Everything was left in my senior school house from the 19th century. The owner died. How terrifying. We immediately started cleaning. I found a plaster from the Last Supper that I hung over the stove. How stunning. Three years later, it would be the worst decision of my life. I'm sleeping. My children are sleeping. I hear a crash and wake up with a start, I look at the clock, it's 3am. I called the police, thinking my windows had been broken and someone had robbed me. When they arrive, we go downstairs and find the plaster from last dinner broken on the floor. I told the cop what it was, he said “that's crazy.” They search the house, there are no suspects. They go their own way. A few days later my cats were lying on the road. Dead. My boyfriend is sitting in the living room. I'm washing the dishes. I don't cook. My children are in the playroom, but I can see them. I hear a hit. They hear the impact. We look at the glass in our oven that exploded. Nothing hit. It just exploded everywhere. Into millions of pieces. I buy sage. Sage is a hell of a place, or at least that's what I thought. My boyfriend was afraid I was messing with them, so I decided to secretly make salt circles and decorate my kitchen with angels. I asked them to stop ruining my shit. So far it's worked. Now if only I could convince her to stop opening the bathroom cabinet drawer….
Posted by Brandee
