Fake glass in case of emergency.

I am stocked up on bird feeder suet and furnace filters and LED lightbulbs for the foreseeable future. I forget to change the furnace filter for almost a year and wow. It was almost black. Oops. I can't remember everything.

The eye doctors and dentists and piercers  and stores have all closed that I enjoy. So no upcoming medical appointments or shopping and I refuse to go for my mammogram, because the first time I went, two years ago, it came back all wrong and the followup appointment was for after Christmas and it was very stressful. Somehow it feels less stressful to do my own self-checks. Something I never forget. Your health is not a furnace filter, and health seems to be all anybody talks about these days.

We went grocery shopping this morning and faced a large amount of vitriol from the gathered crowd, even as we left a lot off our list, as items were limited and are limited, with or without signs so we carefully took one of each thing instead of many. But we buy a heaping two or three carts every week so suddenly people think we're hoarding. Which is horrible and I never want to go back but honestly we go through a lot of food here on the point. There are twenty adults living here fulltime. If I need three packs of toilet paper rest assured it will only last a week.

But you can only buy one, so the other households have been splintered off to get their own.

And no. 

Don't suggest Costco.

I won't go in there. I hate it so much. I've had memberships twice in my life. The hassle isn't worth the savings, even for a household my size. Superstore is good for bulk and the other little stores scattered up and down the hill good for everything else.

What else? This is the first day everyone is home and I didn't have a plan for the extra meals so I may have to go back to the store tomorrow. Help me.

(For those saying Let them get their own: Have you seen how the average guy grocery shops? Some frozen chicken wings and a loaf of bread. A case of chocolate ice cream. Naw, I still have a centimetre of toothpaste left. Oh, chocolate milk too. And Froot Loops. 

But no plain milk for the Froot Loops. Dude, you'll run out of toothpaste on Wednesday and hey, did you forget you're lactose intolerant? Oh, and those twelve chicken wings will feed one person one meal. But you were saying?)

At least the new Lamb of God single is out and it's fucking delicious. I can eat that. Perfect. It's called Memento Mori, which means Remember you will die.

What timing.
 

This is what I mean.

I  would say the majority of people hate the things I love. Anything that makes you hurt. Makes you feel. Makes you scared or angry or sad. Makes you feel something for someone or something else in time, and that to me, as referenced by my title yesterday, which made perfect sense to me and no one else, is the hallmark of an incredible creation.

This week I finished the third book that made me place it on the table, smooth the cover and then promptly burst into tears.

(The others? Sole Survivor by Dean Koontz (don't knock it til you read it) and The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King, a book I recently reacquired and can't wait to reread.)

This third book? The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris. I saw it in passing over Christmas and put it on my Must-Read list and Lochlan bought it for me, as he has always tried to foster a love of reading as big as his own in me and not only am I slow on a page but I'm narcoleptic so I sleep more than I read when I pick up a book and stop moving.

I read this sitting up in bed late at night with all the lights on in order to stay focused. He had to sleep somewhere else because I couldn't put it down and then when I finally did I cried so hard. So hard.

I didn't know it was a true story, refusing to read a thing about it until I had read it, proper. I didn't even register the dedication at the outset, on the page right before the story begins and I am crushed. It unfolded more in the acknowledgements, the interview at the end and the aftermath and if not for a curiosity about the author's need to write this I never would have found out.

What a good book. Holy. Give me more of those.

My favorite everything is moving, profound.

Though the winds of change may blow around you
But that will always be so
When love is pain it can devour you
If you are never alone
I would share your load

Church is cancelled for the next three Sundays and Sam is hoping for a Palm Sunday miracle to resume services, as his congregation is evenly split between rich young money and very old people who still disapprove mightily of Unitarian hippie Jesus vibes while demanding tradition hymns in with the Christian rock music, at least. Sam's been walking an easy tightrope for years, able to manage both groups and conduct a fun church environment overall but at the same time there's fifty percent of your flock that don't even know what a podcast is, let alone how to google something on a computer.

If you sent them a link to their hotmail they'll call you on the phone and yell Now what? It opened a purple window and I heard God talking, or maybe it was Reverend Sam and it startled me so I threw my computer out the window. You owe me a new one. 

(This might have been an actual conversation, I'm not telling.)

I'm glad he cancelled. I wanted to get day-drunk anyway, after wasting an hour this morning transitioning back to my winter coats and bag, as it's below zero and still windy. I'm not interested in being cold. I'm waiting for endless heat, sunshine and forest fires to complain about and I was trying to embrace the nippy bonfire season with newly lighter sparkly nights as we march toward Ostara and every night I triumphantly announce that the sun went down two whole minutes later than last night, thank you very much and I feel so much lighter. I was trying to embrace but it's hard, so I'll go back to bed for two weeks and then try again in April.

