In this breath just now there was no worry, oddly enough.

Train of thought today, sorry.

I'm consumed with gratefulness for the tiny rituals, like Ben playing guitar every night, schooling the children in Hendrix and Sabbath while they finish their dinners, and rituals like late at night when we collapse on the couch in front of a movie and split a green apple, always green because they're crunchy and sweet and an apple a day keeps the demons away. Or something like that.

I'm watching the skies for the coming thunderstorms and glad to have the afternoon in front of me to write and work for once, free from the worry that has consumed me recently. I have come to think that I worry too much about things that don't bother others. Like, way WAY too much. Anxiety unleashed and out of control and I have settled for it as an uncomfortable status quo, too lazy to move from where I rest on my bed of nails because it's a bed and beds are where we lie, correct?

I'm relieved that there are still good people in this world, good people like the plumber who didn't charge me because the pipe is fine, that's what it does, it isn't ominous nor is it in need of replacing, and the previous plumber may have been a little green behind the ears and so that isn't a reason for me to pay their fee for the visit and the city had my water turned back on in under an hour.

Now, in order to relax I've brought some water and my laptop and my blackberry out here to the sunny backyard and I'm sitting under the umbrella, feet up on another chair pulled close, a light breeze stirring the leaves on the trees and I wish I could hear them but the hearing aids will bring the barking dogs and lawnmowers and the squeal of the train and all the city traffic and instead I'll just try to find an hour or two of contentment inside my muted little garden oasis.

Soon Ben will be home and I can share this latest offering to the writing gods with him and he will share some of his news with me and we'll lock the doors and retire once again to the tiny rituals that bring so much unexpected peace so suddenly. Kind of like finding a feather on a bed of nails and imagining where that feather is as a softer part of impossible situation. It will do for now, anyway.

Closing gaps.

You're the one
You are the hurt inside of me
And you are the one that makes me weak
Shadows that crawl all over me
Swallow the light that lets me see

One of my weirdest throwbacks to being little is saying grace. We do it when there's a significant spiritual presence and at large gatherings as a verbal amulet to hasten a good year, some good luck, a better season and to publically acknowledge our blessings.

I get right in there and put my elbows together on the very edge of the table and I place my forehead against my fists and I close my eyes. I've always whispered the words that had to be said en masse, because I couldn't hear them well enough to keep up and I wind up in my own little world quite easily as a result.

Caleb brings this up yesterday in the car on the way to his breakfast, french cuffs and whiskey in fine form at eight a.m.

What's your point?

Are you going to be difficult?

No.

Good. My point is I watched you then and I watch you now and you haven't changed all that much. God, so beautiful. I don't know what my brother was thinking.

We both know precisely what your brother was thinking.

Cole was more talented than he was smart, princess, just like you.

He was the smartest person I will ever know, Caleb.

You know, hearing that makes me as glad as I used to feel when mom would put me beside you at Christmas dinner. I could watch you up close with your funny little facial expressions and exclamations. That amazing gap when you'd fail to realize someone had addressed you and the resulting command of everyone's attention. And you respected my brother.

I did nothing of the kind or I wouldn't have what I have now.

What do you have now?

Secrets I don't want anymore.

Everyone keeps secrets, princess. Yours are just more exciting than most.

There's no point anymore, Caleb. Everyone's dead.

We're not. And we should be embracing this life, because we know firsthand how short it is.

I am. I'm trying to but you won't let me.

That's because I have your best interests at heart, beautiful.

No, you have yours and yours only.

We both know how you lie, princess.

I don't lie.

Your whole life is a lie, Bridget. You may tell the truth with your feelings but you'll leave out everything else, and you'll keep this up because you don't get a choice anymore.

Suddenly the door was opening and I saw Mike's face. Caleb got out and reached back in for my hand, which I gave him and I exited the car as gracefully as possible. I stood up, far too close to Caleb because he hadn't moved and I stumbled back and he caught me with his arm, pulling me so close to him I smelled whiskey and I could count his eyelashes.

It doesn't have to be like this, Cale.

Smile pretty and fake the next hour, alright, princess? It's what you do best.

He turned away, heading into the hotel, pulling me behind him while I fought back tears and won, because my anger always outweighs my fear of my brother-in-law. I got into something awful once and I don't think I'll ever get out of it. This is hopeless and now I'm stuck and it's dark and I don't like it here.

I played my part, applauding and smiling when he was introduced, laughing lightly at all the right points during his speech, and accepting the admiring glances as they washed over me when he had the nerve to out me as one of the great loves of his life from the stage.

Wish he hadn't done that.

It really made me mad.

