Saturday, 30 September 2006

Permanent markers revisited.

Holy shit.

Jacob came home last night with a tattoo.

Just below the neckline where a t-shirt would fall on the centre of his back.

Angel wings. Symmetrical wings and if you look hard, scrolled within and difficult to discern are all of our initals. Baby included. JTF, BR, RB, HJ and OC. You have to know they are there, that's how well they were incorporated into the design. Mind-blowing.

I'm stunned. He's managed to eschew all forms of body modification all these years. Never had pierced ears. Never a need for anything and now this. Holy wow. It's beautiful.

I have tons of tattoos and am down to five piercings from seven and he's always told me if I had remained plain vanilla I would have been just as beautiful. But I didn't get any of it to be beautiful, I did it to mark days. To remember things, to be different. I did it to prove that I might be sweet and proper but I never forget who lies within. The expressive one. The freak. I think body art is beautiful.

Oh, fuck me, emoting all over the place today I am.

He got it because he is complete now, he said. I can't think of a better reason than that.

Friday, 29 September 2006

5:17 AM

5:17 am on July 13 was when Cole died. They let me in to be with him. I watched him slip through my fingers for the final time and I wanted it so badly I thought God was going to come out of the sky and push me right on through the ground into hell for those thoughts.

And I talked to him. Jittery, random sentences that flew out of my mouth. Everything I ever wanted to say that I didn't get to say because our twenty years together didn't end so well. I asked questions I will never have answers to, again. He wins.

I'm sorry.

You treated me like dirt. What did you expect me to love you with, when I had nothing left?
He's good to me. To the kids. He looks after us.

Why didn't you just let me go?

Why did you have to hurt me?

I hate you.

And I cried. The tears just rolled down my face with great big fat blubbery sobs following and I sat there and watched the clock and I didn't look at him until 5:17. That's when I looked at him and said:

I love you.

And that was the moment he died.

And now every day I wake up at 5:17 am. And I'm one hundred percent convinced that he's haunting me using time as his weapon. Because Cole would do that.


Hi internet,

This is Jacob. Bridget is still sleeping but she left the window open so I thought I would write for her. Last night I took my wife on a surprise date. First we stopped at the drugstore and bought a ton of cough drops. Then I took her to see Jackass Number Two to cheer her up. She laughed so hard and didn't cough too much. When we came home we had some cake. Bridget loves cake. She was in bed before 9 and is still sleeping now at 7 am so I'm hoping she feels much better today.

Yours truly,

*(What I found when I woke up. I think I'll just leave it as today's entry. TGIF.)

Thursday, 28 September 2006

The gauge, it reads empty.

Hell, I can't even cop to being beautiful on the outside at this point, the usual safety net I keep in place because I'm normally a freaking mess on the inside and yet you'd never ever know it.

I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.

Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.

Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.

Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.

The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.

So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.

Drama queen indeed.

Radiant Bridget.

No lapdances this post, folks.

Not so much glowing with pregnancy as I am glowing with the heat of a thousand suns. Last night I ran the mother of all fevers, to the point where Jacob woke me out of a sound sleep with medicine to bring it down because he said the bed was so hot he woke up. He made me drink gatorade, stripped off my camisole and pajama pants and sat up with me for hours.

This after he had to do everything anyways, coming home from work with groceries and finding me halfway across our bed, having been sick with the shakes and chills all afternoon. Bless his heart, he got me the rest of the way into bed and got dinner and bedtimes achieved with a flair that only Jacob has. He brought me flowers.

And my mother calls from home and tells me she's on penicillin for the same cold/flu and maybe I should go back to the doctor. I point out I see the doctor once a week.

And the kids are still coughing so much I'm keeping them home again. Well, that and the fact that I'm too sick to walk to school four times today (8k total) so we're in, we're down and we're going to get better or die trying.

Wednesday, 27 September 2006


(Uh-oh, the second half of this became the requisite porn post. I'm not sorry. Very sweetly I will make no apologies.)

Someone is losing his mind.

Jacob has been mostly around for all of two difficult pregnancies and he's forgetting all the rules, which usually begin with:

1) bring deep fried food and orange juice. Cake is a plus, but then again, when is cake not a plus?
2) hold the hair! Who cares how much I'm sick, just don't let it get in my hair.

I'm not a doll (ha), and I don't need to be treated with kid gloves but when I feel really great and I want to do things, I have to talk him into everything, because he thinks I should lounge around swaddled in blankets and have people bring me things all day like a princess would (so where is all the deep fried food I requested? Hello!). He absolutely forbade me to wear my high heels outside anymore (Notice I said outside because oh, he doesn't mind if I wear them indoors). In case I slip or something.

Remember he's stepped in to be there during such very private times you wouldn't believe it. You have to have faith in someone when I felt so comfortable with him from the moment I first met him and he put his arm around me on that hammock and kept me safe through that entire night when I was out of it. It was definitely something bigger than both of us.

God was busy playing matchmaker, and we were slow.

And then through being pregnant with Ruth when he would bring me smoothies and the very first time he stopped by and I didn't answer the door, he came in anyway and sat down on the bathroom floor behind me and pulled my hair back so that I could just keep throwing up even though I tried to wave him away and fight off his arms and when I lay down on the floor because I was too fucking sick to crawl he picked me up and carried me to my bed and kissed my forehead and he sat on a chair in the corner and worked on his university papers, writing with his pen, papers and books balanced on his knees, while I slept and woke up only to be sick, and he would drop everything on the floor.

He got nothing of me then, except my worthless company, and still he took what I had to give him and I loved him for it. The best parts were given to Cole, who would come home from work and get to hold me and make love to me and take what he wanted and still expect me to pour his coffee in between dry heaves. Brutal. Do you know Cole never even called during the day to see how I was? Bitter one, indeed. Broken and fucking bitter.

The second time, with Henry, Jacob signed up for pretty much the same deal as Best Friend, only things were so far downhill from life the first time he was resigned to believe I had signed up to be tortured, that I truly was a masochist, and that my life wasn't turning out at all how it was supposed to. That part was true. This time Jacob had his hands full. He kept a one year old Ruth entertained almost every afternoon, and tried in vain to get her to nap by singing power ballads and Christmas carols to her and in between that he would come in and rub my back while I lay on the tiles, so much sicker the second time around that I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. The drugs barely helped.

And yet I survived, he helped me keep at least a little of my smile, my sweet disposition. And now, this third time around so far it seems a little easier because he's here all the time now. But I'm not always so sweet. Which I continue now to throw in his face daily. For I do not want to be sweet sometimes. I don't want to have any of that. I want to be fucking depraved. You only think I was kidding when I said I would be his whore.

    Are you really as tough as you think
    you blink and you're over the brink
    you bleed but the blood runs pink
    with dirty second hands
    dirty second hands

    You're not quite as tough as you thought
    you bought the American rod
    the very seed that you thought you shot
    with dirty second hands
    dirty second hands

So you should have seen his face last night when I pitched a glorious all-out petulant tantrum because he really wasn't willing to pull out the strobe light (which! he bought! for me!) and crank the stereo up to twelve so we could have a little fun because I was finally feeling right at the right time, a critically choreographed chain of events that might possibly not happen again any time soon. The hell? And I'm so rusty after having spent most of August perfecting a lap dance so mind-blowing he forgot what to say when he answered the phone a full two hours later when I nailed it.

(Psst, Jake. When you pick up the phone, say 'Hello'.)

So now!

Honey! I feel terrific, and I'm so horny right now the balusters are looking promising. I know you'll be sorry if I start ripping apart the banister to get a little action around here.

I could barely get him in the mood for all my trying. And I'm usually frighteningly good at it. I have a way of kissing him that makes him too hard to stand up comfortably and he won't have it much, these days. I've been a mom for a long time but of course it's different this time, this is his baby and he's going to have a hard time reconciling his sex kitten wife with the mother of his children, I can see it. He wants to go the tender route, I want to remain mildly depraved. I like depraved.

Up until we got a positive test he was completely satisfied, albeit a little surprised that he could get a lap dance just by looking at me the right way. Bringing home a strobe light (!) and a better stereo for our bedroom sort of cemented his whole lottery-winner attitude. Possibly the funniest wedding present I've ever seen. He was finally. into. it. Yes.

Freaky is my middle name as much as Rebekah. He knows it and now he's been denying me something I want the past few days and that's..well, that's just not acceptable. He's going to have to get over that right now. Yesterday. Please?

The good news is, I think I've figured him out...almost. He just takes a lot longer to get into it, and it takes him an extra hour or two to start the hair-pulling, desperate, slow, unbearably languid, complete sex that I crave from him. Fine, it just adds a couple more hours to the fun. We have lost entire nights of sleep together over the past few months. It feels so good to be touched by him I can't even believe it. Maybe he's one of those touch-healers by default. I wish it worked on the dry heaves. They interfere with everything that's good.

And I don't think either of us really mind the extra time it takes to visit heaven. I know I don't. There's things to remember about being pregnant. Like if you're able to grow a human being for nine months then you're probably able to handle some serious sex with a capital S. And I really like the part of the night when he forgets to treat me like I will break and has a little fun. A little thorough, hard-edged fun. Yes. More. Please.

Please, Jake.

And he sure enjoys the hell out of his nightly lap dance. I wore out a CD. My favorite one, ten thousand days. I'm hoping I don't wear out iTunes now.

And finally with his consent, after much petulance and sighing took place, I got my wish. Last night I think I reached some sort of limber zenith. He was fucking stunned.

