In breath outside.

Tightrope Walker is now stuck in my head. Completely and yet infuriatingly because I don't know the words. It came on over the speaker on the patio last night and Lochlan got the slow dance he was denied the other night when Ben took me into his arms instead and then distractions came along and we didn't get the chance. 

He's got a glass of wine in one hand and me in his arm, tucked close, my nose parked against his lower lip, our eyes closed. My blood is watered and lit. It's forty degrees if it's a minute and every other soul on this point is in the pool. Smartly so. Lochlan comes to life when it's warm. The heat just fires him up like the sun that he is and we need to shield our eyes. 

And I forgot how warm I am, sweat trickling down the back of my neck, eyes wild, hands sticky, brain mush, heart swollen and bursting in the circle of light his attention throws on me. 

I reach up with one hand to pause the moment and he takes my hand before I can. 

Don't do that. It needn't be one moment you have to try and stay in. It should be every moment. 

I nod and my bangs stick to my forehead. He smiles and plants a kiss against them. Then he puts his wine glass down, taking mine too (haven't needed it in a while) and he puts his hands up around my head and a kiss bursts us into flame. 

(Out breath inside)

He pulls back to stare at me for a second, focusing suddenly. He bends down for another kiss, just to be sure and then he has my hand and we're running through the fields. Back through the years, minutes rewinding, thorns scratching our legs and arms, sun setting, flowers closing as we go. We make it back to the camper and he locks the door behind us, back against it, a laugh on his mouth before he charges three steps into me, crashing us both onto the little cot, crushing me beneath him, pulling our clothes off, music swelling in my brain but it's not Tightrope Walker anymore because it's not the right time and I am pulled back up naked into his arms, keeping him inside me, unwilling to ever let go. He is breathing heavy against my hair, my arms struggle and slip to hold on. He puts us back down and slows to a languid crawl. Crickets fill my ears as darkness fills the windows and the world shrinks down to the size of a camper and that's all we'll ever need. 

When I cry out he puts his hand over my mouth, his head against mine. 

Shhhhh, Peanut. 

And he begins to slow even further, slipping away before coming back harder than ever, gritting his teeth, keeping out the stars as he follows me through, checking himself not to squeeze me too tightly, not to crush me in his release before he lets go but doesn't, keeping my fingers laced in his as he lies on his back, pulling me in close. Our skin sticks together in the summer night heat and I am asleep as he begins to say something.

No idea what it is.

In the morning I remember. 

I love you too, Locket. 

The sun has made the camper the size of a room now and there's a resident Ben and we want for nothing and you have to defeat all of seven separate locks to get to me now.

Told you everything would be okay. I keep every promise I can, Peanut.

Windsweep set-down 
shadowside lightaway 
fool-eyed leader of the 
tightrope walker

Never enough words but I like to try.

Happy Father's Day.

To Lochlan who fought for and took custody of both children and more than made up for the years when we didn't know Ruth was even his. He's had nothing but love for them and has been the voice of freedom when I have hesitated and wanted to lock the kids safely away. He continues to give advice and teach them life lessons and he is there at every hour of every day for them no matter what and always will be. He is  the best father. Present, affectionate, patient, loving. Generous to a fault. Never on his phone or too busy or away. If they need him he drops whatever he is doing, no questions asked. He taught them magic and wonder and fire safety too, along the way and they are forthright and pragmatic and honest, just like him.

To PJ, who has been the constant since Jacob stopped being there. Who stepped in and managed wake ups and breakfast and packing school backpacks and doing crazy hair day and pajama day. Who drove them to sports practice and band. Who made sure they did their homework and walked them to school after lunch. Who questioned school dances on weeknights and taught them to always throw the second punch if it came down to it. Who gave the kids a Flintstone vitamin every second day for twelve years straight just in case they didn't get five servings of vegetables in a day. Who made a rocket from a toothpaste tube one morning at seven for physics class when Ruth forgot. Who baked for baked sales and was honestly a better mother than I could have ever hoped to be. He gave us routine and a safety net when what we had was ripped away and he never asked for anything in return. 

To Benjamin, who has spent every minute he was home with the kids from birth. Who was always the first to rock a baby to sleep or sing a lullaby to slowly wake them up. Who never ever failed to swing them from both hands as they walked, spending countless hours strolling down the sidewalk looking at houses and dogs and birds with them. Who was the beneficiary of just about every piece of art they ever made at school and he still has them. Who was always the first to show up with an elaborate plan for the afternoon and follow through right until bedtime. Who learned to be less loud and more tender via them and who stepped in and looked after us, along with PJ when things went wrong and who stepped out again when Lochlan came back for us without question. 

To Caleb, who was the first to find out Henry was Jacob's and made the sweeping decision to just cover everything. All of it. Life. Fatherhood. Who lied to make it easier for me and said Henry was his, in order to let me let him do this. He spent every weekend watching kid movies and making pizzas and being there, and helping to teach Henry (and Ruth because they were and still are inseperable) about manners, money and the world at large. He taught them a hard work ethic and good business practices and he backs up Lochlan's discipline without issue to show a strong united front. Even if it isn't fair. 

To Daniel and Schuyler, who taught the children tolerance and love and the value of family. To Christian who brought the fun and adventure and the idea that kids sometimes should learn the hard way. To Batman who brought the mystery and made sure everyone else was on their toes and then some and then sent money every single month just in case. 

To Duncan and Dalton, who always say Go ask your mother but then let them anyway.

To Samuel, who stepped in and gave them spirituality  and faith when I couldn't find it anymore.

To Jacob. Who gets to miss it all and never knew until it was too late.

To my own father, who's absence and lack of interest spurred a wolfpack who took over and raised me instead, who came around at the absolute end in his advancing age with regret. It touches me and we can finally talk, albeit long distance. 

And to Cole. The first of the pack to become a Dad who died without knowing he actually wasn't but that's probably a good thing. He softened and changed when the kids came along. I had already checked out on him but he was a good father. Thank you for that singular virtue. 

We are blessed with strong men with hardcore values and incredible fortitude who make each other better men by virtue of how we live and I am forever grateful. Today we celebrate them like we do every single day already and there aren't enough words to explain how thankful I am that they belong to us.

He's the spectre, I'm the wraith.

Intrusive thoughts-

No, they're not. I know where they're coming from-

Bridget, please. As in Bridget, please stop interrupting me for once so I can get this looked after and go back to my crises of self.