Breakfast in hell, take two.

Exit light
Enter night
Take my hand
Off to Never Never Land

Nine months ago I agreed to attend a very important breakfast function with Satan and today is that day. Only instead of merely attending, he somehow waded into his field here in this city with a flourish and wound up winning some sort of award (again), which will be presented to him this morning. Now, I've never been to a black tie breakfast of this magnitude before and so true to form, I've already eaten breakfast and had my coffee and the boys are grudgingly allowing this whoring out of their princess because Caleb will only be able to flaunt his power in public. I'm somewhat safe.

Somewhat, I said. We've mostly avoided each other this spring save for a handful of decent altercations and I've come to understand who he is and why he does the things he does. However I can only do the figuring-part away from him, because the moment I am within twenty-feet the Cole-similarities take over and I'm quickly under his spell. Too quickly, too under.

I think if Ben could send me with a rope tied around my waist that he could pull on really hard to bring me back he would. Other than that I think he's got a new appreciation for the visual glory of Bridget in a little black dress and six-inch heels at seven in the morning, because unlike just about everyone else, he's never seen this before.

Sorry, I find that amusing. I must be grasping at straws.

Nervous, trembly straws.

The Time Traveler's Wife.

Beautiful Bridget torture.

I wonder if I'll make it through this movie. Hell, I wonder if I'll be allowed to go see it.

(I didn't do so well with Up so I doubt I'll get to go.)

Hmmph.

Let's just say I overslept. Please ignore the pajamas.

Because I put them back on when I came home.

I'm turning the page for something new
I'm finding my way through life in bloom

This morning the Veer Union and Revolution Mother took turns pounding through my head, replacing the pain of last week as I ran through the pollen and the new leaves on the elm trees that line the streets of my city neighborhood. The air is clear and warm, the conditions PERFECT for running and still I had to turn back long before my knee-cracking endorphin marathon, so far out of reach I couldn't even say I got close to it, because the guillotine has come down and cut off the need to overachieve in my daily routine.

Every single plan I had for the weekend was dashed in a welcome bid for some easy times. Concerts were ignored and rescheduled, we didn't go to the fair, we didn't have a picnic or fly remote control things in the park, we didn't get many errands run or get to the butcher or baker. We didn't run or work really hard, though Ben installed the rain barrel and even set up the planter in the top part so I have flowers there now and we rearranged the stone patio and then yesterday we went outside with everyone right after lunch and we sat out there and talked and hung out right through until bedtime.

This morning? No anxiety. None. Not a trace. I slept through the night again. I came to some sort of unspoken perspective. Or maybe it's just that I rested enough to feel better. I laughed. Especially Saturday when I was leaning over to grab the watering can from behind the chair and Ben stuck the hose up my skirt and sprayed it. Half an hour later, still in the wet skirt, I was cornered by him in the garage and we felt like two teenagers taking advantage of five minutes of privacy. I'm always struck by what an incredible kisser he is with me. He used to say he hated kissing girls because they read too much into it but sometimes now I get a forever kiss which is more like exchanging precious breaths until every last one has been traded but it sends a ripple up my spine, activates my goosebumps and makes my head spin.

He likes kissing ME, that's all.

Which is why I kept walking around slowly watering plants and helping with cleaning out the truck in that wet skirt for half the afternoon, only venturing inside out of the sun to change when Henry came home from down the street and asked me if I had an accident. He thought Ben doing that was funny and wanted to see it again. Had I hung around outside I'm sure I would have been soaked, my only saving grace being the plea to not spray me because I'm holding my phone and if you ruin my BlackBerry you're going to be in SO much trouble, Benjamin.

He stopped then, not because of the phone, which he is hellbent on replacing anyway, but because he didn't want to push his luck since I hadn't been feeling well and the goal was to relax Bridget, not wear her out entirely.

Even the children were content to stick around the neighborhood and do next to nothing. The groove of the first truly hot and summery weekend has spilled over into Monday too, bringing a relaxed and vaguely still unfocused attitude that helps deflect the routine and the stresses of every-day life.

I hope it sticks around. It's pretty nice. And I did get worn out eventually. This morning. We were ungodly late getting out of bed this morning, and I loved every second of it.

And it almost makes up for not being at Bonnaroo.

They should change the name of the MuchMore music channel.

Today things are much better. Things were actually much better by last night. And I learn hard lessons once again about the difference between slowing down when I don't feel well or I'm overwhelmed and actually slowing down. I don't, I tend to just keep muddling through until I drop and then I figure after sleeping a little overnight that I should be back to rights and I can pick up the slack.

Not so.