Except I can't, because Matt is making us Socotranian breakfast wraps featuring spices from the port of Comandante Ferraz (going to have to rechristen them The Geography Boys but I didn't recognize either place so I'll rechristen myself Sheltered and I'll do my research after I'm done here, I only asked him for the spellings) and I'm pretty sure both my juice and my coffee hold more Devil than God at this point as he is famous for helping his guests relax by mixing lethal incendiary cocktails, with permission, of course. But they're good and I'm possibly the only one on the point who still drinks (we won't even talk about Ruth who came home around one-thirty this morning, set the alarm with a flourish, threw her leftover beers in the fridge and came up stairs calling good night.) and the food smells delicious, and I'm suddenly starving.

This is Matt's belated housewarming/welcome. Maybe it's a celebration of another, albeit hopefully smaller and less beautifully devastating wedding to come. Maybe it's confirmation that Bridget getting day-drunk makes her so easy to love you back or maybe it's because we've discovered strange new worlds we can daydream about running off to, with more time to get there now that the days are longer.

Breakfast is ready.

Social distancing but only from strangers.

Happiness comes today in the form of a new podcast* to start, an evening brandy planned for late but not too late, wind that never stops (just like at home) and the news that as of Tuesday, all the boys will be working from home.

Every. last. one.

Which I don't mind one bit and we are fully-stocked and full up on everything else that we might need and then some, in order to happily self-isolate here at home until the risk of this pandemic has abated. No one has it here (that we know of, except if anyone is likely to, it is I, your favourite shopping-cart-handle licker, and that's a long story) and frankly it's getting so crazy out there that it's better to stay put and not take chances when the thought of getting really sick again with a side of permanent lung damage makes me a little fearful, and a lot more careful, though it almost feels as if now is the safest time to go out. Everything has been cleaned to bare metal and no one is anywhere. We went to one of the larger malls because Lochlan needed some computer parts and holy cowwwwww it was empty and the Apple store was closed with four workers standing in front of the doors talking to anyone who approached because their motto is IT ISN'T FUCKING INTUITIVE Touch All The Things, but not today, because Coronavirus.

No one wants to touch anything, least of all me the pneumonia queen, and so I washed my hands once while I was there and used two different hand sanitizer stations because I have to hold on to escalators for dear life and not through a sleeve or jacket cuff, sorry.

I have a sharpened axe, some bubble wrap, a tiny keychain-sized pepper spray (it's for the feral hogs, Officer) and a piercing scream so stay the fuck away from me until Jesus emerges from hibernation and we'll be right as rain, okay?

*(Podcasts while drawing are a wonderful thing! I finished Gaslight first, then Blackout (which was SO GOOD until I turned on talk radio AM 98.0 and the announcer said Tell me what's happening where you are and it was the same thing Rami Malek said in Blackout and I almost drove off the road) and now I'm starting Limetown and I love it. Bring me all the dramatic radio shows, and please suggest more via email if you like.)

Walking backwards towards you.

Oh, ominous place spellbound and unchildproofed
My least favorite shelter bear alone
Compatriots in face they'd cringe if I told you
Our best back pocket secret
Our bond full blown

I have barely taken a sip of my coffee, heading over to the desk to work at budget stuff and shopping lists when I hear the intro notes of (Oh god, cheese) a slow song I love (Wunderkind, okay shoot me already the Chronicles of Narnia has an amazing soundtrack) playing over the sound system. Caleb is dialing it louder and louder and then he takes me in his arms and we have a waltz through the great room, him beginning with room for Jesus and by the time the song ends I figure if I take one more step closer I will have walked right through him and out the other side.

At the end he gets to his knees.

I'm so sorry, Bridget.

Which one of them threatened to kill you?

How many names did you want to hear? But that's not why I'm apologizing. Their words bounce off, I knew after I left you that I had crossed a line.

(He puts it so mildly. As if he conducted an impolite joke instead of a violent attack.)

A line, I repeat.

I broke all of my promises, Bridget. Again.

You did. She never trusted you anyway so it's okay. I let him off the hook. He can't actually do any further damage and this is the saddest part of our relationship, divided equally into two distinct time periods. Her and I. The child and the woman. And while I stand here I realize he can't even tell us apart.

And that's what scares them, and suddenly it scares me. 

Lochlan comes in then, startling when he sees Caleb on his knees, arms wrapped around my waist.

