Better Than Therapy

I'm stressed and I'm reaching back to all of life's lessons from college. When stressed, BURN something.



It just so happens I came apon a whole box of old checks from my old bank account that I've recently closed. Well, we can't have someone piecing together my ripped up checks. I don't have a shredder. Those checks obviously needed burning.

There's a coal grill outside of my door by the playground and I had flames 2 feet high from those checks. I poked the fire every once in awhile just because you must poke fire to be completely happy with it. No, I didn't use an accelerator. I'm not an elmstreet GUY, I'm an elmstreet GIRL and that means flames 2 feet high are quite enough. I had that lovely smell of just burned leaves (or checks, in this case) clinging to my clothes until I popped them into the washer for one of my last loads of wash. It was just getting dark when I set out on my check burning endeavor, and it was completely dark 20 minutes later when I scraped through the ashes to see if I had left any intact strips of numbers anywhere. The last few pieces looked like black flaky skin with bright orange fingerprint lines converging and pulsating. And then it was all dark.

It was cool. I feel better. Onward with the move.