I wore his cowboy hat, pulled very low, I let my hair down, falling in waves to my elbows, coaxed my eyelashes to extreme lengths and after adding a cute new pair of pink boyshort undies that he bought for me and entirely too much candy-pink lipgloss, I wound out on his lap in his office chair with everything I had. I played a song for him, nice and loud, three times. He almost made it through the final chorus on the third go round, before I found myself stark naked, wearing nothing but that cowboy hat and a big smile, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, fingers tangled thoroughly in his beautiful blonde hair, discovering his talents. On the receiving end of his generous gifts, only for me. I thought we were going to break the chair. Reluctant my ass. I started out in control and I wound up so not in control. Just the way I like it.

He tries so hard to resist me but it's insurmountable.

I, however, am not.

Tuesday, 26 September 2006

30-second update theatre.

Kind of like 30-second bunny theatre, which we adore.

Because I don't want the last few entries up there but I hate the delete button. I really do. So here, have some drive-by updates, if you want more info on any of the following just leave a comment and I'll address it shortly:

-Me working- Not going to happen.

-Jake's firefighting side gig -still on. Nice. Impressed? Not so much.

-Baby name -oh, but you must guess. Carved in stone within seconds. And surprisingly conceived on our. wedding. day. Wow. Due mere days before my birthday. Double wow.

-Canadian iTunes-so not happy with. How hard is it to make the damn music available internationally? FUCK!

-Strobe light-I have one. You know you want to hear more. <---poooooorn.

-The cold from hell -rages on. Woe.

-House -not winterized, see above.

-Tool CD-wore it out. Must buy a new one. See strobe light note, above. (shhh!)

More later. Including porn.

Haste and a mgnifying glass.

Let me get this out of the way.

I have some friends for sale.

Mostly all of them, okay all of them wonderful, loving, caring, slightly undomesticated males who can't manage to clean a dish or a shirt but have the art of barbecuing and women down to a science, save for one.


I love them, I really do. But I don't like to be second-guessed. Especially now.

All of them anxious for caution, for hesitancy. All of them also dealing with not knowing how bad things were for me at home. They kick themselves for not stepping in, for not doing something. For tearing Jake down instead of backing him up when he pressured me to leave Cole. Romantic rival, indeed. Don't think it isn't lost on them now that he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't help me, but maybe if they had backed him up it would have been easier.

And now Jake falls under their microscope. Jacob, the good guy. The minister, for heaven's sake. The one guy who could rip up a block of concrete with his bare hands but doesn't and won't, earning him the Friendly Giant/Preacher Boy nicknames. He would never ever hurt me. But still they're skittish. If we argue now they crowd in and attempt to do damage control, offering time away, space, moral support. Poor Jake. More eyes are on him then ever before and it's Cole's fault. Because they refuse to ever let things get so quietly out of control ever again. And now, of course telling them all that we're growing our family leads to judgments and comments and flack that I don't appreciate because it PUTS DOUBTS IN MY HEAD. The speed at which we've tried to find a routine, a normal family life after a monster of a miserable season leaves them gasping for air and I can't help that. I have to do what I want to do. For the first time it gives me a little control back and I like that. I don't frankly care how many heads are left spinning in our tiny, rippling wake. Don't fucking question me now. I'm only beginning to find happiness I should have had before and they're hellbent on wrecking it all.

Jacob is thrilled with the scrutiny. He's an open book, ready to share his own life, his philosophies, his loves with anyone who asks or ventures an enquiry. He doesn't mind the guys pressuring him to stay the straight and narrow because he will, he does. He only finds it ironic in this new day's light. He wants me to be surrounded by good people that I can count on. He believes that if people are accountable for their actions then they do better and he loves the fact that even good people always have room for improvement, himself included.

What he doesn't like, is the queue of guys standing in a line behind him ready to step in to his shoes should he (and he won't) fall. Oh no. Haven't we been through this already? Two separate occasions recently found me on the wrong end of deep conversations, ones that ended with lofty goals, promises I didn't ask to be made. Feelings I never wanted to know existed.

Bridge...if things don't work out with Jake...well, you don't have to be alone.
Oh my God. How noble, honorable, and really above and beyond the call of duty. Assurances from me that I won't be alone, and I won't be - I have my friends. My family, my kids. I wouldn't touch another friend if my life depended on it. I love these guys like brothers. I loved Jacob like nothing else. Can't they see the difference? And if they think it's easy to fall in love with and try to make a new life with a friend who knows every moment of your history then they are sorely mistaken, it's so much harder than we expected.

We didn't understand how much time we would spend re-examining old wounds, fighting old fights and forgetting that we're supposed to be lovers now, saying things you can say to friends, but should never say to people you have to go to bed with. And Jacob, standing in Cole's shoes, now knowing exactly how people view me. Seeing how people think about his wife, what sort of things they imagine and ways they try to get close to me and it's harder than he thought it would be, but still a place he would trade with no one, ever again.

I'm apparently a blessing, an ego trip and a curse all at once.

It's really fucking hard. And made harder, unintentionally by well-meaning friends who wind up with the harsh lights on them, too.

What the fuck? Were you my friend or are you just here because you want to get into my pants too? There's no fucking lineup! Go away! And take your fucking opinions with you.

I feel disillusioned, chaotic, betrayed in a totally different way. Then everyone steps back but it's too fucking late for that. It's out there and you can't stuff this one back in. Oh no. You let it out and it grew and now it's too big to hide it anywhere but in plain sight and I can never look at them the same way ever again and that hurts very badly.

It does.

I am not flattered.

What appeared to be such a proper, normal average life out here in cowboyland has become nothing more than a sordid, deceitful soap opera and it features me, the reluctant starlet. The lights are so hot. I'm shaken by what all these revelations have meant to my life as it stands now. Honest, pure love, personal safety, security and the price is that I'm brutally restrained into an insular environment in which I am always safe because I'm never out of reach and the numbers of people I have access to are now limited, a small number, because of the damn trust.

This is a price I can pay because I've lived both sides now and I would choose this in a heartbeat over the way things were before. The funny part is I expected it to feel claustrophobic and it doesn't. It doesn't at all.

When my friends learn how to deal with their feelings, I'll welcome them back into my world but until they do, I can't handle it. Jacob thinks I'm being harsh, surprisingly. No, I'm just exercising some long-overdue self-preservation. The icing on the cake, only this time I didn't ask for dessert. So I have to push away the beloved plate of cake and politely refuse, for now.

    Have you ever needed someone so bad,
    Have you ever wanted someone
    You just couldn't have
    Did you ever try so hard
    That your world just fell apart
    Have you ever needed someone so bad
    And you're the girl I gotta have

Monday, 25 September 2006

Me, too.

Apparently I don't have enough to do today.

I wasn't entirely honest one post down. Hell, I'm not really honest with myself, why would I be honest with my journal? It's one peg down from the way I feel I should respond, and so again, I have talked myself into it.

I'm not sure I'm happy or excited about this baby.

In reality, its different. In reality I'm pretty fucking terrified.

And that isn't fair to Jake.


A lot of people have pointed out that I haven't talked about how I feel.

Gee, that's all I do in here. It's my place to put all the dark things so only light surrounds me in the real world. Those dark things have a place they can fester here and I can go off and be happy.

But how do I feel about the baby, you ask?

I'm cautiously happy. I'm a superstitious soul, scared to say too much, or do too much. I haven't felt well enough for it to even sink in. Before, thinking about having a baby that was half of me and half of Jacob left me with warm fuzzy sunshine-infused glowy love feelings and not much has changed. I can hardly believe it. My whole heart jumps fifty feet out of my body when he walks into a room, the fact that we've ever even made love or kissed each other and not had to do it in the dark away from prying eyes makes it simply sweeter.

I don't even have to go into the fact that the whole blonde haired goodness multiplied is going to make the most beautiful baby ever.

Honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm going to promise that this journal won't become a baby clock or a permanent record of how many time Bridget throws up every day because, well, I wouldn't come here either if I did that.

So instead. I think...


I think maybe it will become..the porn blog.

Oh I'm kidding.

An all-porn diet here would be just as annoying. So perhaps a little bit of everything. And a lot of that man. Because damn. Jacob gets hotter every single day. Okay so yeah...pooooooorn.

5 things

1. If there's red licorice around, I will eat the entire bag. Even if I start to feel sick and sugar starts to pour out of my ears and nose, I'll keep eating it until it's gone. I don't even share.

2. There's something inherently wonderful about a cinnamon roll from Starbucks. Maybe it's the decadence of paying $3.99 for something I can buy six of for the same price at the grocery store. Because they warm it up and put it on a plate and I can eat it at a trendy little table where the beautiful people hang out. Yes, somehow that makes it taste better.

3. Food will always taste better if you eat it while watching Iron Chef. When they're creating something gross.

4. And where the hell is Jamie Oliver anyway? I used to watch him cook on TV and he's nowhere to be found.

5. As of today I have officially lost 10% of my body weight. Leaving me with 96 pounds to keep me anchored on the ground if a strong gale blows. It might not be enough.

Sunday, 24 September 2006

Sleeping with the enemy.

    Twisting and turning
    Your feelings are burning
    You're breaking the girl
    She meant you no harm
    Think you're so clever
    But now you must sever
    You're breaking the girl
    He loves no one else

Maybe if I talk about him for the last fucking time, he'll move on. Writing it down now I can see it so much more clearly than before. Wishful thinking for a long rainy day. I'm really really tired, Ben. And you need to stop now. Please just leave me alone.

I wish I knew how to quit you.

Ben said that to me once, when he was one beer past fine. I remember Cole laughing and pulling me roughly into his lap while he took another sip of his rum, telling me I was a lucky girl to have so many admirers, that I was beautiful and he was proud of me. Jacob had left an hour earlier, uncomfortable with the general conversation as it was and the fact that Cole was sticking uncharacteristically close to me, when I was accustomed to him ignoring me completely except to grab me now and then when we'd pass each other. He usually left me to hang out with Jake. And later that night after the rest of our friends had left, Cole and Ben cornered me.

