At least four weeks in the studio now, give or take a meal.

Cause I
I cannot start to crumble
So come on and try
Try to shut me and cut me down

I won't be silenced
You can't keep me quiet
Won't tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless
Speechless

One of my more fun Bridget Can't Do Self-Care routines involves singing all the Disney songs at top volume around the house all day. I warm up with tunes from The Little Mermaid and Moana, then move on to Coco, then Beauty and the Beast, back around with with Aladdin and eventually I'll devolve into Frozen because why not?

I don't really like Disney movies per se but I've seen everything because kids. Kids make you watch it all.

I love musicals though. That much I don't have to say again.

I got a Ben-Day as a bonus today. Ben won't sing along with me and asks me to stop while laughing. Lochlan never asks me to stop, never ever but Ben has had enough half a song in.

Ben is here because he doesn't feel comfortable leaving me to the wolves if half of them are Russian and so he's handed Duncan off to August and Sam (or as I like to call them, The Holy Triad of Hotness) (Shhhhhhhhh) and he's presented himself to me, not needing a deadline to return to work for once.

He smiles at me as he tells me this and I am rapt, crushed by the weight of his easy charm, and how different he is from Lochlan. Ben is my giant frat-boy, my Everything-Will-Be-Okay, he's...

He's what Lochlan used to be before the weight of a different kind crushed everything. It wasn't charm, it was fear. It was regret and damage and defeat.

Ben brings back the weightlessness of Life Before. Lochlan has device-handoff in Ben, who brings us back around to being out from the weight. He's a beautiful departure from everything and God, I love him so, in a way I don't love anyone else.

What do you want for lunch?

That's a silly question.

Is it? He grins salaciously.

It totally is!

Huh. We should go find your husband and bring him with us.

Yes. Wait. Where? Where are we going?

Upstairs. For lunch. Go get him, Bee.

Okay. I run off across the lawn to find Lochlan who is wrenching through his quarantine and likes to do as much as he possibly can before asking for help but most of the time when I go looking for him he's juggling tools and singing. It's kind of ridiculous. We're meant for greater things than entertaining the boys of Point Perdition, I swear.

I run right into him and almost get stabbed by a Robertson. Or maybe it's a Phillips. Maybe it's a Hex, like me. 

Jesus, Peanut. Be careful.  Such a dad. Christ. This makes my brain hurt.

Got a second?

For you, always. Now he sounds like Ben.

Come inside?

Sure.

I have a surprise for you.

Is it a Ben?

Maybe!

Awesome. Oh, my heart. He missed him too.

What am I doing right now, Ben asks?

  

Nothing.

A lot of people are reaching out.

And I'm not a sociable person, truthfully.

I'm ridiculously awkward and have a tendency to throw on an act, be it weird or perfectly normal, I never know what's going to come out. I have eight hundred emails here and I'm trying to reply in order of how much I like you. Corey called me direct and I told him it was my number, and who did he want, I'd give him theirs, or I would let them know he was calling and they could call him back but he said he wanted to talk to me, and I asked why, almost rudely. The only time he wants to talk to me anymore is to talk me into something for his work and I don't make music videos or single covers anymore unless there's a lot of money involved or it's something insane like a pool full of bubbles and fire but no, he just wanted to catch up and see how I was.

Which was nice and he is good, though he hates where he is currently and already broke up with his girlfriend. So clearly he's bored and he called me. I get that. We had a nice chat and when this is over I invited him out for supper.

Then the Russians showed up which was really fun, as we scrambled to figure out how to tell them we aren't accepting visitors and finally Caleb went out to the porch and while misguided, they were concerned that I had been feeling poorly and wanted to see for themselves that I was better. I walked out on the porch and when I got to where Caleb was he stopped me so I could go no further. The driver walked to the bottom of the steps and laid down a huge bouquet of roses for me and Easter chocolate for the children. They reminded us to call if we needed anything and then the two black cars reversed down the driveway, one a Ghost, one a Mercedes.

Jesus Christ.

We came back in and made coffee and breakfast quite robotically after that. I can't believe they didn't trust their own doctors not to lie to them. What the fuck. Caleb is shellshocked. I'm just angry that the doctor is giving updates about my private health issues to a bunch of mob-

Bridget, you know that's how he gets paid. 

I thought you paid him to do house calls. 

I do, but he's on their payroll. They know everything. 

I thought this was finished. 

It is. 

Then why were they just in my driveway demanding proof that I'm fine from a simple ear infection?

I think the old guy is fond of you. 

Yeah, well, I'm scared of him. 

Then Robin called but I let it go to message because I didn't want to vent all over him and he finally called Dylan who relayed all of Robin's concerns by shouting them across the room until I made the throat-slitting motion and he stopped and I'm not supposed to mention Dylan anyway.

