Monday 25 January 2010

Industrial-strength lullabies.

This lonely isolation follows me through my dreams
I wander around with doubt
so cold and incomplete
There is nothing here for comfort
No spark of hope I see
I breathe deep and fill my lungs to silently release
This is more than a dream to me
I breathe deep and drown my lungs and release silently
I gasp for breath to only hear what's inside me
An echo
More than a dream to me
An echo of my scream
Metal makes everything strong. Steadfast, more comfortable. Ben is made of metal. I wish he could be home right now.

The blizzard has ended and we didn't even run out of milk. The mercury is free-falling now and instead of perishing in isolation as the city became obscured by drifts, instead we're going to freeze to death.

Cole, why did we move here again? Oh yes. That was in another life, a life that's over now. Lucky you. You can't feel cold.

Jesus, Bridget, what has he done? Jacob's first comment on the weather here as he watched the thermometer surrender the day we hit new cold records.

There is always a mad dash to prove life in spite of the obstacles. Sure, go out and carry on as usual. But first be sure the rope is tied securely around your waist, your will is up to date and you've got at least five layers of thinsulate, wool and gortex on, even though you will still feel every degree of the current conditions.

Thanks for the wild send-off, you stupid godforsaken hell-hole, I am done now.

Last night I thought I would die of fear again. Not sure what it is, save for these moments that feel like shallow panic attacks. I can wade right in, cool off, splash around a bit and then come out eventually. It takes forever to get dry. I should probably just wait on the side. I know it's just the weather and the lack of sleep and this bad cold and the upheaval and it's all in my head. I don't believe my head understands the rules of engagement and so it reacts like a feral child with no access to civilization. I believe I would make a great thesis for somebody. Maybe more than one person, since every armchair therapist who has ever discovered me online has felt the need to weigh in. Screw you, show me your qualifications and your pay scale and then we'll talk. Only then.

At the height of my stupidity I tried to talk August into coming home. He is the most free with engagements at present. I begged and I promised and I charmed and then Satan came out of nowhere and shut me down. I was no longer mindful of the rules. I tried to circumvent the status quo and once again I was held screaming into the flames before being pulled back, strong arms using logic as muscle against a mind that likes to see the suffering.

August was similarly burned. I have apologized to him until I run out of words and he will not accept it, he says it isn't my fault and for some reason that makes more sense today, in the sun, with the blizzard warnings now behind us than it did last night in the dark with the winds howling all around me.

Safety won't be there with him, princess.

I don't care, Caleb. I need people here.

To waste time?

To keep me grounded.

Maybe you need a reminder in why this is best.

What I need is a timeline. Dates. Plans. Throw me a bone here, Jesus. Right now it just seems like endless winter.

What are you learning?

How much I hate you, Caleb.

And?

How hard Ben works. How when he feels pain now he just puts his head down and works harder. How he refuses to dwell on the hard parts because he has to survive.

Admirable. Can you apply that to yourself, perhaps?

No. I'm a masochist. I want to feel it and then I want to flick a switch and make it go away.

All you have to do is say one word, princess.

No. Goodbye, Caleb. And leave the boys alone. They're doing well, they don't need you doing this.

I didn't get where I am by leaving loose ends, Bridget.

Who said anything about loose ends?

That's what August is. Your Jacob-clone. The outsider. The one we all watched in real time as he became helpless against your attentions.

I thought that was Ben's role.

So did I but you are quite the little collector, aren't you?

I haven't collected anyone.

Bridget, your...'army' as you call it is quite strong now. Cole would have been incredibly surprised at this turn of events.

I should have told him.

Told him what?

That he was not the monster.

Oh, really?

You are. It was you. He was a puppet too.

No, Bridget, I loved my brother. But my brother had issues too and he failed to appreciate the life he had.

Not true. You did that to him.

Before you make a mistake and deify any more losers I'm going to suggest tonight be a little less noisy on your end of life. You're being protected, there is nothing that can happen to you so you may as well be content to get to know yourself a little better instead of hiding in the arms of the first man who slows down near you.

Caleb?

Yes, princess?

Fuck you.

I always appreciate it when you end a call with spirit. It's just another little reassurance that you're doing just fine.