Did I want to have a threesome?

I almost bolted. I said with very wide eyes and shaking legs that I wanted to think about it, saying I was tired and maybe it wasn't such a good time. I'm happy it was a night when I had opted to stick to pineapple juice because had I not had my wits about me I might have slept with Ben. I was so scared they might make me do it anyways. I tried to play it cool and it worked and for some reason Ben saw how scared I was and he played along. He told Cole he wasn't sure it was the right night for that much fun.

I was just plain stunned that Cole even went there in the first place, with Ben. He usually only threatened to give me to Jacob or his own brother, Caleb. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he really understood the degree of my attraction to Jake or if he thought I was going to simply become everyone's barbie doll. I guess it depended on how drunk he was, because when he was sober he'd only talk of opening our marriage for Jake.

These are all things Jacob found out about this summer. We've talked a lot. Jacob has said if he has to keep this up he'll kill Ben and that scares him half to death. He would never have let Ben within eyesight of me had he been aware of all that history. Unspoken history indeed.

And Ben still isn't paying attention to the message.

He showed up uninvited last evening after dinner. Jake was out picking up some groceries and Ben must have seen him leave since the doorbell rang seconds after I watched the truck pull out of the driveway. I opened the door and went out on to the porch but I didn't unlock the screen door. Ben pulled at the handle and realized right away that I wasn't having any of it.

Bridge, what's this? Can you just let me in so we can talk?

No, Ben. Jake doesn't want you here anymore and I don't either. Just leave, please.

Jake's not home, princess.

Don't you fucking call me that.

I want to know what you want, not what Jake has told you to do.

I want you to leave because you're scaring me.

I wouldn't hurt you, Bridget.

Like you didn't hurt me when you crawled into my bed? It's sexual assault, Ben. People go to jail for that. And in case you've really lost your fucking mind, Cole said he'd never hurt me too. I stopped believing everyone a while ago, you're too late.

I was drunk. I'm sorry.

No excuses, Ben.

You're right. I'm sorry. You're so hard to resist.

Maybe you should try harder then. You don't grab every girl who catches your eye, Ben.

I can'''re just not any girl.

Just go away.

I really wish you'd forgive me.

You crossed the line for the second time and I can't forgive you anymore. I'm afraid of what would happen next.

What? You think I'd rape you?

Well, I can't trust you, Ben, and I can't protect myself. So I'm doing what I have to do. And if you don't go away I will get a restraining order against you.

Don't worry, your husband has made it clear.

What did he say?

That he would kill me and make sure no one ever finds my bones.

Then you should listen to him.

We used to be friends, Bridget.

I used to think you were kidding about wanting me, Ben.

I never kidded about that. And label me surprised, I didn't think you'd pick preacher boy over me.

Pick him? I didn't realize you had entered a popularity contest, Ben. I wanted Jake from the moment I met him and nothing about that ever changed until I left Cole. You knew what was going on as well as anyone else, maybe more. You weren't in the running. Why can't you see that?

Can you..can you tell me if you never met Jake would you have gone with me?

No, Ben. I wouldn't have. You've really got to move on.

Yeah, okay princess. I get it. My mistake.

That's a hell of a misunderstanding. What were you thinking?

Cole had said some things. Just..nevermind. Good luck, Bridge. With Jake, with the baby, and everything. I won't bother you anymore.

Just keep this promise, Ben, I've been through enough. Just let me be happy.

That's all I ever wanted for you, baby.

Then it's time to go.

Yes, it is.

Find a girl and fall in love, Ben.

I did. It just didn't work out quite the way I thought it would.

Goodbye, Ben.

Bye, Bridge.

I just left him there and I went back inside. From the living room window I watched him get in his car and drive away. I wasn't afraid, because I almost feel sorry for him. When Jacob came home he almost boiled over because he couldn't believe Ben had the balls to appear on our doorstep now. And he doesn't believe any promise Ben makes to me.

Somehow, I think Ben will keep this one.

Saturday, 23 September 2006

I promised I would write about his reaction.

Oh so happy.

Jacob pretty much knew anyway. If there's one dead giveaway it's that I throw up a lot. Not just in the mornings, it's pretty much an all-day continuous event. Hence the fight beginning early to not wind up dehydrated and in the hospital. I can't afford to spare much of the 98 pounds that remain. Being pregnant is one of those struggles for me that winds up being a minute-by-minute battle and this cold on top of everything has left me completely drained.

I sat down at the table, got the kids arranged and when everyone was finally happy and settled and the server had taken our orders, our eyes met over the middle of the table (this was in between hovering over Henry to keep his perpetually running nose in check. I know, how romantic.)

So, Jacob, we need to talk about some things.


Like which room you'd like to turn into the nursery, for starters.

(This was the part where he almost dropped his water glass.)

Did you test?

I sure did.

The smile spread across his face in slow motion, it was the most amazing thing for me to watch. It started with the corners of his mouth turning up and widening and infecting his dimples, which deepened, creasing his cheeks into lines. Then it moved vertically, lighting up his eyes before they glassed over so thickly I thought he was going to lose it. Which he pretty much did. He jumped out of his chair and came around to my side of the table, putting his arms around me and kissing my cheeks, my hair, my lips. This was when he saw the hearing aid in my ear and that stopped him short.

What? When did you? Oh my god. I can't take all this in at once. It's too much. My God. Thank you God.

He's crouched beside my chair right in my face. I put my hands on his face and told him to sit down and we'll talk without the familiar echo of repeating every second phrase thanks to the surrounding din of clinking silverware and low conversation.

He stood up and apologized to our nearest audience, the next table who had stopped eating and were watching us have this crazy exchange.

We're having a baby! And....she can hear me!

They murmured their slightly confused congratulations, oblivious to the emotion in his voice, which I heard for the first time in public in a way that knocked me on my ass, because it was so prevalent I will never forget it.

Dinner was sort of a blur, after that. Besides, I didn't really feel well enough to enjoy it.

He sang in the truck, the whole way home. Softly, and I heard him, lyrics I didn't know, but I recognized Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, because we've danced to it a lot recently:

    I was the one you always dreamed of
    You were the one I tried to draw
    How dare you say it's nothing to me
    Baby, you're the only light I ever saw

After the kids were snugly tucked in for the night, we retired to the den to talk and cuddle and he held me so sweetly and he whispered things, talking about how happy he was, and how thankful he was for me, for everything we have. It would have been the most romantic way to end the day. Except for one thing.

The very decidedly unromantic vomiting, which punctuates every part of the day now. Something that's become pretty much part of my routine again. I really hate that part.

He doesn't seem to mind at all.

Thursday, 21 September 2006

Under the Bridget.


I'm here. Somewhere in between this cold and (the probable) hyperemesis and this blissful post-John Frusciante hangover (who I swear to God I'm marrying next and Jacob's okay with it) I'm having a hard time typing, let alone staying upright. All energies are being poured into just keeping everyone alive.

But all is well, really well and I promise I'll write about it on Saturday. Going to just try and get through the next two days without getting so dehydrated.I was abruptly informed that I am indeed NOT allowed to marry John Frusciante. Jacob is putting his foot down. I suppose he agreed with me in some sort of musical hypnosis last night somewhere between all the unwelcome pot smoke around us and the thumping beat of the Chili Peppers driving the crowd wild and of course, now all that has worn off and reality returns.

It's okay. My consolation prize (Jake) is no slouch on the guitar. Now if I could just get him to fall to his knees and do a lead like John, well, then we'll have something to work with, now, won't we?

Tuesday, 19 September 2006

One last thing (I promise).

I'm ready to roll, but I really need a little help with one final thing. Please god, if you're in a commenting mood, help me out?

Is it cool or not cool to bring the pregnancy test to the restaurant? Because two lines tells me this would be a very very wonderful surprise but then a tiny voice is saying it's a little gross to put a stick that you peed on in your purse and take it to a place where people are trying to have dinner.

Not that I'm really interested in the replies.



One two.


Oh my God.

The angel of shredded wheat.

In the interest of not being difficult all the time and wanting to make life easier for my heartbreakingly beautiful husband and my children that I have come to appreciate more than you'd ever know, because I hardly ever see them anymore, I found a way to pay Jacob back for his romantic evening and honor 45 whole days married.

Oh yes I did.

I have an appointment today. To give the hearing aids a real chance. I made it weeks ago. I can keep secrets too, Reverend Firefighter man.

Some might say that this is for me. But it isn't. This is something Jacob has wanted me to do since the night he found out I couldn't hear him very well. It's something he brings up regularly and it's become a sticking point from which most arguments originate. I am so stubborn.

One of the reasons I changed my mind was because I was one hundred percent convinced that last month my daughter told me she wanted to be the Angel of Shredded Wheat for Halloween. It was the funniest thing ever. We laughed for almost an hour.

She, in fact, wanted to be an angel with shredded wings, because they had a huge pair at the costume store and she fell in love with them. (You'd have to see them to believe it, they're so cool looking.)

What else did I miss in my bullheadedness?

This is not small potatoes. These hearing aids cost thousands and I need two. They cost so much because they are supposed to help me differentiate between what I need to hear and the inconsequential but usually overwhelming background noise. Digital even. High-fucking-tech. I was warned I will be just as exhausted while I get used to them as I was without them, attempting to later dissect the words, tossed out in the cacophony of my environment like so much fluff blown from a dandelion. Chaos. Total chaos.

We all know how I love to sit and rearrange the words in my brain. To the point where I fail to pay attention to much else at all sometimes. Missing wings and shredded wheat.