Lochlan squeezed my hand and says the only way I can spin it is to be glad there are a lot of people high up looking out for me.

I look at him and nod. What's your name again?

Bridget. There's no use being nervous. 

The mafia didn't just show up looking for proof you were alright. I need to get Caleb out from under them-

He made his bed-

With me in it!

It's fine. They're out for a drive. They want to help. Lochlan, who has spent his entire life around shady folk, folks on the run, folks up to no good and people looking to escape the wrong they've caused is completely at peace with all of it.

If they come back no one open the gates. I'll talk to them on coms. They don't get to be here at my house. 

He nods. I know he's putting on a brave show for me, just like he does every time the doctor shows up and he knows a report will be made.

The doctor is an easy perk. Use who you know. 

Is that riffing on 'Keep your enemies closer'?

Maybe. 

I vow to spend the rest of the day on the beach, my phone upstairs in a drawer. There are two different places I can hide down there and pretend the world isn't real, which was nice for a moment or two as an escape but now it seems like an absolute necessity.

Updates and introspection and denial, oh my.

Not even sure if I mentioned it since every day pretty much feels like a cross between a Sunday and a struggle, not going to lie, it's hard to keep momentum right now and I feel so behind, like all I do are chores and a huge amount of fretting, and I can't just relax at all. I drank three things of cognac last night and still nothing. I finished The Boy in The Striped Pajamas and wow, that ended far differently than I expected and Lochlan bought me a treasure-trove of brushes for Procreate and put them all of Google Drive and wouldn't you know..

File not supported.

And I don't know how to change that and I don't want to ask him to fix it. They're on the home server, I'll add it to the list of Things I Have To Do.

I need a vacation. From technology, maybe.

In other news, since I forgot what I was talking about and what I failed to mention, or may have, it's that we've lifted the in-house quarantine and every house is fair game now, as Schuyler is having a great vacation and even Batman stopped leaving. Henry is off until this coming weekend and so no need to isolate from each other. We've pooled the dwindling Twinkie Supply and movie nights are ridiculously well-attended, even though the last movie we watched was a real banger from 1999, The Ninth Gate.

Okay, fine, it was good. The theme was Thriller. I figured we'd end up watching Michael Jackson music videos on a loop but no such luck. I went for a long bike ride around the neighborhood, found every curb to be my friend where I could find one but otherwise it's frightening being out there with cars and stuff.

I hate it but I went because participation means you're happy, or something.

I went because I'm probably in shit anyway for heading straight to the loft and not coming back last night, prefering to waltz into the kitchen via the side door this morning causing at least eight heads to turn while I muttered WHAT? and walked right through, up the steps only to die a thousand deaths once I was out of sight because I forgot they're all home all the time now.

Lochlan came up and asked if I was alright.

It's August, not Caleb, I spat at him.

It's Jacob. Endless Jake. It's not August. 

I'm fine. 

You're so not fine it's a miracle you breathe most days, he says and turns on his heel, heading back to his coffee and his brothers because you can take a good thing and drive nails through it with a Saturday night hammer and who's going to stop you if that's how it works. We can make up later.

Because he's right.

August doesn't need to know this but sometimes it's Jake.

And I'm not sorry and no one gets an apology because it's Sunday and Jesus is coming back and-

It's Monday isn't it? Jesus is already here. He's standing right behind me, one hand covering his beautiful face, shaking his head at the things I do and why he wasted all this effort on me only to watch me chuck it into the sea.

I didn't chuck it yet but I might.

On the upside, August didn't tell me to leave. Probably because I never told him it was Jake. Having a great day here, how about you?

Naked faith (AKA Happy Easter).

(Hello Tornado.)

Sam's podcast was released live without a hitch this morning for Easter service, along with explicit and thorough instructions on the website and as well offers of a paper copy of the sermon to be emailed or even post-mailed if necessary to anyone who called or emailed and requested such. It's a weird and comforting thing to listen to him preach through my headphones. His voice is comforting and soft, authoritative and convicted. He talks about Jesus like he's a friend, a member of the Collective soon to return.

I suppose he is, though we are, as always, reluctant to welcome strangers.

He's been here before, Sam reminds me and I press resume, as I want to hear it again. I'm almost blissfully thankful that I have few recorded examples of Jacob's voice. If I listen to him it's a knife through the heart, making it hard to breathe.

Lochlan comes by, yanking out the knife, wiping it on his cargo pants, putting it in the sink to wash, staunching the flow of blood, mixed with misery to make it rainbow-glittery, bringing me back to life. He asks if I'm done with church yet, saying he would like a trip down to the water if I want a swim, still a little angry that I went for one yesterday with Duncan but without a swimsuit.

Duncan didn't swim though, I reminded Lochlan at the time.

I know, he scowls. And had I known I would have gone, he says, sending me up in flames.

