You are the quintessential tornado, now, aren't you?

What do you want, Caleb?

I wanted to make sure you were alright after you concocted your brief little display of disinterest in our mutual friend.

I'm not interested in him and it has nothing to do with you.

Bridget, if you're trying to protect him by pretending not to be interested, you've already failed.

Why don't you just leave me alone?

Why don't you bring him along to our next meeting? Then you can show me how much you don't love him. Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you're doing.

You know nothing about me.

On the contrary, my dear princess. I know precisely the difference between giving you ecstasy and hastening your death. I try not to forget the numbers. Sometimes they get mixed up.

Did you just threaten me?

I have no reason to do that.

Sure you do.

What would that be?

Kicks. Your own amusement.

Yes, that's important, isn't it?

Not to me.

Well then let's try something different. You want to save your friend? Protect him any way you can. And be a little more subtle about it. Having him move in to soothe your fear of the dark won't save you any more that your lies will save Ben's life. Don't forget how suggestible he can be.

Leave him alone.

There's the princess we all know and love.

You don't love me.

Oh, but I do.

Prove it by leaving me alone.

That isn't as much fun, Bridget. So I'll be in town on Monday and I'll see you around nine. Yes?

Fine.

Pardon me? I couldn't hear you.

FINE.

I could hear you, I was just making sure you heard me. I'll make sure you're carried out with your hearing aids this time.

Fuck you.

I heard that too, Bridget.

Daylight to break.

This morning I pulled on fuzzy grey tights, a grey wool skirt and a warm nubby brown wool sweater that is long and warm with a turtleneck. I twisted my hair up into a messy bun with bits sticking out all over, stuck my reading glasses on top of my head and slid my watch on over my right hand. I slipped into my doc boots and went down to make some coffee.

No one else got up in time so I went into the den, closed the door to keep all the heat in the house from leaving and I opened the french doors all the way and I stood in the -45 degree morning and watched the sun rise between the pine trees in my backyard, the magenta glow highlighting the Victorian roof peaks of other houses in our neighborhood. The world was still and quiet. A time to reflect. A time to embrace myself as me, just plain old me, here to greet the day and consume my piece of the planet pie and leave my tiny mark which isn't really a mark so much as a chip on the rim of life's cup.

One that could cut you if you aren't careful but one that you ignore because the cup itself is so pretty and it's your favorite. So you carefully turn Bridget to the outside so that she won't cause any problems and you watch the sunset and sip from the smooth side, the unmarked side, the place that you will stake out to leave your own mark.

Soon the noises and smells of everyone up for breakfast came filtering down the hall and I reluctantly acknowledged the end of the dawn of the morning and went to join my children for waffles and fruit. Ben did not get up and join us because he's having a lazy day and will sleep for a while yet, I imagine but it's okay.

There will be another sunrise tomorrow.

Home, warm and safe for the night.

Joel and Daniel concluded jointly that my brief over-the-shoulder zing concerning schadenfreude was...bratty.

Petulantly as a princess, I don't rightly care.

I'm well-aware that some people come here only so they can feel better about themselves and several who come only so they can clap their hands with glee when very bad things happen to Bridget.

How do I know this? They wrote to me to let me know.

Even when I put it out there, I'm not putting much out there at all, Don't forget that and we'll get along just fine. Now pass the hummus and some bread, I am starved.

I left Sam's office better than what I found it in. I set up his voicemail and taught him how to use it, all the filing is now caught up, I had groceries delivered and I even booked the cleaning service and the guy who comes to plow and sprinkle salt so no one wipes out (Bridget). I stood in Sam's office looking around at the same brass rubbing on the wall in a frame that doesn't match it and a bookcase full of gentle God-centered self-help and a few aging spider plants and some or most of the same furniture and the room smelled very faintly of sandalwood. Just for one little tiny quiet moment that maybe didn't exist outside of my head for all I know.

On purposes.

This post will be short. I'm working for Sam today. I'm answering phones, mostly and filing all the papers that have piled up in the past four months. To put it most kindly, Sam is a bit more...um...chaotic with his office. He said he was desperate, he needed help and didn't want to call a temp though if I had to wager a guess I'd say he wanted me to revisit Jacob's old office.

Which I did. No comment. There are no comments to be had. Fine, it hurts. Magnificently.

There's your schadenfreude for lunch, hope you enjoy it.

Anyway, around twelve I realized I was starving. I poked around in the kitchen and came up with the following:

One mini-can of ginger ale.
One bottle of water.
One mini-pack of pringles.
One frozen burrito that had to be chipped out of the freezer door.

This kitchen used to be fully stocked with fruits and veggies and seeds and juices and other goodies. Coffee/tea always on or close to it. Jacob was always feeding people.

I did notice that if you put the ginger ale and the water together in a big glass it tastes just like club soda.

Huh.

Death and taxes.

    I'm gonna miss you
    I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
    She says I love you
    I'm gonna miss hearing your song

Today was a whirlwind of caught breath, a new diner to try out, a new CD to spin, some new clothes to break in, a few haphazard kisses, some one-year rule reminders, perogies by the potload and taxes, which have to be filed for the deceased whether you're on board with that or not. Thankfully I know three accountants, two of which I'm even speaking to.

I had my teeth investigated, I sold the motorcycle, making John the Happiest Person Alive and I agreed to give up Friday night plans of sitting in the bathtub feeling sorry for myself in exchange for good seats at the hockey game, which is so small-community there are no tickets to buy but if you can help fill the stands it's always appreciated. I will bring eight people and then feed them afterwards. Ben will eat a whole pizza by himself and still be invisible when he turns sideways.

Bridget, not so much these days. :)

Have a lovely night.

What if it does?

Indeed. I've been turning it over in my head all morning. What if it does? What if it works out and there is a happily ever after somewhere in my lifetime after all? What if he was the path I stepped off of by mistake? What if my favorite, most perverted, most vulnerable friend in the whole world was supposed to be THAT guy? Oh crap, he's been under my nose and up in my face for five years and I was busy chasing pain.

What if, what if, what if.

All these thoughts are now best left for another day. The rest of this day involves curling up on the window seat in my kitchen with the snow swirling almost within touching distance but separated by clear intentions, biting on a strand of poppy jasper beads and drinking cappuccino while I read the very surprisingly good book I stole off Ben's night table a few days ago.

I made a fire in the woodstove, I have some nag champa burning upstairs and a roast in the oven for tonight and a whole lot of thinking to do. But not today. Nope, today I am taking it easy, enjoying the coziness and just being good to myself.

Followed underneath my own skin.

    Just call my name
    You'll be okay
    Your scream is burning through my veins
When I opened my eyes this morning, the ring was on my bedside table. I turned over to get up and smacked into Ben who was sleeping on top of my covers, fully clothed, his arm out as if he had just let go of me. He hadn't come home after work last night. I finally called Daniel (Ben's younger brother) because I was worried about him and Daniel said he was probably at a meeting (AA) and that I can't feel responsible for Ben's emotions. He's right but it doesn't make it easier.

I slipped out of the room and went down to look after feeding the pets and making coffee. I brought him back up a cup and shook his shoulder and he bolted up. I almost dropped the cup.

I'm sorry, little bee.

No, I'm sorry.

I told you before you don't need to protect me from Caleb.

I can try.

He can't hurt us.

You don't know that, Ben.

Is that the only reason you gave the ring back?

No.

What's the other reason?

What if it doesn't work out?

What if it does?

No, it's a no. The answer.

It's no.

He came home for lunch because I am alone today and I couldn't get out of my own face and rather than be nice, rather than wait, I gave him back the ring. I want him here as my friend and nothing more. There isn't more to be had. I love him the way I love all my friends and I can't do any more than that.

Maybe the social graces were missing but at least he's not living on hope anymore and I can't tiptoe around his wagon as if he can't see me. Hell, how can you miss me? I'm a fucking tornado. Rocking foundations and destroying lives all over the place.

Rebel without a pause.

    Can't you see that you're smothering me
    Holding too tightly afraid to lose control
    Cause everything that you thought I would be
    Has fallen apart right in front of you
    Every step that I take is another mistake to you
    And every second I waste is more than I can take

Here, have the confusion and the doubt, I'll just sprinkle it all around myself and distract you with pretty while my insides turn black. Like a rotten birthday cake or a dead rose.

Why should I? Why would I bend to his will? What do I owe him? The last time I checked, just because he asked, just because he put himself out there and made the offer it doesn't mean that I am bound to accept it. Just because he's somewhat loyal doesn't mean that I have to do a damned thing.

Here's the point. He's holding out. You don't get it. I can use him for companionship. I don't ever have to be alone. Especially at night. I can be safe. He uses me because when I next feel self-destructive, he'll be in the right place, having craved my body long before he ever offered to share my heart. The hype. I am so overrated but it's too late for reason.

For everyone who keeps reminding me that I'm harsh on him, I find it funny how quickly you forget his motive for being my friend for at least half of our relationship. For everyone holding their breath for us to hook up remember you'd be pairing two ruined souls. We fight. A lot. I looked him straight in the eye earlier this year and told him I would never love him like that and he was fine with it. He didn't care about that, he was too distracted thinking about fucking me. Who is the bigger masochist? Who has the most to lose? I can't answer those questions. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.

I forgave him for that, though. I did.

Maybe we deserve each other and I should give him whatever he wants. Let's face it. I'm holding out for...what? I didn't hold out for Caleb. I never held out for Jake. If I sleep with him maybe he'll stick around and maybe he'll be off and ready for his next conquest or six. He's been with a lot of girls in his life, I'm just one on a list to be had.

