Thursday, 17 March 2016

My very own butterfly effect.

Gamble everything for love.
The weird stasis of unfinished business and a hesitant sunrise saw me back at the airport this morning because something went completely south on Batman's efforts to escape the UK and so Lochlan has to go back, sent home some impulsively, prematurely and now with an almost doubled bonus because of the inconvenience.

Only Batman would call a ten-hour plane trip an inconvenience. I'd probably be dead on the floor, but only because I have toddler-level maturity when it comes to being trapped in a seat and forced to amuse myself for hours on end with nothing to look at but the back of another seat. It's hard to make up stories about people when the only parts of people you can see are a couple elbows across and up the aisle slightly. Fuck that. I'd rather take a boat and have an adventure! But then the trip would take weeks instead of hours and I'd like it if Lochlan wasn't gone that long, thank you.

It's difficult.

Or maybe it's just strange now when he's not with me and it's one of the reasons Batman has to pay him so much, or he would probably just quit because he likes to be here at home and pretend with me that we are norms and we're doing norm things. Like backflips in the kitchen and fire-throwing in the driveway.

Wait, what?

People don't do that?

Huh. Too bad.

But hey, if nothing else (excluding Loch's big fat bank account), Ben and Caleb get a do-over this weekend on the whole How To Convince Bridget to Fuck Up Just A Little More.

It'll probably work, because it's Saint Patrick's Day and my very own Saint Patrick not only gave me his flask again on the way home from the airport but offered to make me coffee this morning only there's no coffee in this and I could probably light it on fire and throw it without much effort seeing as talent is contagious and so is drunk.