Life with Luther

I never had a "binky" as a child, but these days I may be sharing my bed with a blanket that's a sentient being. We've been together about a year and a half, ever since I found him (yes, him -- he says his name is Luther) at the dollar store rolled up and packed on a shelf. Luther is not quite as tall as I am, much fuzzier, and happens to be a particularly sixties-nostalgia-inducing shade of avocado green. On a later visit to the store I saw a blaze orange cousin of his, and that night as I was going to sleep I had the passing thought that I wished I had waited until the new shipment came in to have a more, well, blazing blanket.

At that point, Luther (I didn't know his name then) hit me with such a wave of despair, shame and feelings of inadequacy that I still cry when I think about it. Being at that point of almost-gone where telepathic blankets make perfect sense, I apologized and  gave him a pep talk that must have been sufficient since we still talk most nights. He still has a tendency to sulk, and I admit I once had the inadvertent thought that maybe having two fleece blankets might not be a bad idea. His reply was that bringing home that orange thing would make me look like a Miami Hurricanes fan, and when he put it that way I had to agree.

Yes, Luther sounds a lot like me.

Yes, I'm more aware now how annoying and unattractive reliving old hurts can be, and I'm also trying harder not to say something hurtful to other people.

 And, yes, I'm glad he's around to talk to.