I could even marry him. I could just start in on him and rip him to pieces and leave him in my wake, another casualty of Bridget's fragile, twisted fucked-up love. Whatever definition you want to give. And then he falls off his wagon and everyone blames me. Or worse. I could give him a real shot and wind up hurt worse than Cole ever hurt me. Or Jake for that matter.

Oh, yeah, let's not go there. No one wants their day ruined hearing about Bridget screaming in pain and Cole laughing. He used to tell Ben things and Ben would agree with him, that I was around for their use. That Ben could have me. Dangling me like a piece of meat in front of my friends and he could force my hands behind my back and shove me forward and I would have tears streaming down my face and Ben felt guilty because Cole was going too far. But what of the desire it brought out in Ben? Do you think I didn't see it? I saw it then and I saw it the night he touched me when he was loaded. I saw it written all over his face and I just tucked it away for later. His betrayal stung me but at the same time I loved it. I loved it that he wanted me so bad. I always knew. But I tucked it away. For later.

Now, it is later. And my only thoughts of revenge lean toward stealing his presence for my comfort, exploiting a history he no longer cares about. At the same time falling in love with this guy because he won't get out of my way. It's too soon, it's all wrong and it won't ever be fair to anyone.

Here's the one shining point to be the wrench in the gears. I don't feel crazy with him. Never have. If you'll notice anything striking, out of all the times I've gone down screaming he is nowhere to be found. I left him out of it. I never thought he could handle me being uncontrollable because he's always had his own monkey to wrestle with. When he came to the hotel, that was his very first attempt to pull me out of the fire. He did well. And for some reason when he's around I feel like he and I are on the same page, that we make decisions together, we talk and no one gets the upper hand, no one is in charge, we're just us. Not crazy, though, never crazy. Never unstable, never fucked up. I have a love for him that is so different and so profound I can't even describe it to him or to myself. Why do you think he never leaves me, even when he tells me he hates me? We're already in love, it's been five years now.

How does that happen?

    I've become so numb I can't feel you there
    Become so tired so much more aware
    I'm becoming this all I want to do
    Is be more like me and be less like you

So this is where we are. You may say I'm stupid or foolish or easy or you may say I'm in pain and looking for a way out or a way in to dilute that pain and you might say it's a disaster in the making, but it's okay.

Because I still can't hear you.

And this is my kitchen sink.

    Stay away from these rocks we'd be a walking disaster
    (don't reach out, don't reach out)
    Just cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there
    (there's someone on your shoulder)

Mmmm, internet I am up far too early for my taste on a Sunday but Butters was barking and Ben isn't responsible for letting him out even though they mostly sleep together now. I called Ben's phone from my bedroom to wake him up and beg him to let the dog out in exchange for french toast for breakfast but then I remembered his phone was charging in the kitchen when I went to bed last night.

We did manage to turn the game off long enough to catch the sickening end of another losing round of Leafs hockey. Everyone left around 10:30 and I went to bed to read around eleven, waking up with the book I was reading on my face at four a.m. I hate that. And then the dog at eight a.m. You can't tell me you're not going to wake up if that happens. But Ben pretends not to. He sleeps hard anyway. He sleeps like a rock, he doesn't move, he doesn't stir, sometimes I think he doesn't breathe or dream, He just drops.

If you're wondering how I know that there is a whole list of disastrous camping stories that left a bunch of us packed into one tent or the other, waiting out torrential rains, snowstorms, people who forget tents or large parts of them, wayward bears, rabid raccoons and other assorted situations that left him sleeping right behind me, curled around me, one arm down under my knees while Cole breathed down on my head in front of me, arms around my shoulders.

Yeah. Uh...

Anyway...

Today I have big plans. I'm going to church, going to try again now that people have stopped seeking me out for comment or curiosity, now that Sam has settled in and it doesn't feel like he's filling in and I'm only going to show Sam that I'm not avoiding him, even though I won't grant his request to come to the office and talk with him. I can't go in that office. But I can damn well stick my middle finger up at God and defiantly take my place in the sanctuary. I'm still angry with God and I'm hoping to change that.

After church we'll have a quick lunch and then I'm going shopping because I have no clothes. None. Everything is tight. Twenty pounds is a whole four sizes up and I'm happy for that but I don't know what to wear. Ben said just buy some jeans and one dress-up outfit and I'd be good to go. Maybe a couple of sweaters or something. I'm not used to shopping for myself and Cole and Jacob had the same tastes in what they liked to see me in and I think I'm done feeling like a doll. My plan today is to wear a sweater over my skirt which is held closed with pins because I can't get the zipper up. Haha.

After shopping I promised to head over to the outdoor rink before supper to watch Ben's game. They, unlike the Leafs, are doing well this year.

Dinner is at home tonight, since it's a school night. And I would like to go to bed early. I've been up for two hours and I'm already tired. I think it's because I feel the weight of God's expectations and it's a lot of work ignoring Him.

My rocker looks just like me.

I don't know quite what happened to this day, but it began with a phone call and Ben took off and was back fifteen minutes later. More phone calls were made and the room downstairs that functions as the official music room was left to gather dust as my living room was rearranged to accommodate Rock Band, the game.

I've never seen a more excited bunch of guys (and kids). They even had pledged an information blackout, vowing not to find out in advance what songs were on it. So, to our surprise, there was Ben's favorite song, one of the first ones you get to play, no less.

Remember my issues with REM being stuck in my head? Well, Ben has had the same problem now for years, but with Radiohead's Creep. He can be as self-disparaging as the rest of us and probably won't want you to know that he sings this to himself just about all the time he's not singing something else but I'll tell you anyway and probably everything else besides.

The game is a riot though. It will eat up your whole day if you're not careful. I thought it was eleven when I went to make lunch but it was already three o'clock. Something tells me they will play all night. That's okay. I love company. And I love music even more.

    I don't care if it hurts
    I want to have control
    I want a perfect body
    I want a perfect soul
    I want you to notice when I'm not around
    You're so fucking special
    I wish I was special

    But I'm a creep
    I'm a weirdo
    What the hell I'm doing here?
    I don't belong here

    She's running out again
    She's running out
    She runs runs runs

Baptized in alcohol.

Hmm. An interesting evening. Skateboard Jesus told me I looked fulfilled and asked where the preacher man was. I said dead and he nodded and said he expected it. I was about to ask him how and instead I was ushered away again. It was dark out. The restaurant beckoned with warm lights and enticing menus framed in the window.

I ate more than I usually do. I stole PJ's roll even. I had one glass of wine and I enjoyed myself. I didn't feel crazy or grief-stricken or abused or ruined or even fragile. I felt like Bridget, who once was a girl before she became this, whatever this is. This soulless bird who flits around perching in everyone's tree looking for a nest that was destroyed in a storm, rebuilt and then destroyed again. Looking for shelter, looking for refuge from future storms.

I don't feel crazy. I can talk about Cole. I can listen to stories about Jacob. I can endure gentle jokes and comments and others pointing out how much both men are missed. I can appreciate the lack of judgement over things they did in their lives that weren't quite right or so terribly wrong and I can revel in small moments where life doesn't hurt quite as much as it has in the past.

But maybe that's because I'm almost just about totally drunk off one forbidden glass of wine, because no one dares deny me that but had I asked for a second I would have been shut out completely. Tomorrow when I'm back to me again I'm sure I'll wake up beside crazy. It's just waiting for the good to wear off again. It stalks me.

And pathetic. Did I mention pathetic? Yeah, that's what I am.

It's a happy-pathetic though, no worries. A kind of wow, what a loser but at least she's doing well pathetic. A beautiful one.

And please for the love of God stop telling me to put the ring on. It's not about the ring. It's about the crystal ball. I have a really big shard of it left and it said my future is...

...uncertain.

But goofier than pathetic. THAT I can assure you. First day without pain of any kind. Tomorrow must be a doozy.

K, so drunk. Bye.

Tell me I could have everything.

So, the Sunday before the new year.

Our walk in the woods out at Nolan's. Snowshoes on for a good hard hike way out to picnic rock, a big flat rock by a rushing stream that was so loud it left me deaf and yet I had what felt like tunnel hearing while Ben talked, laying the ninth marriage proposal of my young life on my head to weigh me down, drowning me in his frustration which came out of nowhere after I dropped a piece of my heart in his lap and then promptly snatched it back. I jumped the gun. I fucked up. I should have left things alone. I was confused. I don't know which end is up and I'm having trouble going on feeling.

Ben's words on our picnic in the snow struck me dumb and have haunted me since. A ring produced and held out in a shaky hand this time. Again, an offering of a life resumed after an interruption and here, here, just take a chance at a real life and it probably won't be so romantic and I wouldn't be blinded with huge sweeping gestures and maybe it'll be so normal it's sick but it will be stable and kind and wonderful and loving and all the things life is supposed to be when the embellishment is stripped away.

Real life. With a real man.

One who is willing to put his money where his mouth is after I failed to take him seriously the first time. One who's alive and not messed up. One who beat his demons and came out victorious. One who knows how to be strong and yet still be an equal. One who can atone for his mistakes and learn from them and grow from them. Now they're just beating me into the ground repeating his good qualities. Making sure I know.

I know.

