Waiting for the lilacs.

What have you done, Bridget?

I conjured up ghosts. My ghosts. I didn't do anything to you.

But you have, don't you see? They're my ghosts too. I have to live up to them. Surpass them.

I can't see right now. Come back later when I'm composed, okay? Please.

I'm afraid this can't wait.

You're afraid? What about me? If I knew I could do that before I wouldn't have wasted all this time.

So it was a waste. After all of this.

That's not what I mean and you know it. It was there all along, that's all.

Are you sure?

Completely.

So what happens next?

Nothing. It's done. But it's there and that's what I needed to know. Someone should have told me.

No one is as brave as you are sometimes. We didn't know.

Well, we know now, don't we, Benjamin? And I'm not brave, I'm just crazy.

The Hero of 1968.

So if you ain't lonely then why'd you let me in,
Pulling me from the wreckage?
And you smile-but smiling's just a phase
And I can't get caught in your forever.

I'm lying on the ancient, expensive studio carpeting, the kind you could lob grenades onto and you still might not hear the explosion, the kind that is dull beige and boring as all hell, mostly like the rest of this room with it's smoked reflective glass and polished wood and black equipment and few touches of art or style here and there that try to render it avant-garde and relevant. I'm not sure if relevance has had a place here since Ben was born, but he likes it because it means he's being productive. Actually, he is being produced, but still, potato-potahto.

And I know (because I can feel the vibrations in the floor ever so softly and you wouldn't feel them at all) that he is pacing behind the glass, like a caged lion.

Lochlan is sitting here with his hand on the small of my back and my children are with Satan because he thought he would entertain them with a webcam and his gigantic TV as monitor so they can say hi to his mother back home. She'll love it, they'll love it and I get a break or something, which is nice. But I promised I wouldn't talk about villains today. Only heroes.

This hero wears a big skull ring on his right hand, but never in public-public. In public (squared) he dresses just like all the kids who buy tickets to see the circus show when it comes to their town: jeans, t-shirt, sneakers. Unassuming. Just like you.

Oh, but not you, internet. You assume. That's okay. Open books spark dialogues and questions and curiosity and sometimes nothing is better than to have your interest stoked up and burning along at a lightning clip.

So you explain to me why Lochlan puddle-jumped his way back. Don't you usually? I create drama so that he will return? I cause things to go my way and pull him back into my orbit? I play games with his head and leave him unable to know for sure which place is home?

None of the above.

He loves me. Pure and simple. Or maybe it's desecrated, complicated. Dirty love. Mixed-up, tangled, broken and rusted love that should be tossed but it's kept and treasured and exploited for comfort, for sentimentality.

For sport.

Somewhere behind the glass the inherited hero plays a chord and hatches his plans. Somewhere behind the glass the hero seeks his own comfort in watching us. Somewhere behind the glass is my very own Jekyll and Hyde. A monster masquerading as a man.

At least that is the analysis of the villain. And we all know whose side he's on.

I'm done apologizing for my life. I don't need to answer to you, I only need to answer to them. And they have a strict Don't ask, don't tell policy firmly in place.

Fire Everything: texts from last night.

Okay, you win. I'm a convert.

HAHAHAHAHAHA

I'm sorry but he is so hot it's sick.

Kirk?

Nero.

The Romulan?

YES.

Bridget, you're impossible

When's the DVD come out?

That's Eric Bana.

It is not.

Yes.

Liar.

Truth. Hulk. Your lukewarm hunk. You called him a lunk.

No, I called him a lurmk. He's improved then. A whole lot.

I'll buy you a poster.

Awesome.

Should I let Ben know he has competition?

You know Eric's people?

Bridget.

I know. But DAMN. That movie was AWESOME.

Rockernauts.

Beautiful little bird,
I'll fix your broken wings.
I'll let you lie here till you
fly away from me.

Too many goodbyes this week. Too many things at once and too much upheaval and the flu caught up with me yesterday and I alternately vomited and cried through much of the day. Didn't I tell you I'm stupendously beautiful at all times? And you believed me. Not sure what that makes you, but I fear I might be more human than all other humans combined, in the purest of forms, because...

Because I don't have the fuck it gene.

That one ability to just let things go. Distract, roll it off. Fade out. I can't do that. I worry things to bits, leaving them bloody and on life support and then I can sweep them under my skirt and sit on them so no one sees how bad I have made it and sometimes, like yesterday they rip everything back and there is my mess and oh, goodness, Bridget, what have you done?

I just stood there with my hands behind my back and I shrugged. I don't know. I can't help it. It just happens and I've asked for help in fixing it and the help doesn't seem to work so I just flutter for now. I flutter in between the bloody mess and worry and the okay so-so's and try to make it work. Mostly I think I pull it off and then enough rockernauts take off and one more thing tips the balance and the universe that keeps my fuck it gene dangling far out of my reach tips away and I fall to the bottom.

I climbed up again. On the sun-side this time. No worries. I will just keep trying.

Good thing the 'nauts are tethered via boomerangs. I know they'll come back. It's still hard though.

The Nomad of Metropolis and other true stories.

Dalton's nickname is Teflon Jesus. Long story I won't tell today. But here's one I will tell instead.

Teflon Jesus sits back and picks up my cup, taking a sip while raising his eyebrows at me in question. I offer a belated nod and continue to let my legs swing, bare toes feeling along the light breeze while the sun bakes the top of my head. The balcony offers little shade, in spite of the heavy coating of ornate white wrought iron icing that decorates the front of the building Jesus lives in.

Jesus smiles and continues to tune his old guitar. I study him while he does it. Slight beard, long uncombed russet curls that gave birth to part of his nickname years ago. Threadbare red shirt and charming soft grin while he listens and adjusts and thinks up questions for me. I pick up the teacup from his side of the balcony railing and take another sip of the now-lukewarm green tea, and the soft wail of a crying baby fills my ears from somewhere below us in a building stacked with people who come and go almost as much as we seem to.

Jesus is one of Jacob's friends who travels extensively, one of his friends that he would press fifty dollars into a handshake for without a word and sleep easier knowing that Jesus would go and get some food and a good book to take on his next adventure, Jesus who doesn't think people should be confined indoors ever or in shoes, which is how he and Jake could see eye to eye and he frowns at my sandals discarded by the door.

He tells me that I'm young, that I should see the world, that I have seen a lot of the bad and it's time to go see the good. That I could go with him and we could hang out, I'll buy postcards and he'll spend all of his charm, buying girls with open rooms where he can get company and a hot shower and then make his heartbreaks and move to the next city, somehow marvelling that he has not had to purchase a hotel room to sleep in since the early part of this century and still his friends give him cash because he's the technical hobo of the group.

He asks me if I'm going to continue Jacob's traditions and I say no. He smiles again, broadly, for usually he just preaches, kind of like Jake and I listen, kind of like Bridget used to, but my world is different now.

Jesus is leaving for the summer and fall, heading down some other coasts to pick up girls and do the job he loves. He says the people are kind on the road and the weather never changes. I'm here to get the keys to his mailbox downtown and a raff of cheques and instructions so that he can sublet this beautiful place and make more money while he still does less work. I have four interviews this week to find a suitable renter. His requirements are few and it should be easy, like it is every year when he goes again.

If it wasn't for the spiral staircase made of iron that ascends to heaven, he would have given this apartment up years ago. It's cold, there is no water pressure and his kitchen is a five foot long one-piece unit with a three-quarter fridge, a chipped porcelain sink and a stove that works for lighting cigarettes and boiling water if you have the time, but not much else. I used to want to live here, but Jesus always told me I deserved better.

I take the envelope full of his important papers and wait for his arms to close around me, the scratchy hemp of his red shirt and the fresh honey smell of his hair invading my space long enough for one of his rare hugs and then he stops and puts his hand around mine. I look into his dark-pine eyes and he smiles.

Is Ben going to be okay?

Yes.

Good. I'll see you for Christmas?

You'd better. You haven't made it to a Christmas dinner in five years.

He smiles at the sun but says nothing, and within hours he is gone again.

My wife, she is scared of men with chocolate face.

All my life I've tried to be good
Or at least to myself
You did what you thought you should
But it hurt me like hell

The lack of sleep and plethora of cake and arms to hold me are going to do me in, you know that? Last night was AMAZING, but best of all was the cake that said Happy 18th birthday with a man in a speedo made of icing. On the cake. No, really. He was on the cake. Ruth would not eat any part of the picture of the man. I thought it was hilarious.

