Saturday, 2 August 2014


Don't let me play Call of Duty with you.We were troubleshooting one of the xboxes last night and I'm notoriously eager to run with the big boys (as always) and also completely incapable of actually doing that. I started a single-player campaign and all I had to do was follow the two cinematic dudes, jump a log and then break into a sprint up a path to my right.

Nope. Couldn't do it. I couldn't even manage to look straight ahead let along figure out the controls for sprinting. Then that message would fly up on the screen and make me feel horrible. Just horrible. So I kept trying but I could only ever make it over the log and then I would get left behind. Ten times. Fifteen times. Twenty times and I threw the controller onto the couch and got up and left. Talk about post traumatic stress from being eight years old and too little to keep up when we went up the path through the woods to get to the baseball field.


Matt's new nickname is The Sandman, for he made me one of his specialteas after dinner and I promptly grew chest hair, sprouted a thick European accent and then passed out cold on Lochlan.

I woke up this morning sans accent, chest hair AND sunburn-pain. I ran downstairs, down the hall through the doors, down the other hall, through the den into their room and kissed a sleeping Matt on the cheek. His eyes flew open and he laughed. What?

I don't hurt!

Good, go back to bed, Doofus. It's seven on a Saturday.

I look over and Sam is facedown in a dream, one hand up on Matt's pillow clutching his hand deathgrip-style and I smile and whisper goodbye before going back, closing doors as I tiptoe out.

Aw. Also whoops. Sometimes they stay up all night watching movies and I forget. Sam is such a morning person, I miss him if he's not already up when I wake up.

I go back up and crawl up the center of my bed and then halfway back down under the quilt. I lie on my back and embrace the absolute lack of feeling in my skin.

Loch wakes up and he's all curls and mouth and and naked shoulders, leaning on his elbows. Where'd you go?

To thank Matt for the tea. Nothing hurts.

Oh. Thank fuck. He flops down on his face and throws one arm out to pull me in tight underneath him.

But he doesn't go back to sleep.
There's a memory of how we used to be
That I can see through the flames
I am hypnotized as I fantasize
Forgetting lies and pain
But I can't go back

The ashes call my name