Go, he says abruptly, but I don't know if he means me or Cale. Caleb leaves and I watch Lochlan for a correction that never comes, mercifully.

He hurt you again? He's not allowed near you anymore. 

I'm fine. 

Right. Lochlan laughs with such a bitter edge I begin to bleed.

Love in the shadow of the pandemic.

His hair is wind-tousled from being outside, his belt buckle is skewed all the way to his belt loop on the right and his shirt is wrinkled. His grin is all teeth, however and I can't help but grin back at him. He is contagious.

I just want to say it's nice. Being wanted, not feel like the unwelcome Jesus-slinging reprobate all the damn time, instead everyone is fighting over who gets to cuddle me. It's like winning the lottery and I see now where some of them get their swagger.

Like who?

Lochlan.

I burst out laughing. Right.

Maybe Schuy.

Fair enough. I'm sorry about church.

If I had looked at that dress, Bridget, I would have turned to stone.

Oh I know. That's why I wore it.

I'll still be here. I'll even be available a little here and there. We're just getting reacquainted. And I didn't want to force Matt on the house before I knew if it would work this time.

And?

So far so good but as you can see we're trying to take it slowly.

I nod.

Do you want me to stay tonight?

What about Matt?

He understands if I leave for a crisis.

Is that what you're calling me these days?

Bridget-

Things were going really well and then you vanished and I didn't know how to handle it.

Why didn't you come to me?

You were busy with Matt. I make air-quotes around Matt's name and roll my eyes to be a brat. Sam ignores it.

Maybe I went about this the wrong way and I should have moved all the chairs and brought him right in and put him in your laps.

I mean, maybe? I don't know. I understand that you have to take it slowly. 

Logically you do but in your heart you're shouting. I can hear it from here. 

I'd rather be fixing you than me. 

About the Devil-

It's fine. He's fine. We're fine. It was just a moment. 

He keeps slipping up. If he can't control his emotions then what?

Then I dodge hellfire all damn day. At least he's hot. 

Is that an excuse to put up with things you shouldn't?

You tell me. I stick my tongue out and Sam laughs again, nodding, even though I'm pathetic as fuck.

Yeah. Well. I hear they cancelled hockey. 

They've cancelled everything. 

So what excuse will Joel have to come over now?

Oh, my own minister called me a crisis, so that's enough right there, for a bit.

I do love you, Bridge. And I miss you like crazy. But I do love him. And I think we got it figured out at last.

I'm happy for you, Sam. 

I'm happy for me too.

Swing from the endless trapeze.

Do I think Caleb will make good on his threat to lean on Lochlan to pressure me to stay away from Sam?

Of course.

Will Lochlan do it?

No. He follows Ben's School of Managing Bridgets and Home for Wayward Boys. Let her do what she wants, set her free, yadda yadda. Secure in the knowledge that I've never ever actually left Lochlan he rests. Will I leave him? Of course not. We're in this for life.

It'll probably kill me anyway so life could be days, could be weeks. And it's not so much that I've magically fallen in love with Sam but hell, the attention is nice and sure, I was infatuated pretty quick once he joined the Collective but he's not Jake and Caleb doesn't (er...didn't) have to worry about his own role or space within. (He might now, for no one takes kindly to violence. Or threats to deceive, for that matter so we're both fucked.)

They're pretty mad, and I'm still looking wistfully across the drive.

I want Sam to acknowledge that he isn't going to disappear forever. I want him to still be over-easy affectionate and scrambled love. I want him to be my breakfast snack. I want Matt to stop breaking his heart. I want Caleb to stop breaking mine. I want to be able to control other people all the while being completely unable to control myself and I want....

I want..

I want Caleb to stop giving me orders and remember that all of this is his fault.

Firsts (Don't read).

(They were concerned he might fall in love with me. While they were busy doing that, I fell in love with him. My fault, as ever.)

You're everything that's so typical
Maybe you're alone for a reason
You're the reason

Caleb wasn't as understanding as Lochlan. It's not so much that I don't want my Collective to find love on their own, without me, it's that Sam is fairweather in deed but loyal to the bone in words, it's that Matt has proven to be selfish and shortsighted. It's that Sam has already had his guts ripped out three times by this man and when he needed comfort he came to me.

All Caleb saw was that maybe I needed something that was missing and he took advantage. Locking the door, holding me against it, off the ground, by the throat, taking things I wasn't planning to give him, setting me back a thousand years in distancing myself from who we were back in the day when those things happened regularly, and there was a different power dynamic. He never fails to remind me that he is bigger, meaner, stronger and that if he squeezes hard enough he could put the lights out forever.