I don't know anyone who would actually wear a speedo in real life, unless you count the time PJ showed up at a Halloween party dressed as Borat. Yes, that outfit worn in the movie. The green number. One of PJ's finest moments. Thanks to him I have memorized a whole slew of quotes from the film, including the title for my entry today.

But I digress.

I'm headed out to lunch with Dalton but Dalton is stalling because that's what he does and so I can enjoy a little more cake which spoils my lunch but that's okay because a lot of times Dalton forgets about the meal-part of time spent together. Then hopefully I will be home before it rains, home in time to snuggle with my beloved and maybe fall asleep after dinner for just a little bit because my eyes feel heavy and my heart feels light and I suppose that's better than the other way around.

(P.S. Benjamin organized one heaven of a night for Miss Bridget and is doing a terrific job of late, being home and being himself. The only reason I haven't written about him so much is that he likes to be dark and mysterious. Drives you nuts, doesn't it?)

Dalton is ready. Speaking of mysterious. I will tell you about him tomorrow.

Satellites, fireworks and other things you can't see in daylight.

And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
It's been so long since I've seen the ocean
Guess I should

I guess it's inevitable. You can't outrun days on the calendar. Hell, we can't even get something proficient enough to clock the speed at which time flies past us let alone try to keep up.

Today is all mine and I stupidly sat down at the piano and the intro to A Long December came flying out of my fingertips and I wanted to put it back in but it wouldn't go and that always leads to the stereo and before you know it I have set the mood for the day and I didn't mean to do that to this day. So on this day, I turned the music off.

Because this day is my birthday.

Another year is gone and I still haven't learned to ride a ferris wheel without screaming or change a tire. Maybe that will happen this year, but maybe it won't. Maybe I'll still feel queasy after eating a whole bag of blue cotton candy and maybe I'll use up the fourteen brand new lipglosses in my makeup bag. Maybe my hair will grow fast and be as long as the princess hair that I chopped off last fall when I realized that some princesses don't get to live an easy life and maybe I must not be a princess after all. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get away for a few far-away trips this year.

Maybe I'll find where I left my patience and maybe I'll relax long enough to get a good night's sleep. Maybe the summer of this year will be glorious and cool and the winter short and sweet. Maybe I'll somehow overcome my beloved addiction to cake and hugs and maybe pigs will grow wings. Whichever way my year goes, I know it will be okay.

I've got my kids and I've got my love and I don't think I really need anything else.

Running in the woods.

We brought spring home with us last night, pulling up to the house in the warmth of the most beautiful evening, the air trailing the scent of horses, hay and coffee behind us, truck covered with dust, children with heavy eyes from enough fresh air to last them forever.

It took me almost our full weekend there to convince Ben that his white-knuckle grip on the air we were breathing could be loosened, that he could sleep, that he could do whatever he wanted. We went in town and poked through antique stores and had breakfast out while Nolan kept the kids happy at the farm. We talked for hours into the night. We got hot and dusty on the walks around the property, through the woods, turning back at the swollen creek that is still over and around the footbridge, cutting us off from picnic rock. We opted to let the busy week ahead slip away for the moment in favor of savoring the present. We barbecued dinner and mucked stalls and late in the night Ben would wake me up and take me quietly, keeping his hand over my mouth, holding me tightly against him, stifling any sound I wanted to make as he kissed my shoulders and whispered to me, driving hard against me, returning us to those early days when I fell in love with him in spite of things he thinks he should have been ashamed of but somehow isn't anymore.

So we're home now, tired and achy, muscles used for farm work that see little use here in the city, running shoes all but destroyed by dust and rocks and mud, me favoring my right ankle twisted on a tree root because I am too soft to run in the woods, preferring the gritty cement sidewalk and the diesel smell of the traffic to my right.

Ben would like to move there. Ben still thinks he can have it all somehow, his own flawed faith, thinking he can keep his head down and go unnoticed and at the same time fit right in. Still thinking he can force change from within by going without, still assuming that everyone hates him because so far he hasn't proven a damn thing.

But I never asked him to.

I never said that he had to be the hero now. I never said that life had to be perfect, or that I wanted a whole laundry list of things done and said or engineered on my behalf.

I could have stayed easily. Hanging laundry out over the porch railing to the crab apple tree on the other side of the turn-around drive, picking peas in the summer from the garden that seems to get little attention for the bounty it produces and talking to the horses, who seem to understand our troubles better than any kind of therapist or friend and I'm not trying to insult anyone when I say that, it's just a truth I can't ignore.

I could live there forever if only someone would ask.

I could.

She seemed dressed in all of me
Stretched across my shame,
All the torment and the pain
Leaked through and covered me.

I'd do anything to have her to myself,
Just to have her for myself.
Now I don't know what to do,
I don't know what to do
When she makes me sad.

She is everything to me,
The unrequited dream,
The song that no one sings,
The unattainable.
She's a myth that I have to believe in,
All I need to make it real is one more reason.

But I won't let this build up inside of me.
I won't let this build up inside of me.
I won't let this build up inside of me.
I won't let this build up inside of me.

I'm dropping a quote here that I saw today. I don't have time to look up who said it but it's amazing. If you know, pass it on so I can credit the proper source.

All that matters in the end, is how well did you live, how well did you love
and how much did you learn?

I'll beg for you.

I have all my Stone Temple Pilots CDs packed and ready to roll. Lessons well studied from Jacob in the firm refusal to give up the music I love because it hurts, instead I embrace it because it belongs to me and not my ghosts. That lesson took a few tries but now I have it down pat.

I'm filling my veins with coffee and my bag with warm clothes, because tonight we're heading to the farm for the weekend. Just the four of us, and since Nolan is now Ben's sponsor, he'll be somewhere safe.

Still Remains drifts through my head this morning, a song I know as well as the number of heartbeats each child puts out in the space of a minute when they sleep because I've never heard them breathing when they rest. A song I have inked into my soul via my skin, stretched so thin sometimes but still armor against the past.

There's excitement in changing routines for the weekend, exchanging the usual weekend for horse rides and barn work and food that always, always tastes better. Bundled up in Nolan's quilts, we'll sit in the rocking chairs on the porch and drink coffee, and inside we always find a roaring fire and hot chocolate late at night. Sleeping where the stars are closer works wonders. Being together works wonders too.

Pick a song and sing a yellow nectarine
Take a bath, I'll drink the water that you leave
If you should die before me
Ask if you can bring a friend
Pick a flower, hold your breath and drift away

See you on Monday. (In which I whine about feeling like my glasses make me look old. Perhaps it's that I can see myself in the mirror now in full HD rez and hole-lee, does something ever have to be done about what stares back.)

Made with pectin for the vegetarian candy lords.

I have a friend with me this afternoon, here in the dark of a rainy Thursday afternoon, barricaded at the end of the hall in the upstairs window seat, under a quilt my grandmother made long before I was born.

It's a gummy bear.

Blue, so I'm guessing he tastes like blueberry or just gross, as Ruth calls the blue flavor. He's looking out the window as the rain pours down in sheets outside, watching the garden maybe, or maybe he's staring straight ahead, hoping to see through the clouds with his magnificent, miniature x-ray gummyvision™, in order to calculate when the rain will stop and the sun will resume the sad and broken march toward summer.

I watch the rain, too, with my little friend. A break this afternoon enables me to indulge in some of that Bridget-time that is sometimes overwhelmingly plentiful and sometimes completely absent. I've brought my laptop and one cat up here because some comments have been made that I don't use this area for my writing, even though it's as close as I will ever get to the glass turret that once topped this castle. It's okay. I found that curling up in a couch or in the kitchen window seat was just fine, that it wasn't so much the place where I wrote, but the feelings when I wrote, and that as long as I have a little time and a little comfort I can survive quite nicely without an office to call my own.

(Please don't bring up the den right now. I only go in there to clean.)

And besides, if I find any more gummy bears I can stay here even longer since I won't get hungry. And that's always nice.

Perfect Imperfect.

Give us a room and close the door
Leave us for a while.
Your boy won't be a boy no more
Young, but not a child.
I'm the Gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
I'm the Gypsy the acid queen.
I'll tear your soul apart.

When is the last time you had your eyes tested?

1998.

How do you know?

I was newly pregnant and I wanted to get the exam/glasses out of the way while I could still waddle into Vogue Optical on Barrington street in Halifax on my lunch hour. Buy one get one free. Ruth broke the first pair in early 2000. Henry broke the second pair late in 2001. I kind of got caught up with life (Jake) and pretty much decided I was fine. I'm always fine. Aren't I fine?

So...everyone wears glasses but me. Because I'm fine.