When we get down to the beach I strip out of my clothes, still dressed in tattoos and grandeur.

Well? He says. Sink or swim. 

But I don't run into the water, away from his eyes like I did with Duncan. Instead I move in close so I am right in front of him, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes and mouth, looking like a tornado with nowhere to touch down.

Come in with me. 

He looks out at the water, then up at the steps and then back at me. Then he says Okay, and takes off his clothes. We run into the freezing cold water holding hands and then run back out before we get our hair wet.

Best Easter service ever. If Jesus comes back right this second, he's going to get an eyeful.

Early birthday suit.

We did not fill the pool but since I needed to swim and have zero ability to understand things like consequences, I made a brief plea to have a quick dip in the ocean, expecting everyone to shut me down. We already did all the yard work and cleanup from the winter this morning, finishing what I started a couple of weeks ago, mowed the grass, power-washed absolutely everything and omg I'm so hot and so tired, I just want a swim.

But Duncan offered to go down to the beach with me, while everyone else begged off and so off we went, mildly awkward at first and then comfortable as he said he's doing well he just had a moment and it's passed and next time it comes around he knows what to do.

At the bottom I realized it's twenty degrees and because I was working in the gardens I'm not dressed for swimming with my customary bikini under cut offs and a sweater. Fuck. I turn to go back up and he tells me it's fine. That if we're here I should swim anyway because he's not climbing up only to come back down. That what's the difference between undies and a swimsuit?

But like I said I have a tendency lately not to wear those either.

Oh. Well, I'll look away until you're in. 

Fine by me. 

So my first real swim of the year in two-degree water with a fine ice-surface or so it seemed was in my birthday suit and it felt GREAT.

And Duncan never looked the other way, not for even a second. I struggled to put on shorts and my sweater over wet skin and he watched and laughed and occasionally reached out to steady me. On the way back up he said he wish he knew who the bigger mess was, me or him, and I answered that it was me for sure, through chattering teeth.

He didn't argue with me though.

Under the rabbit sea.

We took breakfast down to the dock today. No frost on the steps, no bone-chilling morning air. Just sunlight, a brisk cool breeze and a lineup of boys with baskets and a girl with a bag over her shoulder because I need one hand for the rail and one for Lochlan's hand.

Ben even came with us.

And also Caleb, Sam, Matt, August, Dunk, Dalton, PJ and Gage because it was Good Friday service on the water. We set up my huge round tablecloth with the tiny pompoms all the way around and sat around the edge of it, laying out fruit, sticky buns and muffins, hard boiled eggs and a plate of bacon and ham. We had three thermoses of hot coffee and one of tea and we ate quietly and then lingered over saved coffee while Sam conducted a brief service, complete with a sermon and then Ben played a song on his guitar and sang along with it and Dalton joined in on harmony at the end and then we sat in relative silence, enjoying the sun and each other. No one had a phone or an ipad or a grudge. No one had somewhere better to be or was too busy at work. Everyone sat quietly enjoying their coffee, picking out the remaining fruit bites to nab and watching the waves lap quietly against the shore.

I watched the bunny head float by in the water, attached to no one and I began to laugh out loud. I'm thinking it's ruined now but it pretty much was before, and this seems like the perfect time to end that tradition and maybe start this new one.

A vicious kind of catch (Hold the stereo! I'm goin' in).

My favorite thing in the world to do when I wake up feeling weird is to blast Veruca Salt's Loneliness is Worse through the house on eleven and wait for someone to notice.

It's not so much passive-aggressive as it is a bellowing, plaintive cry for help. It's a beautiful bridge in the middle, too. The only sad part are the drums, honestly. Geez. A little more on the hi hats, would you? Christ. That's how I play drums and I can only play a little. I play bass too. And violin, piano and french horn. Harmonica. And give me a set of bagpipes or an accordion and I can hold my damn own, truth be told. I have all sorts of gifts. The problem is, none of them are useful.

Salt is always followed by Twenty One Pilots Trees song. That song reverberates through the house like a ray of God-light, shining into every corner until the beams force out everything dark. It's beautiful. But boy, do they hate these mornings, because it's a boots-on-the-ground type of day and they've atrophied into human man-sloths, content to watch fifteen hours of television or read endlessly. Everyone has a screen. Everyone is a zombie now. Maybe we do have a virus. Maybe this is the end.

May is calling. So much in that month. I really want to go shopping. I want to go to restaurants. I want to walk on the big beaches. I want to celebrate birthdays without chains and life without restrictions and every morning now I wake up bursting out of my skin and then spend the morning stuffing everything back inside just to function.

If this is the end though, I'm not afraid. I know that they're going to let go of my hands and I'm going to go flying across the rainbow bridge as fast as my legs can carry me into Jake's arms like a dog and he's going to be so happy to see me but sad that it was so soon and I didn't get to experience my full life. He's going to blame all of us and not even remember how much of a hypocrite he was, not even finishing his thirties. It's hard to believe in real life he never aged but in my dreams he continues to do it steadily and regularly.

