Department of defense

The most amusing thing that has happened all week long has been Lochlan and Benjamin fighting, in code, over my head and around my parents without coming to blows. I bet by tomorrow they'll be up to hammerfists and headlocks but for now they've got their nonsensical phrases and low growly threats that they've dressed in costume for the occasion.

As always, Lochlan is adamant that I don't put myself in Caleb's line of fire, and Ben..well, he doesn't so much care. Heh. As long as everyone sticks to the rules, of course.

It's jealousy on Lochlan's part, and he won't deny it. He would much rather be the one fighting over time with me instead of being left out altogether.

So I can safely say it's not a love triangle.

We're making fucking pentagons over here.

Cherries and bergamot.

Late last evening, a package was delivered. Mike brought it, because it was from Caleb. We didn't spend last evening with him but he wanted to make his presence known anyway. He is hoping to be back in town this evening to join all of us for dinner and put forth his good graces to my folks, seeming all the while existing to make the other guys seem less smooth, less accomplished and less pulled-together.

Of course the package did exactly what it was intended to do, confuse everyone. Easy enough for me, difficult for everyone else. Inside the box was a new Blackberry Bold, a bottle of Cartier perfume, Delices, and a Breitling, my initials engraved on the back. A smaller, more feminine version of his own. There was a text message on the phone already. I read it and put everything back into the box and slid the box onto a shelf.

I go back to work November 1st. As Caleb's assistant. Wearing my new perfume and using the new Blackberry which will be a work-only device. Just like last year.

I will most likely return the watch, though I'm not exactly dumb, once something has been engraved, it cannot be returned. It would be the single most expensive piece of jewelry I have ever owned and it's not right that it wasn't given to me by Ben. The last initial is not his last name, the one I use now. And I've wanted one of these watches my whole life. Hell, I want a lot of things that aren't practical. Doesn't mean I will get them. So yes, I think this goes back. And that will be it for defiance for the first little while because I would rather get off on the right foot this time around so I'll comply and wear the perfume and use the phone and dress the way Caleb likes. Like a doll.

Save for my decade old stainless steel watch with the scratched glass and the mother of pearl dial. On it's seventh battery and fourth band, no less. Because new watches don't work with me. I am magnetic or something. We've gone over this before. Would the new one work? It isn't cool for me to even try it on. It isn't from Ben. It must go back.

That would be proper, my mother says. But she doesn't get it either. I think I will keep things that way.

Don't even ask me what the text message said.

In absentia, in situ.

One of the hardest things about having so many guests this week is that it makes it hard to find time to post. I've been washing bowls and doing laundry and organizing activities and keeping the children from melting down with all the attention and basically enjoying things. But not posting. In a few days I'll be back okay? I had great plans to sit down for a bit and write today but Ben just called, he is on his way home and so I need to go brush my hair and put on my lip gloss and my smile instead. So whatever chance I had is over now. See you Wednesday unless some major downtime comes my way before then. Twitter might be more exciting. Then again, maybe it won't be.

You can live without me for a couple more days, right?

I know, I didn't think so either.

Give me a Sign.

I can feel you falling away
No longer the lost
No longer the same
And I can see you starting to break
I'll keep you alive
If you show me the way

Oh, goodness. I'm one hundred percent sure this song is going to replace Breath as Bridget's Favorite Song Of All Time.

Oh yeah.

Totally.

I an such a sucker for a tattooed balladeer.

Sigh.

Coffee first, then speak.

I like it when the house is quiet. The birds are not awake yet to sing and the dog even sacked back out on the floor after I took him for his morning walk. I had to wake him up the past week or so, instead of the other way around, so I'm wondering if this means I can go back to sleeping in some, especially on the weekends.

Ben was up early this morning and gone to the studio downtown to try and knock off a little more work that has been requested between the fits and starts of managing his life on the run and I got a fast kiss and a tight hug and if I'm lucky he'll be home later. If not, he'll be home late. But it's okay because my parents arrived last evening and we've got the next several days to catch up on things and they can catch up on kid- and grandchild-time and briefly adjust to the laid-back city life we sport here with pride because things are easier here then they are back home. Just daily-life-wise, I mean. Some things are the same no matter where you go. But the folks seem to like it here. They have never seen it when it's -55, however. The love affair would be over before you could say you were cold.

