Used to be sweet, now I'm just bitter.

Six loaves of bread proofing on the stove this morning, three big crockpots on the go. Beef stew tonight. My recipe, which I won't share and they can't seem to duplicate. It's always almost but not quite. Lo-Fi winter jazz playing through the house thanks to Google being yelled at until he/she got it right. I had it on Shostakovich and it was choosing the most morose pieces I was losing my mind. Then I switched to Ali& Theo and again, the most drag-me-down choices and finally I just said what I thought was the name of my favourite Youtube random snowy cafe jazz music and it was a direct hit. 

Perfect. 

The dog is sleeping on the living room floor, one eye open so he can watch me from there. Cat is playing nearby. She's a little maniac and then she conks out for three hours straight. It's hilarious. 

Duncan is also conked out. He did a coffee run, mine was wrong and had cream in it so I drank as much as I could and had to pour out the remainder, almost half a cup. I can't do it. It tastes bad. I'm actually finding that since contracting covid (in September), things since have a weirdly metallic taste and it's difficult to know if it's the thing or me. 

He felt bad, but not bad enough to stay awake and cut onions so there I was, alone in the kitchen with my intrusive, non-consensual thoughts and my ghosts and my tiny grey and white furry friends.

On bribing PJ to stay up for the 9:45pm Amazon delivery.

I made it. I didn't think I would but then I got sucked into Lookism on Netflix and it's really good and I had a big glass of orange juice to sip so I went to bed just as Amazon sent an email saying that they would try again tomorrow. That my packages aren't coming. That they ran out of time or something. 

And we're doing it all again tonight. 

My orange juice is two ice cubes, a quarter of a glass of actual juice and then water to the top. The undiluted version is so freaking overly sweet and I grew up in a household where my mother mixed orange juice from concentrate and always added a can of water 'extra' to make it go that much further so to me that's what orange juice tastes like only I'm too lazy to mix the cans. I also am criminally short on freezer space and live with several men who think it's a damn shame how I regiment myself. 

Lochlan just wishes I was that sparing with my alcohol. I can drink the whole of a fermented lake. If they added sugar I would be less likely, you know?

All of this wages an ironic war with my love of candy but I clench my teeth at night and they hurt and sugar somehow makes it all worse right now so we are looking at retraining muscles, different pillows, a shit-ton of relaxing techniques and biofeedback and it's maybe ten percent better already. 

Have I finished wrapping? No. Do I care? Of course not. Do I have any motivation? None to be seen for hundreds of miles in any direction, thank you. Just grey clouds, swirling wind and that unravelling striped scarf I keep meaning to fix after it got snagged on the picket fence one late afternoon in November. 

I am not productive in any creative, meaningful way but I'm not procrastinating either. This morning I did the floors and the beds. The whole house minus the downstairs suite but the theatre too. I swept outside and walked the dog and played with the new kitten, a white Bengal that I weighed days on as she was somewhat feral and unfriendly. Only weeks later and she sleeps in Lochlan's lap as long as he's sitting down. Her name is Aurora. She loves the dog. He thinks she's very interesting.

(I was considering getting a Russian Topaz and then Aurora came along and was touted as unfriendly and not a good choice for adoption and so of course we love a challenge and we gambled and won. How often does that happen?)

My fingertips split from the chemicals and from the dry indoor winter air. I still have my job, though I won't be working many more dates this year. I'd like the next ten days to go by quickly so the days will grow even longer after that. I'd like to have more fun and fret less. Yes, I still fret but I don't care about it so does it even count? And I want to find more of this feuerzangenbowle incense because it smells like Christmas, smells like winter in the woods, a bonfire at the far end of the little bridge just over the brook, a place that felt like it was the middle of nowhere but the highway was only a hundred yards away if you kept walking. My tiny little mind and oversized imagination didn't know that and I was raised by the boys to believe if you walked into the woods they would never end and you would just keep walking until you were lost. Now I see that they said that to keep me from going in alone, but what a gamble. I was such a stubborn little girl that I would have done it just to see if they were right or wrong but Lochlan rarely took his eyes off me and never let go of my hand when we were in the woods, as it were. 