Hallucinations-

No, they're not. He's actually out there. I can SHOW him to you if you-

BRIDGE. 

Ignoring the elephant girl gets you a trip to the edge of the circus fence. 

This isn't a circus-

Like hell it's not. 

But Caleb is back to doing damage control, Asher is back in charge of my every move, what I wear, where I am when I fall asleep and what I eat and Lochlan as always is being blamed for not sounding the alarm fast enough even though I've been ringing the bell for three days now. I'll tell you every way short of sky-writing and Lochlan chooses that exact moment to only find the good, to only have optimism for the future-nay, the moment. 

God, I love him so for that. 

It's fine. He's fine. He doesn't cause any problems out there. (I mean Jacob, not Loch.)

What is he doing, exactly? 

Waiting. For me. 

Well, what does he do while he waits? (I've been waiting for them to acknowledge him as a person all this time. My heart sings as it spiderwebs into cracks.)

Reads his bible. Talks to God. Walks the rows. Helps things grow. Tries to be as helpful and inconspicuous as possible. He's patient. He doesn't want for much.

What does he do when you come out and see him?

Talks to me. 

About? 

Things to watch out for. He can see things we can't. People's true nature. The future. The present. The past. All of it. He sees our weaknesses and our problems from an objective viewpoint.

The idea of Jake being objective when it comes to you-

He has patience even for me now. 

What if..what if you asked him to leave.

He won't go. 

Did he say this? 

No, it's just the way it is. My brain wants him to go but my heart won't let him. And the heart is always more powerful than the mind. It just keeps him here.

What if you weren't here? Would he leave?

No, he would wait. I told you. 

Maybe we should go talk to him. 

Maybe you need to not enable her and this bullsh-

Cale. Shh. Bridget, what do you think we should do?

At least acknowledge that he's here. Ignoring someone is rude. 

Asher looks pale. I think I'm over my head here, guys. Maybe you all are too-

Just keep doing what you're doing. She's fine. We just keep a close eye.

Shouldn't this be transferred to professionals at this point?

Tried that. Tried everything. This is where we are now. Keeping her happy and making sure she doesn't become disoriented or distressed. 

Wow, you talk so cold. Like I'm not even here. 

Bridget, please. 

I guess we've come full circle today. I don't have much else for you today. Jacob is still a little shy about Asher. Asher, to his credit, is scared shitless.

Nevermind. Found a good song to practice and the way I sing it apparently everyone will be crushed by lunchtime.

 

Ricochet pinecone 
riverside elderberry 
underwater rushing 
tightrope walker 

Whistlestop coming 
soon I gotta go, gotta 
tiptoe mudslide 
tightrope walker 

Timid as a raindrop 
bold as the iceberg 
broken as the thorn of the 
blackberry crushing 

Goose-down comfort 
blackbear hideaway 
going out for winter 
tightrope walker 

Undertone overcast 
in breath outside, going on a limb 
and tearing of the bandage 
uncover fearlessness 
when lightning 
strikes it meets 
in the middle, as a 
bone-bent riddle be met with a 
riddle be found 
inbreath outside… 

Ricochet pinecone 
cavernwide honeyberry 
waterbent keeper 
tightrope walker 

Elderwise timestone 
rise a gaze east-side 
telling to the cradle 
tightrope walker 

Told as a footprint 
burned as a brightening 
sudden as the rush of the rib-bent whistler 

Windsweep set-down 
shadowside lightaway 
fool-eyed leader of the 
tightrope walker… 

Ricochet pinecone 
riverside elderberry 
underwater rushing 

Underbelly overcast 
going on a limb and 
tearing of the bandage 
(tightrope walker) 

(when lightning strikes) 
outbreath inside 
(when lightning strikes) 
inbreath outside 

outbreath inside 
inbreath outside

Everything you dreamed that it would be.

A good day to sit down before coffee and bang out This is Your Life and whoever thought it would be a good idea to put a smaller Sauter (upright) piano in the great room and ignore the Petrof grand in the parlour needs to have their head examined unless they actually enjoy me wailing through the end of this song, a particularly poignant song at that, as those are the only ones I sing. 

(Kidding, this was literally the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I've done nothing but play constantly.)

Duncan says he's just happy I moved on from Jar Of Hearts, and that it was a long winter because of it. The song started to weave it's way through my smooth holey brain and I had to instantly start figuring out chords for 24 instead, as 24 is the next song in my sappy morning-warmup playlist. 

PS The very newest Switchfoot song is really really good. I liked every single thing about it save for one line. The one that goes You've got your light and I've got my wings. 

And you only want to see the shit that starts to wind it's way through my shrivelled up little tear-soaked brain at that line, let me tell you. 

Makes me want to shine brighter, just to show Jake how bad he fucked up. How hard he tried to ruin me and how close he actually came and how in spite of the irreversible damage I am still here and I demand to be loved, even with the scars and he can look at them. They can all look at them and they can keep their regrets and they can suck it up and do what they should have done from the beginning and they can still fix it but I will never trust a soul or a song or a key every again.

You don't answer for any of this

 Ben and I had a waltz through the great room this morning to I Need You (to be wrong) which is the most unlikely but perfect slow dance, a smoldering banger of a song swelling into a summer-Beach Boys masterpiece by the end. Second song tonight. Album August twentieth. I am excited. Only three or four bands ever get me spooled up waiting for albums and Switchfoot is the Most Important of those. 

Also again, they stole an album title from me. Probably because over the years I have managed to use every word there is and in multiple languages besides so I am doing a correlation=causation moment here, give it to me, please.

Besides. Hello Hurricane. Their album came out a year and a half or a little less AFTER my post of the same name. 

In other rock star news, there's a beautiful house out in the valley (*link now removed. I figured out who it belonged to. I don't know him but he has a family and so I took the link down) and I'm trying to figure out who owns it based on the belongings and music equipment in the photos. Kind of fun, if you ask me. 

Horribly invasive*, Ben says. 

Excuse me, they put the photos on the internet. Invasive how again?

The internet is an invasion, Ben says. And he isn't kidding. 

If Ben were not so metal, he would be Amish too. Like me. Not as a derogatory label but as something we aspire to be. I broke my sewing machine this week and have resolved to double-down on hand sewing, as I was meant to do because I like it more anyway. 

You can control your tension, Lochlan snorts. 

EXACTLY, FOLKS. 