My plan is to fib and tell him I'm helping in the afternoon today at the school. I made a reservation at a great restaurant for tonight and have sworn the kids to secrecy. I'm going to wear my new hearing aids to the restaurant and see how long it takes for him to notice. They're subtle but I might not be. I have a new red dress that would knock you flat. Just to throw him off.

But so help me, if he even once speaks to me without touching my chin, or holding my face in two hands, or fails to kiss his nose to my nose and look into my eyes when he's talking like he does now so I don't miss things, I swear I'll rip them out and drop them right in the dishwater.

Wish me luck!

Monday, 18 September 2006

Sleep for sale.


A text message from Ben last night before I finally banned him from my phone. Nice. And now I have more emotions flying out in a haze of confusion and I grab them and try to stuff them back inside, and I fail.

This is so fucking painful, arguing with Jacob, and yet when we're not up to our ears in the greatest romance of the century, we're waging the war of the roses, snapping at each other through gritted teeth, usually with me biting my lip and attempting not to let the tears spill out while he throws up his hands in frustration, shirtsleeves rolled up because I am the most complicated part of his life and he has to wade right in. You pay a price for everything, eventually. No happy mediums in Bridget's world.

I wouldn't have it any other way, you know.

Jake makes me so crazy.

But hey, aren't you happy to hear that we're normal? That it isn't a perfect fairytale? That we still have bickering moments and neverending arguments and outrageous, bitter, devastating verbal exchanges that leave me reeling, and wondering what the hell I'm doing here, and maybe he doesn't love me in the way that he's supposed to and maybe trying to turn my relationship with him into something more was a colossal error on all counts.

I bet you are.

Those thoughts are heartbreaking, you know. I don't linger there.

And those doubts are the darkest feelings I think I will ever have in this new life as the preacher's wife, let me tell you that for free.

But at the same time I'm permitted now to argue as loud and as excruciatingly as I can, secure in the knowledge that I wanted this life and I will hang onto it at all costs, because I love this man.

But we still don't argue loudly. Even though my lack of volume prevents being able to make my points clearly even if I could speak normally I'd remain within kissing distance and I don't raise my voice there and neither does he. It's our neutral airspace. And within that airspace he tells me things that bother him that make me want to scream and I bite my words into my cheek and don't say them, that's his rare insecurities speaking and they deserve as much attention as everything that's beautiful in the world.

He's afraid to let me out of his sight. He's afraid something will happen to me.

I remind him that we just came through a similar situation with sending the kids to public school. Everyone has got to let go sometime, right? He says he hasn't had enough time with me yet. All to himself. His. He doesn't have to let go because he doesn't want to.

I remind him, once again, that every time I have been hurt I have been in my own home, which is partially why I'm so fucking messed up. All that did was serve to twist the knife that sticks out of his soul, because he couldn't get to me in time. Shit. Stirring up the guilt he carries deep inside isn't going to serve any purpose right now.

Jake..I'm sorry.

Don't be. You're right.


So I'm still not supporting the idea.

Why the hell not?

Because I get a warm feeling when I think about coming home to you. You fit me perfectly and if you're not here when I get home I'll miss you. I hate that feeling, Bridget. More than anything.

That's never a bad thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.

If my heart grew any fonder it would simply absorb you.

Geez, you really know how to turn an argument into one of 'those' moments.

What moments?

Those ones that I will never forget.

Yeah, we make a lot of those ones.

Yes, we do.

So you'll stay home?


Aw, Bridge, you make me so crazy.

Well, we have lots of those moments too, don't we.

Too many.

Still love me? Even though I'll be working?

Of course I do and no, you won't be.

Argh, I'm too sick to fight with you right now, Jacob.

Let's pick up later then.


So why do I feel like no matter how long we spend on this, he's going to win?

    Scream to no one
    Take your time
    Sing it louder
    Twist and shout

    Nothing to run from is worse than something
    And all your fears of nothing

    And they're swimming around again, again
    And they're swimming around
    The concrete girl

Sunday, 17 September 2006

Fire with fire.

What a quiet, frustrating little way to have an argument. I remain voiceless. Silent and unable to make my points adequately. Which means he'll win by default. It's not fair.

Several weeks ago I dropped Jacob off downtown to have some tests. Standard, part of a physical, I assumed it was required because he had changed his health insurance to include us a while back. Paperwork, no big deal.

He lied to me. Well, not so much an outright lie as when I asked if that was what it was for he didn't correct me and that wasn't the reason. Lies by omission are just as deceitful.

It was a standard physical so that he can become a volunteer firefighter. A paid on-call one. Whatever. I'm not listening right now.

This became part of an argument wrapped in a second outrage because I'm not 'allowed' to get a job. I wanted to work a few nights a week or Saturdays at the bookstore near our house. It's a two level bookstore with a built-in coffee shop. Would that be heaven or what?

But no, Jacob thinks I do enough.

Plus if I'm working on the weekends what about church? Or his evening counseling? I didn't want a forty hour a week job, maybe two nights, maybe one shift a week. He doesn't want to give up any of our free time spent together but at the same time he signs up for something that requires him and his giant truck to be on call during our free time together. A potentially dangerous job. A job he wants to take without even discussing it with me first.

So last night we indulged in a rip-roaring, squeaky, phlegmy, razor-whispered drag-out verbal war because I don't want him to work more, I wanted to help out.

And it's so lovely that he wants me to continue to play the sweet little housewife role, always here, the center of my family's universe. It's also plainly obvious that he conveniently forgot about me being one half of his equation now and went and did something because he lived on his own a little too long and is used to just doing what he wants to or feels he needs to do.

I'll give him the admirable part that he'd even consider it. They need people. Very badly. He's overqualified, a wall of strength with the body of a twenty year old.

But I don't want them to have him. I don't want him going into burning buildings, and getting calls in the middle of the night to race off to dangerous situations. I wanted to work at a shop where I would bring home a pittance after taxes and get a discount on all the books we buy. I wanted to have a little of my own money, something I haven't had in years. The last thing I bought that I earned myself free and clear was a $150 watch that I'm still wearing. I bought it in 1990. I'd really love a new watch. Not a heroic husband. He's already a hero in my eyes, in the eyes of everyone. My job would cover the family health insurance and he wouldn't have to depend on a stipend. Why can't I take this weight, for once?

But he's as stubborn as I am and so the fight goes on. And he's winning, because my voice still hasn't returned. And when he holds my face and promises me that nothing will happen to him it's really hard to argue with him anyways.

Those blue eyes are just a little too phenomenal, it's difficult to look away.

Saturday, 16 September 2006

Feeling it.

The whole world is breathing a collective sigh of relief. I have lost my voice. I'm used to talking all the time. Add it to the complete and total deafness brought on by this cold and it's as if I'm now standing on the outside of the world looking in through shrouded glass, unable to add my thoughts and unable to grasp the thoughts of others.

My arms feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. My head, a thousand.

But it's okay. I'm being spoiled. Very tenderly.

Last night Jacob brought home the new John Mayer CD, and put on Gravity. Very loud. I felt it resonating through my blood. And he danced with me. As long as I felt well enough to stand, he danced with me.

Friday, 15 September 2006

When Father's Day came early.

It's a beautiful day. The whole Reilly household is jumping for joy.

The order of adoption has been granted. This gives Jacob full legal and parental rights for Ruth and Henry. They are his, in the eyes of the law. Ours, at last.

A small and huge gesture all at once. He's a dad. Finally.

And as a second gesture we've been talking at length and have decided not to change their last name, even though we no longer match. Jacob and I have his, and the kids are keeping Cole's last name, because they are part of him too. Something that is important to have, because they knew and loved Cole in a way that is completely separate from my life with Cole and I'm not going to take that away from them.

I'm trying to be a good mother, I really am.

Jacob is anxious to share the news with his family and his congregation too. The excitement is unreal. I think he's happier about this than he was about our engagement and wedding. Which is fine by me because the kids and I are a package deal.

Today is not significant as far as actions go, however. Jacob has been nothing but a wonderful dad already. We haven't made it easy for him but you'd never know it by watching him.

That is what I'm celebrating.

Thursday, 14 September 2006

New underpinnings.

A funny for your Thursday afternoon:

I was surfing (god, I'm so embarrassed) Hot Topic for...lingerie. Not because I shop there, I was bored and I was thinking about shopping for some new underclothes. Because the old ones..get old fast and it's been a long time since I've had some new and pretties to wear.

Jacob was slightly yucked-out by the offerings at HT and suggested we go to the mall. We went over (because you know the minister can take evenings off to lingerie shop with his sick wife. Exactly!) and I was musing about how the only store I could think of was La Senza and I never liked La Senza. So we went to the mall directory and looked for others. And we found one.

Called Jacob Lingerie.

I don't think I've ever seen Jake turn that many shades of pink. He's cute when he blushes. And with his approval I bought about $350 worth of fresh underpinnings there.

It's a little weird to have a tag with his name on it on every piece of underwear. No one make the joke about him owning my ass now, please, it's been done.

Hold your breath.

    She's old enough
    She knows enough
    She's thrown up
    So throw her
    Out to me
    And I'll treat her like she was mine

Except for a raging case of the pukies I'm feeling better today. Nice to know it's the flu instead of a cold. But who cares? I can almost breathe again.

This morning in therapy we talked about my self-confidence.

Gee, that was so much fun.

I don't have issues with that. My ego is what carries me through. I can still dance on tables and smile at everyone and be falling the fuck apart on the inside.

Claus has pointed out somewhat unhelpfully that doing that (and I know he was trying not to picture me dancing on a table. It's really fun and very bumpy-grindy) has nothing to do with self-confidence and keeps wanting to go back and revisit my abilities to compartmentalize everything so efficiently.

