bring the blanket back? I don't have any and I am very cold at night and wish I had that wonderful blanket to keep me warm."
I reply, "the blanket was never a gift, only a loan and when you were mean to me, I took it home because I love it and never want to lose it."

"But, Coney, I am cold at night and I have only one very thin blanket, what shall I do with out the blanket."
"You shall freeze to death, I suppose. Or perhaps consider buying yourself another blanket."

This was a concept that was very foriegn to him. Why should he buy a blanket when he has a perfectly good woman to buy them for him?
The perfectly good woman got called a few perfectly good names for voicing such blasphemy.
"Heretic! Philistine! Heathen! Jerkface!"
I took it in stride. I'm not that co-dependant. I can still draw a line when it comes to furry blankets.

Maybe some King Solomon wisdom is in order and I should cut the blanket in half.