The fever has broken and everyone has fraudulently assured me with much enthusiasm that I am not, in fact, insane.
I looked around to see if they were talking to someone else. Maybe someone's here. Maybe the ghosts are smartly keeping things north when they start sliding south. Maybe pigs do fly. Maybe Bridget knows exactly what she is and how she came to be this way.
I'm not hungry, either, and that always seems to pique more concern than anything else so to appease Lochlan I am picking at a bagel he toasted and covered with cheese for me. I can barely look at it, sadly. The orange juice is good though. It's cold. So good.
Eat, don't play. He snaps.
Yes, Dad.
A glare ends the tease and he resumes his own breakfast. He's feeling a bit better too though maybe not so much after all. We're tired, oddly. So much time in bed and all of it restless. All of it low quality sleep. No energy to love each other or even fight off ghosts. No room for extras, no time for watching the clock.
Bridgie. Come on.
He's actively monitoring my progress and I failed to make any. Trying, I say. Then I start coughing, which gives me a headache.
Okay, nevermind. Back to bed.
Oh my God. I'm so sick of lying there.
Then we'll snooze in the theatre. Chef's Table started.
Season six?
Yeah.
Let's go. I bring my plate and he smiles, but just a little.
I looked around to see if they were talking to someone else. Maybe someone's here. Maybe the ghosts are smartly keeping things north when they start sliding south. Maybe pigs do fly. Maybe Bridget knows exactly what she is and how she came to be this way.
I'm not hungry, either, and that always seems to pique more concern than anything else so to appease Lochlan I am picking at a bagel he toasted and covered with cheese for me. I can barely look at it, sadly. The orange juice is good though. It's cold. So good.
Eat, don't play. He snaps.
Yes, Dad.
A glare ends the tease and he resumes his own breakfast. He's feeling a bit better too though maybe not so much after all. We're tired, oddly. So much time in bed and all of it restless. All of it low quality sleep. No energy to love each other or even fight off ghosts. No room for extras, no time for watching the clock.
Bridgie. Come on.
He's actively monitoring my progress and I failed to make any. Trying, I say. Then I start coughing, which gives me a headache.
Okay, nevermind. Back to bed.
Oh my God. I'm so sick of lying there.
Then we'll snooze in the theatre. Chef's Table started.
Season six?
Yeah.
Let's go. I bring my plate and he smiles, but just a little.