I cut him off today. I didn't want to deal with that. I wanted to hear that I was doing great and that I'm normal and stupid and just like everyone else.

Except way prettier.

Sexier, hell, one of a kind. Keep it coming.

When I left the office I told Jacob I was going to cut off all my hair and dye it black and then I would be taken seriously. He laughed and then looked a little scared.

I wouldn't do that. My famous Brigitte Bardot/ longhaired bedhead is part of my personality. I should insure it or something.

So yes, therapy went unwell, and then I came home and lost my coffee. Which made Jacob smile while he held my hair back. Not because he's a masochist, but because..well..

Nevermind. It's the flu.

Wednesday, 13 September 2006

From the bottom up. I just stuck these ones all together.


That's it, I'm done for this day.

I haven't felt this sick in a very long time and so I'm calling in my favors early. Off to the tub for me and then I plan to ask for some tea with honey afterward. Jacob is doing his best to spoil me in the little chance he has had to be home today. Give him a big nod of appreciation for looking after his Bridget (as he said on the phone while cancelling all of his evening work for the next two nights) so well. I couldn't ask for more.

Night all. 


    It's a charmed life
    Innocence wild
    Crayola skies for a thousand miles
    It's a good life in the happily ever after
    Last page of a very last chapter
    It's the story of a charmed life

As soon as we can get the kids scrubbed and asleep in their beds, Jacob has promised me a hot bath, which he will run for me, and then join me in it to wash my hair. If you ever saw my bathtub you would know why I wanted this house so badly. It's a cast-iron clawfoot tub, black on the outside with ivory enamel so thick on the inside it shows your reflection. I can swim in it. I won't even touch on what it's like to have a bath with this man, because, well...oh please. It's a fairy tale of epic proportions.

His condition was that I pour the rest of the whiskey down the drain.

That was easy.   

4:58, or Jake's home!

Aw, damn. Some moments nothing is better than seeing Jacob pull up out front and come inside with a big bag of spicy beef salad, fried tofu, chicken noodle soup and rice. He's a prince. I hope I can taste this. I can't smell it and that's a shame, because I always stick my head in the paper bag and breathe in the take-out goodness when Jake gets Vietnamese food.

In other news, I'm starting to feel like shit again. That brief euphoric Dayquilfest was such a rip-off.


The conversation went something like this, with five people involved:

What are you going to be for Halloween, Bridge?

I don't know. Still thinking.

You should go as your alter-ego?



Yeah, that would be so awesome.

Oh my god.

Doesn't the widget look just like me though?

Uh, sort of, but less...uh...composed.

With bedhead.

Possibly, no, definitely drunk.

Lipgloss smeared across her cheek.

Okay stop.

Mascara running down her face.

Enough, guys.

Holding one high heel because she lost the other.

Missing one earring too.

Oh good one.

Dress unbuttoned but still on.

Dancing by herself in the middle of the room.

Lost little girl.

I don't see how this is funny.

Christ I think I remember that night.

Oh shut up!

Are you done yet?

What night? I think I would remember if I lost one of my shoes.

Do you think so? Because there were times, Bridge...

You could call yourself Ex-Bride of Cole, sort of like Bride of Frankenstein only more fucked up.


Okay, I've had enough.

Aw Jake! Come on, we're only kidding.

Just for that we're going as an angel and a devil.

Yay. Who's the devil?

You can be the devil, Bridget.


That's a good idea too, but I'd like to see the Widget.

I bet you would.

Now do you see why I'm so excited to meet some of the moms at the school? With friends like these..well, I need some new friends.


Well, I made it through most of the school day, and I finally succumbed to the Dayquil goodness. Since it lasts for around 6 hours it will keep me upright until I can fall into Jack's arms at 8.

Or Jake's.

Whoever catches me first. Of course, Jack only goes so far. What little there is in the bottle I found at the top of the cupboard. Jake keeps going and going, he's like the holy energizer bunny. I don't think I have ever seen him sick and so I suppose kissing him tonight will be a bad idea. He's been kissing me on the forehead lots lately which I don't like because we fall into those parent/child roles (Sort of the way things are with Lochlan) and that's an uncomfortable place for me to be, with him of all people. Seeing as how we continue to lust after each other so mightily, well, that's really weird.

I don't like weird. Freaky, yes. Weird, no.

Coming up next, the biggest laugh of the week. The boys have devised Bridget's ultimate Halloween costume for this coming October 31. I thought it was hilarious too. Jake? Uh...not so much.

God, I feel like total shit right now. How long does the Nyquil take to kick in?

My cable company does in fact have Josie & The pussycats available through my digital on-demand service.


Because I hate watching the news. I can even pause or stop the movie when I need to, which is imperative when the kids are awake.


If you're not watching CBC newsworld maybe you should be. What in the hell is wrong with people?

In 1989 Marc Lepine walked into a university in Montreal and shot 26 women, killing 14 after ordering the men to leave.

Four hours after that happened, I had to go write an exam. I was 18 years old and two months into my first year as a student at an all-female university. Anonymous, copycat threats had been phoned in and so police and security presences were high.

We were searched, had our IDs checked and boyfriends, brothers and male faculty were given a serious degree of scrutiny. I remember being almost too scared to focus on the stupid math exam. All I could think was that it only took one crazy man with a gun to change someone's life forever, or take away someone you love.

I scored a 37 and was granted a rewrite. Permanently scarred, I scored a 49 the second time. This just makes my skin crawl. No excuse. I don't care what the reasons, if any, turn out to be.

I still haven't passed out yet. Remarkable.

Jacob called three more times. I missed two of them thanks to playground noise. But at least he's bringing home Vietnamese take-out tonight so I can deal with one less chore. Ruth is at school, iTunes is chugging and Henry's washing the dishes so I can sit on my ass and feel sorry for myself.

Well, it works for me.

I'd feel better if someone would lend me a copy of Josie & The Pussycats to watch. Oh be quiet, it's a comfort flick. I could have said Three Extremes, also a comfort flick. Why? Because I'm twisted, that's why.

I need more coffee.
12:06 p.m.

Lunch. Yay. We're halfway through the day. Everything tastes like cardboard to me. Yum.

It doesn't matter, though. The past hour was awesome.

Finally got my nose to stop, Jacob called fourteen times because he knows I'm not so okay today and I finally put on some lipgloss and headed over to pick up the kids. There's a bit of a gap between when Kindergarten is let out and when the older kids are dismissed for lunch so we went to the activity room to hang out.

I met some moms.

Some real live moms. From this neighborhood, spilling out of the woodwork. Something I haven't really done yet is meet any moms my age and we moved to this neighborhood almost a year ago. And they're all around my age, with kids. With houses. On these streets. I didn't recognize anyone from church, but most of them have seen Jacob. They filled me in on what goes on in the room each weekday morning and welcomed me warmly.


I haven't had girlfriends for years. I might have been even a little tiny bit shy for a couple of moments.

I think most of them are Catholic though. That's okay too.

I will promise not to swear so much, I don't really do that around the kids anyways.

Girlfriends, people. A place to hang out in the mornings if I so choose. With other women to talk to.

Yay Bridget.

Okay, back to dying now.

I don't recommend answering the door with bloody tissues stuck up one's nose but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I swear the UPS guy still thinks I'm hot. He must be into low-maintenance chicks.
10:26 a.m.

Oh, joy. Nosebleed.


Live sickblogging.

Because you love me. Or maybe you hate me. Come on. You hate to love me but you do anyway. Everyone feels that way.

Either way, you're back. Hi! Welcome.

I'm going to live-sickblog today, because I'm mostly home. And miserable. Wavering like a inebriated college boy after a birthday power hour.

Jacob put me in the shower, the big meanie. So I'm clean, dressed, wet hair. I took the kids to school and tried not to breathe on their little heads. Then I walked home fast in case I blacked out. I didn't think I was that sick but I am. The problem is if I take any cold medicine I will fall asleep and I can't do that today. Too much work. Jacob had to go to work too, he has meetings or sessions pretty much right through supper, though he has been phoning me every hour to tell me he wishes he could be home taking over.

Hell, really, it's one of those days where your skills honed as a mom kick into high gear. Moms don't get a lot of actual days off, they get a few quiet moments here and there.

I'll be okay. Hopefully this will be the worst day.

I'm acutally thinking if I wear myself to pieces today I'll achieve some sort of hallucinatory feverish state. Which could be fun, right?

Wish me luck.

    In dreams I see myself flying
    closer to the sun, and I'm climbing
    tried to touch the sun
    but the brightness burned my eyes
    unconscious, or am I conscious?
    fell from the sky like a star
    sometimes I feel as though I'm frozen in heaven


Piper down, buried with cheese.

Nothing says morning like being brought hot coffee, a cinnamon bun and your laptop while you're still in bed. My feet haven't touched the floor today, but I know I'll have to pee soon so the decadent illusion Jacob created for me will be ruined.

I'm so sick today. My nose is stuffy, my throat feels like daggers are sticking into it and my head is reeling. I'm flush, feverish and cranky. Ruth and Henry were both suffering from colds through the end of last week so it was inevitable. Something tells me we're going to be sick all year.

So instead of a journal entry, I will regale you with Jacob's shower karaoke this morning. Because he must have forgotten that I can hear him.

He was singing All for Love, from The Three Musketeers because the other night we were talking about great movies and I rattled off my ever honorary list of great medieval movies because come on...Bridget's a romantic from her head to the tips of her toes. And nothing says romance like castles and princesses and brave knights and swordfights. Right?

I'll give you the first two verses, because a good friend told me that printing the entire lyrics to a song is against copyright and I'm too tired to verify that so I'm rolling with it.

