Potatoes are starchy gold. Fight me.

Right in my face and I didn't even see him come out. He put his hands on the arms of the patio chair I was curled up in, brought his head down until we were nose to nose and smiled bitterly at me. 

You can't..stop me from loving you. That's what my life is devoted to, Neamhchiontach. 

Then Caleb pushed off from the arms of my chair and walked quickly back inside. 

Tell us how you really feel. Lochlan yells toward the house with the chuckle and I shoot him a look that shuts him up. We're no longer allowed to bully or roast anyone when they're struggling, no matter with what. 

Peanut-

That counts and now you need to apologize. 

If I go chasing after him he's going to think I'm just being possessive and he's going to go on the defensive. 

Then text him. 

Fine. Lochlan studies his phone for a minute, sends a message and then tosses his phone on the table. 

Better, Princess?

Oh, you're in a mood tonight. 

The Devil just came outside and tried to ruffle our feathers and you want me to not be in a mood?

Right. I don't. 

The next thing you say better not be that he's harmless. 

I shake my head. It wasn't going to be. We know that better than anyone. I just want to change the subject. 

You just want to live on your potato farm by the sea. 

I do. 

That's a wonderful goal, Bridgie. I wouldn't have expected it from you. 

What did you expect? 

I figured you would get stars in your eyes from all of the trips and gifts and I'd become the brunt of jokes for a completely different reason than he has.

I still get the gifts and the trips and the stars though.

Yeah, not sure how you pulled that one off. 

I learned from a master thief. 

That's grifter. I just take opportunities. Not stuff. 

Is it diff-

It is. 

Honest? It's boring.

A huge victory for me in that I've earned another three months at my current dosages, as it's working and it's 90% miracle, 10% doubt at this point but also my doctors are loathe to fuck with it, lest it trigger a return of the narcolepsy. Mine comes and goes depending on the rest I do get, stress levels and of course medication and so I try and manage it but it still gets the best of me and I'll have several months of fighting just to get through a sentence and then other times I feel like I could make it through the week without a single bout, but since it's a lifelong chronic condition I'm happy just to keep it quashed as far down as I can and no one wants to wake the beast, so yay? 

Yay. 

(Because I won't take those drugs. they've tried but I'd rather fall asleep than run at a million miles an hour.)

I was gifted a three-month bottle of pills and now I'm good.These ones keep me from being nervous about every little thing and they keep me from finding my ghosts. I'm pretty sure those two things are closely related but what isn't? In any case it's really nice to watch Lochlan take good care of me. We cook for everyone, we spend a lot of time checking for the first signs of life in the garden, we beachcomb for hours at a time. I am not allowed on my computer, someone opens a window for me. No email, no news anymore, no nothing. It's lovely. I paint and I sculpt and I take a lot of long walks, some fast, some slow, I keep my hands to myself, stay wedged in between Ben and Lochlan most of the time now and I feel like maybe that's why Jake isn't around right now, because he doesn't have to watch over me because I've stopped running. Stopped letting the Devil love me, stopped looking for Jake or Cole, stopped crying, stopped feeling, stopped breathing so hard, stopped wishing I could go at least halfway but not the whole way (just enough to see), stopped being Hard To Manage. 

Lochlan's having a good vacation. I am easier. Things are great. 

The problem is, and this is what I keep telling everyone, it's not default. This isn't the way things are or they would already be this way. This is my artificial pharmaceutical dreamscape and it ends when I get to the bottom of the bottle or whenever they change the dose and I won't even remember to care that I was busy looking for Jake before they distracted me with these pills. At least I can do that now. Care, not look, I mean.

But the boys deserve a break and so I'm trying to give it to them. 

And I am no longer unique or special.  

Fuck me.

Rain drops and last rites.

This morning I am ticking off my list. I fixed the Keurig. I fixed the CD changer in the vintage Jeep. I fixed the vacuum and I fixed my face a little. We went for a walk and saw a dead robin. She was pale and powerless, just off the walking path way up the hill on the school road. I wanted to collect her and give her a proper safe burial underneath the hemlocks where the roses grow unchecked but Lochlan wouldn't let me touch her. I'll go back later when he is busy and I'll wrap her in the Chanel scarf I hate and she can be buried it in. She deserves better than to be left at the side of the road.