Here's the tangent I know you want: Nine proposals spanning thirty-three years. Andrew was the first, when we were three. He wanted me to bring my apple and live with him in his tree house. He liked my frog barrettes. Cole was next, with two proposals over two years, I was too young the first time. Then someone else, I haven't talked about him at all. Jacob was next. Then came the disaster that was Christian, Ben and Joel looking to try and help end my misery with promises, nobly so.

And now Ben returns, this time with a ring to show he's not going to give up on me. That he's putting value into his words in a way I never required him to before now. He's offered me half of his heart to replace the one that I broke.

I took the ring and looked at it. It was a simple classic princess cut amethyst on an art-deco band. An antique ring, no less, which he knew I would love. I smiled. He said don't put it on, just to take it home and put it in a box and if I ever wanted to I could put it on and think about his offer.

It wasn't extended lightly. He isn't trying to rescue me. He...he's looking for the rest of his life, in me. I shook my head. It's not fair.

I can't do this.

He wouldn't take it back and so I put it on my chain to keep it safe for the trip home and he smiled tightly, his smile that he wears when he doesn't quite know what his next move is. Ben, aware of my entire history and trying to circumvent it via ignoring it instead of trying to fix everything. Pretending history doesn't exist and living in a moment in a way I've never seen anyone else pull off. Mindfulness. Intensity of a different sort.

I've never had this much trouble with a girl before.

I tried the ring on yesterday for the first time. It's beautiful. I can hear his quiet plea not to make him wait forever. I'm just not sure that his heart is big enough to hold both of us. He may say it is, but really, I'm getting really good at breaking hearts and I can't risk losing another.

Fairweather future.

    Ray: Maybe we should kiss goodbye

    Molly: Just a kiss?

    Ray: We'll leave it at that for this book. I'll reconsider the ending for the movie

    Molly: Here's my kiss. Now remember I'm ready to do anything or be anything you want or need

    Ray: I'll keep that in mind

    Molly: That's where you'll find me

    Ray: Too bad I have to wait a century to meet you

    Molly: Or to be me

    Ray: Yes that too. Actually Molly, there are a few other questions that have occurred to me. What were those limitations that you referred to? What did you say you were anxious about? What are you afraid of? Do you feel pain? What about babies and children? Molly?
Duncan said something interesting to me this morning. He told me No one ever falls out of love with you. I thought for a moment while I sipped on my orange juice and then I reminded him that Loch did and Duncan said No, he didn't. I mentioned another name and he again laughed and corrected me. I asked him about John while John sat across from me getting high off his espresso and Duncan just roared and said he wasn't going to say any more.

They're going to bury me in sweetness.

Except for Mark, who wouldn't cover up my lyrics today. He maintains they are his best lettering work ever and he said I was being rash, that if I still wanted it changed by July he would do it then. I pointed out it's a psychological burden (having gotten it the weekend before Jacob left us) and he laughed and said he told me that when I got it. I said he had a shitty way of doing business and he said it had nothing to do with business and everything to do with friendship.

Ah, okay. I get it now.

Seventy-eight. Stay in love forever.

Today will be quite busy. I've got John watching over me. I have more Christmas thank-you notes to write, and a tattoo to be covered among all the other things. Bright spots, I suppose. John is such a grump today too. He doesn't do mornings so well.

Yesterday was saved by the collar of her sweater. It began with the delivery of food and a fukubukuro (Andrew! rocks!) for the children and ended very late with a halting, painfully awkward quote thrown over a shoulder, a few lines from Baudelaire that warmed me to my toes, and a song played by Ben on a strange guitar, the culmination of an incredibly weird few weeks, distorted with an offer, made impossible with an expectation. One that remained unvoiced until yesterday.

Which I will explain tomorrow. Ha! Cliffhangers. Because I'm always the quintessential attention whore for you everyone.

I'm headed to see the lawyer now to look after Jacob's parents, assign guardianship in the event of my death (PJ with a landslide victory over even blood relatives. Which speaks volumes.) and to make sure Ben's ass is covered, living with me and my mental problems, so that he has rights as my tenant if someone misses the next collar that swings by, and I have a lunch date too, Lord knows John will be asleep somewhere by ten. What time is it now? Yes, 9:40, so that's about right.

    She says I'm the one she really wants
    But I'll never be the one that she needs.
    I'm not here to be a creep.
    I'm just feeling incomplete.
    Take me home.

No idea what I'm doing.

I'm just not having any luck with today, so my apologies as I remove three very truncated entries containing mostly song lyrics and a few four-letter words. Literally, there was nothing to read so I got rid of them.

It's been seventy-seven days since he left. I wake up crying every morning. This morning a kiss was stolen from me, I threw a cup of coffee at the wall in therapy and Butterfield ate the chocolate chip muffins I left out for Ben. I tried to talk about my future and got nowhere. I lost a button. I had to coerce the kids into wearing snowpants because it got very cold again and I listened to Nine Inch Nails a lot.

I cried a little more and the stereo was turned off on my behalf.

I helped clean up the coffee and put Sam Roberts on the stereo this afternoon instead. I tried to win back this day but it just isn't coming. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Browns and blues.

Today brings a favorable shift in the winds, I believe.

He stayed in his new digs last night, which aren't so new considering he was spending every weekend here anyway. Only this time the door at the end of the hall stayed unlocked, and open. However we remained on two different floors at the opposite ends of the house from each other because there's nothing going on. Contrary to rumors, contrary to popular belief. Contrary to Rob's countdown to Smurfette giving up her blue. I never laughed so hard. Smurfette? Geez, you guys.

I will admit it's like sleeping on the floor of a cake shop when you're starving but you didn't hear that from me.

I'm human. Am I not human? Every now and then I feel human, so it's a start.

    It's all wonderful
    Living happily
    To lose it all
    Think you have everything

    Stop tell me where you going
    Maybe the one you love isn't there
    You're going under
    But you're over it all so you don't care about all that I had to see
    I'd watch you wait until you come around

I was sitting earlier at coffee, picking lint off the knees of my black tights. Black shoes spattered with slush from melting snow on the sidewalk and icy patches that left me clutching Ben's arm as we went into the coffee shop. Wearing the coat he likes me in. My robin's egg blue one that is his favorite color in the whole world. Not smurf-blue but yeah, I get it.

He took today off to move. Shh. He already moved. Yesterday. There's only some out of season stuff and big pieces of furniture left. Things he doesn't need for a while. Things he'll pick up on the weekend. His goalie gear takes up half the basement. And hockey mirrors life. Jacob was defense but he was also the enforcer, and Ben makes the saves.

Wow. That's a lightbulb moment if ever there was one.

When we picked up our coffees and sat down he whipped the kids' Scholastic catalog out of his pocket and asked which stuff Henry and Ruth would like best. I smiled and said anything would thrill them beyond belief, as usual. We made up a list to order. We do this every month.

Then he asked me what I would like best. Right here, right now.

I said,

This.

Farsighted.

I'm going to be the landlady.

Another afternoon spent arguing with Ben, as he tries to pass off keeping the pictures of me up in spite of his promises to remove them. Pictures of Jake, pictures of the kids. He's known for a very long time how I feel about having a lot of pictures on the web. I don't mind the occasional one, but a whole pageful? Forget it.

He did take it down and then he wrote me off. Again. I did the same.

We've discovered something very interesting. Mondays are rough. He goes back to work. We say goodbye after three close days together and even though he sometimes comes for dinner or the evening during the week, it's not the same. We get tense and stressed out about it, dreading the week ahead and we let our words degenerate into disrespect and ultimatums and finalities. Ben said if I couldn't trust him he'd just go back to his old girlfriend and live with her. At least she was sane and slightly more predictable. Oh and tall.

(Motherfucker.)

He's also been tremendously stressed about his living situation, finding it difficult to find a new apartment to rent. His lease is up at the end of January, it wasn't renewed, the building has been sold. He currently lives three blocks from me and the closest place he can find is a five-minute drive away, closer to twenty blocks and he wasn't keen on being that far.

So cue the fight of the day and we wash our hands of each other. He's getting too old for this, he'll just write me off before he'll back down or indulge in any kind of headgames.

Good. I love him and so I backpedaled all the way to the start.

I asked him to come and live here, with us. That we would draw up an agreement and have it approved by both lawyers and he could be my tenant and the rent that he pays would not only be cheap but it would become the house fund, so repairs or improvements would be paid for out of that and I'd reap some of the benefits of this huge house.

It's a perfect solution, since the guestroom has a bathroom across the hall, has it's own entrance, the side door, and I can close off that whole wing and lock the door at the end of the hall to secure the house. He'll have a key for the side door. He'll have everything he needs, though I seriously doubt I'll be locking the door. I've thought about that for a while now. It doesn't need to be locked anymore. Not with Ben. I do trust him, in spite of my words. I have for a long time now.

I get a live-in companion. He could have his meals with us or not. He can use the washer/dryer and just about anything else his heart desires and I don't have to sit for hours with the guys drawing up a schedule of who gets what night. It takes the pressure off.

It eliminates Monday fights.

It proves trust. In the event that something wonderful happens down the road we don't have to make any huge changes. It gives us both something we want-stability for Ben, and assurances of my faith in him, and companionship for me but a little privacy too, as his own space means he won't spend all his time waiting and watching.

It takes a tiny little bit of time away from the other guys. That's been a bone of contention. He wanted more time and we couldn't figure out how to pull it off and going back and forth is hard, especially in the winter. Especially when everyone is so tense.

He's at his apartment right now. Packing. He and PJ will be back later tonight with most of his things.