In other news. Jacob is still in the orchard. Ha. Jesus saves everyone BUT me here, folks. I haven't recalled Asher from Batman's in spite of a million requests a day and now a deadline to bring him back over to work before someone else does, Fidget and I fell asleep at a stoplight yesterday and lost my driving privileges for the summer, as something has triggered my (diagnosed, don't worry) narcolepsy and now I have zero trouble falling asleep. I am the army recruit now, having graduated boot camp with that treasured ability. I sit down in a lawn chair and fall asleep. I close my eyes and fall asleep. Feel the sun on my face as I close my eyes? Nope, I'm in dreamland. Fuck you. 

The doctor (called hastily who came and checked me because he was concerned it might be a blood pressure thing but then stuck around for a quick cup of tea and got to see me in action, don't you know as I knocked off holding a teacup full of hot liquid no less and Lochlan seemed far more alarmed by that then by someone waking me up with horns blaring at a light on the highway up the mountain) said it's probably related to all of the recent stress (HA) or possible the vaccine (GREAT) so yes, I will recall Asher because now I need a driver. It's fine. I'd rather control the music than the wheels any old day. Summers are for sticking your hand out the window and riding the wind, not defensive maneuvers in shitty North Van traffic.

That lion slept for two days hence and we should have robbed him blind. Instead we robbed him sighted and that's good enough for me.

You would have done it too, but for the payout. I know Lochlan is fond of stockpiling money, as he is technically retired but also not in the least and never stops hustling, and this is probably his most-least favourite side-income generator. 

I am a piece of meat dangled in front of a hungry lion. A means to an end. A thorn in each of their sides, cleaved in half in order to inflict as much damage as possible. A poultice, a panacea designed to cure quickly and without leaving scars, though at this point our delicate skin is thickened with them and the fire (and the brimstone too) no longer affect us in the same way it once did. There is no shock left. No surprise. No remorse. No promises and no vows to never do it again.

And there is magic, in such an easy event. An audience of one. A spectator who nods along as the rules are carefully relayed at the outset, agreeing to follow each and every single one, as the punishment is the end of the evening. One who holds out right until the bitter final moment, breaking every rule at once and by then we are too spent, too overstimulated and too gratified to level any sort of castigation for his efforts. Instead we take the money and run into the dark headlong and foolishly, where we finally stop just off the road and by the light of the moon and a single flame Lochlan checks me first, making sure I'm all there still, making sure I'm real, and then he counts the money, making sure it's all there, making sure it's real.

We have not, in all these years, learned the difference between the price of something and the cost of something. I fear we never will.

Wastrels, minstrels and the objects of their affection.

I am tired. Maybe here's part one?

***

God. My favourite thing in the world is when the Devil gets drunk and gets tender. It's better than Christmas and Burning Man and a good line of cocaine all rolled into one hot stumbling machine of a man and it's so rare these days. Not sure what to make of it. Especially on a rainy Monday evening in June. 

Lochlan and I are playing in the pool. The rain is pouring down on the roof. It's loud but we have music on and are swimming away from and then back toward each other. He takes me into his arms and treads water easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, weightless in the deep end.  I always end up clinging to him in the pool if he is there. The deep end is extra-deep, the bottom of the pool is dark blue and it feels bottomless and scary without him to hold on to. He uses one hand to tread and keeps one arm around me tightly and is moved to pull me in hard against him for a long chlorine-soaked kiss. 

One hand slides off the arm of the chaise nearest us. The Devil is paying attention, his eyes flashing caustics from the surface of the pool. He straightens up, puts his glass down on the table next to him and leans forward, elbows on knees, fist in palm. 

Do you both even realize how beautiful you are together? 

I nod and kiss the tip of Lochlan's nose. We are fire.

You are! Between the striking colouring and the tension, I can't even take..my eyes from you. 

So watch, then. Lochlan still hasn't looked at Caleb.

I'd like to, with your permission. 

There's the cost of admission-

Name a price and I'll cover it.

Can't buy this kind of love, Diabhal. Lochlan says with a laugh. Thought you learned that lesson.

I'm only asking for a night of..inclusion.

You can't afford it.

I can offer a generous sum. Don't be a fool, Locket.

Oh, I'm not. Maybe a joker but never a fool. Not anymore. He pulls me up, hands locked around my shoulders and drowns me in a kiss that sends us both under the surface. 

When we come back up for air, Caleb is gone but there's a post-it on his chair. Lochlan pushes me up the ladder and I grab our towels while he bends to get the post-it. He reads it and shakes his head to get the water out of his hair. It springs up into crazy long curls and his mouth curls up on one side. 

Well, at least he knows the value of a private show. He shows me the paper. 

My eyebrows go up. VIP. Lochlan nods without a word. We should probably go get ready.

I didn't know it woud all turn out this way and I wouldn't change it for the world.

I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest
The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time
Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus
If I were to pluck on your heartstrings would you strum on mine?

I've been longing for
Daisies to push through the floor
I've never really felt like this before
And I wish plant life would grow all around me
So I won't feel dead anymore

 

Sunday is Father's Day and Midsummer all in one and we are planning a beautiful acknowledgement of both for this coming weekend. I still am light on energy and short on sleep but we're just going to make a feast to eat by the bonfire on the beach on the longest day and I'm going to make everyone flower crowns. We will chase the night as far back as we can push it and relish the light until it's disappeared over the horizon.

We will celebrate all of them, some biological, all honorary. All pitching in, having gone above and far beyond what most friends would have and I remain forever blessed, touched and grateful. Henry is twenty years old in one month from now and he is the man he is because of them. Ruth is a beautiful woman at almost twenty-two, independent and raised with a fine balance of utter freedom and perfect safety. Again, because of them.

And they will renew their vows to each other, to the army and to me, once cutting palms and sealing their brotherhood in a field with a stolen, questionably-rusted blade, now doing it on the beach at high tide with a sharp, clean and new knife. They will solemnly remember the conviction, the passion that only teenagers can muster and they will remember why they're here. We will add a few more, as the eight has shifted and changed due to life, death and circumstance, we have grown and reevaluated on this night, for this purpose. The beginning of summer always heralded a reminder of why they stick together. Why they're here. Why they chose me and closed the circle and just worked doggedly to make it all perfect and yet it's so flawed it's amazing the sun even bothers to grace us anymore when the dark would do just fine.

I long for a day like this again.