The rain stopped but it won't be replaced by the sun. The landscapers were here to drop off a fresh mountain of soil for the gardens and I'm really not sure if I should get out my gloves and shovels or run to the store and get some toy trucks so we can play in it first. Maybe both. Play and then work, which is never how I do a thing, now, is it?

We're going to cook tonight. The weekend is over. Cinderella turns back into a mouse or however it was that that works and routine returns to the point after a brief respite from everything. My medication is being doubled, starting this week and I may miss it all anyway.

We ate outside tonight. First patio dinner of the season. I did not find all the chairs yet.

Sunday night and I'm sitting on Lochlan's knee at the corner of the big glass patio table eating nachos from our favourite Mexican restaurant with extra jalapenos, licking my iodine-stained* fingers and reading guitar reviews out loud from the musical instrument shop we frequent. 

My favourite was for a Jimmy Page edition double-necked epiphone: 

Pros: Stairway!!

Cons: This is heavy!

(Most people try to sound cool or nonchalant when they're writing reviews. This was the first one that was just straight-up honest.)

(*I lost a fight I didn't know I was in, against some surprisingly sharp picture-frame glass from the early eigthies. Almost severed my damn fingers.)

Tiny lessons.

Dear Future Self: Always check and make sure your locking nut key is in your Jeep when you leave a repair shop. Fate woke me at three am and I tossed and turned and woke up at six and went out to check and SURE ENOUGH it wasn't there. 

Big Sigh. 

Called the shop and they had it (a BLESSED MIRACLE, I SAY) and so I took another vehicle in for service when I picked it up, this time in and out in a cool thirty-five minutes and now I've paid my dues to the universe and I'm fucking done for the week. The madness continues but the will does not. It's time to watch some horror movies and rest a little. It's Friday, Bitches and I did more before ten this morning than most people do in a month. 

(Yes, I checked the other truck for the key before I left the lot. HAHAHA I'm not STUPID, right?)

Texas Chainsaw weekend for me. Bye.

Just. Well, look at the 'character' properties first. Those are always the best ones.

Yesterday was an even MORE wild ride that began with sex and groceries with Ben (in THAT order, no less) and then I don't think I actually was on the point until three in the afternoon again as I had a sudden burst of manic energy that saw me tick off a bunch of languishing appointments and chores that I was ignoring thus far. I still have a few left but those will play out over the next few weeks, and that's fine. The doctor returns on Tuesday and this morning was my first massive anxiety wake-up, as it's always worst on the way to sleep and first thing and then the courage comes with the dawn. When I jumped on the scale the scale told me my heart rate was 170 and I believed it. A second try registered 74 so that's probably more accurate but I do feel like I can let today cave in because I was Productive yesterday and that's all people care about. 

Also stop tightening your fucking OIL CAPS SO TIGHT THEY BREAK. That alone added over an hour to my trials of Wednesday the twenty-third of March. FFS. It's not hard. Also the replacement better be metal or I'm going to be pissed off again. 

Today I get to Netflix and laundry. Tonight is steak stir-fry on rice with peppers and onions. In the meantime I am waiting for Henry to wake up (he's in his final two weeks of fine-tuning his graduation project wtffffffff) and browsing Purplebricks for my next house. Purplebricks is a huge time suck in my life right now, I spend hours looking at listings. 

And I'm going to try to go back to posting every day. I have the go-ahead. Everyone's super happy with my 'progress' or something, as apparently my personality before was too much or too stressful.

This makes me sad.

Drama in real life.

Yesterday was a wild ride. Did I tell you I broke my toe? Dropped my phone on it and boom, now it's black and purple and it looks a little like it's been lying on Mount Everest for a few decades and I'm so fascinated I keep showing everyone. They tell me not to drop my phone. Uh. Okay, right. Will do. 

Hopefully it will be back to it's normal colour soon or I will arrange a service at base camp for it, I guess. 

I have nine other toes, right? yes, of course I do but the smallest ones are the runts and they are fairly useless and also hilariously misshapen. Everything is micro on me. Especially my hands and feet. So I'm surprised my phone didn't miss by a mile but nope, toe-smash city. 

