The princess dipped in coloured wax.

I just found out this morning that Tony Scherman passed away from cancer last year. We bought a painting on the weekend and I was telling someone about how it was the second time I have walked around a corner and been struck breathless by an artwork on a wall. The only time previous to this past weekend was in 2018 when we went to the Murakami show and I found Poseidon. 

I wrote about it then. 

I feel as if based on his methods and subject matter I could most likely pick out one of his works in the wild without prompting and I'm grateful I was able to see one in person because seeing a photo of them online doesn't do them justice for their light and texture and emotion. I shouldn't have to even say that when it comes to seeing a piece in person versus looking at a photo but also I feel like I do have to say it. 

I navigated all of my anniversaries and I can still smile. I have hauled out the totes of decorations and lights and have thought about decorating but haven't. I haven't shopped.  I haven't baked, Christmas is a month from today and yeah. Time to get to work.

HBD, JT.

Fifty-four. 

Happy birthday, Preacher. 

PJ and Lochlan pour their drinks off the cliff and turn to go back inside. Who drinks these days? We need the few wits we have left. I wish for theirs while I gulp my own, wind howling so loud now all I hear are my drowned sobs, choked back before they can be detected, and the strains of Dire Straits' Sultans of Swing, a song I don't think I know a single word to, and I'm okay with that. The music has been playing softly over the speakers-in the kitchen and patio and the rest of the house is Choose Your Own Adventure, due to screens or books or rest. 

I finish my drink in four gulps (Lochlan always overpours me on November days) and fire the cut crystal glass off the cliff. I'll either cut myself on it in the spring or find the most beautiful pieces of sea glass, worn smooth from former sharp edges. 

Ha, like me. 

I can feel the fire from my throat travelling down into my stomach. My ears are red from the cold. Dire Straits have been replaced by Robert Plant and I sing under my breath. 

Shall I rest for a while at the side?

God. Every song is an IED blowing up years of my life faster than I can make it to safety but I run anyway. I get halfway back to the house and Ben scoops me up and carries me the rest of the way like a little kid. I'd laugh but I don't have any feelings left any more that I can trust.

Bullshit.

Pigalet-

I hold up one shaky finger. A warning. Don't-

I just wanted to see how you-

How I'm doing? How do I look like I'm doing. I'm the only person in the world who can still move while being completely paralyzed-

Bridge-

Please. Just don't. Don't show your face. Don't have that accent. Don't come back around like you miss me when you really...just.. don't. 

But I do. 

Then you shouldn't have jumped. 

Maybe I didn't. Maybe it was metaphorical. 

Then my whole life is a joke. 

It's not, and that's not funny. 

Right. I didn't get it either. But if it was metaphorical then everyone's head is going to roll, starting with mine. 

I never liked those out-loud intrusive thoughts of yours. 

I never liked the ghost of Jacobs Past showing up to fuck up what should be such a venerable, sombre week in the first place. It never rained right through November until you ruined your life, and mine, and all of theirs, too. I turn and stare at the house. I can see Lochlan behind the glass of the patio doors staring at me. I wish he could see Jake. I wish he could save me now. 

I stepped aside-

Right off a ledge. 

Does it matter anymore?

I turn back to stare at Jacob and the wind whips around me, stinging my eyes. Yeah. Yeah it matters. It will ALWAYS matter because I'm the one who has to deal with it and I still can't figure out how.

Nuts.

I think I have the week by the teeth. A good grip, as it were as long as nobody asks me how I'm feeling or what's up or even what's for dinner. 

We stopped at a Dairy Queen for dinner on the way home and I had an ice cream sundae. Not for dessert but just for dinner itself. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I maintain that sometimes we don't need a whole dinner but we definitely need a treat and after a week of rain and bullshit and tears and bullshit and another incoming storm the ice cream won. Easily. 

It's late and so I will be back tomorrow. I promise.