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What in the world was wrong with the pillow?   Clearly it was loaded with someone else’s energy but I didn’t have that kind of time.  Still, as I made my snap decision, I saw the face of the woman who constructed it, then I saw Vinegar Lady.   The energy didn’t belong to either one of them.  Good enough!  GO!!

I nearly tore the cover in my haste to remove it.  It revealed a feather pillow, which would have qualified as “nice and plump!” under less sinister circumstances.

I couldn’t get to the laundry room fast enough.  The horrid thing went into the washer, along with a couple of handfuls of sea salt.  Does sea salt really neutralize energy?   Does washing?   Who cares!   I slammed the lid and backed away.

At length I opened the washer to find the cute cover was now pale pink with a red back.  I studied it from a variety of angles and it remained pink, so I hauled it upstairs and hung it on the clothesline.  Maybe the sun would bleach it.

The inner pillow, I dried in the dryer.  When my daughter got home from school I presented it to her.

“What do you think of this thing?” I asked.  I still felt a little uneasy.  Was my anxiety real, or residual?

She took one look.  “I LOVE it!!!!” she crowed.  It was just a bag of feathers but I’ll give it to her:  she gets her money’s worth.  She gathered the pillow into a bear hug and flung herself on the bed.  They rolled around together, a blur of pink pillow, black hair and skinny brown legs.  She began to sing.

My husband walked in.  We’ve been together 17 years; my story did not surprise him.  He hadn’t seen the cover itself but he could see the handwriting on the wall.  “So,” he said, “we’re gonna put a pink pillow on our couch?”

I hate to waste money.  “It’s not bad!”  I insisted.  He looked at me.  “It’s pink,” he said.  I closed my eyes.  It was pink.

It’s been a few weeks now.  The cover is still pink.  The throw pillow is no longer a threat.  I regularly lean against it to watch TV.  I like it.  It’s cute.

Now that I have some distance I see how interesting the energy was.  It was pure Crazy: rage mixed with hatred.  It wasn’t after me or my family, it was just looking for a place to land and I happened to be sitting there.  Which is probably how it ended up in the pillow to begin with.

P.S.–turns out, washing a haunted throw pillow in sea salt makes the crazy go away.  Go figure.

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