In other news I also witnessed a crime this week. Fun! Especially since it was something in my own neighbourhood and while minor, it was completely unnecessary and glaringly obvious to the point where I do believe the world has lost it's collective mind, and also yes, I made a report and now get to wait and see if anything plays out. 

I hate that but I also know who did it and don't plan to let them get away with it because they're fucking batshit and they need to learn a lesson here. 

God. Just do the right thing. It's not hard, people. I can figure that out and I only presently have nine useful toes! 

I will provide updates soon if anything comes of it all. 

Happy Ostara.

I climbed out of my fog yesterday and had a great day. I played in the muddy gardens, went through three pairs of garden gloves, put out and set up two hoses, helped prune and stack grapevines in the vineyard, unwrapped and pruned the tiny olive trees, marveled at the buds on the cherry and pear trees and counted all the buds on the rosebushes and tearoses. The bee balm is multiplying already, the larkspur has come up along with the poppies and the ivy seems lush and plush again suddenly. The Japanese maples have huge buds and the grass is even coming back, at last, though slowly. We cleaned up for around two hours en mass and then ended the day with a feast of Chinese food and television. We finished Lucifer. We made plans to finish Lost in Space and then begin the new season of Ozark. We enjoyed the sun on our faces and the good back pain that comes from hard physical work and we look forward to getting the garden planted and underway soon.

The wedding plans tick along too. This week we have a couple of things to do, namely Ruthie's dress fitting for alterations and possibly shopping for shirts for the men. She's requested an unusual colour scheme and yet it's extremely flattering to the skin tones among us so no problems there. She is the furthest thing from a bridezilla but she also has a tiny vision in mind and we intend to make it happen for her. I'm excited. So excited but also loving coasting on the decided lack of anxiety. It's great. When it's not a pure fog it's absolutely great and working. 

Winter is done. Just when I gave up on hating the darkness at four in the afternoon and the endless damp cold, it's done. Again. I love it. I'm looking forward to Easter and my birthday, and the wedding. 

And we're having slow lake-Jesus today because coffee at a lake in the mountains is better than coffee in church. A million times better. Sorry Sam (he doesn't blame us truth be told).

Maybe coffee would he- no, it probably wouldn't. You're right.

I feel like a dull pencil. Too blunt to write purposefully but still good enough that eventually I will be sharper and in the meantime no one is going to throw me away. But a hopeful pencil, with stories and dreams I want to write but I just can't because I am too rounded to use. Too dull to be able to put to paper any of the words I thought I had, blurred by the moment and now I forget. 

I am pushing through. Maybe it will get better? Maybe not. Who the hell knows? This the halfway point of the whole trial of it anyway so we shall see. 

*yawns* 

Christ.

Recycled.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Our Padraig is having a wonderful time. He's almost already drunk. He's had three meals and it's only two in the afternoon and the rain is pouring down so hard and that, coupled with the three-degree wind and darkness has made us cancel our plans to go and carouse about town tonight to celebrate being Irish as only a few of us actually are. 

Kidding. We had zero plans to carouse, as it were. 

I am busy throwing mugs anyway. Not throwing them on the wheel, actually throwing them. At the fence, which is cathartic as nothing I have ever seen before except then I have to go and pick all the shards up and put them in the recycling clay bucket and make them back into clay. As long as they haven't been glazed you can do that and apparently I am the QUEEN of weak handles on cups, which shrink and crack a month later and ugh, the learning process coupled with my OCD-perfectionism (DIAGNOSED, in case you're easily annoyed) is just about ruining this whole thing. I ground the edges down with a file and now it's a drinking VESSEL, just not a MUG. 

It's fine, everything's fine. 

*picks up shards*

I get to start drinking at five. 

As soon as you've eaten, says my minder. He makes the rules, I follow them. 

*throws perfectly good mug this time, just for emphasis on the 'follow' part.*

The Sunlight Protection Act.