My goal for today once again is a caramel macchiato. Haha. I'm trying to go three for three. It probably won't happen unless Ben brings me one and he won't because he's tired and didn't really want to work today. Plus because I'm not a habitual fourbucks patron, nor do I make the kids wait around while I try and procure frou-frou coffees, ever. It's just the way I am, I guess.

I must go. There's a day ahead and it will be filled with a little bit of busy and lots of extra company and I have to get my ass in gear. More caffeine will help that. Right? Right?

Yeah, well, he's MY creep.

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry

His body is here, his head is not. I've been watching him for days now, wishing I could help. But I know the best way to help him is to just listen to what he asks me for, and to do no more and no less than that. I learned that a long time ago. Long before I fell in love with him. No matter what he asks for. Even if I hate it.

His hands shake. He fires up cigarettes like they're lighting a pitch black path for him to walk. He lights them like they're an afterthought. Hands with the merest of tremors that push forth his vulnerability and leave it there. He tries to brush it off. Fatigue. Cold. Too much coffee. We let him. It serves no purpose to correct his efforts to be normal. There is no normal here.

Ben has let his hair grow out again. It's long and in his eyes. There are some incredible strands of grey now visible that weren't there the last time I saw him. His beard is back. He is hiding behind it. His skin is paler than pale. Vampires are always a hot ticket so no one notices that much anymore though. He has lost a little weight, not a lot. Clothes are neat though. Fingernails kept neat for playing guitar, as always. Weight of the world balanced neatly, heavily, on his shoulders. His big brown eyes mildly bloodshot, glasses on so he can be Clark Kent or Dallas Green or someone else as long as it isn't Ben. Tattoos. Tattoos everywhere. Full sleeves, neck, knuckles visible from here and more underneath his clothes. So beautiful. He has no idea.

What the hell am I doing here?
I dont belong here.

He used to be so laid back. The endless party boy. Never gave a fuck about anything. Cared about everyone but made great pains to hide that fact behind a flippant asshole persona that always put him in last place. I knew he wasn't that person. Always. And now as he gets older and life scrapes past him leaving glacial scars I see the real Benjamin. The worrywart. The tense, ruined man who wants to be pulled together but can't manage it at all. Walking doubt. Walking try.

And he succeeds. Bad luck has a way of following Ben around like a lost puppy and he'll feed it and scratch it behind the ears. That encourages it to stick around but he doesn't think about that. He only figures that if he doesn't have it someone else will, and that someone might be Bridget and she's had enough so he'd better take it. He's taken all the hard jobs when it comes to me and we've fucked up and made mistakes and wondered as recently as two days ago if we were just prolonging the inevitable and then suddenly we'll start to speak and say the same thing and the pieces just fall back into place again and we're sure. One hundred percent sure.

See, when Ben is away Lochlan starts in. And he has my interests at heart. An easy life. No worry. No fear. No stress. No one will blame you, just take the escape and don't look back. But I can't do that. I spend a lot of time looking back. And this time when I looked back I saw two ghosts and I saw Ben, who is not a ghost but a living, breathing representation of my heart. He is stronger than he feels. He feels more than they give him credit for. But he doesn't care about them, just about me. He stands back there and never knows what the hell to do, he only trusts one thing in his whole life. His feelings for me. Always living by that even though it's usually been a poor choice to make.

I can put my hands on his fingers and they stop shaking. Instantly. And I wish Ben could just stay here forever. Even if his head is somewhere else. It's extraordinary to me how fifty percent of Benjamin is better than one hundred percent of everyone else.

Chains, baby.

Go here, go now, enjoy.

Twelve more days! Also on that date, Breaking Benjamin's new album and a few days afterward, the first offering from Them Crooked Vultures.

Jesus, I'm going to go get a job at HMV. I loves my new musics.

Grip.

Wake up to the sounds of the century
They got a long way to go to gain on me
It's all right

The years are coming down like the dirty leaves
I'm gonna plant my seed in history
It's alright
I love my dream

Hold me in your arms

What a beautiful day. It's sunny and warm, the geese are flying south, honking in their nerdy, awkward way, the dog is freshly bathed and I had a blueberry muffin and some dark roast coffee this morning with plans to venture out later for another caramel macchiato because I really need that early to mid-afternoon boost and I don't know who I'm kidding to think that I don't. Otherwise I'm incredibly antisocial from around four onwards.