    When it's love you give
    (I'll be a man of good faith.)
    Then in love you live.
    (I'll make a stand. I won't break.)
    I'll be the rock you can build on,
    Be there when you're old,
    To have and to hold.

    When there's love inside
    (I swear I'll always be strong.)
    Then there's a reason why.
    (I'll prove to you we belong.)
    I'll be the wall that protects you
    From the wind and the rain,
    From the hurt and pain.

I'm feeling better already.

Tuesday, 12 September 2006

Failure to emulsify.

You know something?

I don't really want to talk about it.

Jacob wanted to talk. A lot. He has spent the past few days talking about nothing but that. And I held up as long as I possibly could. Then I just couldn't do it anymore. He pushed too hard. He does that sometimes. We get along so well that when we don't see eye to eye it's deeply frustrating and painful for both of us and we start bickering, though we usually save it for politics and matters that fall into the ethical gray area in life. We call it our failure to emulsify on a subject.

I don't want to talk about it anymore.

I can take you over to the station now if you're ready.

I'm not ready.

Well, then when do you want to go? Or I can call Mike and he can send someone here, if you'd rather.

No, Jacob.

Bridget, just tell me when.

Never. I'm done.


I said-

I heard you but I really don't understand.

I'm not doing anything.

You have to. He sexually assaulted you. My God, baby, please.

Stop talking about it, Jake. I can't talk about it.

He has to be punished. Are you going to let him get away with this?

Yes. I am. His punishment is that he's gone from my life and this time there are no second chances.

I don't believe you. How can you not do this?

Because if I drag this out I'll lose my mind.

Drag it out? Jesus, Bridget, HE HURT YOU.

He didn't hurt me, Jake. He couldn't help himself. He was drunk.

He almost raped you. And I only just barely didn't kill him. I wish I had.

What did you do to him, Jacob?

Bridge, don't worry about me or him, I only care about you. I need answers.

Well then we're even aren't we?

He stormed out of the room. He's incredulous. Everyone is. Except for me and most likely Ben. Ben probably knows the last thing I would ever want is to go round two of courts and lawyers and doctors and police. He probably thought Jacob would steer me to do it all anyways but Jacob doesn't override my actions. He doesn't want to have to live like that and I don't either.

But I can't do it.

I can't go through all that again. I knew I wouldn't press charges about ten minutes after Jacob steered Ben out the back door. I just didn't say anything because no one listens to what I want when things are bad, they're all too busy doing damage control while I stand in the middle and try to preserve my equanimity. It's uncannily familiar territory. So in the interest of my need for normalcy and progress at last I have to drop it and walk away and if Jacob wants to swallow that bitter pill the hard way, well, I'll wait him out. Ben losing his entire circle of friends with his unforgivable actions is enough, trust me. He crossed a line he was barely toeing in the first place. And as always, and you're going to hate this comment, it could have been so much worse.

It can always be worse.

Save your energies for the people who have been hurt very badly, I have support and I'm okay. As usual I'll haul myself up on the shoulders of those around me and keep going, because I can.

Trust me, Ben is not even half as scary as Cole was. This part is easy.

And I'm done, I'm not talking about Ben anymore. When someone has been in my shoes then they can weigh in with opinions, and that's that. I'm doing what I need to do, and not worrying about the rest. I really have to allow life to move along.

So here's the post I really had ready for today. Thinking about this makes me smile, it makes me feel warm.

It involves part of a dream I had last night.

What if when you traveled or were on your own in a strange place there would be a way to get comfort on the run? I had a vision of a special room or area at the airport, with yellow lights above a stark white hallway and if you needed someone or wanted comfort you would go and stand under those lights and anyone who saw you there would approach you and invite you to have a meal with them, share a cab or simply give you a long hug. I realize it's an impossibility, a horribly invasive and assumptive series of events but at the same time if you have ever navigated an airport alone and felt as if what was inside your own skin brought the only familiarity in an alien sea of people then you'd probably agree that this would be a splendid invention.

Jacob's church is like that, you know.

Like a sea of yellow lights above us, and beneath it a group of amazing, cohesive people who love (meaning support) each other as much as you can love someone you don't know. And it's mind blowing. Like a warm hug in a cold airport, you can take solace from it when you need it and when you don't you give that comfort to others.

Maybe my dream is a less-familial version than the church but it would force people to think outside their universe.

I should know, I'm known for living in my own 'here and now' just a little too much. My world revolves around me and for once I'd like to walk past those lights instead of always being forced to stop and wait for the inevitable hugs from everyone who finds me there. Enough already.

Monday, 11 September 2006

A fistful of oxygen.

I was loaned a novel to read, it's called A Fistful of Rain by Greg Rucka. I think I stared at the cover for half an hour, looking at the title.

How clever.

Really clever.

I love it when words are spun, conveying an impossibility, finding a new angle from which to light an idea or thought that lends a new brilliance, previously unacknowledged.

The book was a well-meant luxury, an effort to convince me that while the kids are in school today I am to do something for me. Just me. Henry will spend his first entire morning at school today and we pick up them for lunch and then return Ruth to school for the second half while Henry is home in the afternoons.

Which gives me from shortly after nine until almost eleven-thirty kidless.

And it's Monday.

I know someone who has Mondays off.

He's very tall, very blonde and very sweet.

And we'll be home alone. Together.


Something tells me A Fistful of Rain isn't going to find my attention today. I'll save it for the end of the week.

Sunday, 10 September 2006

Digital sin.

I won a bet last night. Because I know who Axel Braun is.

Why do I know this stuff? I can't remember very important phone numbers and yet I have the entire biography of Axel Braun in my head taking up valuable space?

I don't think I have ever laughed so hard and it felt good.

Saturday, 9 September 2006


My therapist has spoken with me at length about disassociating. It's when you fraction parts of your personality so that some parts can pretend or ignore the bad things that happen or emotions you really don't want to deal with. Good temporarily but very dangerous in the long run.

I don't know ANYONE who's doing that.

Do you?

In the meantime, I'm going to spend today wondering how long my self-anesthetizing will last this time. Because I still can't feel anything from Thursday except very mild bitterness at losing a friend (again) for good.

That isn't right.

Thirty-five days.

Last night was a departure from life's most recent betrayal, romance to the extreme, a sharp contrast designed by my husband to offset the misery of recent life. I did say that Jacob is proactive, fixing things as soon as they have to be fixed, well, you really have no idea. The timing of this night couldn't have been better.

He decided that being married to me for 35 whole days was something we needed to celebrate in fine style and that it was planned long before Ben crossed me so acutely.

I didn't see this coming.

After we put the kids to bed last night, PJ called and said he was on his way. Huh? Why? He chuckled and told me to ask Jacob. When I hung up I asked Jake and he smiled smugly and told me to go put on my best dress, because tonight was to be a black tie occasion.

So I did, with my swing coat too because nights are cold now.

I was putting on a little makeup and he walks in to find his hairbrush and he's in his very best suit and tie. Drop dead gorgeous. I stopped mid-gloss, that's how handsome he is.

PJ arrives to babysit and we leave. We drove over past the waterfront market and Jake parked the truck and then we walked down to the lawns and docks that stretch out beside the river. We got to the top of the stone steps leading to the boardwalk and Jake asked me to close my eyes. Then he led me down the steps slowly (this was scary-dark night, high heels, and my eyes are closed, on hundred year old stone steps set into grass. You try it!) and when my shoes hit wood he told me I could open my eyes.


A beautiful table set for two. On the boardwalk right beside the water. Candles, white table linens, a tiny vase with a single white rose. And all the way around the table, strung from the lampposts were tiny white lights, sparkling and twinkling. It was breathtaking. He walked me to the table and took the rose, passing it to me. He told me the past thirty five days with me as his wife have been the greatest days of his life. He said he couldn't wait until we were celebrating thirty five years inside of mere days, and that things were going to get better because we have everything together.

I didn't even realize I had started to cry. Jacob wiped the tears away with his hands on my face. And he smiled at me.

He pulled my chair out for me and then he sat down too and a server appeared from nowhere. We had a tiny champagne toast, then stuffed mushrooms. Then orange-glazed cornish hen. I'm not understanding how he pulls these things off. I wasn't a great dinner partner, practically stunned into silence by the decadence of this night. From the edges of my vision I could see couples walking on the boardwalk and stopping to watch and I had that ever-present feeling that always strikes me about life continuing all around me while mine stands perfectly still.

Then Jake stood up and came around the table and offered me his hand. More surprises. We walked up to the pavilion, where there were more tiny white lights everywhere and then I heard what he would have heard while we were still seated: the classical guitar player. Playing for us.

I think I died and went to heaven. We danced, under the lights, under the stars and the low no-longer-new moon. It was so cold. The music flowed from slow to slower, and then back a little and when I wasn't being twirled around I could rest my head on Jacob's chest. He held me against him with his hand on the small of my back, his other hand holding my hand firmly.

We didn't talk while we danced. We didn't have too. I'm learning to live in the moment. I can do this. Jacob already knows how to do this. I'm still learning, an eager student.

Just as the last strains drifted away he offered me his arm. We returned to our table, where Jacob cemented the proof that he knows me best. Warm chocolate cake and coffee. Because by now we were freezing and so we ate quickly.

We took the water route back, talking about nothing of importance to anyone outside of our reach. Promising each other that we were going to take all the sorrow and drive it back far behind us, and that we were going to reach out and seize the future and break off huge portions of it, to be consumed in our ravenous need to move ahead.

It's nice to write about a night where everything is good. It's even nicer to tell you that I am making arrangements to blow Jacob away. This night was for me, and now I want to plan one for him.

Friday, 8 September 2006

You fucking traitor.