And I am to forget about Sam (slam, against the door).

And if I need anything I'm to go to him (Caleb). (slam again, I can see birds flying around my head).

And to stop teasing everyone when I'm otherwise committed to him (slam, and a world of blinding pain that kind of feels a little good, to be honest).

The squeeze is just hard enough to make breath the only thing I suddenly care about and everything else darkens into the background. When he is finished he just opens his hand and I drop to the ground, losing my footing, falling into a heap on the floor. He pulls me back up by my bad arm, squeezing it in the worst place and stands me up again. In my face. Rage still present and not dulled at all, typical Caleb, who can hold a grudge easily with one hand while punishing you with the other. You're supposed to let it go once you've made them suffer.

I snatch it out of his hands and tell him to leave me alone.

Waste your energies on someone who doesn't even have a stake in this and I'll leave you alone alright. I almost killed you just now. Don't think I won't. You're making us look like fools, Neamhchiontach.

Right. Neamhchiontach! Sam won't listen to reason so I resorted to visuals. So he doesn't forget what he already has here.

Stay away from them, Bridget.

You don't get to tell me-

I'll bring your husband in on it.

I'll cut my whole fucking ear off and tell them you did it. 

He comes back and puts his hand out. I flinch violently and his eyes soften as he tucks my hair behind my bad ear. Neamhchiontach, they wouldn't believe you anyway. If I wanted to hurt you, I would. If you keep up this tantrum over Sam, I will.  

You should have done it years ago. 

Would have missed too much fun.

Circles.

What did we talk about, Bridget? 

Fear of abandonment, Joel.

Cling forward.

(Hi, I need a therapist.)

(Actually, I told you I needed a lobotomy but you haven't listened.)

It's as if my brain and I have never met this morning, as it specifically chooses a teal wool, somewhat tight dress that will be warm for church that's also a little too much for church, if you get my drift. Sky-high nude patent heels and a loose chignon complete the look.

And my brain tells me, a virtual stranger, that we'll make that fucker salivate the entire time he's giving his sermon. As if Sam will be caught off-guard or even distracted by my looks when he has Matt sitting front and centre.

My soul sucks it up and reminds my brain not to be stupid, that three months into Matt's return, after almost a decade now of them running hot and cold (resulting in a tepid, untenable bath, I say) I am going to be professional and wish him the best and facilitate their relationship any way I can and not fuck it up because I'm missing Sam as a casual friend-with-benefit, or something like that.

Lochlan will agree with professional-me, but then again, they both tend to be jerks sometimes, and very disapproving when it comes to Tiny Wild Bridget, who was once told and then told again, in case she forgot, to do whatever she wanted. 

Lochlan and I are both cranky though. Losing an hour of sleep is like losing a lover (HA, drinking doubles over here), and Lochlan spent all night doing wet work, scraping my heart off the highway, off rocks and trees, off the sky, revealing the stars underneath, twinkling again. He brought the pieces home in a cart and spent the remainder of the dark hours putting them back together, welding some parts strongly while delicately stitching others, resulting in a tenuous organ that he presented to me at sunrise, with a stern reminder that I am going to continue to be happy for Sam and Matt, that I can suck it up and still get as many hugs and talks as I like, but that Sam needs this and wants this and I need to get out of the way. That any leftover energies wandering around the point looking for something to attach to can be turned inward, to us.

It was a jarring, stinging, harsh lecture that was sorely needed for perspective and my heart is grounded now, obeying a curfew and a crushing set of rules that it finds comforting and protective while my brain screams to LET HER OUT.

It's like Freaky Friday is taking place inside me, and my heart and brain have switched sides.

It's just grief, Lochlan says, but he can't take his eyes off this dress.

So wear it for him, my heart says kindly to my mind and I nod to no one in particular.

And then after the sermon, during his wrap-up notes and reminders and schedule for everything from the further cancellation of Children's Church and Walk In The Would programs, and considering putting sermons online (oh dear. We aren't techy. A podcast maybe?) so people can worship in the safety of their homes if need be right through Easter, Sam announced that he and Matt, after reuniting several months back, would be getting remarried this summer and to join him today in celebrating love in the modern age, a difficult yet rewarding journey that has been a rollercoaster-test of his faith and that he is very happy and wishes to share that happiness with everyone in his congregation. That they have worked together to forge a new future after several false starts, and he wanted them to hear it from him, instead of a mill churning out endless rumors, as our congregation has been known to do in the past.

Everyone clapped and cheered and I burst into tears. Lochlan looks at me and said, See? You're happy for them. You're crying. 

(Right. Because he didn't even tell us first.)