Kind of like the hearing thing...

Moms come last by choice, mostly.

I went today because I had to put my money where my mouth is (eyes are?). And what do you know? I'm not fine. I have a football-shaped cornea and basically a severe astigmatism and will be wearing glasses except when I'm sleeping from now on. Because yes, fine. When I covered my right eye my left eye was underwater and oh! geez. First the ears and now this.

Ben keeps calling me the Pinball Wizard. I'm seriously going to punch his lights out. Since I see two of him, there's a fifty-fifty chance I'll connect.

Pfft. At least one part of me still works.

PJ, please tell me which one this is. When you get a minute.

Hmmm.

I've forgotten which movie it was. Maybe there's more than one. Might be From Dusk til Dawn or one of the Kill Bills but there's a scene in a movie where the hero and the heroine go through hell and back and wind up gravely wounded and bloodied, unrecognizable for what they've been through. At the end when they emerge victorious from the final battle they drag themselves together and laugh. They just laugh. Everything will be okay. Roll credits.

THAT'S MY WHOLE LIFE NOW.

The sequel better be damned awesome. And directed by Michael Bay. I like lots of slow motion explosions. And sex.

Not slow-motion sex though. That makes me laugh a little too much.

If you can't guess what number one is then you haven't been reading long enough.

It's been a good day. I got a lot accomplished, I had some good news, and I feel good, generally. Everyone is good here. The sun is out, there's cake (more on that later) and the chores are done for the night. The house is almost clean. It's almost bedtime for the children. I figured out the twitter thingie and can congratulate myself, I'm only roughly a year behind, trend-wise.

But mostly there is cake, and that's Bridget's second favorite thing in the whole wide world, so all's well that ends well.

I know, so vague, Bridget. You whore.

That's Cake Whore to you. Om nom nom.

Way down in front.

Please don't be ashamed whether you win or lose.
I just want you to know that I'm proud of you.
Don't be afraid when your fight is through.
I just need you to know that I'm here with you.

An attempt for some routine brought us back to our favorite coffeehouse early this afternoon, an unheated little affair with big spotless windows looking out onto the endless traffic outside, sidewalk freshly scrubbed, bicycles locked in a stand right outside the door and Ben's truck close to the curb, meter paid for two hours of grounds and people-watching and skipping over subjects we needed to be discussing but weren't, because the comfort of those latticed chairs and warm mugs kept full, discarded plates of apple pie and chocolate cake between us, meant that maybe every waking moment doesn't have to be progress or effort.

Ben tapped his fingers along with Interpol over the sound system and I watched him watch people. I watched his eyes linger on a girl rummaging through her messenger bag for her softly ringing phone. Watched him absently try to twirl a ring around his finger that is lately snug. Watched him check his phone, ignoring call after call in favor of watching me without watching me at all.

I had decided I hate Interpol and I wish they would play something else but at the same time where else can you sit for hours without being rushed out or drowned out? Where else can you sit in public in broad daylight and yet still persist in a bubble, ignored by everyone who passes by? Where else do you work out your shit but a place that you've had a standing date for years?

It's been months since we've had one of our coffee dates. Months since he's reached across the scarred and battered table to take my hand and tell me I'm beautiful. Months since we've have a coffee-breath kiss and a cake aftertaste chasing it down our throats with the gritty air of this winterwashed city, blind to the agony with which we've taken every step thus far.

Ben laughs and rubs his face. A haircut and a straight-razor shave this morning at the barber shop where all the old men in the neighborhood go makes him feel familiar, organized, together. I smile at the curl in the front that defies whatever he does to it, every single day. Ben has stick-straight hair, save for this one little piece that flips the wrong way.

You hate the music, don't you?

I don't come here for the music, Benjamin.

Oh, yeah? Why do you come here then?

They make great coffee.

That's it?

The cake is really good too.

And?

The people are varied. I like watching them.

Any other reason?

It reminds me of easier times.

Speaking of which, I need to ask you for a favor.

You don't have to ask, Benjamin.

This, I do.

What is it?

I've watched you stand behind people your whole life, princess. But right now I would really appreciate it if you would stand in front of me. Just for a little while. Could you? Could you do that for me?

There were no words for that. Just the habitual, inevitable flood.

You've watered down your coffee. Maybe we should go.

I nodded. And I left the coffee shop first, hand stretched behind my back, fingers laced with his. I don't think I have half as much courage as your everyday normal human being, but I could probably give this a shot.

It's snowing! (AKA Hell has frozen over)

In lieu of beating a dead horse, Lochlan is gone again. I'm not even going to ask how, since I know why.

Snap back to reality,
Oh, there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit,
he choked, he's so mad,
but he won't give up that easy, no

I bet it wasn't pretty but I wouldn't know. I wasn't there. I woke up at Schuyler and Daniel's house this morning, the only two boys in the universe who start their weekend with eggs benedict and espresso and plentiful hugs.

I'd like to stay here, if it's okay with everyone.

I know, wishful thinking, hey? Ben is coming for breakfast after his meeting and then we'll go collect the kids from their sleepovers and enjoy some sorely-needed privacy.

I'm done giving Lochlan space, in my life and on my journal, just so you know. You don't have to read about him anymore. Brighter days ahead.

I still can't believe it's snowing.

It's snowing! (AKA Hell has frozen over)

In lieu of beating a dead horse, Lochlan is gone again. I'm not even going to ask how, since I know why.

Snap back to reality,
Oh, there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit,
he choked, he's so mad,
but he won't give up that easy, no

I bet it wasn't pretty but I wouldn't know. I wasn't there. I woke up at Schuyler and Daniel's house this morning, the only two boys in the universe who start their weekend with eggs benedict and espresso and plentiful hugs.

I'd like to stay here, if it's okay with everyone.

I know, wishful thinking, hey? Ben is coming for breakfast after his meeting and then we'll go collect the kids from their sleepovers and enjoy some sorely-needed privacy.

I'm done giving Lochlan space, in my life and on my journal, just so you know. You don't have to read about him anymore. Brighter days ahead.

I still can't believe it's snowing.

TGIF because the week was so very long.

Routine rituals
Physically and mentally, pressures made complete.
Remember to appreciate the bittersweet.
Finding symmetry too hard to achieve
Expectations test abilities,
Life is but a dream.
In our sleep, let us see.

Lochlan is the boomerang boy today. Home yesterday morning and back late last night because he just...I have no idea, he couldn't fathom being away? Didn't think we were ready to be on our own without his all-knowing presence nearby to deflect emergencies and soothe fears?

Because maybe he is obsessed with the past, like most of the people I know?

Yeah, most likely a little bit of all three.

I haven't asked him yet. He walked into the house last night, picked a fight with the wrong person and bought himself a punch to the head that sent us to the ER, and in the early afternoon that followed, Lochlan signed himself out against doctor's advice and took me out for lunch.

Maybe it's just his turn to self-destruct. He's possibly the only one who hasn't yet.

In better news, Ben bought a video camera. Oh, internet, things are going to get interesting now.

Not like that. Perverts.

TGIF because the week was so very long.

Routine rituals
Physically and mentally, pressures made complete.
Remember to appreciate the bittersweet.
Finding symmetry too hard to achieve
Expectations test abilities,
Life is but a dream.
In our sleep, let us see.

Lochlan is the boomerang boy today. Home yesterday morning and back late last night because he just...I have no idea, he couldn't fathom being away? Didn't think we were ready to be on our own without his all-knowing presence nearby to deflect emergencies and soothe fears?

Because maybe he is obsessed with the past, like most of the people I know?

Yeah, most likely a little bit of all three.

I haven't asked him yet. He walked into the house last night, picked a fight with the wrong person and bought himself a punch to the head that sent us to the ER, and in the early afternoon that followed, Lochlan signed himself out against doctor's advice and took me out for lunch.

Maybe it's just his turn to self-destruct. He's possibly the only one who hasn't yet.

In better news, Ben bought a video camera. Oh, internet, things are going to get interesting now.

Not like that. Perverts.

Garage band.

John is here today. The longer his hair gets the more he looks like Zakk Wilde. We're making coffee and fried green tomato sandwiches and he and Ben have huge, huge plans to tinker with their motorcycles this afternoon. John's bike being the one I sold to him after Jacob died because I couldn't look at it anymore and surprise, I've had two rides on it already this week. And none on Ben's because he just doesn't feel like he's ready to ride quite yet, which is fine too. Ben keeps saying it's too cold and he's right but it's hard to resist the lure of two wheels after so many months of snow tires and so they brought his bike back when the others took their bikes out of storage (at Nolan's) shortly before Ben came home. I think he was grateful for that. It's hard to tell. He keeps lapsing into very quiet hours and then he'll just start talking and he doesn't stop for a long time and just when you're ready to tell him to stuff it, he gets quiet again.

