Sitting in the passenger side of Lochlan's truck as we make our way East, I am struck by a barn in a field way back from the road. It's grey, weathered, abandoned but not, as witnessed by the single glass light over the wide double doors. The light is lit, it is golden hour and it looks like the saddest, most homesick and yet peaceful place I have ever seen. It reminds me of sleeping in the hay bed in the house by the river, counting the swallows queuing up on the power lines between the house just below my window and the hay loft window on the barn across the yard. 

I used to hate those swallows and their golden-hour sounds. I felt so alone, dumped at the farm for the summer to do hard labour and be emotionally abused and ridiculed and sunburnt from such a young age I still dread the onset of summer, deep down, and yet now I wish I could have had Adult-Bridget there to appreciate the peacefulness of the nights. The simpleness of a plank-salmon supper on cedar boards, my grandfather manning the barbecue for the volunteer fire department and the church ladies (including my grandmother) making salads and squares and doing all of the cleanup while the men talked crops and industry.

 The wood mill up on the other side of the river dominated the whole village, and the talk never stopped. I was woken up every morning by the chainsaw sounds, as they worked somewhere off up in the hills, and the rushing river that was too violent to cross or swim in. Instead we would drive to the lake for an hour in the afternoons, and I would soothe sunburn and then wade out and Bailey and I would pick the leeches off our legs and eat freezies while sitting on the picnic table, still in the godforsaken sun. Bailey tanned beautifully, a brown summer child while I remained a sore red-faced baby, loathe to let the rough cotton sets my grandmother sewed for us to wear touch my skin because everything hurt. She was too tough to care about my feelings, no doubt lost in her own regrets, stuck in that town her whole life.

But also maybe not. What a beautiful barn at twilight.

He deleted my Pinterest, too. HAHAHA. It's fine, I hardly used it anyway.

Tried a few new restaurants this week. Ate a salted pretzel with mustard while sitting on a bench at the mall. Went for a non-walk around the block to get the mail and didn't order a single thing online for once. Yes, I have an Amazon cart loaded, yes it can wait. 

I got a little further in Yarn Harlot and snorted way the fuck out loud when she described starting a difficult colourwork pattern and wondering if all of the partying she did in the eighties actually did do some damage. It's better or maybe I am less bristly at the chaos of the beginning of the book. Like, endear me to you first and then show me your flaws. If you show me the bad things first I don't want to know you. 

I am busy helping Ruth with appointments this week. She has a dentist consult and some small-business marketing things and would like company in her travels so I reworked my schedule a little to go. I like to support my kids. Henry and I often go for the long drive to get take out together and have deep conversations at dinner when everyone else is busy or scattered. 

I am still grieving though. I thought it might be easier, as a seasoned professional and all but I feel detached from life again and unbothered by that feeling altogether. I know I've lost interest in things and I feel forced and bitterly angry most of the time. Lochlan is frustrated. PJ? Resigned. August is not much help at all and I don't expect anyone to fix anything anymore. I just drift on the wind. It will fade, eventually but I expected it to be weeks, not months (not decades either but we won't talk about that) and yet I'm here in the quicksand looking at all my own constructs. 

Therefore the writing didn't bounce back like I thought it would. I haven't touched the computer except to put on a movie when it's one no one else wants to see. I watched Encanto and by the end of the it the boys were gathered around me. It's a keeper. What about Bruno? Is something we're asking each other daily, still. We watched Godzilla X Kong. We watched Godzilla Minus One. We watched Guardians of the Galaxy 3 and I cried. I was upset. I was so angry. I don't care if it's a message about animal testing, it was an entire hour in the middle of pure torture watching animals get hurt and even if they're not real it was too fucking much and I will be forever mad. I watched Season 10 of Alone and am savouring the last couple of episodes because I don't know who wins yet and I have favourites (MIKEY). I started the Bon Jovi documentary on Disney +. 

I rewatched Sleeping with the Enemy and can still recite all of the dialogue in the whole thing (I've time to change). That movie has aged beautifully, the only dissenting factor being Patrick Bergin's stupid mustache and I noticed for the first time that Laura's mom is supposed to be CROCHETING in the scene where he comes to visit and he picks up her hook when she drops it and for some reason they spend way too long showing her weirdly pretending to knit with this hook when she is completely blind and not even holding it right. But I don't mind, it's still in my top five. 

I did end up planting some tomatoes, radishes and irises after all. I hope they survive the coming rain. Not going to lie I like it better here when it's pouring but my fruit trees would like a little break and so would the roof shingles where moss is beginning to grow. I know I'll be wishing for this when it's hot out so maybe I will make some tea and appreciate it a little more first. I'm adaptable. I feel like a walking war crime of some kind these days but I know I'll find more words in here somewhere, somehow.