I'm really excited. And really tired. What a long day. If none of this makes any sense forgive me.

Joel and I walked Butterfield on the ice today, around and around the outdoor rink. Butters digs in and pulls me around, all I have to do is set my center of gravity just so, so that I won't get pulled off my feet and I bend my knees and get a hell of a fun ride.

Joel thinks that everything is fucked up. He never has anything new to say anymore.

I'm considering moving and just starting over somewhere where no one knows me. Meet someone who knows nothing about me, maybe in the witness protection program. A new name, a new life. A new start without all this. And go back to not saying a word and not listening and not doing much of anything, quietly and somberly, the way I spent my first thirty-five or so years.

Except that everyone would find me. Christ, it took you guys a whole four hours to find that goddamned Flickr page that Ben said he took down and didn't. You guys are relentless. And every time I think I can trust Ben one hundred percent he lies to me.

I can't disappear. It's too late for that. It's too late for everything and whatever brief respite that comes is gone before I can savor it and I'm tired. And THIS is the self-destruction that results, at least it brings feeling of some kind.

Off to therapy, a perfect chance for them to see precisely how un-pulled-together I can really be.

Numbly so.

    Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
    Relax, turn around and take my hand.

    I can help you change tired moments into pleasure.
    Say the word and we'll be well upon our way.
    Blend and balance pain and comfort
    Deep within you until you will not want me any other way.

    But it's not enough.
    I need more.
    Nothing seems to satisfy.
    I said, I don't want it.
    I just need it.
    To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

There are a lot of things in this world that don't make any sense.

And then there is Tool.

I'm going to ignore Caleb and not write about him, as so many of you have suggested now. There isn't a judge left in this city who would grant an order of protection against him now, since I went to him willingly and I take his calls because I'm a masochist and a curious one at that, but I'm not afraid of him in that way. Mentally, maybe but never physically. He wouldn't touch his niece or nephew and the guys have gone out of their collective ways to remind me that they can take care of themselves. I know they can, they shouldn't be in a position where they have to.

Thank you for the emails so far, though sadly it's an experiment I'll never repeat again. You've been kind and beautiful and almost completely unanimous. You sound like everyone here. My cheering squad just grew and I have no idea what I ever did to deserve such beautiful surroundings.

I fear I might have been one of the few holdouts.

I'm going to give you an excerpt from one letter received Sunday morning, very early.


    Dear Bridget,

    You've already gone to great lengths to point out you love him. You've known each other for years. You've fought over stupid things with him but you made up easily. You two are more alike than anyone else you know. He would die for you, he's already proven himself to be protector of your heart. He looks out for you without a single thought as to what might be in it for him. He doesn't try to trick you, making sure that you're aware of his feelings without smothering you with them. He's hurt by the way you pass him over sometimes but he gets over it and aside from one incredibly stupid drunk action that you already forgave him for, he won't hurt you. Ever. Except with a rant because you're so damn frustrating. You should really let him grow on you.

    And he makes really good scallops in linguini if you're up for that for dinner tonight. Oh, and he is soon to be homeless and wants to know if you'll take in a boarder. Oh and he loves the kids as if they were his but of course they aren't because no one has the same glorious plain brown hair/brown eyes thing happening. Oh, and he'll try and stop being so clumsy. Oh and really you should share all the other stuff you leave out so that people see how cool he really is.

    Because I love you even though you're a little pain in the ass.

    Ben
It's sort of like he gave his own closing arguments at a trial, isn't it? Of course it does, because loving me is obviously some sort of death sentence.

Fear nothing.

(Bar the door, PJ. It's all gone to hell.)

A very interesting email came today. Not to me, though.

This one was from Caleb to Ben, offering Ben an incredibly lucrative job, an advancement over what he does now in accounting (by day, mind you), a letter that would buy him a free pass out of the prairies and he would only be beholden to Caleb in some way or another for the rest of his natural life.

Caleb, who first finds your weaknesses and then uses them to destroy you. It's how things are done in his world. This letter went on to say that Ben should cut his losses and just go, that he is not worthy of me, that I am out of his league and I will never get out of my own way for a 'nobody' like him and that he can have anything his heart desires where Caleb is, that Caleb will personally see to it that Ben's life out there surpasses any life he could have hoped to build here.

That Ben will forget me and all the heartache I have caused him.

That if he doesn't go, a veiled threat was made, to be very incredibly aware that Ben swimming in waters with sharks, that I belong to Caleb and anyone who fucks with that is playing with fire.

In spite of Ben's assurances that Caleb can't touch us, that I'm safe as long as I stay away from him, that he's only a guy with a big ego and some good connections, we can just ignore him and continue on, I shook my head.

Caleb originally called Ben to come get me from his hotel room not because Ben is my best friend and he knew he'd look after me while I was fucked up and high but because Caleb mistakenly assumed Ben would help him cover it up. He thought I would be too ashamed to write about it, let alone talk about it.

His ego won't allow for any sort of rationality at this point. His brother's death has become his ax to grind and his sister-in-law is the wheel. His own perversions will supersede any common sense I thought he had left.

He called me a little while ago and told me he could easily take Ben and eliminate him, dangle Ben's favorite forbidden vices in front of him and Ben would soon cave in and then when Ben is ruined and long gone I'll only have Caleb left and if I just maintain the status quo then I can have my cake and eat it too. That I can keep Ben as my friend, at arms' length and Caleb gets to do whatever it is that Caleb does, namely destroy Bridget for kicks. After he's done licking her all over, that is.

I think my choice has been made for me. It's just a door, guys. You can't stop him, and I won't give him Ben.

A request for your thoughts, if I may.

Hi. This post is probably going to be a mistake but hey, aren't they all?

I'm still here. I'm cold. It's cold in here. I turned the heat down and my hand is throbbing tonight even though it's faded to a lovely pinkish-red blotch where Joel's pen went in and I'm a little sick to my stomach and tired but doing pretty well and really, there's no rhyme or reason to my posting anymore, so you get some extra thoughts at some strange hours.

My apologies if you can't keep up with the volume. Sometimes it can't be helped. Sometimes I'm lonely and I feel like talking but I don't want replies.

And sometimes I do want replies. If you can swallow any more of my dumb replies to your emails, I'd like to poll this jury of readers I have collected.

Answer honestly for me and I'll share a lot more. What do you think of Ben? Am I crazy to want to be with someone so soon? Is it this normal to be afraid to be alone? Is my confusion warranted or should I have a better handle on my own life?

I have been alone but not alone for almost eleven weeks now. Not long at all with regards to my heart but an eternity inside my head. No one here has been any help at all with answers.

No one is objective. And it's such a popular subject these days.

Tell me what you think, and I'll tell you what he says. It might surprise you. And no he won't mind this post. He's sleeping in the guest room downstairs and yeah, the door is still locked.

An update.

I'm home. I'm okay. I get to skip a few pills and rest for a while, my blood pressure was elevated, as were my blood levels and so yes, I need to drink more water and look after myself better. Even when I'm being looked after just wonderfully there are things I need to do that I get lackadaisical about. Ben has harangued me suitably for it, no worries. Overall I am doing well health-wise and surprisingly well emotionally.

Ironic.

The best news of the morning wasn't that I'm okay or that I could reschedule family therapy for later on today. No, the best news?

123 pounds.

Me.

Hahaha.

Canceling therapy due to opening my mouth after being up but not talking to say good morning and slurring it just a little too much. Headed downtown for a blood test instead. I haven't had enough water this week. Will update later. Don't worry. I'm okay.

Setbacks are normal.

This disheartening feeling, normal. Yeah.

Spookyscopes.

    Good times, bad times,
    You know I had my share
    When my woman left home
    With a brown eyed man,
    Well, I still don't seem to care.

Friday night. Godsmack on the stereo. Ice water in tall glasses and a damned good book to read. Ben is on his phone with PJ, who is stuck somewhere, I have no idea, I don't read lips but he was driving back and never appeared and seems to be somewhere in Ontario maybe? August is emailing me horoscopes every ten minutes and Joel called once. Really, it's a lovely super-down quiet night.

Here, have a look at this total spookiness:

    Sagittarius and Taurus:

    Taurus sees an adventure in Sagittarius. These two signs will party, play and be very good friends. There is much to be learned from one another. They will have similar ideas and share common goals. Sagittarius will be instantly attracted to sensual Taurus. Taurus will stick with Sagittarius in sickness and in health. Sagittarius will feel at home with Taurus. Taurus will find Sagittarius independence very attractive. This is a highly rewarding combination that has both long and short term potential. Before they know it, they could fall madly in love. Taurus is serious and sensual. Sagittarius considers Taurus a keeper and friendship will be evident long after the attraction has ended. You will learn more about yourselves in this relationship. Itís worth the insight.

For the record, I'm a Taurus, Ben is a Sagittarius. His birthday was December 2nd. He's not 36 though. He's 39.

No, THIS is Sparta.

See, that's one of the problems. If I begin to tip-toe around my own life for fear of offending anyone, I go back to square one. If I make a stand and choose who I want to spend time with, who gets to take which child out for what fun, who gets my attentions and who become godfathers, feelings are hurt.

At the end of the day it is not lost on me that these guys fancy themselves warriors from the middle ages. Fighting for their way of life, and infighting over perceived atrocities. Putting their women on pedestals and trying to be too tough and too fierce to let anything under their skins. They want food, lots of physical activity and a warm woman in their bed at night. They don't want to be nagged or bothered or hindered by complications. They joke around a lot but mostly they have forged a brotherhood that has withstood just about everything that has been thrown at it and it means everything to them.