Slowing down is actually stopping moving. Yesterday I wound up lying down with ice and pills and tears and I didn't do a damn thing all day. Okay, a little bit of laundry and I made an easy lunch for the kids and otherwise I lay down with the ice pack and the TV on low and I tried to just rest. I tried to slow down. I watched music videos from artists I don't enjoy and I drifted in and out of a pain-fueled hysteria and it was one of those times when I just gave up.

I'm not sure if it was the tail end of this flu that's been shadowing me since early May or if I just burned the candle at both ends until it ran out of wax but I needed that time and I got it. By five o'clock I could crack a smile and by the time Lochlan walked through the door to check on me all of the tension had evaporated. Ben felt better too. I really think now that a lot of it stemmed from his trip and maybe that's how stress comes out-days later. I think for me stress now exists under a magnifying glass and I can't put it in perspective anymore and I'd like to get back to where I could do that, on my own, without one of my knights stepping in and doing it for me.

In any case I felt well enough to go and run some errands last evening after canceling our larger plans and then I forced myself to go to sleep long before I wanted to and I didn't wake up until eight this morning and there is no pain today in my head for the first time in a week and I feel alert and calm. Which is good because we have a really busy weekend ahead.

Busy meaning fun.

Oh and mainstream popular music? Never again. Ever. Seriously. DO NOT LIKE. Even August wandered through the living room at one point, stopped to watch a few minutes of Lady Gaga, and said What the hell is that? A disco stick, is that what she said? I reminded him that music tastes are subjective and he doubted me. I'm buying him all of her CDs for his birthday now. I won't be listening to them though. And this goes down in history as one of those moments in which they gauge how sick I was by the music I was listening to. It must have been pretty bad.

My prescription is to listen to Tool all day today and call the doctor in the morning. And to learn what I never seem to learn: that it's okay for Bridget to stop moving every once in a while.

I'm not Mary and he's not Scott.

(Tattoos and now-defunct-but-once-much-lauded cover bands aside.)

SCOTT WEILAND'S ESTRANGED WIFE PUBLISHING MEMOIR
• Stone Temple Pilots singer Scott Weiland's estranged wife, Mary, will publish a memoir called Fall To Pieces on October 27th. A press release describes the book as "a visceral rollercoaster ride inside bipolar disorder, rock 'n' roll, celebrity culture, and the competitive world of modeling from a rock star wife and recovering drug addict," adding, "On the surface, Mary Weiland had a fairy-tale life. She was a highly paid fashion model married to successful rock star Scott Weiland, the notorious frontman for Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver. Then came the rampage in a Burbank hotel room and the resulting media frenzy that revealed to the world her bipolar disorder and drug abuse."
• Although Scott’s previously reported memoir has yet to materialize, he told us that the recent disintegration of his marriage was the subject of most of his latest solo album, Happy In Galoshes. "Every time I'd be out of the house and I'd be living in a hotel or renting a house or at a friend's house, that's when I would just basically be living in the studio, and writing a song a day. Sometimes two. There were some periods of time when the pain created most of the prolific stuff that I've ever done, I think."
• Scott Weiland will hit the road for a short run of dates with Stone Temple Pilots this summer, with the band also preparing to make its first studio album in eight years. Weiland also continues to tour behind Happy In Galoshes.

My love of all things Scott Weiland is well documented but those of you emailing me their Gotcha! lists for this month can rest easy. I'm so obviously not bipolar (snort, if only), and Ben is not small enough to be Scott anyway. I mean, have you seen Scott? He's the only person in the world shorter than I am. (And Jake was not Scott either, because as you can plainly see, Scott is still touring. Still breathing even.)

Packs a lot of talent into that head of his though, everyone can happily agree on that one.

Find you in the dark
Read you like a cheap surprise
Without shame
Sell me out, and frame your name

Deftones, headphones, six oh three.

I took you home
Set you on the glass
I pulled off your wings
Then I laughed
I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now you feel so alive

She came to the door selling invitations to a safe place from which to witness the end of the world, and Ben stood there in the screen porch in nothing but a pair of jeans and his tattoos, glasses on, half-eaten slice of toast in hand and he told her he wasn't interested because he already caught that show, more than once. I watched from behind the door and tried to remain expressionless. She was obviously afraid of his cynicism and so he watched to make sure she made it safely back down the front steps and then he shook his head and came back inside and I'm sure she moved on to our neighbors where odds are she'll get much the same reaction, probably with more clothes and less misanthropy.

Ben said (as if he even cared) that he hoped he was polite enough and then locked the door and took his shirt that I had on and pulled it toward him, bringing me with it into his arms. I got a final bruising airplane-fuel kiss and a long exhausted hug and then we had to retreat to the shower to wash the sweet and dangerous homecoming of the previous night from our flesh.