I was having a grand time. Being absolutely miserable, as is my right on a day when it's dark and pouring rain. I learned the simple chords for A.A. Williams' Control a while back but I was working on timing. She's in my headphones just faintly while I sing out loud at the piano. I can't do the guitar part obviously. Will have to hire Pallbearer to do that for me or maybe ask Ben about it. I just pound the keys louder. 

Hear me out. (It's actually tattooed across the palm of my hand. It's faded because I wash so many dishes but it's there.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch so hard I choke on the words and it all grinds to a halt and it makes me vaguely disappointed because I think I finally had it. The fingers grip without squeezing and I take off the headphones to see who needs me, even though I know who it is by touch.

His green eyes are glassy and his face is almost as sad as my heart. 

Stop. Peanut, please. You're killing me here. 

Do you have any requests, then? 

Not today. He kisses the top of my head. Maybe just quiet. 

Sometimes he can't stand listening to me try to hear myself. I don't know what to do about it but everyone says if I subject myself heavily to things that scare me eventually I won't be afraid of them any more so it should probably work for Lochlan too.

(Maybe the electricity was always obvious.)

Walking through the garden centre, staring at the back of Lochlan's neck. He is golden-pink but only down to the neckline of his t-shirt, as he always has his hair tied back now. It's longer than ever and he doesn't plan to cut it, he says the curls are less aggressive the longer it gets from the weight of that length and he's not wrong but there isn't a person alive who has met Lochlan who isn't in love with his giant golden-red pop-can curls save for Lochlan himself. 

He bought me a small pot of roses for the kitchen and a big stone fountain bubbler for outside near the apple tree. He carried the fountain and I carried the flowers. Within hours the hummingbirds were bathing in the fountain and the roses were blooming on the kitchen counter.

Staring at the back of his neck makes me feel ten years old again, watching for him in the crowd, focusing on following him without getting distracted, making sure to stay close, his ever-present t-shirt and jeans a flag, his hair a beacon, his scowl a casual master. He turns and gives a half-smile in relief that I am keeping up. He loads our purchases into the back of the truck and ties everything safely down so it can't roll around or fall and off we go for the drive home. This was a whim but it also finishes the food garden corner of the back lawn and so it's worth it, even though it involved a very expensive very long outdoor extension cord to pull it off and we'll have to spend time burying that so it runs by magic instead of obvious electricity. 

Like us, he points out and the smile goes full.

Unusual Fridays but so very nice.

Long story short, I had a surprise early period and bled all over Daniel and Schuyler's beautiful sheets. They laughed and confirmed that they have a mattress protector, and not to worry, and besides, I am the queen of getting blood out of clothes, thanks to decades of fistfights and bloody noses amongst the boys (personally: Lochlan)(hockey-related: Everyone else AND Lochlan). They weren't worried one bit but judging by my tearful dismay and general miserableness, Daniel declared it to be a feel-better day and so they threw away the sheets (I will fetch them later, don't worry. They are far too expensive and nice to toss when as we said, I can get the blood out) and Schuyler went off to make a big breakfast while Daniel ran me an extra-large, extra-hot, extra-long bubble bath and poured me a glass of champagne. 

Afterwards he helped rinse my hair and then gave me a full blow-out with his big professional hair dryer, remarked at the ridiculously long bangs that catch in my eyelashes but said he wasn't touching them and neither should Loch, agreed I have a cute bob now and to keep it going, and then he did a face mask with me (aloe/olive oil or something, it smelled really good) and we whitened our teeth and then he said after breakfast we can pick out nail polish colours and then he dressed me in a clean pair of pajamas (a button up shirt and boxers because pants aren't going to fit) and back to bed with more champagne just in time for breakfast to be served on their huge wooden wedding tray. 

I am becoming a breakfast-in-bed whore, that's for sure. 

Then back to watching Juliet, Naked because we all read the book years ago and liked it and I didn't know there was a movie. Then snoozing. Then nail polish. Then lunch but probably not. Then maybe more champagne and a chocolate bar because besides the hot bath and self-care they assume that chocolate fixes everything right now.

They might not be wrong but I'm pretty sure it's just the attention making me feel better. They said to wait until Lochlan shows up. They're going to talk him into having the same routine because he needs a break and a treat. That a hot bath and some pampering are necessary, not luxuries. That we all need it sometimes when the day feels wrong.

Breaks and treats for everyone. I love my fairy boys so much.

Inmate number fucking one.

 Just found out Asher also has both his vaccinations, because he's a caregiver. 

Oh, was that a stint before you got here? I ask him in surprise. 

No, it's now. My official rol- He stops and looks guilty so briefly but I see it.

What? No, you're a PA. Or an EA. Whatever you like to go by-

I stop when I see him shoot a glance toward the table. 

Oh. Why didn't someone tell me? 

You wouldn't like it but you also won't have me do it and it's necessary. Lochlan always tells me straight even though he didn't exactly tell me this.

But is it? Things are going well-

For now. 

Right, and then-

Bridget. 

What? 

Just leave it, pretend it's the EA thing. 

Well, I CAN'T now. 

Sure you can. 

I should have figured it out last week when he insisted on driving-

Bridgie. 

Don't keep me in the dark. 

It's payback, because that's where you keep me, and you can't do that anymore. Lochlan's face is grim but his eyes are nothing but kind. He's trying so hard and I don't give him an inch.  

But what about when I send him to do something? Or take time off? 

He can only agree if you are in custody of one of us. 

Ah. Right. Wow. So ironclad. Such jail. Many bars.

Not at all. Just a bigger safety net for you. That's all. It's not a punishment. 

I didn't say it was. But call a spade a spade, Locket. 

That's what I tell you.

Feeling better. Might be the caffeine. Might be the Devil. Might even be the rain. No body yet either.

I have more energy this morning. Caleb did not let go, gaining custody of me late last evening when I fell asleep in the middle of listening to him list all the things he wants to do next week when the province announces a downgrade to epidemic (?) and things begin to slowly open back up. He is fully vaccinated now and does not seem to feel as if mere mortals can affect him, as he is anxious to fulfill all the adventures he's been promising me for the past two years while we've been locked down. 

Keep in mind I had my first shot nine days ago, am not having a good time with it and there's no hope of a second vaccine for me until at least mid-August. LOL *cries*

I think this is fine, being bound to the point with everyone home, frankly. And Caleb was on his best behaviour last night and today, not waking me until this morning, when he pulled me and the quilt up against him and crushed a kiss against my mouth even as he failed to ask if I even wanted him, probably knowing the answer (HA. Always) and then later when he let go he left me wrapped up tight in the sheets, pulling me up again to rest in his arms and he one-handed a big tray onto the bed which to my delight featured ristrettos, a bowl of banana chunks, one of grapes and two plates of toast with cheese. 