Here's a story I'm not in the mood to share but hey, why not? And now with links for those who aren't up to speed.

The all-day bachelor party ended early, with some of the guys returning to the house around ten thirty. They were all positively wasted and so I sent two of them to the guest room, two to the living room and in between all that Jake crashed on the porch swing and I couldn't move him so I had to leave him there when I went to bed. Everyone was fast asleep when I locked up and shut off all the lights on my way upstairs. I think I fell asleep in seconds.

In my dream I was abruptly awakened.

I gasped when fingers were shoved inside me. Someone was kissing my neck, their weight making it hard to breathe. I tensed up my whole body because all I usually had to do was wait out Cole when he woke me up in the night seeking fulfillment.

As the fog of sleep cleared from my head I realized I was awake, for real. And that Cole is dead.

This was no dream. I couldn't even wrap my mind around what was happening.

It dawned on me that the man on top of me was clean-shaven, something I don't go for, neither Cole nor Jacob ever touch(ed) a razor unless it's a very special occasion.

I cried out and was surprised at a hand being cupped hard over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. His voice spoke into my ear, loud enough because he knows me.

You don't want to wake everyone up, do you, princess?
Ben's voice. Slurring heavily.

Oh fuck Oh fuck Oh fuck Oh fuck.

He took his hand away and started to unbuckle his jeans and I screamed as loud as I could. I really don't care who I woke up at this point. He jumped up, staggering, and flung the door open just in time to face a crazed-looking Jacob with Robin and Chris right behind him, still half-drunk, they had no idea what the hell was going on. Jacob saw Ben and he knew instantly. He had warned me before.

Jacob charged into the room, grabbing Ben by the throat. Robin took me downstairs after I checked the kids. I told them I had a bad dream and held them for a long time. I couldn't hear Jacob, he was talking to Ben in a hushed angry whisper. Soon Ben came downstairs followed by Jacob and he didn't even try to leave. He just stood there. Jacob came over to me and put his arms around me and asked me if Ben had touched me and what he had done. I told Jake and he shook his head and kissed my cheek. He pulled back and smoothed my hair back behind my ears. So fucking grim. He told me he would be home in a bit and he and Ben left. Ben started to try to apologize to me but Jacob stopped him cold.

Don't you even SPEAK to my wife.

I sent Chris after them and Robin stayed and made some tea. I was alright, I just couldn't stop shaking. I kept staring at Robin, wondering if all guys are secretly monsters when given to weakness or if I'm crazy. Ben had been alone with me more than anyone else in the days following Cole's assault, when I was completely incapacitated and heavily medicated. Unless I'm unaware of any inappropriate behavior, he was trusted. Not anymore.

Robin brought the tea over and I jumped out of my skin when he put it down. He retreated quickly to the front room, probably reading my mind.

Jacob came back an hour later and sent Robin home in a cab. The full cup of tea was still sitting there, untouched. Kind of like me.

Jake gathered me up off the chair and just held me. So tight. So good.

This was my fault. I felt short on friends and I asked Jake to forgive Ben and let him come hang out again, because he's not a sick bastard, he's just misunderstood. Every word I said about him came back on a plate disguised as crow for me to consume and yet Jake hasn't once said I told you so.

Instead he prayed out loud to be in the right place at the right time to help me when I need it most instead of always being one moment too late. He prayed for my protection and my ease in life and for a safe environment in which I could thrive uninhibited without worrying about being hurt ever again. If it were up to him I would live in a turret and he would have the only key.

God is attempting to pay me back because I fucked around on Cole so I'm going to be punished repeatedly and Jacob's sentence is to always not be present. So I get the horror and he gets the guilt and together we're just trying to make it through one goddamned month without everything going horribly wrong.

He fell asleep last night cradling me in his arms like he does every night, only I don't think he really slept, I think he faked it so that I might fall asleep. I didn't even close my eyes. This after both of us yanking all the sheets off the bed in painful silence, remaking it out of necessity. The scalding shower did nothing to erase Ben's touch. Nothing.

This morning I asked him what happened to Ben after they left. Jacob just looked at me wearily, he didn't answer. Instead he offered to pour me some more coffee and then he said he would work from home today. He walked with us to the school and brought his laptop to the kitchen for the day, he hasn't been more than six feet away since.

Ben even sent me a text message at lunchtime telling me he was going to go to AA. What the fuck? Great, Ben. You go fucking improve yourself. Thanks for nothing.

And I know that I should press charges, I know I should be filing a report, I know what it was, and I can't bring myself to do anything. The simple fact that Ben has been here cheering on my progress, feeding my kids and being my friend has left me in worse shock than when Cole came after me, and whether Ben was drunk out of his mind or not, he took away one of the few comforts that I had worked so damn hard to rebuild and now I'm starting from scratch, again, with trust. I feel completely violated and so does Jacob. He's my husband. Someone else touched me. Now he know how it feels only worse, adding a whole new dimension to this relationship. If this isn't stacking all the odds against us I don't know what is.

I have nothing to say to just about everyone today. I was betrayed by a close friend who I have extended just about every generosity to that I have and he took advantage of me. I'm pissed off and in no condition to write because it comes out too violent, even for me.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe later. I don't know.

Thursday, 7 September 2006


If I wish very very hard, maybe all these leaves will blow right through our yard and into the neighbors. But it must be soon, for I have to mow. When I'm done running back and forth to the school that is, reveling in the whole elementary grade fuss that has taken our neighborhood into it's death grip, not to spit us out until the end of next June. This is a riot. I watch the clock constantly, waiting for the time when my shadow (Ruth) gets reattached, though shadowgirl has a miserable cold and was up all night long.

When I'm done mowing I'm going to drag the too-heavy recycling bin all the way to the end of the driveway, because I can't lift it.

Then I'll paint the steps, because I was supposed to do it in July and then Cole died and well, a lot of shit didn't get done.

This is why men were invented, folks, so that Bridget wouldn't have to flex her domestic muscles past folding laundry and cleaning floors.

But where are all the boys, you ask?

A bachelor party.

And what kind of bachelor party starts at lunch time on a Thursday?

One that is obviously going to be memorable. Or possibly dangerous. Not sure which but hey, they're having fun and that's something that there hasn't been a lot of this year.

Me? I have lots to keep me busy. I wasn't invited, despite offering to dance and everything. Hmmph.

Wednesday, 6 September 2006

Sex in a Carhartt coat.

In preparation for winter, I took Jacob coat-shopping after finding the best looking coat ever. A gorgeous spendy goose-down filled brand spanking new Carhartt coat with toggles and a hood. Why? Because he practically froze to death last year and I went so far as to offer him one of Cole's coats even. Cole offered him one again a day later. Because Jake had a threadbare jacket that will not cut a winter here on the flat miserable prairie. And with a truck as old as he is to drive he needs something he can walk or wait out a storm in.

He really needs a new truck too but I'll talk about that later.

Instead I dragged him out and put him in a Carhartt. Damn, he looked so fucking cute I threatened to rip off his clothes in the middle of the store. He loved it. He thought it was very expensive but relented when I put the finer points of him not being able to touch me for the first half hour after he comes home every day this coming winter because he's too damned cold.

He bought the coat. He'll finally be warm outdoors in the winter, and he won't furrow his brow and walk so fast no one else can keep up with him, as if they could with his long legs anyhow. Now if I can just get him to trade in the newsboy hat for something that keeps his ears warm he'll be all set, but instead he's growing out his hair. By spring it will be almost to his shoulders but Oh my god it's the most adorable thing ever. His gorgeous white blonde hair in his eyes, into his collar, wound around my fingers. Okay, I'll share the hair fetish.

Damn the mediocrity when I can find porn in a brand name jacket. No, bless the mediocrity. Blessed, indeed.

A brief sojorn.

I couldn't let today pass without an honorary mommy blog entry.

Today in the Reilly household, public school officially began.

I think I'm surviving it, though with Ruthie gone it feels as if my right arm or my shadow even has been torn off and taken away. Henry only went long enough to meet his teacher, choose a cubby for his things and get a tour of the nursery/kindergarten room. He starts on Friday. And boy, does he miss Ruth.

As soon as I stop crying I'll possibly be guiltily excited about the prospect of a couple of hours to myself in the mornings. Time to breath, time to not be distracted, time to do something for me, or even clean or paint some part of the house left untouched for an undistracted moment thus far.

The homeschooling didn't work. We gave it two grades and declared it a disaster, Cole and I deciding after Christmas that this just wasn't going to work anymore. I called the school, we had a tour, registered both kids and then the summer flew past in a flurry of agony and ecstasy and now here we are, (well Cole isn't here anymore though) loading backpacks and watching clocks already.

I can't wait for the academic fun to begin when they discover that Ruth was a Waldorf  homeschooler, which means the first three grades are all about art and music and housework and crafts and not so much reading, writing or forced group compliance. It will be interesting. We spent more time assembling nature tables than we ever did practicing writing.

At least she's a confident, secure child with the entire world in front of her, one giant spherical endless promise.

I really hope she likes school more than I ever did.

Tuesday, 5 September 2006

Night arrows.

I would really love to know exactly what it is that makes the nights so unbearably miserable. It's like when the sun goes down below the horizon it sucks all the light out of the world and the dark presses in, prepared to wreck everything that was built in the day.

I'm not even afraid of the dark. It is not afraid of me either, choosing to surround me and suffocate me in total blindness, refusing to relinquish me until the sun arrives with the alarm clock, racing over the opposite horizon in a quiet attempt at rescue.

Because the nightmares, my God. They're still here. They were here waiting for me while I chose to sleep drugged and dreamless, knowing that Jacob could and would get up with the kids because I wouldn't be able to if they needed me and I needed to sleep. And now that the drugs are gone the terrible nightmares have run screaming up to the threshold of my mind and they're breaking down the damn door.