He's home now and we can resume our collective derangement, like those really creepy couples that terrorize the good people in horror movies? The ones who can finish each other's sentences and he seems to be in charge, since she follows every command he gives her but then all of the sudden she's alone with you and you realize she's the one you should really be afraid of, because she doesn't have any sense at all?

Yeah, that's us. And it makes me laugh.

I look at the cross
Then I look away
Give you the gun
Blow me away
I've watched a change in you

Because the hunkles said, "Enough with the whining, princess".

I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.
~Dorothy Parker

Both of the children passed their swimming levels tonight and got to walk on water (Jacob would have been so proud. Cole too, without the righteous angle though. Perhaps for the physics involved). No, really. It's a weird thing like a Slip n' Slide tied to each end of the pool and the kids run down the length of it, one at a time. They love it. I might post the video but it's Blackberry quality and probably only the sort of thing a mother and a dozen hunkles would love, so maybe let's just say yay for swimming badges!

That and Ben is at the airport, boarding a plane as we speak! Do I hear a yay for husbands in transit?

Ah.

Yay!

That's music to my broken little ears. Music indeed.

Yay.

(yay!)

Okay, goodnight.

It's raining men again.

It's not Monday anymore, I don't have a headache anymore, and save for a foggyish Himalayan hairball incident at three o'clock this morning, I have slept a little bit. I didn't think I would but I did, and this just reiterates for me how incredibly damaging it is that I don't get more sleep and I will. After tonight, that is, because Ben comes home in around twelve hours and so there's no way in hell I'm going to manage more than four or five hours of sleep tonight tops (shhhh) but it's okay, I'll try to get some at the end of the week and we'll see where we are then.

I had chocolate cake for breakfast which always seems to make me feel better about all kinds of things. I had a run this morning. All the way down the street and then home because yeah...I'm not feeling well enough to pull it off today. Not by a longshot.

In other longshots, last night I watched The Bachelorette on television (which is that big glossy black slab in the living room that the boys play the Xbox on, I think). A long time ago I watched two shows from the first season. There was a man looking for love and at the end he proposed to a woman and they broke up three weeks later. The women on the show all looked the same. Tall and tanned with straightened hair and overly-whitened teeth and false eyelashes and far too much makeup and few, if any of them, exhibited any class whatsoever. They all gushed about their search for their very own fairytale ending and then proceeded to answer questions posed by the Bachelor that they thought perhaps might be the right answer, instead of their own answer.

He seemed to pick the one who appealed to him most and when her composure slipped a little at the end when the contest was over, she seemed human, almost. Two weeks later she resumed her facade and they were over because they didn't have any depth as a couple, they hadn't developed a relationship, you can't do that on television and you won't find your fairytale by giving what you think are the right answers to someone who wants to get to know you.

But the Bachelorette seems different. Maybe it's because it's the first one I have seen with the role-reversals. Maybe it's because the Bachelorette, Jillian, I believe her name is, is scared and cries a lot. Maybe it's because some of the men are adorable and actually are willing to be viewed in an honest light. I remember seeing the promo on TV and thinking, oh look, perfectly coiffed men with their fauxhawks and attitudes hoping to get publicity/laid or whatever and why would someone go through that?

They didn't turn out that way last night, but mostly because ninety-nine percent of the guys that I have ever met don't give answers they think you want, they just say whatever comes to mind and then later on they beat themselves to a pulp internally for possibly fucking up something good.

Maybe I just identified with Jillian because I'm usually the only woman in a room full of men and I'm the center of attention and they compete for my attention while I give out roses disguised as affection and in recognition of points scored. Sometimes someone goes home or maybe it's the group dates. I really don't know for sure. I just know that Monday nights are now going to be a whole lot different, because I'll be watching to see how this one turns out (I do realize that she'll pick the wrong guy, they'll proclaim it to be happily ever after and a month afterward she'll be back on the talk-show circuit telling the world how it just didn't work out.)

Because fairytales aren't real.

Don't you people know that by now? Especially the ones on 'reality' television and in all the stupid bride movies we've all watched. It's not reality any more than I'm a REAL princess. We just believe in what we want to and hope for the best. Jillian's doing it in front of the cameras and I'm doing it in front of my keyboard. Everyone tunes in for a glimpse of a fairytale, because you know that's all there will ever be, that glimpse.

It's an interesting blend of faith, hope and perseverance, isn't it? It's worth tuning in to, just in case I'm wrong. That's why I keep going.

Because I might be wrong.