Today's much better, or at least this morning certainly is. Got fucked. Twice. Okay three times if you count that Ben came back for more because he gets super hot watching me and Lochlan and then can't help himself ever and I should know better than to indulge him a second time. So, moving slowly now.
Caleb handed me a breakfast mimosa because he a) didn't know how much fun we were having sleeping in so doesn't hate me yet and 2) despises stale champagne so this was the end of the party champagne from Saturday night and now I'm half-drunk and reading Interview magazine out on the patio in the sun. It's still summer by a technicality but not by tradition and so we balance here on the cusp of Autumn and by four this afternoon every last one of us will be melting by the pool. I managed to get a tan in spite of myself this year and am loathe to even think about my corduroy overalls and oversized sweaters when it's still thirty-five in the shade every day. Ice cream for dinner? Okay, whatever.
I read about Lana Del Rey first and now I've moved on to Jamie Dornan. Interview has dredged up a thirst trap (they admit it) photoshoot of Dornan from six years ago when Fifty Shades came out and wrote a few lines that I snorted painfully quick about how summer 2020 doesn't exist and didn't happen for any of us but hey, look at these pretty pictures and feel better, huh?
They aren't wrong. That's how everyone lives now. Gloss along on something beautiful and find a few ways to dull the pain here and there and what more can you ask for? This summer saw me make some decorating changes in the house, I learned to navigate the feelings of someone getting badly hurt but coming home again in their own body instead of a box, I kayaked, I drank too much, I fought with virtually everyone and I went to the first half of summer camp but it wasn't great and now we have yet another freshly minted start on our threshold and I don't know if I should let it in now or wait for it to become frustrated and impatient in tinges of orange and gold.
I don't know. I don't know. Jamie would know. Or maybe Caleb. He looks good in a bathtub in his underwear. I've seen that picture before. I don't care today though. I've got Ben's fingerprints embedded in my heart and Lochlan's arms wrapped around my soul, holding it tight so the devil can swoop in with his cold breezes and hot sins and he can drag my defenses down from the top of my head right off the ends of my toes and he still can't break today. Because it's new, it's strong and it's mine to make good. He can't have it. Well, okay if the mimosas keep coming to me seventy-thirty then he'll probably get it but that remains to be seen.