 If you've tried to reach me and haven't gotten a response (or a block, HA) it's because for the past little while I don't have access to my email. Lochlan won't let me have it. I post remotely from my blog post link from blogger (really glad I set that up that first time I took a trip and wanted to post from the road without logging in, per se) and haven't really acknowledged any readers as of late. I haven't even posted every day, as of late, truth be told and things are as ever. Though after many attempts to stop taking these pills I am given them now and it's an illness to be cured or maintained, not an experiment and yet the joy vanished with the anxiety and I'm trying to figure out how to live in this unfamiliar place where nothing inside my head can get a rise out of me suddenly, and I can poke around and find the panic but then I drop it and it's gone again. 

In other words, bear with me. It isn't like we haven't done this a million times before, Dear Reader, which is why I'm not too concerned. Eventually I will have the energy to rebel or something with trigger something else and we'll be back on the rollercoaster you know and crave. 

Gee, can't wait. 

(See? That's the reaction you get out of me these days. Like they shot me with a tranquilizer gun and then shook me awake so that I can still respond in conversation. Not less than eleven different people have remarked that this shit may be too strong. Hahahaha you think? And the talk was that the dosages WILL BE RAISED.)

In other news, my current province (British Columbia) saw our premier waiting for the United States to make the first move on leaving Daylight Savings Time always-on due to trade and cross-border logistics and since the senate or congress or whichever you use voted unanimously to adopt permanent Daylight Savings Time (hilarious name for the act, by the way. I fucking DIED at the gravity of it all) I think, Mr. Horgan, that it's time to make our announcement too. And never again will I have to turn on lights at three in the afternoon. That alone is worth cheering for. 

I will get back to my emails soon. I'm hitting all my progress points, or so they say. Baby steps and all.

Annnnd this is why I ordered not one but two extra glass doors because we already have to replace one from where Lochlan shoved Caleb right into it, and now I still have a spare. I'd put a laughing emoji here but it's not funny.

Do they ever learn? Or change? Do I? No to all of it.

I thought I made it out alive.

Neamhchiontach. 

Caleb's breath is warm against my forehead. His head is bent down against mine and I am frozen in place. Wanting so badly to run but wanting to stay, too. 

Ten days interest is going to cost you. He says it softly, voice breaking on the cost part. Every day that goes by means you're going to pay dearly. 

His birthday was on the third and we celebrated as a big family. As always. As always, it wasn't enough.

I struggle out of his embrace, tears streaming. My voice is caught in my throat, choked out by sudden insolence. Just pretend it's a year we aren't together and you'll be fine. I wipe my cheeks, trying to find the rage to replace the fear. Trying to be stubborn and hold my ground when it's an avalanche. He holds firm and I give up my fight, waiting for the dead (or the living) to rescue me. Not wanting to rescue myself. I don't want to be the bad guy in my own story. I just want him to stop keeping score. I'm not a game. There are no points to be had, here. He lost before he knew he was a player but he refuses to concede.

Supervillains (and Vanity Flair).

I just read the most terrible, downright...obsequious article and honestly, does it make any sense to frame your subject in such a way, so..transparently when the other articles in the same publication consist of a list of books we all should read and a list of face products we need to try? 

Just...GOD. 

Fucking hell. "Time flies around her in a nonlinear fashion". Dear sweet Christ. Someone begged for that assignment. On his fucking knees.

***

I actually hate the internet today. Be warned. Between seeing that Putin bombed a maternity hospital (you're never more vulnerable than when giving birth) and pretty much, oh, everything else I'm going to disappear into the only true equalizer (and my all-time best lover, Netflix) and live out the rest of my days watching nice things happen on the screen and just pretend it's my life.

***

Please, Neamhchiontach.

Five weeks to go. Easter is exceedingly late this year and Caleb has already had more than enough of Lent and my plans to see it through. He's gone from pouting to openly protesting to worrying to threatening and back around to moping. I guess those are his Five Stages of Disbelief. 

I'm not concerned. He will live. No one is writing articles about him. He's rich but he's not that kind of rich and he's also one of the rich who doesn't advertise it so you won't find articles about him in the newspaper or local magazines because by the time he had any money (all of it new) we had Benjamin and we all made an effort to keep Ben's tiny island of privacy as quiet as we could. Even Caleb, who was just starting out and back then Cole was the millionaire, though it was never millions, and we kind of knew Batman but he wasn't (and still isn't) exactly in the fold. 

***

Should I buy the Swiss village outside of Golden? Six houses, the perfect place for a commune, truth be told. 