I am going to go wrap some presents and listen to some Christmas music, I think. Then I won't feel so bad about the lack of drive or about who has to stay up late and wait for overworked and underpaid couriers.

(The She's So Lucky title from the last post was a line from one of Britney's songs in case you live under a rock. I'm not saying she's actually lucky, to clarify a bunch more.)

Christmas is in full swing here, suddenly. The trees are up and done, the gifts are 99% bought and ready, I just need to wrap the gifts now and find decent Christmas crackers. Six boxes. They all such toy-wise. I need to branch out, perhaps. 

A diamond fell out of one of my bestest rings so that goes in to the jeweller today. It's pouring. Hopefully everyone will stay home. I'm watching Lookism on Netflix. I'm still reading The Night and Her Moon. I'm still listening to everything under the sun and I'm drinking the most amazing gin royal by Compass. It's a beautiful elderflower blue and then it turns pink and then lavender when you pour tonic water into it. No, I'm not supposed to drink and yes, everyone cares but its a couple a week if any. I'm fine.

She's so lucky.

Are we following the Britney Spears drama on TikTok? Should we be? Is there any, actually or is it all made up and spread around like ashes after a wa-

Let me not go there. Not today. Today has been weird enough. 

I'm not Britney. At least one person a day tries to tell me I am but I'm not, sorry (not sorry).

In this hell of a season.

I was going to show you my phone screen from this morning. Forty different alerts from our home security cameras that there was movement on PJ and Duncan (easier to name zones after the boys who inhabit them) and that my TDMySpend categories were through the roof since I spent $3400 yesterday and that was a little more than usual and also I spent specifically a large sum at the music shop and that wasn't included hahaha because it went off the page. It's fine. 

But they talked me out of it because my lock screen is my children's faces and even covered by notifications it wasn't feasible. 

We did decorate today a little. The trees will go up on the weekend but all the garlands and tiny lighted things are everywhere. The wreaths are up. The ancient pocked Santa who sits in the upstairs hallway has arrived and the sled is in the tree out front, above the gates with a spray of LED stars behind it. The reindeer are in the attic storage so we'll get those down on the weekend too. There are three of them. 

It looks vintage and magical, just like I like best. 

Lochlan is singing his most recent favourite, Friday Pilots Club, a song called Would You Mind, and I'm a little weaker in the knees now for it than I was before dark, and I'm not complaining. There are so many I can lean on, lean into, keel over with or simply swoon in the dim lights as the candles drown at the dinner table and the last droplets of wine dry in the throats of the thin glasses we use for every day. 

He will belt it with the passion of a thousand sparks, joined into flame and I swear I've never had eyes for another.

Pretending it's not real.

 They keep taking my internet and then I forget that I wanted to post because the pills are a whole new level of lombotomy-kind, to be truthful and I've said it dozens of times in the past few weeks. I mean to post, I really do. I mean to be reactive and interactive and forthcoming and then I slip. It's like being an addict in a room full of temptations and you should congratulate me because I've avoided saying too much by not saying anything at all. 

Today will be no different, but I did manage to spend today Christmas shopping and I think I've got it all done. 

Almost, anyway. I will finish up this week. 

I was so panicked about it when I woke up and now I suddenly feel like I'm miles ahead. 

It's the latest I've ever gotten underway. I'm saying that a lot about almost everything these days. I appreciate that you are still here. I really do.

Rest in peace, Christine McVie. You were a big part of my tiny, brief childhood and a prolific voice ever since.

Recon, recoup, relax.

I did not get out of bed last week. My mood was bad, my enthusiasm got a failing grade and my smile was in such poor form, if not nonexistent, that I chose to not subject anyone to that crap as it is always a first world problem and I am always the first in my own little world, as it is muffled from yours, silent and still. 

