I woke up wrapped in a dream, smothered by fire and tangled in the thick winter blankets we've put on the bed to try and deflect the strange grey rain that never ends. Comfort from the dark. I've been busy seeking out knitted sweaters and different kinds of tea and golden bourbon and fireplaces and books. European spy movies and rich desserts and bigger umbrellas still and cute army boots in every color of the rainbow.
I could sleep for days, if I could ever sleep at all.
When my eyes open my brain says November first. It's the calendarly town crier, hellbent on reminding me dutifully that I am in the countdown toward an anniversary that isn't so great, followed by an attempt to give meaning to a day that is no longer celebrated. Jacob's birthday, in which he would have been turning forty-two.
I've seen a bunch of the boys turn that age already. I used to think twenty-two was as amazing as it would ever get and then thirty-two was just incredible and BOOM, here we are again. Getting older still. Time marches on like an army of robots, never slowing down, never getting distracted, never losing their charge.
PJ already confiscated anything I might be able to use to aid a getaway of any kind. The circle got a little tighter as per tradition once we teed off with the pumpkins, over the cliff and into the sea to mark the end of Halloween and the beginning of the dark season.
I know, GOD HELP YOU BRIDGET, YOU FUCKING EMO FREAK, YOU. GET A LIFE ALREADY.
You don't have to say it. I hear those voices too, you know.
