I got part of my wish last night, as August put his Spotify account on my phone. At any given time now I can see what he's listening to, and since I don't have a poker face, I fear that just about every time I look at him from here on out he's either going to be treated to an expression of pure surprise or sheer disappointment, as his musical tastes have always been more than a little strange for a man his age.
We went for a walk out out in the orchard, now laced with a huge chaotic array of those carnival rainbow bulbs, because why not? We did so with some mulled wine and it was perfect. Well, except for the subject matter, which involved a plan to navigate the holidays with as little upset as possible, as that familiar helplessness and frustration came up yesterday that signals a decided lack of self-care, a focus on the negative (but I made a list of the good things!) and a disappointing ignorance of just how good things are.
Suitably stung, I nodded. He's right. He's always right but at the same time I feel an undercurrent of annoyance. I didn't ask for this, it was facilitated to me. My good fortune in life is a debt paid for unspeakable reasons that began long before there was ever any Cole, any Jacob to be worried about and he addresses that too, before I can abandon the walk in a flurry of misery.
Ask for help, Bridget. Before things reach that point.
I know.
But do it. You know it and you keep silent.
It's hard. I want to be capable.
Capable people know the limits of their capabilities.
Oh, then I'm not capable at all, nevermind.
He laughs. Sure you are. As capable as you can be for you.
I look up at him. In the dark cold if I close my eyes and focus on the accent and not the man, I feel like I could touch heaven if I jumped.
Don't look at me like that, Bridge.
Sorry. I didn't mean to.
Jesus. What you're 'capable' of is dismantling the strongest of men with your very being.
Wow, Augie. See? That's the problem. I don't want to dismantle anyone.
You can't help it.
I could go live in a cave.
You could, but it's going to get awfully crowded, since no one's going to let you out of their sight. Get some sleep, okay?
And with that, we are at the side door of the house and he opens it just as PJ is coming down the stairs. They give each other one of those violent man-back-clapping hugs and then PJ holds the door for me, locking it behind us as August heads back across the driveway to his loft.
Any luck?
Yes, he gave me his login.
Oh, the games are ON now.
(Supposedly on Spotify you can change the music on another user if you have their info on your deivce. Don't worry, we're not mooching the songs, we're just going to try to brainwash August into slightly heavier music. PJ already hooked me up with my own IHeartRadio account for the all-Christmas station I've been playing when I'm driving.)
We went for a walk out out in the orchard, now laced with a huge chaotic array of those carnival rainbow bulbs, because why not? We did so with some mulled wine and it was perfect. Well, except for the subject matter, which involved a plan to navigate the holidays with as little upset as possible, as that familiar helplessness and frustration came up yesterday that signals a decided lack of self-care, a focus on the negative (but I made a list of the good things!) and a disappointing ignorance of just how good things are.
Suitably stung, I nodded. He's right. He's always right but at the same time I feel an undercurrent of annoyance. I didn't ask for this, it was facilitated to me. My good fortune in life is a debt paid for unspeakable reasons that began long before there was ever any Cole, any Jacob to be worried about and he addresses that too, before I can abandon the walk in a flurry of misery.
Ask for help, Bridget. Before things reach that point.
I know.
But do it. You know it and you keep silent.
It's hard. I want to be capable.
Capable people know the limits of their capabilities.
Oh, then I'm not capable at all, nevermind.
He laughs. Sure you are. As capable as you can be for you.
I look up at him. In the dark cold if I close my eyes and focus on the accent and not the man, I feel like I could touch heaven if I jumped.
Don't look at me like that, Bridge.
Sorry. I didn't mean to.
Jesus. What you're 'capable' of is dismantling the strongest of men with your very being.
Wow, Augie. See? That's the problem. I don't want to dismantle anyone.
You can't help it.
I could go live in a cave.
You could, but it's going to get awfully crowded, since no one's going to let you out of their sight. Get some sleep, okay?
And with that, we are at the side door of the house and he opens it just as PJ is coming down the stairs. They give each other one of those violent man-back-clapping hugs and then PJ holds the door for me, locking it behind us as August heads back across the driveway to his loft.
Any luck?
Yes, he gave me his login.
Oh, the games are ON now.
(Supposedly on Spotify you can change the music on another user if you have their info on your deivce. Don't worry, we're not mooching the songs, we're just going to try to brainwash August into slightly heavier music. PJ already hooked me up with my own IHeartRadio account for the all-Christmas station I've been playing when I'm driving.)