And then he walked me home, down the dim quiet hallways to my door, knocking softly, planting a kiss on my forehead before turning to head back to his wing for some reading.

Home for soulful (sorrowful) ghostie friends.

A beautiful, breezy day but I am not allowed to kayak or even walk on the beach today because yesterday at the park they found an empty kayak and the boys are concerned that I might find a body in my travels, which is a little too Stand By Me for them, I guess even though I think it would be exciting to solve a mystery and help provide closure to a family who is in distress. 

But when I point this out Lochlan says Absolutely not, Peanut. 

He agrees with the sentiment but not the person, and they instead are scouring the coast regularly because the current goes this way from the park and it's conceivable that someone who is no longer alive will show up for dinner, with the tides, though the ghosts that are already here will probably scare a new one off, demanding that the new ghost interloper find their own point to haunt, that this one is full up. I wanted to ask Jake if that were true, if that is something one does after, be territorial and selfish like that but Lochlan knows damn well if he lets me out of his sight I am headed straight to the beach to look for bones. That's what I said when he said no, as he can't keep me from my beach forever and it could be days, weeks or years before someone washes ashore and if it's just bones by then they might even be easier to find.

He nods and says by then it will be fine but until he decides exactly when is, they will be doing a sweep first. Gristly and then some but apparently not as bad as finding a saltwater-bloated corpse on a sunny spring day. 

Which is probably true but I think we should get it over with. It's HELPING. 

It's HAUNTING, they remind me. You will see it every time you close your eyes. 

I am ALREADY HAUNTED. What's one more, if Jake lets them stay?

My favorite things.

 Daniel and I have matching confetti glitter nails and a love for the Netflix show Sweet Tooth. We have a stash of sour patch candy (because duh, we love sugar anyway) and we've spent the last day and a half tucked away watching wholesome shows and napping in the rain. Now it's a sunny Monday and our plan is to continue because I still don't feel good from the stupid vaccine which I wanted very badly but I have a new set of rashes now (apparently it's called Covid Arm and I have to get my second vaccine in the opposite arm), still so tired I can hardly think, mildly feverish and a little bit sickish when my blood sugar drops too low so we raced through the chores we needed to do at our respective homes and then went back to bed. It's perfect. People come and go. We just stay on. He is keeping watch, I am the child with antlers.

Also watched the Conjuring: Devil Made me do it and a very respectable entry to the franchise, I think.

Second coffee up in the park by the lake. I saw two deer. Lochlan offered to turn so I could take photos but I don't need bad photos of them bolting from the sound. I need them to feel safe in a field just a little removed from the road by a heavy band of blackberries and old barbed wire fencing. 

More rain and it's cold and I had to go back for a sweater, jeans and socks as a t-shirt and leggings weren't doing it today. PJ turned the heat back up. The woodpeckers came to the yard and cleaned up all of the birdseed I spilled in trying to hang the feeder out this morning and the poppies are taking over. 

Jacob wasn't anywhere to be found. 

We came home, retreated to our respective corners and now I am listening to Sam's podcast and working away at the mending pile. Every now and then a boy will come by and remark that he should learn to do it too and then it would go faster and also life skill but when I call their bluff and ask them to pull up a chair they make their excuses and go away again, but not too far. I really enjoy handsewing and now there's a whole new movement based on 'slow' sewing and repairing instead of replacing. The way we've always done it, I guess. 

I didn't finish the first or the second coffee, which is weird. I have a really bad metallic taste in my mouth and my arm feels heavy and bruised and I still want to sleep all the time. I hope the second shot is far less eventful but it can always be worse. At least while I'm down I still have lots to keep me busy. 

I did take pictures of an old abandoned house I want to paint. Really excited about that. This is one of the best weekends in a long time for actually resting and I like that too.

Funny, White Nights was also that Taylor Hackford film I adored when I was thirteen and still didn't get loyalty or romance, for that matter.

A breakfast date with the Devil in which he arranges a seaside picnic meal of eggs benedict, caviar and mimosas , coffee and chocolate croissants  followed by a trip to get the good Russian watercolours and a few other odds and ends and I've been happily painting in my studio ever since. I fell in love with the St. Petersburg sticky, messy watercolours a while ago but have only had a couple of pans. Usually I use Japanese watercolours but I prefer the behaviour of the Russian. English paints are now a close third but not that different from the Japanese ones, even in price. This will keep me busy through summer. 

I forgot to buy a smaller drawing board as I tend to sit up on my knees on a high stool with the paper taped to the board. The board itself is 25x23" and I end up with the paint, water jar, rags and brushes balancing on the board too because there's never room left on the table otherwise and I need something a little less unwieldy, though this served its purpose nicely. Big format is not my favorite. I like everything pocket-sized. The smallest board I can find is 11x17" but I want to see them in person so I will wait til the next trip, though walking into an art supply store with Caleb is almost orgasmicly awful, as I will express interest in something and he'll take it in hand and if I protest he says he wants to try it, and then he gives it to me when we get home. So I have to walk and look so carefully. He means well, of course. 

Yes, he paints. His style is so perfect and refined, I am jealous. I paint like someone has taped a brush to an expelling helium balloon. I get paint everywhere. I go in without a plan and sometimes I come out with a masterpiece. I've only been disappointed once and I fixed it and painted something else but I am determined to master watercolours, because they are so airy and delicate and far easier to travel with. Sometimes the daunting task of setting up for acrylics is crushing. And I gave up oils years ago. 

But yes. Round Yupo paper (on an extreme whim but Legion paper and I have a great relationship. They make all of this cool paper and I just buy everything I can find) and new Russian watercolors, a belly full of eggs and then more eggs, coffee and pastries and the rain falling just so that everything is tinged with a heady petrichor breeze and I would call this a perfect Saturday.

It's happening and I won't be there, either.

What are you doing? 

Trying to figure out which way Ohio is. 

For what-

Nothing! Not doing anything. 

You are NOT going to the Gathering. 

Maybe I am-

Bridget. 

What? Don't worry. I can't even go to Dairy Queen down the road. I don't think you have to worry too much.

Things I've learned this week.