If you're a billy goat. Lochlan laughs. Besides, it's not near the water. 

Oh, nevermind then. 

I know vaguely where Golden is but I wasn't actually paying attention. We haven't made it past Chilliwack, honestly. After living in the Prairies for so long I have no desire to be away from the sea ever again.

On not spending enough time alone.

Today was taken up with ferrying Ruthie back and forth to her car repair appointment (next city over) and having her come to the house in between to hang out while she waited out emergency repairs. I was tired but the moment they called to say her car was ready I started missing her again. It's very hard when she leaves but I'm getting used to the feeling of sadness in a way that makes it easier to cover with the pride I feel for how well she is doing out in the world. 

So now it's time to make dinner but I didn't have time to paint door trims today and that's fine. I'm only responsible for one door so it's easy. Maybe I'll add flowers on the inside trim. Just for fun, but probably not because if there is one thing I have learned it's to keep it plain, neat and neutral. 

In other news we ducked into an old favourite restaurant last night for a last-minute date night. Showed our vaccine passports, found a big booth in the back and ordered wine and pasta and just savoured being out. Not cleaning up takeout garbage. Not rushing home because it couldn't get cold. Not thinking about a thing, including the usual frowns I get when out and about due to the tattoo suit. Not that I truly care but I do hate the attention but I left the house in a t-shirt and leggings, expecting drive-through food. 

It was so nice, though, just to sit and sip wine. It really set the mood for the rest of the week. Maybe it's been too long since we've done that and we should do it more. Lochlan agreed, with that smile he reserves just for me.

Mellow(drama).

This morning I am playing the fun game of Are these side-effects or am I having a heart attack? and I'm honestly not concerned so probably side-effects. It's going to be so sad and pointless if I'm wrong. 

In the meantime I have shipped the remaining vodka back to my former friends at great expense to make a point, in spite of Caleb's efforts to not rock any boats (this after changing doctors) and received a lovely call whereby a voicemail was left acknowledging his (not Caleb's) distaste for the current 'situation' and complete understanding for my actions as a result. It won't do anything in the long run aside from denying myself my favourite imported vodka but you know what? I don't care. This war is bullshit. 

I have give up McDonalds and we all know how hard that is. Unless they withdraw from Russia. Who do I call?

It's going to be sad if this is my very last post though I'm fairly certain this is not a heart attack and just a muscular ache from scraping the door frame for painting prep or lifting boxes of bottles. Or side effects. Because THOSE aren't driving me nuts.

Wish me luck. I need a finger oxygen meter thingie. Maybe I'll order one on Amazon (gosh are they doing sanctions? If not I am fucked) and it will ironically arrive ten minutes after I die.

And I wore heels today! First time in ever.

 I was so sick last night and then I slept fitfully and was out the door at six-thirty this morning for (distanced) meetings and I have to make four pans of meatloaf for dinner but I think Lochlan is going to call a change and take over or let everyone fend because I don't think I have any steam left for anything. I still feel sick though I did have breakfast and lunch, a croissant and some coffee at the meeting and then dumplings on the run (living dangerously) and I did have an orange when we got home and now some tea to try and settle my stomach but I don't know. It would probably be wiser not to eat anything tonight and see how it goes. I did get my chores done this morning and then some, lots of extras in there but there are always things that need to be done, for sure. 

Food poisoning?

I don't know. We all ate the same things and everyone else was good but it sure felt like it. 

They have iron stomachs, Bridge. You...don't. 

I know. Hopefully it's gone. I feel better today. Just weak. 

Well, take a break and do nothing for a day. 

(*Snort*)

Don't snort at me. 

It wasn't 'at' you, PJ, it was a generalized noise. 

Same difference.

Pancake Princess.

Everyone wants to know what I gave up for Lent. Lent was a blur, frankly. These pills continue to kick my ass but in a good way, oddly. I don't feel all that creative and I can't concentrate and last night my heartbeat was in my throat and I was like this feels interesting but I didn't care about it either. 

I gave up my Diabhal for Lent. That's what I did. He is exceedingly unhappy about it but somehow takes comfort in the fact that as per Sam's rules it has to be something meaningful, something I will miss and struggle to avoid.

LOL.

Glass castles.