I don't mind. I'm still just happy he's home and things are steadily getting better, inch by mile. He told Lochlan it was time to go last night and this morning before I could swim through that second cup of coffee, Lochlan was gone. There were no harsh words or upended tables or hammer punches thrown, just another example of a quiet acceptance of our weird communal life and how well it seems to work when everyone remembers their place, when everyone helps everyone else, when everyone has the presence of mind to put their own wants aside for the good of someone they love.

I just don't think I have ever seen us all do it at the same time before.

Maybe things are changing.

Tea is ready. Must go take a tray out to the garage and get a lesson in replacing fork oil.

Garage band.

John is here today. The longer his hair gets the more he looks like Zakk Wilde. We're making coffee and fried green tomato sandwiches and he and Ben have huge, huge plans to tinker with their motorcycles this afternoon. John's bike being the one I sold to him after Jacob died because I couldn't look at it anymore and surprise, I've had two rides on it already this week. And none on Ben's because he just doesn't feel like he's ready to ride quite yet, which is fine too. Ben keeps saying it's too cold and he's right but it's hard to resist the lure of two wheels after so many months of snow tires and so they brought his bike back when the others took their bikes out of storage (at Nolan's) shortly before Ben came home. I think he was grateful for that. It's hard to tell. He keeps lapsing into very quiet hours and then he'll just start talking and he doesn't stop for a long time and just when you're ready to tell him to stuff it, he gets quiet again.

I don't mind. I'm still just happy he's home and things are steadily getting better, inch by mile. He told Lochlan it was time to go last night and this morning before I could swim through that second cup of coffee, Lochlan was gone. There were no harsh words or upended tables or hammer punches thrown, just another example of a quiet acceptance of our weird communal life and how well it seems to work when everyone remembers their place, when everyone helps everyone else, when everyone has the presence of mind to put their own wants aside for the good of someone they love.

I just don't think I have ever seen us all do it at the same time before.

Maybe things are changing.

Tea is ready. Must go take a tray out to the garage and get a lesson in replacing fork oil.

Two, count 'em. Two dimensions!

Heave the silver hollow sliver
Piercing through another victim
Turn and tremble be judgmental
Ignorant to all the symbols
Blind the face with beauty paste
Eventually you'll one day know

Change my attempt
good intentions
Limbs tied, skin tight
Self inflicted his perdition

Should I, could I
Change my attempt
good intentions
Should I, could I

This morning I put on my running clothes and then decided to rake the yard since it's sunny and somewhat dry and it's supposed to rain off and on for the next two weeks. I raked the boulevard and the front yard and pulled the leaves out of the front gardens and the hedge too and down between the houses on each side, then I came around and raked all the leaves in the backyard too, getting under the porch, barbecue and treehouse even.

3 bags total.

I tilled up my garden and tried and failed to rake the leaves out of the woodchips around the rose and lilac bushes so I just took all of it away down to a good layer and I'll replace it anyway in a few more weeks, roundabout Victoria's birthday which is Official Garden-Planting Week here because from then on the weather is virtually guaranteed.

I'm excited. This year I'm doing new things based on all the knowledge gleaned from previous years living here. Like knowing grass doesn't grow on clay soil but wildflowers do, and it takes five giant bags of earth to make the gardens lush and accomodating. And that planting one single Oregano sprig gives me a year's worth of heavy spice use. And lettuce is pointless and takes up too much room. Oh and shade plants don't like me. At all.

And compost! I have a bin from last summer and ew yuck, I'm guessing I'll have awesome dirt this year.

I guess there's therapy in sliding my hands into worn cotton gloves and digging in the muck. Effort from my arms and back muscles results in a weird sort of pride in having one of the nicest homes on a worn-by-time block that just needs a little more muscle and a little more effort and it could be just amazing but the people who live in my neighborhood have jobs and bills and lives and so they do what is needed and not a lot more and no one can fault them for that. If I didn't love that satisfaction I get from hardcore lawn work I doubt I would do it, but it's kind of like running. Once you're done you feel better.

Mmm...dirt endorphins.

I think I've lost it.

This isn't to say I'm going to let plant reports take over my journal, I just thought I would once again attempt to be less one-dimensional. It's as hard in life as it is here sometimes but sometimes we all need a break from it too. Yes, even me. So I'll ignore the fight with Lochlan and the almost-fight with Ben and PJ's horrible singing (you couldn't keep up with Jesse if you TRIED, baby) and the hungry rumblings within since this girl hasn't had breakfast or finished a whole cup of coffee yet even but I'm calm and I'm okay and I'm really freaking happy with the grass.

So there.

Two, count 'em. Two dimensions!

Heave the silver hollow sliver
Piercing through another victim
Turn and tremble be judgmental
Ignorant to all the symbols
Blind the face with beauty paste
Eventually you'll one day know

Change my attempt
good intentions
Limbs tied, skin tight
Self inflicted his perdition

Should I, could I
Change my attempt
good intentions
Should I, could I

This morning I put on my running clothes and then decided to rake the yard since it's sunny and somewhat dry and it's supposed to rain off and on for the next two weeks. I raked the boulevard and the front yard and pulled the leaves out of the front gardens and the hedge too and down between the houses on each side, then I came around and raked all the leaves in the backyard too, getting under the porch, barbecue and treehouse even.

3 bags total.

I tilled up my garden and tried and failed to rake the leaves out of the woodchips around the rose and lilac bushes so I just took all of it away down to a good layer and I'll replace it anyway in a few more weeks, roundabout Victoria's birthday which is Official Garden-Planting Week here because from then on the weather is virtually guaranteed.

I'm excited. This year I'm doing new things based on all the knowledge gleaned from previous years living here. Like knowing grass doesn't grow on clay soil but wildflowers do, and it takes five giant bags of earth to make the gardens lush and accomodating. And that planting one single Oregano sprig gives me a year's worth of heavy spice use. And lettuce is pointless and takes up too much room. Oh and shade plants don't like me. At all.

And compost! I have a bin from last summer and ew yuck, I'm guessing I'll have awesome dirt this year.

I guess there's therapy in sliding my hands into worn cotton gloves and digging in the muck. Effort from my arms and back muscles results in a weird sort of pride in having one of the nicest homes on a worn-by-time block that just needs a little more muscle and a little more effort and it could be just amazing but the people who live in my neighborhood have jobs and bills and lives and so they do what is needed and not a lot more and no one can fault them for that. If I didn't love that satisfaction I get from hardcore lawn work I doubt I would do it, but it's kind of like running. Once you're done you feel better.

Mmm...dirt endorphins.

I think I've lost it.

This isn't to say I'm going to let plant reports take over my journal, I just thought I would once again attempt to be less one-dimensional. It's as hard in life as it is here sometimes but sometimes we all need a break from it too. Yes, even me. So I'll ignore the fight with Lochlan and the almost-fight with Ben and PJ's horrible singing (you couldn't keep up with Jesse if you TRIED, baby) and the hungry rumblings within since this girl hasn't had breakfast or finished a whole cup of coffee yet even but I'm calm and I'm okay and I'm really freaking happy with the grass.

So there.

The yearly shoe post.

Things are better today. We're settling back into a familiar rhythm and Ben seems a lot happier. Bridget does too. I need to work on making sure I make myself heard when I need to be heard. Did you know that sometimes I can be submissive and not say so much? It's true. I'll add it to the list of improvements I need to make. Right up there with stop crying so much and get over this sick and debilitating addiction to chocolate cake.

And shoes. I like shoes. At least I like these shoes. A whole heck of a lot. I chased these shoes down on the internet two years ago and then gave up when I couldn't get them shipped to Canada and didn't want to pay $150 for them only to have them not fit or something insidious like that.

And look what showed up on Ebay two years later. $10 shoes, $6 shipped. God bless the internet.They fit perfectly. I might never take them off. I've already named the angels too. Bet you can't guess who is who.

The yearly shoe post.

Things are better today. We're settling back into a familiar rhythm and Ben seems a lot happier. Bridget does too. I need to work on making sure I make myself heard when I need to be heard. Did you know that sometimes I can be submissive and not say so much? It's true. I'll add it to the list of improvements I need to make. Right up there with stop crying so much and get over this sick and debilitating addiction to chocolate cake.