1. Tik Tok is literally the greatest app ever, for when I get tired of Cribbage With Grandpa, I mean. The best Tik Tokker (?) is Andy Bird AKA DreadfulBird who pops in around the clock with the same message, adding a bit here and there but essentially telling us to take a moment and it's so glorious. Second best is William White AKA Whiteyy18 who has a dreamy eighties Rob Lowe thing going on where he lip syncs to classic love songs (like that isn't my jam) and I admit I was rocked back when he showed up on my FYP. Yes, I have an account on it, no I haven't posted any videos. But I can spend hours watching other people and we are trying to convince Lochlan to teach people juggling on an account but Lochlan's phone...is a phone, and for some reason he laughs when I show him videos but refuses to download it to enjoy anything. He's weird. 
2. Peonies last forever in a vase of water. Ants however, also last forever and come in with them so you have to leave the closed buds upsidedown in water for a bit first. THEN bring them in.
3. The pool chemicals finally don't hurt my face AKA it takes four weeks to recover from multiple wasp stings.
4. My eye still burns and one part of my face so that means nerve damage. FUN.
5. Gatorade is greater than Diet Coke.
6. If you wish for something hard enough it can happen. I was able to finally submit for a tattoo project with one of my all-time favourite artists ever. Cross you fingers for me, I really want this work by this artist. 
7. Papyrus cards come with a warning about requiring extra postage. Who knew? We literally ALL sign all the father's day cards that go out around the globe and it takes two days to prepare the cards and then cross-check to make sure they got signed by all of us (the dads will check) and then as I am putting stamps on them I saw the note and I'm like noooooooooo. But they don't seem heavy and they meet the size requirement for letter mail so we mailed them early and will hopefully not get them back for insufficent postage. Christ on a pancake. 
8. The mouse in the garden does not like critter spray (I use it around the garden sheds to keep the raccoons out). Neither do I. I sprayed it in the wind last night and had a wonderful coughing fit. Essentially I pepper-sprayed myself.
9. It's Friday eventually. Finally. Now. Today.
10. Moderna makes me nauseous as hell and extremely tired, hence the Gatorade revelation.
    
11.  If the dog needs to get up at midnight to go outside and then again at five in the morning, someone (me) should probably check his backside for poop dribbles before letting him back up on the bed because I had a chance to sleep until seven. Yup. Someone (me) cleaned it all up though.
12. Restaurants are open and I really really really want that Monte Cristo now but I am afraid and I am surprised and pleased at myself for that feeling and so therefore we will get takeout sushi as always.
    

The very last package of baby-pink shiny heart pasties was sitting in my bureau drawer just for this moment. Or rather, an upcoming one.

I got really confused yesterday because everything online was Pride month this and that and as far as I know it's always the hottest weekend of the year that Pride takes place on, and it's not in June, it's at the end of July/start of August. I didn't realize how much of the content I see online is American. Or maybe how little of a footprint Canada has, as we've been a gay-friendly country overall for thirty-something years now while the US seems to be just waking up. In any event, it spurred a group planning dinner in which we are plotting and scheming a Pride weekend party here for the long weekend at the beginning of August and we're going to have a drag parade and entertainment and glitter rain and a big picnic with live music and dancing and I do love having something to plan for. Maybe it can even serve as a defacto early anniversary party for Lochlan and I. Maybe it can just be a fun event we can work towards to pull us out of the strange pandemic-wane in which we are still too horrified to go to crowded places and are still curating our mask collections with all the ferver of early virus times. 

I don't know. But now I need to source a crane with biodegradable, environmentally-friendly glitter rain and that's going to be a literal tall order here. 

And if you don't already live here on the Point you aren't invited. I figure I should make that clear right off. We're now a lost and hidden tribe. We don't show ourselves to the outside world. We don't let them in. 

If only, Lochlan breathes. He's excited. Straightest man on the point but God, does he love drag.

Deep (end).

 I'm listening to the new Billie Eilish single this morning. I can rearrange this for the piano but her voice is unique and I really like listening so I may leave it. Besides, Lochlan's been hogging the piano all week sorting out a good arrangement of Honky Cat, I think just to make me laugh.

It's working. 

He really has a such a flair. It's almost incredible how surrounded we are by surly musicians and Lochlan turns out to be the most flamboyant performer of all. The rest are shy and yielding, hard to cajole, impossible to convince to perform. Circus people are not like that. We just do it, because we have to. It's a compulsion. It is a complete and utter lack of shame or self-regard and a huge desire to get that high from smiles on people's faces. Or wonderment. Shock. Surprise. Fear. Relief. Whatever works. 

Add in music and well, that's the holy grail of our lives. The backbone. 

I let Ben turn off my alarm in order for me to ignore it this morning. I let Daniel paint my toes with pink glitter. I let Asher take my inventory and decide that sleep wasn't forthcoming and drugs would be, and then he announced to the house that he noticed I liked hot, elaborate and complete breakfasts and then preferred to graze for the remainder of the day on fruit or crackers or just booze and he's not wrong but I also pride myself on having a big family dinner every night and I wait until everyone's home, and most of the time these days everyone is so not a huge deal. 

Then he made me bruschetta with cheese on twelve grain bread and it was one of the best breakfasts I have ever had. 

No one argued with him. They know. But they are also of the time to skip breakfast completely and I will die before I start cooking early so this will clearly be a him-thing when he's working for me, and well, coffee when he is not. 

He will be for the next few days while I sit at the bottom of the pool. It suddenly got insanely hot out and the pool is the only place we can get any relief. Asher says this is the best and chillest job he thinks he's ever had and that makes me sad because babysitting a mentally ill woman who is already babysat by levels of people would be a difficult job but he acts like he's on vacation and if I ask him for something he acts like he's doing a favour for his very best friend. 

I wonder if it will last. 

(I think it will.)

Love in a mist.

How are you feeling? 

I am on the swing and I hear him before I see him, as is his usual routine these days. He gets into my head first and works his way out until my eyes catch sight of the blonde hair and the ever-present pale blue button down.

I look for Caleb but he is clear on the other side of the vineyard inspecting the new shed. He's not a gardener as such but I can get him to walk the grounds and it's shady out here so I like to come out and see what's growing before the sun can touch me. I always stop for ten or fifteen for a thought and a swing, and no one ever seems to mind. And I don't know who put Jacob in the orchard but maybe he's here so I can see him from my studio windows. Or maybe he's just here because he follows me wherever I go.