Instead of a queen, they fight in the name of their princess. Instead of leather garments and armor they were jeans. Instead of swords they use fists to conquer their enemies and awful words exchanged with fervor and instead of sending word via messengers they use their blackberries. Few of them ever shave and their horses are metal, trucks in the winter. You hear them coming from the bottom step and as a group they are impenetrable.

They have a war cry, a secret handshake (shhhhh) and devotion. They have a creed. They have honor. They, so they have told me, have better bodies than the painted-on muscles of the guys in 300. I've seen most of them, I can vouch for that.

They have heart.

But I won't stand for being the one thing that divides them. They tell me I can't, it won't, but I do and it has. A million times over, every last argument and problem and concern has been because of me.

Humble apologies for the hurt that I have caused.

(Thursdays at five, Ben shows up and stays with us for three days straight. It's wonderful.)

Oh. Well, just shit.

I hit a nerve. I hit several.

Way back when I started writing this journal, Ben started reading it with a vested interest. He left comments, dissected my entries and began his own blog, which he stopped using and all but erased after writing some less than stellar entries about me and getting grief for it, most likely in retaliation for me writing about him. I closed my comments. He took down his Flickr account too. It was just easier to write without the immediate feedback and without pictures of me all over the web. Sometimes I don't feel very self-assured. I even check the email for the site only when I feel like I won't be skinned alive for what I've put down here. I don't talk about this place with my friends. They read, they usually keep their feelings about it to themselves.

And it didn't seem to matter what I shared over the past two years. I kept a lot private though. Mostly for Ben's own privacy issues and some because, contrary to popular belief, my life isn't an open book. You don't know the half of it. All of it I hid under the guise of his double life. So he could have a quiet life when he is home and not on the road.

In any event, he's never had a problem with my honesty or my verbal spillage until tonight, when he reads that he 'gets to play Dad without recourse or responsibility', which he took as a full-on insult, personally. That he plays with our lives and doesn't have to answer for it. That he might be shallow or flippant and not interested in an investment.

Ben would now like me to tell the internet that he most definitely will take on whatever responsibilities we can throw at him and he will gladly be on the hook. In his world, there is much recourse and he wants it. Greedily so, but he's been very good with not pressuring me and I've been REALLY FREAKING GREAT at not molesting Christian and Joel in return.

Yeah. What a pair.

In any event, should I pass his involvement off as lightweight any time ever again, his Flickr account goes back up. It's extortion of a different kind, though I pointed out I don't want to see pictures from dinners and barbecues and sports events and camping trips. I don't want to see Jacob smiling and happy. Or me, for that matter.

Ben corrects me still and reminds me of the wardrobe malfunctions, the epic number of sticking-my-tongue-out replies to his request for photos and the few truly awful candids he feels belong on the internet for all to see.

I'm doomed.

So, yes, this is my convoluted apology and my comeuppance, all rolled into one bedtime snack of crow. I spoke out of turn. These boys are gold and I never forget it for a second. Ever. I would be lost without them. Possibly dead but I'll get shit on for saying that, so I'll just say thank you instead.

And that it goes both ways. If I had a nickel for every photo I took of a drunken Ben I'd be...well, just nevermind. His account stays empty and I will never cheapen their roles in our lives again.

Let there be more light. And more words.

Of course there's more. I'm so unsettled this morning. I stopped running. I've got nowhere to put all this endless energy and yet to look at me you'd tell me to go lie down, that I look worn out.

I did finish replying to all the emails here. And I'm sorry, I couldn't write a decent email to save my soul. They're just awkward and cold somehow. Kind of like Bridget.

What pisses me off is to watch the kids with the boys. They gravitate to them for odd things, like bedtime stories, help with piano practice or sledding. Help opening boxes or building Lego. Talk over cookies. Not even deep talks, just random stream of consciousness-type conversations about harmonicas and marshmallows, or about school and the weather. They crave male influence almost as much as I do. Part of me wants to be everything for them now and the other part smartly knows I never will be, that I can't be.

Every night they ask me if whoever is here can put them to bed, tuck them in and start their music boxes and leave their doors cracked open just so the nightlight in the hall spills in enough to keep them from fearing the dark. Every night I say yes and Joel or Chris or Ben or John or August or whoever is here takes the most important and solemn of honorable tasks and sends them off in comfort to their dreams, playing dad with no recourse or responsibility.

I don't know why it makes me angry but it does. It's one thing for me to deal with all of this, some that I caused, some that I didn't, but for the kids to have to manage life in a quiet uproar, missing people they loved so much, well, it just isn't fair.

Blue velvet and Becel.

In my early twenties I wore blue velvet for it's cachet.

Sometimes in black comedy movies, there will be a predictable scene where the heroine will be standing in a crowd and she'll throw back her head and scream up to the heavens in frustration while the camera spirals out to show she's just one fish in the sea. Cue laughter, segue into next frame.

I reached that point over the past few days.

I have a cheering section. They're wanting me to go and be happy. I'd like to go and be happy but HELLO, I have this cloud hanging over me that won't go away any time soon. I'm still using the new tub of margarine Jake opened before he died and I'm weirdly skimming the edges. There's a tower of margarine in the middle from where he stuck his knife right in, leaving whole wheat crumbs in it, buttering bread for Henry.

That's dumb. A monument that will soon be used up, though I'll probably just throw it away.

Sleeping in shirts owned by the dead. Living for nothing, blind to a future I can't conjure up in my head no matter how hard I try.

And this. This weird pressure that no one is going to be shocked or sad or disappointed if I step out of my mourning clothes and come back to life and it's a heavy burden. It's a leap I have no courage to make right now and they pat my head and tell me I should just do it anyway and one withdraws into himself and bites his tongue so as not to have an opinion at all even though I squeezed one out of him anyway and it wasn't so bad after all.

I went back to therapy this morning. I sat in the chair and drank their institutional-tasting coffee and we caught up, beginning with how the holidays went and I mostly talked about how leaving the house was better than staying in it and how much of my life is currently conducted around what people might think and why, at this point, I would even care.

I don't. Somehow in the past year I was conditioned to behave in the way a...a...a...minister's wife would behave. Proper. But I've always been proper, because of the way I wanted to be perceived. A cold and high-strung girl who made the right apologies and wrote thank you notes and helped out without being asked and inside was this completely depraved creature who wouldn't know proper if it throttled her breathless.

I managed to separate them even though they'd like to be together and finally when I couldn't name a single person or reason for not giving myself permission to have something I want I realized that maybe it's because I get to call the shots and I'm not ready to give that up quite yet. I was corrected quickly. The submissiveness remains. I pass the reins over without question, I mostly do what I'm told. Sweetly deferring. Always so sweetly so as not to hurt feelings.

Still.

And my mourning clothes are not black.

Instead I wear navy blue, a hue that sucks the sunlight right out of the sky. A hue that makes my eyes wash out and turns my hair to spun gold. A color I was assigned as a child when people died and my brown-haired sister wore black. Blondes had to wear dark blue, because black would wash me out. That was the way it was done.

I have a blue velvet hair ribbon that I tied around my ponytail hastily when Cole died, to cover a pink elastic. When I picked it up again when Jacob died it was still kinked in the middle. Not enough time. I didn't get enough time. I don't want the stupid ribbon.

I have work to do.

I cannot talk about it anymore.

Better than paying people to listen to me.

Yesterday I kept charge of two adults, an eight year old, a six year old, a fourteen-month old and a newborn, just this side of four weeks old. The adults were sent home early for infighting, because they kept raising their voices and I refused to let their quiet tension cut through a house full of happy children.

Gabe and Hope were special visitors, with me through the afternoon and into the evening while their parents all enjoyed a little adult visiting time and a dinner out on my urging. Plus it was the first time I've laid eyes on Hope and I wasn't about to let her go until I had sufficient chance to enjoy spending some time with her. She looks like Keira, save for one wild strawberry-blonde curl on top of her head. She mostly slept sweetly and I fed her one bottle and rocked her a bit but she was never awake for long. Gabe on the other hand is walking now, and wanted to run around the house chasing the cat, chasing Henry, touching the baby and anything else he could put his little hands on, and he was fast. I think it took me close to two hours to un-babyproof last night but it was worth it.

Keira and Loch are happy. It's so wonderful I can't even describe it.

I had so much fun. It was a nice break from the usual routine of Being a Widow. In which people come and go briefly but often, checking to see how I am, what I need, and then drifting away again while the darkness crowds back in close. This was like a break. A lungful of air.

When they came back I got a lovely dose of Lochlogic too, something he saves up and unleashes on his poor unsuspecting victims when he wants to make a point and drive it home.

More approval. More confirmations. Solid green lights at every intersection and the road ahead is straight and clear. I asked him why and he said the one person who grew up first, who went and straightened out his shit and came out okay first was Ben. That Ben saw through Jacob first and tried to tell me and I didn't listen and maybe he's less carefree and sees a lot more than people ever gave him credit for. Ben had repeatedly told me Jacob was a control freak, that he was pulling strings I didn't know I had but I was so blind to Jacob's flaws I pushed Ben out of my life but he wouldn't go. He self-destructed under the pressure instead but instead of running away he lingered around the edges while pulling himself back together again.

Looking back over the past week it makes perfect sense to me.