And shoes. I like shoes. At least I like these shoes. A whole heck of a lot. I chased these shoes down on the internet two years ago and then gave up when I couldn't get them shipped to Canada and didn't want to pay $150 for them only to have them not fit or something insidious like that.

And look what showed up on Ebay two years later. $10 shoes, $6 shipped. God bless the internet.They fit perfectly. I might never take them off. I've already named the angels too. Bet you can't guess who is who.

Sam, once again, wants me to say how I really feel.

I think there has been more accomplished in this house in a single morning than the previous six months. I have had a run, semi-participated in an early-morning family meeting and then was visibly neglected as the boys continue their bromance for the ages here, which is usually something that happens on a smaller scale, after tours and over motorcycles and barbecues and oh yeah, matters of life and death.

I love that word, bromance. It's just so...appropriate lately.

Trust me, I'm thrilled they're all getting along and everyone is attempting to help make our lives easier and Ben's days smooth and seamless and un-trying and Bridget's head in control and all that wonderful stuff they usually do, just on a much larger scale. Right now it's nice to be needed. It's nice to help him help himself. It's so beyond awesome that he is home again because I need him here.

Because I'm selfish.

What isn't nice is trying to shut up the little voice inside my head that really wants to be the centre of attention.

What is nice is that I see it for what it is and I'm not giving it a voice today.

I do try. I really do. I try hard to be a good person and a good wife and a good friend. So that voice will stay deep inside and hopefully when I'm not looking it will just go away completely.

Like other feelings do. Right Lochlan?

(Oh, bitchy. There's a feeling that needs to go too.)

Sorry there isn't more today, everything is just weird and uncomfortable today. There are too many people here and I'm tired and I just don't do well in these kinds of days. Come back tomorrow, okay?

Sam, once again, wants me to say how I really feel.

I think there has been more accomplished in this house in a single morning than the previous six months. I have had a run, semi-participated in an early-morning family meeting and then was visibly neglected as the boys continue their bromance for the ages here, which is usually something that happens on a smaller scale, after tours and over motorcycles and barbecues and oh yeah, matters of life and death.

I love that word, bromance. It's just so...appropriate lately.

Trust me, I'm thrilled they're all getting along and everyone is attempting to help make our lives easier and Ben's days smooth and seamless and un-trying and Bridget's head in control and all that wonderful stuff they usually do, just on a much larger scale. Right now it's nice to be needed. It's nice to help him help himself. It's so beyond awesome that he is home again because I need him here.

Because I'm selfish.

What isn't nice is trying to shut up the little voice inside my head that really wants to be the centre of attention.

What is nice is that I see it for what it is and I'm not giving it a voice today.

I do try. I really do. I try hard to be a good person and a good wife and a good friend. So that voice will stay deep inside and hopefully when I'm not looking it will just go away completely.

Like other feelings do. Right Lochlan?

(Oh, bitchy. There's a feeling that needs to go too.)

Sorry there isn't more today, everything is just weird and uncomfortable today. There are too many people here and I'm tired and I just don't do well in these kinds of days. Come back tomorrow, okay?

Angels and buttercream.

Flickering between the lines.
Stolen moments floating softly on the air,
Borne on wings of fire and climbing higher.

Ancient bonds are breaking,
Moving on and changing sides.
Dreaming of a new day,
Cast aside the other way.

Angels and buttercream. That's what Ben said I smelled like when I threw myself into his arms last Tuesday, and that's what he said again Friday night when I repeated that hug after leaving in a hurry Thursday night, thanks to Lochlan attempting a predictable strong-arm against our freedoms, thanks to those promises carved into stone made by the guys, thanks to Cole. Thanks to Jake, who flew away, and thanks to Ben himself, who couldn't quite get and keep himself under control.

I won't be hurt. The kids and I are to be safe no matter what.

And we tried everything and when everything still wasn't enough, Ben went away for a little while. He went to detoxify himself from the drugs and alcohol and re-learn how to exist without needing it.

He went to rehab, okay? What most people would call a nice cushy kind-of resort high up in the mountains, he calls the hardest work of his life, where he had to learn to be open and transparent and where he learned new ways to cope and new ways to behave and a whole new set of methods on dealing with people and situations who would have formerly driven him to take a drink or make a line and check himself right out of reality.

It's been difficult, to put it mildly and for those who came here over the last month to read and found nothing to see might want to understand how hard it has been. I didn't want him to go, I would have kept him fucked up and difficult. They made him go, because I don't make my own decisions and Ben doesn't either. She won't be hurt by you, they told him and he went because I promised I wouldn't give my heart away while he was gone. And I didn't. I gave away all kinds of things but I kept my heart. I kept it for Ben because it belongs to Ben.

Five weeks was a long time for a girl who loves as hard as I do, affection-whoreish, heart-on-sleeve, fluttery and unable to make decisions and choices past who I want a hug from at any particular moment. And finally the week that families can come and join into the work and the rewards arrived and I was a mess, frankly.

I got that first hug from Benjamin and then I went to bits and Duncan agreed to come down and keep watch so I could sleep and he brought Corey (Say hi to the internet, Corey!) but then Lochlan gave them the sky-race of their lives, beating them to me and telling me Ben was never going to be trusted or worthy or just about anything else.

Or so I thought I heard, because that's mostly what he ever says. So I told him I needed a walk to clear my head and I kissed Ben goodbye and told him I needed some sleep and then I took my sorry, misinterpreted ass to the airport and came home.

And shit, I got it wrong. Lochlan isn't Caleb. There's no evil there. Only concern. Valid and long-suffering concern and Jesus, nail her to the goddamned floor so she'll listen, wouldja?

Ten hours later, I went back and we sorted all of it out and all the guys present, namely Daniel and Lochlan and Duncan and Corey and August and the kids and I and yes, even Ben, got to sort through the mess we have made of our collective, tangled existence and we made our plans for the present and even a tiny little bit into the future.

It doesn't involve Lochlan.

Except as a friend and a support-pillar sometimes but otherwise we've kicked out one side of the triangle and now we're just a dot again. A super-imposed, melted-together oneness of being and things are going to stay this way.

Bridget and Ben versus the world.

Ben really did well. The interesting part is he didn't need that much of a push to get himself back where he needed to be but he brought home more than he's giving up. He managed to get back around and find the handle he used to have on life. The weirdly quiet and stoic and vaguely crazy, funny, beautiful man who promised to love me in sickness and utter depravity (actual words from our wedding) returned and I'm so happy I could cry.

True to form there is cake, and all the guys are here to welcome him home to his life and he's not going to get a chance to try and fuck it up again and he no longer wants to but for now everything is going to be second by moment by hour by day and nothing more.

Only it's everything more.

He's home. Home with his family and we get one more chance at getting this right.

It's important. If you pray, say a prayer that he continues to do as well as he has so far, and say one that my strength holds because he feels better when I feel stronger and I feel stronger when he feels better and it's a vicious cycle I'd be thrilled to get stuck in forever.

Home. One of those good four-letter words. Ben is home.

Happy first anniversary, Benjamin. I love you.

Angels and buttercream.

Flickering between the lines.
Stolen moments floating softly on the air,
Borne on wings of fire and climbing higher.

Ancient bonds are breaking,
Moving on and changing sides.
Dreaming of a new day,
Cast aside the other way.

Angels and buttercream. That's what Ben said I smelled like when I threw myself into his arms last Tuesday, and that's what he said again Friday night when I repeated that hug after leaving in a hurry Thursday night, thanks to Lochlan attempting a predictable strong-arm against our freedoms, thanks to those promises carved into stone made by the guys, thanks to Cole. Thanks to Jake, who flew away, and thanks to Ben himself, who couldn't quite get and keep himself under control.

I won't be hurt. The kids and I are to be safe no matter what.

And we tried everything and when everything still wasn't enough, Ben went away for a little while. He went to detoxify himself from the drugs and alcohol and re-learn how to exist without needing it.

He went to rehab, okay? What most people would call a nice cushy kind-of resort high up in the mountains, he calls the hardest work of his life, where he had to learn to be open and transparent and where he learned new ways to cope and new ways to behave and a whole new set of methods on dealing with people and situations who would have formerly driven him to take a drink or make a line and check himself right out of reality.

It's been difficult, to put it mildly and for those who came here over the last month to read and found nothing to see might want to understand how hard it has been. I didn't want him to go, I would have kept him fucked up and difficult. They made him go, because I don't make my own decisions and Ben doesn't either. She won't be hurt by you, they told him and he went because I promised I wouldn't give my heart away while he was gone. And I didn't. I gave away all kinds of things but I kept my heart. I kept it for Ben because it belongs to Ben.