Lochlan spent the first day fretting, the second day yelling, the third day he slumped into his own brief depression and then on Friday he summoned the doctor, who not only gave me more meds but also gave me some meds for the latest round of eczema around my nose, as I get stress induced bumps when it isn't caused by anything and everything else. I look like I have a very bad cold and my nose is raw. Ben called it a must-rash and now we're laughing again but I think it took far too long to pull off and this morning I got out of bed, showered and put on warm clothes and pulled myself the fuck together and woke up Lochlan and suggested we go for brunch so I could hit the ground running. He was so happy I think he cried and then I had to eat my breakfast with my left hand as he came and sat on my side of the booth and never went back to his own, a customary habit long in the making. I am decent with a fork in my left, anyway. I still have both eyes, so that's something. 

That joke is also long in the making. 

I have almost finished the Unabomber miniseries. I'm going to watch everything else in my list this winter and sit by the fire and rake leaves and shovel snow and be productive because that's the point of life. If not you're wasting it.

Those were the orders from Loch, backed up by the whole army. I asked if this plan had a name and he said Operation: Princess.

Cool.

Valentino for the imposter, thank you.

Four plane trips and two attempts at high speed Netflix and I finally finished season 3 of Bling Empire. I don't even know why I watched it, though I was really hoping for Kevin and Kim to finally give in and get together and so the stupid plot device DeVON or whatever seemed so fake. 

Not like any of it was 'real' but that was really disappointing. LOL I love trash television and I get so little of it. Humor me. 

Now I'm going to cry my way through Twentieth Century girl I think, unless I decide to knock off some horror flicks first, but we shall see. Ben is up for anything now that Bling Empire is done. He watched two episodes of it and was horrified. I was like but look at the Chanel dress or the Gucci bag! And he would ask if I wanted one. 

Sigh. That's not the point. 

The point is if I have a bag like that or a dress like that it's a Very Special Occasion. And I have a handful of beautiful bespoke designer pieces but not to wear every day just to go to some sushi joint like they do. Not that I would anyway because I'm not a fashionista or even a wannabe, but I am a huge people watcher and am fascinated by what people do in the wild. 

I watch them in order to become less...feral. I don't know. That's what Christian always said. And ever since he started saying that I see that he's right. I can follow the trend and dress to the nines and look like I am the epitome of self-assuredness or whatever I'm supposed to convey but on the inside is that sticky little wild brat screaming to run free. 

Then again maybe they all feel that way too. I mean all the self-assured folks in their designer outfits. All the confident people strolling into and out of my peripheral vision. Anyone. Everyone. Who knows? No one will tell me either way so I am left to imagine it, as I am with everything in life.

Better.

Caleb pops his head in to where I am lying on the floor in the sun like a cat, the only human characteristics being my headphones, clothes and the fact that I am belting out broken Korean lyrics with all the passion of an accidental tourist because I know like a handful of phrases and that's it. 

I see him and rip the headphones off, ending my singing and he smirks briefly, looking all of twenty. My heart lurches and then slaps itself backwards into next week and I snap involuntarily. 

What. 

I just wanted to say I appreciate your discretion with Samuel and I've also spoken to him about attempting to gain inappropriate time with you. 

ARGHHHH. I pick up my phone without responding and dial Sam, who picks up instantly. 

Bridge. 

Are you okay? Caleb just told me he came for you. 

Huh? He asked a few questions about church and then we talked about maybe getting some Japanese food on the weekend. 

Oh, okay. 

He didn't mention you or our conversation. I was ready for it. Thanks for typing it all out. 

Anytime. K, love. 

Love. 

I hang up. Liar. I go to put my headphones on and he barges right in, taking them out of my hands. 

It was implied-

Yeah, yeah. And what did we say about not interfering? 

What should I do when someone attempts to usurp me? 

Nothing? Unless you're there and even then you do nothing. That's the deal since you hurt Ben. I can handle Sam. 

You could handle Joel too.

Stop it, Cale. I'm having the best Friday and you aren't allowed to ruin it. 

Then I shall leave you to your uh...music. 

Thanks.