Before they left Loch had one final observation to make. He asked me to consider the idea that maybe my life isn't completely derailed. That maybe Jacob was a detour and it turned out to be a dead end. That maybe I wasn't on the path that was chosen for me and I could find my way back and get on it at any time. That my life was waiting for me as soon as I am willing to get back on the right road, if it isnt the road I started on, with Lochlan.

So far I hadn't considered that possibility at all. I didn't want to. I didn't want to trivialize or minimize Jacob's impact on me or his meaning to me. I won't reduce him.

Loch grimaced, and had one final wisdom that he tossed out and left hanging in front of me, so that I wouldn't forget it.

That's the problem, Bridget. You built him up so big that no one could ever compare to Jacob in life. And now you're doing it in death. He was just a man. He was flawed and he hurt you probably more than Cole ever could, in a way that will forever be harder to forget. Don't give him any more credit. Just don't.

It was something I needed to hear.

Babies to hold, lullabies to sing.

Posting resumes tomorrow. So many stories to tell but all of it will have to wait. I have Hope and Gabriel here right now and things are a little hectic. Happy New Year nonetheless.

One final bonus post to kiss this year goodbye.

I shall save you all the drama and just point out that after refusing multiple invitations I couldn't have accepted even if I wanted to, made by those who knew I couldn't accept them but still extended courtesies, we'll just say that Ben is here, he brought Thai food and cake and some sort of non-alcoholic sparkly drink that begins with a number and ends with optimism (that Ruth adores and is hardly ever allowed to have) and we're going to have movie night and then after the kids go to bed we'll break out the whores and liquor.

Of course I'm kidding. If I can't laugh at this point then there is no point.

Happy end of 2007. This might be the first year I don't cry.

Again, kidding.

Poor Ben. He obviously drew the short straw.

Nefarious Rex, Dinosaur Princess.

A year ago, I made a wish for a year that was pain-free, and I threw out a cheeky, offhand comment that in 365 days I would have my answer, if it did turn out to be that.

Today is the final day and I didn't get that wish. I didn't get it in spades, instead surviving the worst year of my life.

But I am still here. Blink twice, pinch yourself. Nope. STILL HERE.

Go, me. Go, Bridget.

The stands are empty today. Everyone's getting ready to celebrate. I have different plans for tonight.

I'm sitting on the floor with a pound of determination, an ounce of courage and a dribbly little thimble full of moxie and I'm gluing the pieces of me back together. It's painstaking work, my arms are aching and I've only just started. I see that a few pieces are missing, and the rest are scratched and chipped but when put together I know you won't be able to notice a thing.

I have until midnight.

Happy New Year to you and yours. May it be everything you wish for and more.

Snowblind.

Nolan had a black cowboy hat that one of his adult sons used to wear around the farm and he gave it to Ben to wear on the ride yesterday morning. Ben hasn't taken it off since.

Damn, I wish he would. I have a weakness for cowboy hats.

He looks good.

Maybe a little too good.

I am so confused. I've been doing a lot of ignoring, pushing away, avoiding and all kinds of other stupid things because I don't want him to wait for me. I'm not ready for anything. I don't think I'll ever be ready. I've been pawning myself off happily on Christian for affection and Christian is happy to oblige. Only Ben is not so happy with that, having come to sit with me last evening and when I got up to get Henry a drink I never came back.

Awkward. The whole thing is awkward and I don't know if I want him to be there waiting on the other side or not. I don't know what to do.

This morning? A little less awkward but not by much as he gave me a wicked grin and ordered me not to make plans after lunch, that he and I are going for a walk in the woods. To talk.

It'd be way easier without the damned hat.

Of course, I still have Jacob's hat, kept for Henry to wear so what do I know?

Horse latitudes.

We're at Nolan's in case you need us.

Nolan has a hobby farm outside the city, complete with horses, snowmobiles and enough peace and quiet to make me want to stay here forever. Ben has been tinkering with the motorcycles a bit since they are stored here in the winter now. I don't think I've seen Christian or Mark since we got here, they're off snowmobiling. Nolan is a widower. He's in his late sixties (?) and we seem to have a lot in common. He and Jacob met a few years ago when Nolan did some work for Jake as a contractor but I didn't meet him until this fall when Jacob told me the bikes would be stored here.

Nolan called before Christmas and said we should come out, that there was plenty to do and he would love a little holiday company. I doubt he expected four adults and two children so I called and he asked if I remembered the big house. He said it had six bedrooms so just bring everyone and we'd find places.

The kids and I have the coolest room ever. There are antlers on the wall. I don't know if they are real because oooog, I won't be touching them. There's a fireplace and a view of the land that doesn't contain a single power line or road. The guy's rooms are equally neat. The great room and the kitchen are the heart of this house, I could live here forever.

Except for one thing. I'm afraid of the horses. They're huge.

Which is going to make my day interesting. Since I'm leaving now to go riding.

I know. Me. On a horse. First time in ages. Hold your breath.

And try not to laugh.

Self. Destruct.

This subject is no longer off limits. Because he is continuing his madness, and because I no longer care who knows. I'm not the CFO with everything to lose, now, am I? The people who matter have forgiven me and I can't help the rest of you. Don't judge me until you've lost everything you ever wanted.

I'm taking Caleb's attempt at extortion (and slavery) and blowing it wide open. He's not aware of the depths to which my friendships run and how close we all are. And so I told them what happened. It softened them, because they know how destructive I can be when I hurt and they're just relieved I came out of it in one piece.

If you can call it that.

Caleb contacted me with his rare smug brand of formal condolences the day after I found out about Jacob. Caleb, as always, took that as an opportunity and created some business that he absolutely had to be in town for and showed up before sunrise on the red-eye. As soon as Joel took his eyes off me after breakfast I took off. I wanted to show everyone that I was in charge and I wasn't going to take orders from anyone. I had no confidence in what I was doing until I was standing in front of Caleb's hotel room door.

Well, well, if it isn't the princess. Where are all those knights who are supposed to protect you from me?

I just shook my head and stood my ground, tears spilling down my cheeks. He knew I was alone or I wouldn't be there. He clucked and said it was a shame. And then he asked what I expected from him.

Make the pain stop.

He smiled.

Oh, but princess, there's only a couple of ways I can get you to where it won't hurt anymore.

Please.

What do I get in return for making you feel better?

It was 48 hours later that Caleb called Ben and told him there was baggage to be picked up. As in, come and get her, I'm through. Flaunting his treasures to Ben who had so briefly looked up to Caleb.

Caleb had left instructions for Ben to be let in and went off to his meetings. Ben burst into the room and found me vaguely unresponsive, naked, bruised, covered with bite marks and dusted head to toe. Dipped in Caleb's toxic icing sugar. It coated my eyelashes, my fingertips. I had headphones on, the stereo turned up so loud, if my hearing wasn't already damaged it would have been. Ben tried to pick me up and was hit with everything at once. I wasn't dressed. A black satin ribbon was still knotted on one wrist. I wasn't coherent.

He found my clothes and gingerly dressed me as I half-slept in a stupor. He forced my lids open, didn't like what he saw and took me out of there, bundled in his jacket, not really walking, a foot off the floor. I don't remember any of it. He wanted me to talk to Jason (a police officer) formally at the very least and I refused.

I went to Caleb willingly looking for an escape from the pain I knew only he could provide. I let him put needles in me. Repeatedly. I let him do whatever he wanted to me. Every time it wore off and I would become afraid or start to cry, he would give me more. And after two days he got bored with the game.

After that arrangements were made to have me flown back to the same posh retreat I just came out of to detox and to be safe. I slept for the first four days and then didn't speak for the next three.

Joel arrived on day four and told me how the kids were and asked me if I was going to break my promises to them too, and that's when I spoke again. That's when I realized that it was time to stop expecting everyone to pick up the pieces for me. I had to gather them together myself, and hold them and when the time is right I will glue them back together.

Caleb came to see me while I was there, and told me what a great time he had with me.

He told me he had wanted to do that for a while now, since we cut off his access to me after Henry was born.

I swore at him but he just laughed and told me he was happy to give me a reminder of Cole and happy to help ease the pain. He told me he'd see me at Christmas and to pass his best wishes along to Ben.

He also gave me a DVD in case I had forgotten the good parts. That was a warning not to slander him, that copies could be sent to everyone I loved but really, I don't care and neither do they. He could put it on the six o'clock news, I wouldn't even flinch at this point.

The clearest thing I remember after he shot me up the fourth time in two days was that he told me I belonged to he and his brother again, and that that was good. That I belonged in the family. That he would look after me.

He said I would be his plaything, that when he comes to the city he'll expect me to be there for his enjoyment and otherwise my friends get my DVD. Best porn they'll ever see and then when I only have him left I'll see what an easy arrangement it would have been and so not to fuck with him.

He underestimated all of us. I told them all what really happened (the painful, unsanitized version) and they closed the circle because they love me more than they hate my mistakes. Caleb can never touch me again.

He arrives today.

I won't be here.

I'd like a way out now please. Oh, please. Just make this stop.

Draw.

I suppose some days I should just skip posting but people seem to want to know how I feel.

Fine. Here's the mess, YOU untangle it.

Today I feel hollow and cold and alone despite being surrounded and wounded and bitter and the anger leaves at a pace that agonizes and fights and claws my insides. Far too slowly it's being replaced with a despair I am loathe to acknowledge. At some point I'm going to be forced to move along now, nothing to see here.

I'm not ready.