I've had better springs. My face still has pain. And I got my vaccine so honestly I could sleep for a month, if prompted. 

You could sleep more, that's for sure. 

Are you there too? 

I'm with you all the time. 

Personal Jesus. Wasn't that a song?

By a band you don't like. 

Who gave you permission to follow me around? 

You did. 

When did I do this? 

When you chose to never stop grieving. 

Am I supposed to stop?

Most people do. 

I have never ever been a 'most-people'. 

This is true. 

Neamhchiontach. Oh. The Devil is back around this way and the spell is broken. Jacob retreats back behind my eyes and Caleb is there holding out a grand bouquet of nigella flowers, one of my favourites. I planted a metric ton of them all around the edge of the side yard and they have grown up in a knee-high perimeter of  airy star-shaped blue and white delicate blooms that make me so happy they beat every bouquet professionally willed into this house. Ruth and I have been pressing them constantly to use in future projects. I've been trying to paint them. It doesn't stop and it's considered a good healthy obsession, one of so few that garners approval. 

Wow. Thank you. 

They are almost as beautiful as you. What were you saying when I came up? Did you have to stop swinging because I'm back? No. Not if you don't want to. 

I think I'm done for now. 

Okay, we can work our way back. He holds out his elbow so that I can take his arm and we head back down the hill.

Everything and nothing.

Much to my dismay I do not have 5G (even on my phone because we're far away from towers that bring actual reception) as joked about nor did it give me super-hearing which is also something I was secretly hoping for. 

Lochlan scoffs and says all it gives us is sore arms and peace of mind and he's right and so he gets to play the piano this morning but he's not keeping up with my song and I forgot the words in the middle anyway. this after he promised we would live life more musically as we piled into the theatre last night to get through as much of the second act of season five of Lucifer on Netflix, a show with more religious puns and musical numbers than I could ever hope to see all at once on the big screen and I love it so much and I'll be sad when it's all done. Also it seems like we've hardly watched anything this spring and we've watched a few things. I guess it ebbs and wanes sometimes, like the tide, which gifted me nothing at all this morning but maybe I wasn't looking because I feel too tired today anyway. Otherwise good but tired from not being able to sleep comfortably and also because I lay there waiting for my gifts like a forgotten superhero and as I said in the first paragraph it was all hyped for nothing. 

I do get to have a huge homemade cinnamon bun and a good cup of tea for my second coffee courtesy of Matt who came over to make breakfast, sent by Sam who thought we might need an extra hand. Which makes me laugh, Asher is back but Matt is a different soul and he's easy to talk to. He is settled in and content as fuck. They both are, honestly but Matt likes the privacy of the boathouse and his life here with Sam working mostly from home. 

Even though things are rapidly heading back to previous normals, as I pointed out to the boys earlier. Sam may be going back to work in the next few weeks. Things are opening. Restaurants are now open for dining and I won't be going to one any time soon but I do feel as if I am working my way toward a Monte Cristo like no other. Last time I had one was August of 2019 and that's a goddamned tragedy, I think.

In the meantime we can sing to pass the time while I wait for my fucking sandwich. 

Your priorities are interesting, Matt says and I just roll my eyes at him. Well, better hearing and a sandwich?

Never said I wanted much in life, I remind them all. That would be lots.

Update: it was Moderna! Very excited for that. And now everyone on the point has had at least one vaccine. So thankful that everyone here is still healthy and safe and continues to be so. Now I go sleep because zzzzz.

Sunday shots.

Dozing this morning in the fog, eyes closed against the half-light, cool and perfectly comfortable with a breeze on my face from the window above the bed and the warmth of his arm around the back of my neck, his fingers smoothing my bangs away from my forehead periodically. Just as I fall asleep they dance across my skull and I am pulled out of an endless, meandering dream in which I am rowing a boat across a lake so chockful of lilies I can't gain any speed but it's also so beautiful it takes my breath away. 

(I did that once. Sometimes memories masquerade as dreams. I love my brain when that happens.)

I have to go get ready, Diabhal. 

Church is probably over. You can listen to it this afternoon. 

The kids and I are getting vaccinated. 

On a Sunday? 

Yes. 

Need a driver?

Have one. Lochlan's taking us. 

Ah. Then I'll be here when you get back. 

Okay. I kiss his cheek and he grabs for me as I escape his embrace.

I will get the grapefruit lemonade one, of course. Same one I always get. That's a lie. I always seem to end up with blue. I don't even know what flavour blue is.

 My eyes are burning and so is my face from where I swelled up like a pink balloon during waspgate. I was in the sun this morning for probably two hours, mostly in shade, weeding the gardens and hoeing up the soil, checking on my seeds (EVERYTHING came up) and getting rid of leftover sticks/bits. Lochlan was tying up grapevines and covering access points in the big wooden fence. Using up old wood. Making it garden-tight as we called it by the time we were finished, around two. I got to go have a cool shower and put on comfy clothes for a trip into the city to pick up a bag full of books and a big order of Indian food (Pakoras for DAYS and Keema naan which makes me so stupidly happy you wouldn't even believe it) and then after dinner we could sit and have a drink and enjoy the beautiful gardens and I realized I probably still managed to do too much, even as I am clearing the week just in case my vaccine makes me so tired and I sleep for two days, like the boys all did after their shots. 

Sleeping for two days would be a fucking dream. It'll never happen. You know me. But I definitely won't even be lifting a finger tomorrow. We have more Indian food left than we brought home, I think. The outdoors is done. I even washed down the patio chairs up by the doors. I watered everything. We decided not to mow this week to preserve the health of the grass through the next four-day heatwave and the most I will have to do is water things maybe on Tuesday. Lochlan will do it in the evening if I need. 

We don't even need groceries, as we stopped in to a 7/11 I had never been in before and picked up some odds and ends. They had FIVE Slurpee machines but I didn't get one, as we had the takeout. Maybe next week. 

I am ready for my shot and can't wait for this stupid pandemic to be finished.

Moveable beasts.

Both feet in my mouth today, one and then the other. Here, enjoy:

I sent Asher to spend the weekend with his Godfather (the Batman) because suddenly I won't let him do anything and I'm ridiculously hyperaware of his proximity to me when Lochlan is present and honestly maybe we'll work our way up. To his credit he has been alert, aware and mindful of our privacy and we've even instituted easy, no-questions-asked code phrases so he'll just disappear and it's great. I'm not good at formally dismissing anyone and instead I just keep them. End a conversation? Not me. Never. 