I shouldn't listen to Trees before breakfast. Because loneliness is worse. In the end this irony is my most formidable enemy and I can't seem to win.

The devil was once an angel, too.

Fragile hearts in these fragile times often break before they ever find
That there's hope inside of this shadowland
Written in the sky and stone and printed on our hands
So why do I always measure the truth with the weight of a lie?
Nothing's broken inside of me for good I'm healing in time the way I should
I can see it if I keep my head held high
Arms open wide
Heart full, clear eyes
All the doubts all the lies are too heavy to hold so why even try?

This morning I managed to snag my favorite enamel camp mug for coffee, and it was warm when I came downstairs. Warm enough for cut-off denim shorts and my Colony House hoodie. No need for a fire this morning. The sun was already beaming down on the point and it feels like everything might be okay. Or at least as okay as it ever was, in case we hoped for some massive snowball of improvement tagging along when our routine resumes someday.

PJ usually takes my mug. It has a huge handle and so he finds it comfortable. Plus it has a stable base and isn't top-heavy like the matching ones that came with the plates when we bought four sets for the house. PJ isn't all that concerned with putting his cup down on a stable base and will absentmindedly place it on the corner of a laptop or the arm of the couch. He was used to things a certain way, and I guess today he'll have to be disappointed as he takes one of the white mugs with the tiny base and be careful with it. It's a Wednesday. Monday is done, the full moon is done, and when I went to the grocery store today, every shelf was full. It was like the good old days, when they had everything and then some. I was happy to get everything I wanted and some extras and get home with no fuss. It was a nice change.

Sigh. It's going to be a good day. A bright day. No dark, no clouds. Just sunshine and coffee and the rest of my book and yes, I'm drawing the property for you but it's going to take a while, as I have a time-sensitive project that needs my attention first.

Besides, I need a little more sleep too and I'm waiting for that to catch up with me but with a second cup of coffee, I'm wondering if it even will.

I had some brandy last night, a toast, clinked far too slowly against Caleb's glass in celebration of a better week this week after a rocky start. He took our glasses in one hand and my face in the other and kissed me until I saw the stars outside through the ceiling as if it wasn't even there.

I held my breath until I fell through the black, letting go of my breath along with everything else and in my oxygen-deprived dreams Loch made an executive decision to bring Caleb along into our private night. Whether to keep an eye on him or give him a break, maybe in light of seeing how this forced isolation is affecting us all, he's found some patience after all.

He found a lot of things. They get along so well sometimes it's as if they're sharing one mind and sometimes their heart doubles to hold me too and it's like the greatest amusement park ride you've ever been on, trust me.

And then I slept, locked in between hell and magic, secure in the holy tragedy of my past, present and probable future, perfectly content and not overly warm or even overly weird.

It was nice. We've scheduled another time. See if Caleb can remain on his best behavior. See if Lochlan doesn't turn possessive. Find a way to keep all the hearts and minds in sync and fight off the despair of this maybe becoming the way things are forever.

They won't be but what if they are?

Vaguely English.

There's a fun thing about Caleb. When he's singing along with James Blunt or even Chris Martin, Caleb's accent is almost audible again. It's a very slight heightened received-pronounciation and it's a treat to my ears because he stuffs it as far inside as he can and only sets it free when he is half-drunk or very tired indeed, and neither of those conditions have I seen in a very long time, frankly.

But last night we burned dinner, got in a bickery-fight and made up over a late glass of brandy by the fire, so I technically began and ended my day in flames under a full moon and that's okay. Mondays be like that.

He sang to me briefly, my head propped against his shoulder, drink forgotten, eyes open and fully hypnotized by the flames, white spirals into nothingness. A Bullwinkle cartoon, an inevitable end to a long stretch of not trying hard enough, I guess and so I had resolved to try harder tomorrow.

And so far I am. I'm up at a good hour. Coffee's almost gone from my cup (already reheated it once), have not seen the devil since around eleven pm last night when I bid goodnight to him, his expression one of pure naked surprise, having assumed I would follow through, and I'm finishing the laundry while I dance all around the news without reading any of it any more.

My phone just buzzed and it's Caleb, awake and ready to stuff rejection as far inside as he can, setting his needs free and cloaking his surprise in determination, but whether it be real or fake is not important right now. What matters is that he needs to feel like he wins.

Tonight we'll bring the brandy up with us. 
 XOCXC

To which I reply because full moons are for tiny wolves and devils alike:

Okay 
XOB

I'm not sure why we put our initials but we do it more often than not. It's a tiny ritual of a different kind, I guess. I usually leave it off when I'm relaying things we've written to a page. I don't know why that's important. It's probably not, really.