I'm not ready for life. I'm not ready for the world to present itself to me, I'm not ready to let go of something I worked so damn hard for. It's as if since he wanted me to crash, he wanted to be everything and make me weaker so that he could be stronger and my life with him is to now be cast aside as a shameful secret to be swept quickly under a new rug that we'll just lay down on top of the dirty floor and pretend they don't see the dust, the years of life they are quick to condemn.

I'm angry at myself for not seeing more than I what I saw and yet how could I see past the man he presented to me? He was too busy finding my focus for me, making himself perfect so that I would never know. Why didn't I know? Why did I go against every last tiny piece of advice on not to take flight with a bird who had issues and was the last man on earth anyone expected me to be with?

What would have been so wrong with that life and why did he have to do this?

Hindsight is just another blindfold today. I don't know any more now than I did a month ago, let alone a year ago. I'm not wiser, tougher or better equipped. I'm not better off, by any means, and I'm not different in the ways I should have been different. I only feel as though I briefly stepped into a fairy tale, tasted happily ever after and then suddenly the chef decided it wouldn't be on the menu after all and ushered me out and slammed the door in my face.

The closed sign went up and when the shock wore off it's clear that I still haven't had a damned thing. I look up and down and everything is boarded up. A vacant ghost town stares back at me as if I am the one to rejuvenate it's once lively streets. I can't. I wouldn't know how to begin.

It won't be today.

You wanted a fucking barometer, there. Take it and be sorry you asked. Most days are not good. Most days just opening my damned eyes is hard. Most days I want to shoot myself in the head just for a different kind of pain than this one.

Most days, I don't have a gun. Some ghost town this is.

A Tuesday out of the ordinary.

This morning was dark and snowy and warm and softly lit in blues and icy whites. A collective clatter of excitement rose up over glitter tattoo airbrush kits and tin space shuttle sets and crisp Harry Potter paperbacks, the spines crying out to be cracked and broken with curiosity.

Stockings were stuffed to capacity and the living room is the usual holiday war-zone of wrapping paper, packaging and tags that failed to connect the givers to the givees no matter how hard I tried, giving up early on in the chaos.

It would have been a perfect Christmas. I'll just say that it was wonderful and touching and comfortable, instead. Santa and his elves were very very good to the kids and I.

Merry Christmas to you and yours, may it be filled with happiness and peace, glitter tattoos and many little dudes in space suits, all over the floor.

If you need me, I'll be over in the corner playing Oblivion and eating candy canes until I throw up. Ben thought that was the Coolest Idea Ever but I was kidding. We have rounds to make, out there in the cold.

Enjoy the day. Enjoy your loved ones. Take a deep breath and remember this.

Oh, just WOW.

The moment I sat down this morning with juice, planning to read the paper while the kids pretended they weren't looking for breaches in the guy's present-wrapping jobs, there was a loud, excited knock on the front door.

I figured maybe it was FedEx with a last-minute gift.

It was not.

It was Ben.

Home.

Not snowboarding. Not catching up with his brother and his brother's partner's family. Not having a wonderful vacation.

I came back for you guys, if you'll have me.

Alone in the city of lights.

I went to see Santa yesterday. I told him I would like a crystal ball for Christmas. He said he would see what he could do, but that kind of magic might be beyond his workshop means. I told him it was okay, that really I just wanted my kids to be happy and he looked at them and assured me they were. I got a hug and a candy cane, though, so it wasn't a total loss.

Should I take the Santa-for-hire at his word? Or stay up Monday night and see if I can query the real deal?

All the guys are gone now, having made plans long before Jacob made his, further cemented when I made initial plans to go with Ben, and now left here in town are Sam and Lisabeth and John, the only true westerner in the group. Everyone else has flown or driven out for the holidays, to see their grandparents and extended families. I had so many offers to cancel if I said the word but I held my tongue-they need to go, they need to have fun and not babysit me and not worry.

Besides, I'm an adult. I have cash in my bag and a truck full of gas and a plow on standbye and neighbors and Sam for emergencies and John said he can be here in three minutes should I need him and the house is again FULL of food and presents and we have lots of wood and...

...somehow I have managed to equate the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ with the apocalypse. Which means I need more sleep. I should have asked Santa for that instead.

Three sleeps til Santa.

This morning I woke up, flipped the switch to turn the world off auto-pilot and grabbed the planet with both hands, pulling hard, pulling it back onto my axis, picking an angle I wanted, and then giving it a good hard spin.

Granted, it might be a little wobbly but it seems to be working...

I need to go buy groceries and get the kids' gifts today. I have help in John, who pointed out the 10 feet of snow we got last night may make driving tough once there are more people about and so if I just tilt the planet down a little I can just slide down to the mall and then I'll give it a kick and it will slide me back into the driveway when I'm finished. I hope it works.

I am also coming down with a cold.

And Ben has gone. I took him to the airport this morning (slowly, the roads are bad). and nothing in life had visibly changed, but I noticed he was tightly gripping his piece of my heart and I must still have a tiny piece inside somewhere that I missed.

Because it lurched again when we said goodbye.

Update: The leafs WON! Because I watched the game. Because I am all shopped out and needed to sit the heck down. Because I'm worn the heck out. Awesome. But the good news is the house is full of food and presents too, because I had a nice big list of things I wanted to get for the kids and I got every last thing on the list.

Because you can fill holes with shopping. Well, at least temporarily.

Running out of time.

It is an extraordinary feeling to wait in the darkness, as people did so long ago, for the longest night of the year to end.

Indeed.

If you're so inclined to count days like I do, this may interest you: there's a live webcast of the solstice at Newgrange in Ireland takes place tomorrow and Saturday morning as well.

I'll be watching. Since there won't be any solstice parties for me this year. How about you?

It's PJ's day and in between his ridiculous (and yet probable) plans to rule the world without ever moving out of his mother's house and the chocolate pie that he's determined to eat all of despite being told it's for dessert, my face hurts from smiling. Until I remember that I am, in fact, smiling and then my face falls and the clouds roll back in.

Therapy went very well, thanks for asking.

PJ also wanted to talk today. Everyone has gotten rid of their gruff, strong exteriors and have opened up quite lovingly. PJ wanted to talk about my plans and Jacob's plans and my plans for Jacob's plans and whether or not I wanted to run screaming from the room before or after his input.

His input surprised me. No one surprises me anymore. I think Jake pulled off the ultimate surprise and then some and I bet it was difficult. Though I think I loved and hated Cole an equal amount and would have wrapped my arms around him for a kiss all the while sticking a knife into his back had I had the strength.

Whatever. I don't deal with that. I don't think about anything save for missing Jacob. Oh and his convoluted, generous and incredibly hypocritical instructions for me in his absence. I wish I could say more, I just can't. I'm an incredibly slow learner when it comes to writing about things first when I should be going to people and telling them first instead. I think about that constantly.

This is about the elephant Jacob left for me.

PJ, always the last hold-out, has surprisingly given his blessing.

If you knew PJ, he's incredibly stoic in between the bites of pie. He takes nothing lightly, absolutely nothing. He's conservative and hesitant and thorough. He's the naysayer, the voice of caution in all things. You don't fuck with PJ. He'll tear you down and leave you bleeding. He's never wrong. He's never one to be impulsive. He won't impulsively choose an ice-cream flavor at the drive-in.

And he said Go for it.

The weirdest part is, I never asked for input and they all came and gave it anyway.

And I am all talked out today.

    I know you well.
    you are a part of me.
    I know you better than I know myself.
    I know you best,
    better than anyone.
    I know you better than I know myself.

The expected reception.

(This is an entry about courage. And elephants.)

I knocked on the door of his apartment and it opened before my hand fell to my side.

He was so happy to see me. He put his arms out and made a noise like a sob and then took me into a tight hold against him and rocked and rocked in the conclusion of some sort of chronic agony. He took my face in his hands, burning my hair with his cigarette and I asked him to put it down. He laughed and his eyes were glassy but the smile didn't leave his face even once.

It didn't leave his face as he offered me his last cigarette. I said no and reminded him he quit and he swore softly. He kissed me. Seventeen times. He couldn't sit still, he wouldn't shut up, he wouldn't listen to me when I told him why I was there.

He knew why I was there.

He had been wearing the same jeans for four days now. His boots were scuffed, his hair messed up, and he hadn't shaved at all recently. His eyes darted all over me and back again as he rubbed his face and then stood back up. He hadn't slept.

The kids.

They're with Chris.

You're really here. Jesus, Bridge. What have we been through?

Hell disguised as heaven, Benjamin.

Are you okay?

I will be.

I am learning that I can exist in a place where I can be with someone and feel nothing except companionship and safety and a very gentle sort of love and sometimes it's enough for me. For him it's enough too, it's enough that he has a place in my life neither of us thought he would ever fit into and I'm grateful that he is here for me. I'm grateful that he doesn't ask for more. I may never have more to give him but he'll still be here with me. Like he always is, no matter how hard I've tried to get rid of him and how much I always wanted him back.

Jacob asked me to do this in his letter and I fought so hard against it. I didn't understand it for a very long time, but I think I do now.

There are a lot of people out there who won't agree with this. Maybe the ones who have never met Bridget or Ben or even Jacob who will pass judgement without fully understanding this. I'm not looking for a replacement father for the kids. I'm not looking for a rebound guy to fill the giant hole left by Jacob. Ben is well aware that I don't love him like that, that my heart no longer exists and my every thought is consumed with memories and jabs of pain. He is well-aware that he is following in the footsteps of the greatest love ever and we're both aware that we could end our friendship if things don't go well. It's a risk we're both willing to take. A slow-moving risk, kind of like skiing away from a creeping avalanche.