Five weeks was a long time for a girl who loves as hard as I do, affection-whoreish, heart-on-sleeve, fluttery and unable to make decisions and choices past who I want a hug from at any particular moment. And finally the week that families can come and join into the work and the rewards arrived and I was a mess, frankly.

I got that first hug from Benjamin and then I went to bits and Duncan agreed to come down and keep watch so I could sleep and he brought Corey (Say hi to the internet, Corey!) but then Lochlan gave them the sky-race of their lives, beating them to me and telling me Ben was never going to be trusted or worthy or just about anything else.

Or so I thought I heard, because that's mostly what he ever says. So I told him I needed a walk to clear my head and I kissed Ben goodbye and told him I needed some sleep and then I took my sorry, misinterpreted ass to the airport and came home.

And shit, I got it wrong. Lochlan isn't Caleb. There's no evil there. Only concern. Valid and long-suffering concern and Jesus, nail her to the goddamned floor so she'll listen, wouldja?

Ten hours later, I went back and we sorted all of it out and all the guys present, namely Daniel and Lochlan and Duncan and Corey and August and the kids and I and yes, even Ben, got to sort through the mess we have made of our collective, tangled existence and we made our plans for the present and even a tiny little bit into the future.

It doesn't involve Lochlan.

Except as a friend and a support-pillar sometimes but otherwise we've kicked out one side of the triangle and now we're just a dot again. A super-imposed, melted-together oneness of being and things are going to stay this way.

Bridget and Ben versus the world.

Ben really did well. The interesting part is he didn't need that much of a push to get himself back where he needed to be but he brought home more than he's giving up. He managed to get back around and find the handle he used to have on life. The weirdly quiet and stoic and vaguely crazy, funny, beautiful man who promised to love me in sickness and utter depravity (actual words from our wedding) returned and I'm so happy I could cry.

True to form there is cake, and all the guys are here to welcome him home to his life and he's not going to get a chance to try and fuck it up again and he no longer wants to but for now everything is going to be second by moment by hour by day and nothing more.

Only it's everything more.

He's home. Home with his family and we get one more chance at getting this right.

It's important. If you pray, say a prayer that he continues to do as well as he has so far, and say one that my strength holds because he feels better when I feel stronger and I feel stronger when he feels better and it's a vicious cycle I'd be thrilled to get stuck in forever.

Home. One of those good four-letter words. Ben is home.

Happy first anniversary, Benjamin. I love you.

Cancel all of my drama and ignore the now-deleted entry that you may or may not have caught. I was home and now I'm going back to spend the weekend with Ben. Taking the kids. And Daniel and August. Ben will fly back with us Monday. God knows, Bridget loves to play plane-tag. Everything must be on a larger scale. Everything.

XOX,
b

Cancel all of my drama and ignore the now-deleted entry that you may or may not have caught. I was home and now I'm going back to spend the weekend with Ben. Taking the kids. And Daniel and August. Ben will fly back with us Monday. God knows, Bridget loves to play plane-tag. Everything must be on a larger scale. Everything.

XOX,
b

Quick update.

Looks like I have three minutes so I can update those of you I haven't emailed already. There is hardly internet access here, so I doubt there will be any more updates until we're home again.

We're, I said.

I'm flying home Saturday, Ben will follow on Sunday. He would have been home last week but he wasn't quite ready, he really wanted us to have this week here so we can get as much help as we can get before we head home to a new sponsor for him, a new plan for support, a new pretty-much-everything. A fresh start.

Seems fitting, as our first wedding anniversary is on Sunday.

Yesterday was difficult. Ben took the whole day to warm up to me, to see that I really am on board with this and I'm really not switching teams to play for Lochlanville for the remainder of the season. Once he warmed up we were off and running and aside from a rather spectacular ten minutes when I went to rubber and blacked right out mid-conversation (which is NOT FUN, let me tell you and put me on the sidelines for half of today because I haven't eaten or slept or unclenched all that much but I'm feeling better and whoever started the pregnant rumor, once again, can kiss it and you know what IT is) everything has been going really well.

Really well. Cautiously well. Good. Steadily forward and upward.

(Okay, Duncan is coming. I've got too much downtime stuck-in-a-hotel-driving-myself-mad time and haven't slept yet.)

Ben has worked really hard over the past five weeks. I thought he did it because of the fear of the mass migration to Lochlanville. But not. He worked hard because he wanted to. He wanted to stop and he wanted to feel whole again and he wanted to stop escaping into Ben-land where everything is hypnotic swirls and black hallways that tilt crazily and loud guitars that ring in your ear long after the switch on the amplifier has been flicked off.

He wanted to be Ben again and with however many stops and starts he has had over the past four years, he finally put his fear aside and his pride on the shelf and he's doing what he set out to do. He wants to be a good role model for his stepchildren because it's something he would like to do for them, instead of failing them like everyone else has. A need to make something right out of all this wrong.

With any luck and all this hard work continuing, with the plans and the support he has falling into place now, I think he's got a very good chance, but I won't say any more, I can't jinx it. I can't predict it. He's going to do it or he's not, and nothing I do or don't do will change a thing, I'm just the back-up singer.

But oh, what a lovely song. I've waited forever to hear it, and I'm not disappointed.

Enjoy the rest of the week. See you soon.

(PJ! Please record Ice Road Truckers for me. They don't have it here and I forgot to ask you before. Love you guys. b. )

Quick update.

Looks like I have three minutes so I can update those of you I haven't emailed already. There is hardly internet access here, so I doubt there will be any more updates until we're home again.

We're, I said.

I'm flying home Saturday, Ben will follow on Sunday. He would have been home last week but he wasn't quite ready, he really wanted us to have this week here so we can get as much help as we can get before we head home to a new sponsor for him, a new plan for support, a new pretty-much-everything. A fresh start.

Seems fitting, as our first wedding anniversary is on Sunday.

Yesterday was difficult. Ben took the whole day to warm up to me, to see that I really am on board with this and I'm really not switching teams to play for Lochlanville for the remainder of the season. Once he warmed up we were off and running and aside from a rather spectacular ten minutes when I went to rubber and blacked right out mid-conversation (which is NOT FUN, let me tell you and put me on the sidelines for half of today because I haven't eaten or slept or unclenched all that much but I'm feeling better and whoever started the pregnant rumor, once again, can kiss it and you know what IT is) everything has been going really well.

Really well. Cautiously well. Good. Steadily forward and upward.

(Okay, Duncan is coming. I've got too much downtime stuck-in-a-hotel-driving-myself-mad time and haven't slept yet.)

Ben has worked really hard over the past five weeks. I thought he did it because of the fear of the mass migration to Lochlanville. But not. He worked hard because he wanted to. He wanted to stop and he wanted to feel whole again and he wanted to stop escaping into Ben-land where everything is hypnotic swirls and black hallways that tilt crazily and loud guitars that ring in your ear long after the switch on the amplifier has been flicked off.

He wanted to be Ben again and with however many stops and starts he has had over the past four years, he finally put his fear aside and his pride on the shelf and he's doing what he set out to do. He wants to be a good role model for his stepchildren because it's something he would like to do for them, instead of failing them like everyone else has. A need to make something right out of all this wrong.

With any luck and all this hard work continuing, with the plans and the support he has falling into place now, I think he's got a very good chance, but I won't say any more, I can't jinx it. I can't predict it. He's going to do it or he's not, and nothing I do or don't do will change a thing, I'm just the back-up singer.

But oh, what a lovely song. I've waited forever to hear it, and I'm not disappointed.

Enjoy the rest of the week. See you soon.

(PJ! Please record Ice Road Truckers for me. They don't have it here and I forgot to ask you before. Love you guys. b. )

It's very early here but everyone is up and at 'em on a rainy Monday morning. I just thought I would sneak on to let you know that I'm heading out in around an hour to fly to Ben and spend family week with him. Just me. Danny and Schuy will be here with the kids and PJ and Lochlan too, and I should be back on Saturday.

These were not the plans, the plan was that Daniel and I were going to fly down on Saturday and spend a whole day with Ben and then fly back Monday morning but Ben decided that he wants me there for the whole thing. I think he's done posturing now and I'm off before he changes his mind again. I could tell you how much I've missed him but you wouldn't get it.

Wish me luck. This is something new.

It's very early here but everyone is up and at 'em on a rainy Monday morning. I just thought I would sneak on to let you know that I'm heading out in around an hour to fly to Ben and spend family week with him. Just me. Danny and Schuy will be here with the kids and PJ and Lochlan too, and I should be back on Saturday.