The house is clean. Spotlessly so. The kitchen is almost finished. Again. Everything is as organized as I can make it. I watered the garden and traded the fading flower baskets for windchimes and raked some of the leaves and weeded a little. I swept the garage out for the last time this year and I've got two loads of laundry here to fold.

Ben is home. Indefinitely. Lochlan is here. The unsung foreverman. All is well with Daniel and Schuy. The kids are healthy and beautiful and hate school already, if only for the drag of getting up and dressed and out of the house in the morning. I reminded them of snowpants and boots to come and what a drag the unshovelled sidewalks (do you hear me, neighbors?) are going to be soon enough. They felt better.

Sam is helpful. We are working on things. He's working on his things and I'm working on mine but we seem to work well together. Ben is working on his things with Seth and Nolan. Working hard because it's easier to do the work here than it is to do it out there. I might be getting my job back, because I loved getting dressed up and being efficient and making money for doing it. I was good at it. And Caleb, when he isn't blackmailing me or coveting me, is a good boss. If there could be a balance it could work and then everyone is close and I wouldn't need to chase text messages and keep detailed calendars nor would I have so much time to bounce around inside my head finding trouble to follow. Because trouble is in there, trust me. I know it's not a popular decision for me to go back and work for Satan, especially in light of the last two disasters, but here it is understood and that's the important part.

Back to work. Squee! On the upside? New fall dresses. Which is a double challenge because I hate shopping and because my favorite dress store closed up and vanished and in it's place, ironically, is a shop called Tall Girl, where they simply chuckled and shook their heads when I stood in the doorway the other day, about to go in and ask what happened to the other store.

Sigh. I will never be tall but I will be well-rested and well-caffeinated. And well-loved, as always.

Life can be awesome when you're not off hiding from it, fighting it and wishing it would just go away, you know that?

Well, I'm still learning it.

Patience, people.

Feedmonstercakeshebenice.

Bridget, what are you doing?

Sitting here. Thinking.

In the shelf?

I fit.

Right, but wouldn't somewhere else be more comfortable?

Probably.

I bet I can come up with a place.

Go ahead, Lochlan. Where?

At the table.

Seriously?

With me.

You're joking.

Eating cake.

Move out of my way, I'm already there.

Could've been the champagne
The champagne
Could've been the cocaine
The cocaine
Could've been the way you looked at me
That told me we were through

In my next life I'm going to stick with the pole dancing and the passionate, monosyllabic relationships, romanticized into a movie-like state. At least then, life was simple.

I still get to indulge in the lap dances though, it's not like so much is missing. Not sure that that was a life so much as another blip on the radar of the most surreal landscape I've ever crossed in a bid to find that fucking inner peace that will forever elude me. It's not real, it's like religion. People invent things to make themselves feel better.

And blip means brief. Not like I ever made a life out of it. But Cinderella persists sometimes and sometimes she's just plain not who you thought she was. I much prefer the life with the smiles and the butler and the fresh-squeezed orange juice and being permitted to be led out the back entrance thanks to who I'm with. Yeah, I'll take that any day. I'll take having to pick the mirror up with my fingers before I can check my lipgloss when we leave and I'll take not having to check price tags and count totals in my head before I reach the grocery checkout.

There's a price for everything, whether you check it now or later. Don't be naive.

It could've been a bad day
A bad day
Could've been the real way
The real way
Could've been the way you looked at me
That told me we were through

Yesterday I wasn't permitted to do a thing, and today it's business as usual. Yesterday no one wanted to talk to me because every time I opened my mouth this unholy keening sound came out like an alien in a different kind of movie and I just abruptly stopped bothering to try. Today they want to know everything that's going on. I'm tired. I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to paint. I don't want to walk or run. I don't want to cook. I just want to find a nonjudgmental hug that won't be over before I'm ready and sleep in it. For a few days, maybe.

No amount of money in the world can purchase something like that and I'm dumb enough to have thought I might be able to get it for free.