I wake up screaming. Or sobbing. Or just plain scared shitless. Or wondering what ever the fuck could be this bad that my body won't just let me sleep, instead choosing to relive and invent and examine and beat every bad experience to death right in front of me.

Monday, 4 September 2006

Day four was awesome too.

At the zoo today they had baby monkeys, owls, lemurs and reindeer as the fresh additions to the usual attractions. Adorable. It was glorious, dusty and smelly and again, a fun day in the sun that left us more burned, more tired and more spent as a family than we have been thus far. It was a blast.

It's not lost on me that Jacob is seeking distractions to fill the time, and it's not lost on him that I need distractions. We have a long week in front of us-the kids start school, Ruth has a birthday and my old wedding anniversary is going to pass us by.

But it's okay, we're/I'm doing okay. I am. He is supportive and loving and patient. He understood what I was doing when I got rid of all those pills, oddly enough. He had been expecting it for some time. Everything is better, it's okay. Life off the meds is so much more liveable than life on the meds, stuck somewhere in an emotional wasteland. This is better. Normal average happiness and sadness reigns supreme. I'm taking deep breaths, loving hard and living large. And I'm only four days into full, sanctioned sobriety here. Woo for me.

And I swear I'm going to bed at 8 pm because I am completely worn out. I believe we have packed an entire summer's worth of fun into one single long weekend. Makes me happily anticipate the fall ahead of us, and the winter too. And everything else that lies in our future.

Sunday, 3 September 2006


I'm going to take a poll now.

Which would you take for a cold? Jack Daniel's or Nyquil?

I'm leaning towards Jack. Because I know how long I have before it wears off, I know what it will do (mainly dull the pain and help me sleep) and frankly medicine scares the heck out of me.

Remember who you're talking to before you vote.

And thanks. Either way it won't be taken until 8 pm or so.

You know you want the livesickdrunkblogging.

Bye, Summer.

Today was our annual farewell to summer event, complete with my seven present honorary big brothers (well six big brothers and one big husband now), all of whom spoil the kids madly. They came together and made up and let the water flow under the bridge despite a hell of a lot of upsets and tension over the summer. Jacob, Ben, Loch, Mark, Chris, PJ and Robin swallowed the issues they have with each other and planned a gorgeous day, starting with breakfast and church and then heading to the fair where we screamed our way through enough roller coasters, Ferris wheels and bumper cars to make even Henry declare that he had had enough and wanted to go home. The day was capped off with dinner out and then with cake and tea on my patio and then everyone mercifully bowed out and Jacob and I could get the kids into warm showers and fresh clean beds.

This is exactly the way you are supposed to feel at the end of a fun, hot summer day: dirty, filthy, sweaty, full and smiling from ear to ear, your voice hoarse from screaming "YES!" when the roller coaster operator asks you if you're ready to go around one more time. Because the louder you scream, the faster the coaster will go, or so it seems. A metaphor. If you surrender to your surroundings, you will ultimately enjoy yourself. So true.

We are slightly sunburned, thoroughly worn out and uncharacteristically content. The issues with Ben and Mark are resolved, for now. Cole's absence noted but unmentioned, as it always was because he was always working and rarely went. Another milestone of the 'special day' variety under our belts, emerging as new memories. The fear that next year Ruth and Henry might be too tall to ride some of their favorite little-kid rides.

Jacob and Loch getting checked out by the gay dads. Love it.

Bridget getting checked out by all the young dads, taking their life into their own hands as I walked, surrounded by my muscular pseudo-brothers, fighting for the blue cotton candy and trying to keep my hair from sticking to my lip gloss on the fastest rides.

At one point I stopped walking and tried to glue the memories into place so that they will be there when I go to find them later on. I really like these new ones.

Bridge! You coming?


Come on, sweetheart.

Princess! Let's go.

Come on Mommy!

I think I smiled so big some part of my old life broke off and drifted away.

Yeah guys, wait up. I'm coming.

Saturday, 2 September 2006

I left my heart in Aspotogan.

The post from last night may be deleted. Much as I despise deleting my writing, that entry reaches a whole lower level of hell that I rarely visit anymore. I'm okay now. Believe it or not.

Instead, let me regale you on this beautiful Saturday morning- go google pictures of Aspotogan, where I really really wish I was right now, because it's so beautiful, peaceful and simply gorgeous. Wait until the leaves turn color.

Friday, 1 September 2006

Eggshells to walk on (unspoken history).

(I don't even know where this came from, so just don't read it. Bridget's meaningless words in an attempt to get through another day. I almost titled this post Suicide Bride, but I didn't want to scare anyone. I was flawed long before my (first, and wow does it feel weird to have to differentiate) husband kicked the crap out of me, just so you know. In case you just fell into my universe and thought I was having trouble letting go, or something.)

Jacob is holding his breath and not straying far out of reach lately. I noticed that.

He's worried and it's needless.

Sort of like my fragility now is essentially needless. Pills are not going to help what's wrong with me, I don't care what the doctors say. The fragility is...uninvited, to say the least.

And it never ventures far.

I hate myself.

There are things I don't write about that would leave you with a skewed impression of me. I'm not such a strong person. I can pretend until the cows come home, but it really isn't there. There's something wired into my brain that allows for little comfort. I'm sad alot. Despair rules my moods and I fight tooth and nail with it every single day. Depression. Chemical. Not so much psychological. Sometimes both. Sometimes so difficult I can't take it anymore. I operate with a coerced, superficial effervescence because I have no choice. It's the only way I can get through the day.

And Jacob is the only person who doesn't run screaming from me when I'm at my worst.

And when I found the bottom of my soul once, he was there. We don't talk about it. He pulled me out of a crimson bathtub and put his bare hands on my wrists to try and stop the bleeding. He called 911 and wrapped me in towels for dignity. He cried and he screamed at me to stay with him, not to die now, not today, not on this day.

I heard him. I heard his voice break and I have never heard him sound like that since.

He blamed Cole every step of the way and he sat by my side in the hospital every moment that he could be there. In those horrible moments he became everything I would ever see in front of me.

Surrounded by death indeed. It's an easy out for a tortured one. A way to escape the pain without wondering when it will return. A difficult acceptance for those who don't know what it's like and an incredible burden that I never asked Jacob to take on, but he did anyway.

Cole made fun of me. He cracked jokes and made ultimatums. He goaded me to try again, if I had the courage, he once dared. I demurred. Jacob was like a light. Only concern. Fear that eventually waned slightly, enough for him to relax a little but if you think the memories ever elude him then you are mistaken. He walks like a haunted man, old in a way beyond his thirty-five years that speaks of vitriolic reflections.

I did that to him and for that, I hate myself even more.

I have made him to feel like this and I'll probably do it again and I don't even know why.

Happiness isn't enough. It should be but I don't see that. God doesn't look after me the way he should. Jacob tries and he is so close and yet he's miles away from me. Probably the closest one though.

But not now. When? I don't know. When it gets too hard. When the kids won't be as touched from my absence, ever the logical girl I remain, yours truly. When I can't feel like there's ever going to be another bright flash. When there's no chance left to climb out of the hole I was born into. I really never expected to see myself make it to this age. Jacob is determined that I will live forever. I want to, I really do. Those are the moments I hold onto dearly, with both hands and my whole heart.

There's your mess. There is what's wrong with me. Clinically depressed. Wired incorrectly. A highly-functioning, albeit self-destructive permanent suicide risk because of something that I didn't cause. No answers and no help because this is how one lives under these circumstances.

It's just the way things are. It's why I stand in a mosaic of broken glass that everyone must cross to touch me, retreating quickly when it becomes excruciating. Watching from a safe distance.

It's why I answer the phone twenty five times a day and say I'm fine. It's why people stop in unannounced constantly and why when things are really bad I am never left alone, everyone swoops in to close ranks, why even when Jacob finds it all too much and takes off he's usually three blocks away or somewhere around the house, quietly trying to be here even when it's so hard.

It's why I won't wear hearing aids so that each day when I get tired of the attention I can tune out easily and blame something else.

I didn't hear that.

It's why Jacob took full responsibility for me a long time ago, stepping in and letting Cole off the hook for me. Why they were grudgingly close. Because Cole wasn't man enough to do what Jacob could, and Cole found that to be a gift because I am a burden. A few risky ventures along Jake's path to find his limits and finally coming to a place in which he chose not to be further than arms length, in case I needed him. I love him. I love him for loving me in spite of myself and choosing to wade further in instead of running away. I love him for saving me from myself and for protecting me from the monster that I am and the demons that chase me that no one else has ever seen. Some question that they exist at all. Those people aren't paying attention. I know.

Except for Jake. He has seen them and he no longer sleeps at night.

Why do I joke about it sometimes? It's all I've got. I can't lean on it as a label or I would no longer be here on earth. The blessings are abundant all around and yet the crushing sadness obliterates everything in it's path and I can't do anything about that. But you can bet when I speak of hanging off the gingerbread it's okay. It's when you're met with silence that you should address your concern. The worrisome times: when I stop writing, talking, listening at all.

It's why when I say I'm a mess it's because...well...I'm a mess. And I'll never know why. But as you can see I am doomed to fail. I don't know when or how, but I do know it's a sure bet. And no, I'm not making threats or promises or trying to predict the future, I'm simply explaining a little more about why certain things are the way they are. Why we struggle, why we hurry up and wait, why everything is a little more effortful or a little more obscure for us than for everyone else.

Bridget won't be around forever you know. I certainly hope I will be, but I stopped making promises like that a very long time ago.

Funny how I can write diversionary words to freak everyone out long enough to make the pills a less than big deal.