These were not the plans, the plan was that Daniel and I were going to fly down on Saturday and spend a whole day with Ben and then fly back Monday morning but Ben decided that he wants me there for the whole thing. I think he's done posturing now and I'm off before he changes his mind again. I could tell you how much I've missed him but you wouldn't get it.

Wish me luck. This is something new.

Never listen when they tell you she's broken because she's not.

(Dear reader, this post isn't for you, it's for me. So please don't send me hatemail today. That is all.)

New like a baby
Lost like a prayer
The sky was your playground
But the cold ground was your bed
Poor stargazer
She's got no tears in her eyes
Smooth like whisper
She knows that love heals all wounds with time
Now it seems like too much love
Is never enough,
you better seek out another road
'cause this one has ended abrupt,
say hello to heaven

It's a sort of cinnamon-sugar-dipped finger day, a discard the striped tights for bare legs day, a day where you squint when you first open the curtains and a day to listen to very old and much beloved music.

It's a day for fresh-squeezed beginnings and toasted dreams.

It's making me smile. I have four days to go before I get on a plane and get to see the brown eyes that have taken over my thoughts permanently and four days to begin to make my peace with the blue eyes I'm going to leave behind. And it all feels rather abrupt and final and like a relief with an undercurrent of excited recklessness.

Everyone has always said that time heals, leaving us to hope and assume and guess that it's going to be gradual and painless and as slow as molasses, that we can watch and gauge progress, a high water mark that will recede visibly and we can draw lines and marvel at the change.

It doesn't work like that. It's fast but it's painful and obvious. One minute you're walking down a familiar path, breath choked in your throat, eyes misted over, fumbling along hoping you don't trip and get sucked into the emotional quicksand you've been out-walking like the living dead for months and years and days and nights, oh those endless nights and then there's that switch that gets flicked and in a flash of terrible, blinding pain, everything is gone.

Gone.

The road beneath my feet is firm and dry and stable. My green eyes are clear and I can see. I can take a deep breath and suck it far down into my lungs. I can let go of a hand for just a moment and it doesn't scare me to do so.

Some warning would have been nice but I didn't get it and that's okay too because I'm pretty sure I won't fall because I risked a look back over my shoulder and the quicksand pool was gone and the emotional bounty on my soul has been rescinded and oh, I need another deep breath.

So unexpected and yet so welcome too.

I've said before I have no user manual, and that grief has no roadmap. I've challenged everyone I have ever met to prove to me that my head was going to fit their mold, that my behavior would follow their predictions, that my heart would make sense.

I've proven them all wrong, not wrong in their studies or in their theories, just wrong in that not everyone can find comfort in some set of stages or group of behaviors or chain of feelings. That if you feel alone and you don't seem to fit and experts run out of answers and friends run out of patience and you run out of strength that it doesn't make you a bad person or a crazy person or a person who can't be helped.

It just makes you you.

Exactly who you're supposed to be.

Visibly and invisibly different.

Beautiful, beautiful me.

Communion on the run.

Sam and I ran last night. We ran until I gave out and sobered up and admitted that I didn't have control of my day or my brain, but I did have control of my life and this wasn't going to change that. He reminded me that I knew anyway, she didn't have anything new to add, it didn't serve to change anything Jacob had written in his letters or journals.

It isn't news, he said and I know he is right. Sam is always right. Sam was a quiet observer into my life with Jacob and he is louder now and he has never failed me yet when it comes to administering huge doses of reality and peace in his still rather quiet verbal measures, timed carefully to land like wonderful little bombs of knowledge in between the squealing as my brain takes corners too fast. He picks the quiet spots and I hear him. He prays and I hear him.

Every time.

So I came home, dry and tired and no longer overwhelmed and I packed up the envelope stuffed with Jacob's writing and I put it in the box with his journals and his letters and I watched a movie with Christian and the kids and then the kids went to bed and Christian went home and I took a long hot shower and went to bed, reading for a while. I heard the alarm ring when Lochlan came in late from work and I thought about going down to talk to him but then it was morning and the sun was out and yesterday is over.

Over.

Kind of like Jake.

Just...over.

Maybe some other time when I'm not feeling so fragile I'll read what Sophie gave me. God knows, maybe she feels the same way. I gave her the envelope full of pictures she had asked for months and months ago, and even though they weren't right for each other and she endured being with someone who openly wanted someone else, she cared about Jake. She cared and she doesn't blame me because she saw things that I was too self-centered to see, and maybe like minds are brought together because only someone even more fragile than Jacob was had the ability to make him feel strong. He was strong, I don't care what anyone says or what they read or what they assume, he was strong. He fought through all of his demons for so long and he was strong when I needed him so badly and when I no longer needed him to be like that he could stop pretending.

This would be the part where I say I could have continued to be brittle and breakable forever if it meant he would still be here but I can't control that. I'm not responsible for him and if anything, his life should serve as a warning, that if you know there are glaring issues in someone's life, help them.

Just help them.

My friends are doing it for me. We're all doing it for Ben. Today marks one full month that Ben has been away at a place that is going to help him kick his habits for good, and he wouldn't still be there if it wasn't for the support of his friends, his family. That's why I'm flying down next week. It's family week and we've been invited to go and cheer him on and give him whatever he needs to continue to get better.

There's been enough casualties in this war of a life and there aren't going to be any more.

And Sam says no more martinis. Which is fine, I said that at 3 pm yesterday. It was uncharacteristic. I don't drink so much anymore. it doesn't help. It doesn't help anyone.

She got all the grace and I, well, I got five martinis and proof that I didn't drive him to do what he did. PROOF. Proof someone should have fucking given to me three years ago and maybe he'd still be here. Not like it matters now.

Bring on your rebirth, Sam. Show me that resurrection. Oh, but you can't.

Too bad.

Happy Easter. I'll be in the pantry with the chocolate if you need me.

Request for a hat trick, if you please.

Like a thunder in the mountains
Like the lightning in the sky
Like the eye of a tornado
She'll watch it all go by
Then she kills for recreation
And she plays her games at night
She wants to work on her vocation
She sets the world alight

My phone exploded shortly after seven this morning in a flurry of noises, ringing and alerts in a never-ending stream. It was possessed. It was haunted! No, it was just the boys, all letting me know that AC/DC is coming to town this summer. This is one of those big band names we toss around, who we want to see before we die. Mine is Tool. But on the off-chance they don't make it back here I'll be at the AC/DC show with (Hell's) bells on.

In other news, I'm heading out in a little over a week for a two-night trip to see Ben.

Remember him?

My brain has declared him dead and yet my stupid, naive heart is all excited to see him. I'm hoping the two can reach an agreement sometime before we fly out. I'm taking Daniel with me. All the arrangements have been made and if you blink it will be over but frankly I don't care that it's a quick and dirty visit. Yesterday I almost lost whatever pool of ubiquitous calm I've been floating in lately. A few ups and downs and sometimes my head goes under. John pulled me out yesterday and administered CPR and here I go, back in this morning to tread water for a little longer, the lifeline of late-night phone calls from Benjamin keeping my spirit afloat.

Always, he'll say Just a little bit longer, baby, and then I'll be home.

Oh and today? Lunch with Sophie. Because I'm insane. Remember her? She was once Jacob's wife too. I hate having things like that in common with people. I hate that I'm even going to this farce of a lunch. I don't want to be polite or kind or adult. I'd much rather get up and knock all the dishes off the table and flip it over and then run out the door. In my dreams last night I did that and it was impressive. In reality I'm guessing the table will be too heavy and that freaking out will just serve to show exactly how pulled-together she is and how pulled-apart I am.

Does anything ever change?

Beautiful disaster.

Miss guarded-heart
Miss play-it-smart

I'm almost ashamed to admit we're having a Kelly Clarkson day here today. Nice and freaking loud too. It's possibly more than a little funny to me that August knows all the lyrics to Miss Independent. Makes me wonder what else he listens to when I'm not jamming Tool into his ears.

(It explains why you're single, beautiful.)

No worries, internet. I'm not really being mean. I love August. And for this gem of a secret I gave up my sick secret crush on Toryn Green's physique. At least what it looked like last time I saw him.

Hot.

Way hotter than Kelly. By far.

(Going to go crawl in the dumbwaiter now so they can't tease me for the REST OF MY LIFE).

Surrealism for lunch.

Mouth so full of lies,
Tend to black your eyes.
Just keep them closed,
Keep praying,
Just keep waiting.