An adventure embarked on by two grownups who are alone and don't want to be. It's a let's see how it goes, let's see if there's something there after all plan that doesn't include us going away for Christmas, I have decided to stay here. It doesn't involve us jumping into bed either. Because we don't need to. My ridiculous need for affection is well-supplied and frankly I'm not ready to be touched by someone else so overall very little will change for now.

For now.

Don't make me wait ten years for your heart, little bee.

Vegan heroes.

August is here. He's going to be the Official Nightkeeper of All Things Fragile and Princessy. I told him it's a bad plan, since every time he says a single word or walks through a room I am reminded of Jake. He is fair, with a beard and a lot of corduroy and hemp clothing on, he's wearing a simple strand of wooden beads and vegan shoes and everything that comes out of his mouth is colorful Americanized Newfiespeak.

I was gifted a few sleeping pills at the pharmacy this afternoon with instructions to go the hell to bed and sleep and I won't do it unless there is someone here who can be alert for the children, in case of an emergency.

No, I meant like fire or a flood or something. Or a nightmare. Or yes, a fragile and princessy moment, but I'm attempting to keep those to a bare minimum.

By not being awake for them.

Wish me luck.

Safer places.

(Hi. Crazy disclaimer. Proceed at your own risk. Words with musical accompaniment today. Enjoy.)

Where do you go to get away from ghosts?

    Bye, bye, it's been a sweet love.
    Though this feeling I can't change.
    But please don't take it badly,
    because Lord knows I'm to blame.
    But if I stay here with you girl,
    Things just couldn't be the same.
    Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
    And this bird you'll never change.

I missed one appointment and a dozen calls. The song was on repeat and turned up so loud in my headphones that when Joel finally found me at 6:17 am still sitting on the floor of the pantry that Jacob built and finished (A place for everything, he said), he came inside, shut the door, squeezed in beside me and started talking but I couldn't hear him at all. He could hear the music easily.

I was sitting and listening and rocking and crying and shaking and not being strong enough for fuck all.

Last night Ruth began to cry. Huge tears rolling down her face, she admitted she missed Jacob so bad but she didn't tell me because she didn't want me to get upset and leave again. I rocked her for hours until she fell asleep and my arms and my head ached. I went through the motions of strength and togetherness and somewhere after that I realized that the hugs I get are sanctioned but they aren't the same. There's no one here to be strong for me and why not and it isn't fair.

I knew when I put the song on that it would hurt. Jacob sang that song so much it became his calling card and I knew it would hurt. I wanted to see how much I could make it hurt and I didn't get so far before a battle began to take shape inside my head. The masochist versus the crazy girl who won't remember Jacob at all because she's too weak. That masochist likes it. She likes to hurt, she likes to take risks, she'll chew you up and spit you out. She is alone but she pulls the weakling around by the throat. It must look very comical.

Joel made a move to get up and I grabbed his hand and he paused and looked at me and then sat back down. He sat beside me until it got very light out around the edges of the door and when the song ended next he took my hand and squeezed it and then reached up and opened the door of the pantry. He got up and led me out into the kitchen and PJ and Ben and Chris were sitting there reading the paper in sections and drinking coffee.

For a few moments I was very scared that Joel was going to surprise me with another needle, another trip, another long stay away from everyone I love but he didn't. He told me they didn't have to do that unless I started screaming again. That's when they know I can't process another breath. He said I was simply moving to a new stage of grief and there can be nothing better than acknowledging Jacob's life and admitting I miss him. He said with time it will hurt less the more I do it.

I said I wanted it to hurt the same, because I don't want to get over him.

He nodded and gave me a quick squeeze and left for work. Ben got up and came over and put his arms around me and told me he brought duct tape and he can patch holes but he can't fix them and that I am loved. That I'm not alone. That he's so fucking tired from staring at the pantry all night and now he's going to work and I owe him SuperBig. I started to laugh and then cry again and he looked down and said he'd come back right after work if I wanted and that he was sorry for the shitty things he said to me. I didn't say anything and his frustration flashed and then he quashed it and kissed the top of my head and left.

PJ went and woke up the kids to get them organized for school and Chris told me to go get some sleep. That I should talk to Ben. That I didn't have to hide in a closet to be sad, that I didn't need to hide at all and that he was headed to the guest room to crash for a few hours and I could either curl up with him or go upstairs to my room and sleep but he didn't want to hear a peep until at least 2 pm.

I nodded and came upstairs but I can't sleep. I don't want to take anything. I'm worn out. Why can't I just sleep? I'm soon going to have to post warning signs in front of my face so people don't fall into the sunken black holes that pass for the beautiful green eyes I used to have.

And so they know that I've managed to take the person I gave all my love to and reduce him to a 9 minute anthem from 1973, the world's most perfect song.

Jacob would be so proud.

I hate the nights. If I stay up and just sit and type or read, would you be here? Would you stay with me?

Of course not. No one can. No one knows what this is like, no one could possibly fix this hole, it's on the inside and you can't see how huge it really is.

The love lives of the rich and famous.

Christian and I cleaned the whole house this morning. He played DJ and floor washer and I scrubbed woodwork and glass until my hand hurt too much and now the house shines. I'm just about ready for Christmas. I sent boxes of presents home to Nova Scotia and I have to figure out Christmas day (argh) and all that was left was to give the guys their presents otherwise.

Which were supposed to be surprises. (No worries, they were.)

Actually they were double-surprises. I gave them all adopted polar bears and the bike loan payouts were going to be random surprises discovered later on when their final payout confirmation statements came in the mail a week or two from now. I was trying to be sneaky.

Because they have gone so far above and beyond their friendship duties. They've let me spend hours crying on their shoulders and in their arms. I simply wanted to make their lives easier, the same way they've made mine easier. It goes both ways. I never wanted for much and financially I could do it and so I did.

My guys are touched to the point of adulation. I'd like to beat them all senseless.

Nothing. ever. changes. I love them all, so much.

Chris also asked me to help him go though matches he received from an online dating site he's trying out. I had three major feelings. One, God bless his heart, he's a huge catch and shouldn't have to venture into the unknowns of online hookups. Two, he needs this so bad. He's tired of being alone, tired of not having someone to call his own and not having much luck.

And three, that I can't be involved in any aspect of who he chooses to connect with. Only because between crushes and weird friendships and me being far too important to my friends to the point of their isolation from possible romantic encounters I need to step away from any sort of advice or input when it comes to him breaking away a little and finding his own happiness.

I can see what being tied to someone's approval and expectations gets. How it feels and it isn't fair to anyone and I have my fingers crossed so hard for Christian it's painful. He laughed and told me to not get my hopes up, and I was just happy he confided at all. I'd like us to find a nice line to draw somewhere that would be comfortable and keep him from having his life further messed up on account of me.

It kind of stings a little too. I didn't cause this but I became the cause of all of this and they won't let go any more than I will because too much time means we're too close and too selfish and too old to begin again and maybe we can take what we've got as friends and reshape it enough to let it flourish without suffocating anyone involved. I would love to have a group of friends that included a few girls that took the pressure off me being the center of the universe.

I know. I complain about things others might kill for. This isn't for me, this is for them. I love them so much, and so I'm trying to let them go (okay, but just a little). I want them all to be happy. I want to sign PJ up for this site so much now. Christian is still laughing about that.

It's a nice hope to find in the midst of polishing silver candlesticks and washing down baseboards. The thought that maybe Chris, PJ, Joel and Mark, even August could find loves to call their own, love for love's sake, on their terms, in their lives. Loch is doing it (look- I can be happy for him! Who knew?), they can too, right?

I have so much to look forward to today.

Metal for breakfast.

Well, shit.

Proving how really immature we are, Ben and I just wrapped up yet another blisteringly painful and uncharacteristically loud phone call in which he said cruelly that I was impossible to love but under his skin so far he wished at this point that he had never met me.

I saw his wager and raised him one, pointing out that he was going to sound very fucking ungrateful when he discovered that as his Christmas present I had paid off the loan for his brand new Victory motorcycle. The very same loan that he otherwise would have paid off somewhere around his forty-fifth birthday.

I think I won that round. Or maybe I didn't.

(*The title is an inside joke for the boys, who always say they have metal for breakfast when they ride their bikes to work and then get coffee there.)

Ownership issues.

In a nutshell, I'm too tired and too busy to still be dealing with this.

Ruth is doing better, she's mostly napping and munching on toast. Henry decided he was sick too until Joel came over with a remote control snowmobile to play with in the snow in the backyard. The boys are now out there making Butterfield go crazy.

I'm tired. Did I mention I was tired?

Too tired for Ben to be jealous that Joel is here, seeing as how today is a day off for Joel, just like Ben had Friday through Sunday off and I am lucky that everyone wants to spend their days off with us instead of somewhere fun. Not good enough for Ben, who tried to pull rank talking about the trip to Canmore and made too many assumptions and said some shitty things about Joel and I asked him to stop, I asked so quietly just for him to not go there for once and yeah well, it wouldn't be a new week if Ben and I could ever be on speaking terms for more than a few days at a time.

Especially since I already told him I didn't think we were going to join him for anti-Christmas. Not because I have issues with it but because everyone else seems to.

I need sleep. Sleep and peace of mind, a couple of healthy kids and a magic potion for curing imaginary jealousy. In a gallon spray bottle, if you will.