Storm doors are all done and after two days of being helpful, holding up this piece of trim or that mechanism and fetching t-squares and then drill batteries and then another trip to the hardware store I am freshly showered for like the fourth time here, sore and now the one to paint the trim to seal it against the elements sometime this week, I think. They all look amazing and it's nice to have a locked glass door that we can put the window down and have a breeze or simply have the glass and have light pouring in from outside with more security (the real reason I think my screen doors were changed out) without sacrificing heat or cold, depending on the season. 

There was only a little swearing, and boy, paint prices have increased a lot in the past year or two. Also we lost a bunch of drill bits halfway through and took forever to find them because I had put them in the box with the leftover nails and then promptly forgot. 

Also ladders. Ladders are so fun. And so is caulking but really not and it doesn't go very far but we bought a bunch of extra tubes so we're good now and now we have a whole raft of old wooden screen doors that aren't really salvageable because they were just about falling apart. 

Especially the side door to the driveway which has borne the brunt of Caleb and Lochlan pushing each other into it just about every third or fourth day for the past half-dozen years if not longer. 

But yeah they're done. Yay.

Rollercoasters and timeskips.

Yesterday was waylaid completely by an eleventh-hour invitation from Ruth to go wedding dress shopping. It began as a casual effort to go look around and then before I knew it she had found the dress and the women at the bridal store were losing their minds over it and her in it, zipping it up into a garment bag and making appointments for alterations to come as we don't have a lot of time but we have some. She wasn't sure what she wanted, even with ideas, though after trying on the dream idea it wasn't right in the end and she did a full turnaround. 

She even tried on my last actual wedding dress (the princess one) and deemed it not right which was fine as I didn't think it was either, and she talked alot about colour before we left, before finally going with a blush pink satin under cream lace. It's incredible. It's Ruth. And we are two months away from her wedding suddenly, all at once and yet every time I look at her I still see this little girl rocking out to Avril Lavigne and asking for Dunakroos. I'm almost in shock here and can't get over how fast life moves just when you think you're getting comfortable. 

My children continue to impress me with their poise and confidence. I'm envious but also so so proud.

Is it Wednesday?

 I'll be watching kpop videos today and maybe making cod and caesar salads for dinner since it's my night and probably going to bed even earlier than usual because I'm godsmackingly tired. 

Last night I had my first really weird dream on this medication, which I'm bearing with in terms of having decided I need to take it to fix a specific illness, versus it being an optional trial kind of thing. That's helping me accept the side effects and even those are slightly better than they were last week. 

But the dream. I can remember every detail. I walked up to the playground way up the hill and the mail for the whole neighborhood was laid out on the grass, everything opened but only valuable things taken, like gift cards out of birthday greetings and parcels. I stacked it all up and called for people to come out of their houses and get their mail and I gathered mine up and stuffed it into my satchel and then I was suddenly downtown and I met up with someone from work (I don't know the person or the job, actually) and she said the bus was leaving but I opened my wallet and my bus pass was cut into pieces and I told her it expired and she was like just pay cash but I didn't have any. 

I got on the bus anyway and ignored the driver as he called for me to pay and I went to the back and sat down. When I got home I lived in this tiny attic with Lochlan's mother and she had boxes stacked up everywhere and they were all addressed to me and I was trying to gather everything up and I told her I had to buy a new bus pass but my phone was dead so I would do it before work in the morning. I climbed way up into this wooden bed that was so high in the air and when I went to plug my phone in the charger was gone. I asked her if she had it and she said it was probably lost under all these boxes and so I went to sleep. 

My alarm woke me out of that, thankfully before I had to deal with figuring out who was stealing the mail and how I was going to get my new bus pass. 

Goddamn. I hate dreams like that but they're also weirdly fascinating.

Grooves in the pavement.

We're not coordinated. An early walk with Sam. An after-breakfast walk with Lochlan. A mid-morning walk with Dalton. An after-lunch walk with Benjamin and Duncan. A late afternoon walk with PJ and then after dinner Caleb asked me if I wanted to go for a walk and I had to beg off as I've already logged fifty kilometres today and I just want to stop moving. He understood and didn't feel singled out as I also had refused one from Batman earlier but damn. Why can't we just go for a group walk?