Last night I was put to bed shortly after eight. A novel idea, considering lately every time I sit down I'm just about asleep in my place, and I tend to seek out hard shoulders and warm shirts and I instantly shut down, worn out, exhausted. So damned tired.

I slept until six this morning and I actually feel rested. I don't think I've felt this rested since long before the snow came.

I looked in the mirror this morning and I was seventeen years old again, frowning at the pretty face, tucking back a lock of errant white blonde hair that never behaves. Frowning at the darker circles standing out against alabaster flesh like pools of black water in white snow.

I am seventeen again and I'll never be more than this/I'll be everything more than this.

The world in front of me, my favorite music to score my life, boys on the side, the sun behind me, a light wind out in front, pulling me along the road. In my hand, clutched with disbelief, my invitation to my twentieth high school reunion.

My life is a mirage. My days, dirty glass beads on a frayed white string. My love, all the warmth you can gather in one place, and be ready now because things will change so quickly everything will scatter if you're not so careful.

Brave are those who stand in the shadow of the Big Bad Wolf.

The battle you picked was so one sided.
Now dependent on me the one you invited.
Beg, plead, scream.
For redemption, for forgiveness.
Beg, plead, scream.
Sorry I'm not listening.

Welcome to your vice.
Good luck with life.

The children returned yesterday with their doting and well-behaved Uncle, having logged miles of coast and rain and sun and wind, and I could let out the breath I've held for a week straight. I still recognized them, they still recognized me, and with abandon they saw fit to knock me down at the airport, jumping on me, forgetting how big they are in their rush for familiar life, familiar arms. I know how that feels.

Eyes on me. I know how that feels too.

I had the wall of knights there to play bodyguards calm my nerves and I thanked Caleb for taking good care of the kids and for doing all this. I did it professionally and with the ice-cold calm of a thousand icebergs and then I ignored him when he asked about Ben. I took the kids' hands and followed PJ to the truck, leaving the others to collect the kids' things with my brother-in-law and I did really good because he looked really good. He always goes to the coast for a visit and instantly adopts Cole's style. Beard. Jeans. Hoodie. Flannel. Fitting in too well and standing out too much.

Drives me fucking nuts.

But I was good because under all those handsome genetics beats the heart of my smooth, wealthy, prolific nightmare. The wolf in Hugo Boss. You think I'm going to forget that NOW?

Nope. Not this time around.

No one else did either. I thought Christian would have to knock Lochlan out and leave him home when we set out. Thankfully everyone was good.

It's a first.

Status Reports.

This morning I'm still riding on previous highs. Movies with faces I know almost as well as the ones I see every day in person. Celebrating new lines and graceful changes. Music that weaves in and out of my days, notes punctuated against the backdrop of muted noise that I travel through like fog around the shore.

Food so decadent yesterday I relented and wound up spending most of the afternoon and evening drunk on prime rib and lobster and wine and chocolate. I may never eat again, and jumped out at the gas pump hours later to get some fresh air and move around a little, if only to shake some of it down into my knees where there may have been some space remaining.

Plotting spring running shoes to buy this week and planning even more paint colors as we vow to finish the house this year and finally, a new, very quiet dream emerges, one of packing suitcases once again to clutch an international flight for a view that is unfamiliar yet comforting, a far away place we've decided to return to. Don't know when or how, but it's there, a new pot with a new dish, simmering quietly on the backburner of the dual-fuel stove that seems to be my life.

Hands so distracted they haven't had time to tremble or fumble. Busy hands. Chores and distractions choking off the flutters with flurries of activities all hellbent on filling voids that have become chasms. And instead of going through, or falling in, or just sitting there on the edge waiting for a change or a bridge or a tiny airplane to get me to the other side, I've been doing something different. Uncharacteristic and downright risky.

I don't know that I take risks. Everything is sewn up so tight. Double-stitched, securely knotted, evenly-spaced and then I burn a hole through the fabric and attempt to squeeze through it.

This time, well, just, no.

I packed up as much as I could carry, and I'm inching my way around the edge. There are no obstacles in the way, I can do this the whole way around and then I'll be on the other side. it's so slow-going. Progress takes forever. The ledge is narrow and crumbling slightly. Some places I hold my breath. Others I can sit and rest. But every time I finally give in to the urge to look back and see if I have made it anywhere, I'm surprised to see that I have. The starting place is hard to see now. Dammit, it's working. It's narrow and I'm terrified and I'm shaking because I'm afraid of heights and it gets worse as I go instead of better but there's no other way. I see no planes, I can't build a bridge and if I fall I know damn well that eight lives have been used up and I'm on my last.

I miss Ben. I miss him more than you could possibly understand. It feels like he's dead but he isn't and my brain wants to take the easy way out and just mark an x over his face and Bridget's Survivor gameshow will continue with nightly tribal councils and challenges designed to make the cream rise to the top but surprise! The game has changed and we're bringing this contestant back. Voted off but a second chance looms and this time Ben has plans to win because the stakes are high. So high. I'm balanced on one of them right now. On my brain, on this ledge, with these analogies tightly clutched in my fists.

(I am the teacup on the ruler on the hairbrush on the ball on the bowling pin on the seal's nose held by the clown on the unicycle at centre ring. My circus never seems to end or stop or pack up and leave this town for the next. We're a permanent installation and admission is free.)

My children will be home in an hour and I would bounce off the walls, but if I do that, I'll fall off my ledge. Instead I'll stop here and breath deeply and wait to hold them in my arms again, and then when I've rested enough and they are ready, we'll hold hands and resume the slow progress around this hole.

Full circles for a Saturday morning.

Lay beside me, tell me what they've done
Speak the words I want to hear, to make my demons run
The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true
If you can understand the me, than I can understand the you.

Lay beside me, under wicked sky
Through black of day, dark of night, we share this pair of lives
The door cracks open, but there's no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still, but there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining.

I didn't realize just how good our seats are for the Metallica show this fall until five minutes ago. This is awesome. So, so awesome.

1080p in a 480i world.

This morning the little monster that rolls out of bed that gets coffee poured into it until it coughs up your favorite princess is very excited indeed.

Cough. Sputter.

Hallo, world. It's Paul Walker day.

Oh don't my boys HATE these days with a passion. It's the one day of each year (gee, thanks, Paul, for making these movies with huge gaps in between. Could you stop that? Thank you, yours truly, Bridget) when I get to happily drag a bunch of them to the movies with me so I can see Paul's gorgeous face on the big screen.

Required trailer goodness.

I've had a crush on him for nine years now (don't know why he hasn't called yet. Usually it doesn't take this long). Ever since I saw him in The Skulls, in which, ironically, he played a character named Caleb, otherwise I wouldn't have noticed him at all.

It was love at first sight.

And it's tolerated because I have put up with certain blistering crushes on Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Selma Blair, and Megan Fox, among others.

Thankfully a few of them also adore Amy Smart, Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman, which makes it bearable, because I have crushes on those girls too. I just don't tell the guys because then their brains go into overdrive imagining all that hot girl-on-girl action and they might burst into gratuitous, perfectly acceptable and encouraged flames.

We just can't have that. If my boys implode then who the heck is going to take me to the movies so I can see Paul?

Yes, I know you're still picturing bad, bad things in your head. Stop it. Stop it now.

Drive-by Thursdays (Nice teeth, Bridget).

Man she saves me
To this day I don't know why
She picked me up
When I was down on the road
With the wind when it blowed

I think I surprised the boys when I said I could listen to Citizen Cope for a week straight. I think I also surprised them when I came out of the dentist with no cavities, a wonderful feat considering I'm loathe to give up my jolly ranchers, skittles and rockets and I'm also loathe to floss.

I surprised them once again when I threw a few wicked knuckleballs of snow during the impromptu snowball fight on our street. I only did that because I knew PJ was aiming for a head shot and I'm having a good hair day, I was hoping I could knock him out before he could land one.

I surprised myself when, confronted with those crazy butter curls at the restaurant we hardly ever go to for lunch because it costs a fortune, I had restraint and didn't make any butternauts at all.

There's a void now.

I'll make some at dinner to make up for it.

I surprised August by picking a fight with him over Rascall Flatt's song, Me and my Gang. I swear to God I have heard the chorus before. I was singing along the first time I heard it. I was like, decent cover. I was told it wasn't a cover. It has to be. If it isn't a remake, cover or at least a sample of a song from the seventies I'll eat my record player.

I'm home for ten minutes to change (wet. snowy. princess.) and my teeth STILL hurt. Ow.

Ow ow ow.

That is all. I'm going back out. See ya!