Then I scrubbed through the calendar to see if we have anything on for the weekend. It's a group Google Calendar and it keeps us afloat. The kids and I are being vaccinated. That's about it. Then next week an entry catches my eye. Corpus Christi. 

I text Caleb. Why are we going to Texas? Can I not go? 

What on earth are you talking about?

The Texas trip on the calendar. It's a pandemic. I'm not going. 

I have nothing in Texas, Bridget. Check with Schuy. 

Oh, true. But Schuyler doesn't have anything in Texas either. Or any trips in the next week. I run the gamut of men until I get to Sam. Sam looks like he's about to lose it and tells me to click on it. 

Ahhh. 'Christian holidays calendar'.Except you've never mentioned it. 

It's more old-school European orthodoxy. Not my...er...vibe for the church. 

I spent two hours learning that a single click can sometimes answer everything, that's what I learned. Also that Corpus Christi is not only a place in the USA but a fancy Catholic dinner that falls sixty days after Easter.

***

In other news, I am dead. One of my truly good friends (rhymes with Rory) sweetly offered a preview of some rough music he is working on and I laughed. Because there were so many words packed into his verses I couldn't keep up with any of it and it was very unrefined and I laughed before I could catch myself. He is usually a bit of a tempered soul and I cringed visibly while Ben hung his head in disappointment. 

No, no, I want the criticism. She hasn't been wrong yet. 

I'm a huge fan. I know what I want to hear from you. 

Bridge- (Ben goes for damage control and gets dismissed.)

No, it's fine. Let me try something a little different and I'd like to bring it back. 

I would love that. Again, I'm sorry. 

Better you now than everyone else later.

(Oh fans, trust me. You're welcome. This was not good.)

I find him later and ask if he's okay with it. 

Yes. What's wrong? 

Last time I didn't like something you didn't speak to me for two years. 

I was immature then. I was high too. Clean now. It makes a difference. Sadly it's harder to write but easier to have friends.

I nod. I see it with Ben. 

It's fine, Bridge. Don't you worry about it. You've never done me wrong. I will rebuild bigger and better than ever. 

You set the bar so high. I really had nothing to do with it. 

God, you're sweet. 

Am not. 

Oh but you are. (That right there? The biggest compliment he's ever given me.)

It's got a way of making everyone the same.

December's all alone
and he's calling
me on the phone
but he sounds so cold
He says he loves me so
but how would I ever know?
Certain words grow old
It's a vicious kind of catch
it sides me blind
Now I'm out of my mind
I want to scream

No, Peanut. Duncan's got it. 

I just lost my job as Lochlan's spotter. 

We're under fire restrictions now since it's May but because it's raining so hard Lochlan's brought out his big torches to practice. It's the only time he'll do it now. He keeps his skills up. His arms are rock-hard and just as sinewy-defined as ever since he started throwing fire but these torches are bigger, heavier and far more dramatic than his usual practice torches. As such he has to haul them out and use them regularly or he forgets the weight difference and struggles more than he should, if that explains it. It's hard to explain.

I can do it. 

No, you can't. I can't believe all this time has passed and you don't understand what I was doing when I asked you to spot me. Do you think a twelve year old can pull that off? 

I did. 

It was so you wouldn't wander off. 

Oh. Well. Wow. It never crossed my mind. 

You didn't have to be a parent at seventeen. I had to get creative. You hardly listened. 

I listen!

He glares. Hardly. A smile finally cracks his face. You weren't there for safety, in any case. And you still aren't. 

So what you're saying is you were foolishly unprotected for the entirety of our show time. 

But you weren't and that's what matters. 

Wow. 

Yeah.

Lunar eclipsing.

Caleb had a whole lot to say to me about PJ last night and I ended up standing up and walking out the door. Nightcaps are not an invitation to unload unless invited to do so and I didn't need to hear about PJ. PJ is just projecting, he's feeling the first pangs of empty-nest syndrome, he's questioning his worth. All of that is such familiar territory for me I have a hard time finding sympathy and yet he is as open and honest as they come. 

So freezing Caleb out over a taboo subject is the best way to shut him down, closing doors behind me as I go. Not doing that. PJ is off limits to absolutely everyone, including Lochlan. Lochlan may rule this point like a Fire King but PJ is the wood that keeps him burning.

And well, speaking of euphemisms, PJ was still awake when I knocked on his door, having walked down to see him because he'll always be better company than anyone and he understands the rules better than everyone. And even as the kids grow up and leave PJ is my constant, my conscience and my hand up, he's my level and my compass. He's my best friend and he asks for so little overall.

We would have been the most normie-suburban, bullshit-traditional, predictable family in the world, and as he opens the door only in jeans, pulling me in by the wrists, locking the door behind me and leading me down the hall I can only be grateful we're nothing of the kind.

Tattooed tempest (not me, for once).

Asher may have stuck the teaspoon in his mouth while he fixed my earring for me before putting the spoon back in my tea and I think that's what set PJ off, for I picked up the mug and took a sip. A quarter teaspoon of honey really sets the blueberry tea right in my book. He didn't forget. Only the wildflower honey. Only with the blueberry tea. No other kinds. I drink those kinds black. And it's Tuesday, he didn't have to ask which kind. I put the mug down and settle back against Asher's shoulder to check my phone. 

Christ. 

What's wrong, Padraig?

I stare at him and he's a controlled shipwreck so I ask Asher if he can go down to the boathouse and get my pink sweater. Asher agrees (I don't think he's dumb. He knew something was up. I haven't worn my pink sweater in weeks.) and we wait until he leaves and we watch him head across the lawn together in silence before squaring off. 

This is some low-key incestuous shit right here, Bridge-

Are you jealous, PJ? 

But we said it at the same time and then both shouted NO pretty much directly into each others' faces. 

Dalton walks in and laughs. PJ and I are both turning pink and glaring at each other, huffing and puffing quietly. 

Need a referee?

No, I assure him. 

Maybe, PJ counters. 

Dalton looks at PJ, looks at me and says he's making lunch but he'll be nearby if we need him. Off he goes too and we're left with this mirrored glare. 

Physically this looks terrible. Emotionally this is ironic. I look after you and the kids. You don't need a separate person-

Your hands are full, I'd rather you focus on them-

Bridget, Henry is almost twenty years old. Ruth is moving out. The only person who needs a nanny around here is you. And it's supposed to be me. His eyes are welling up. (No no no. Don't you dare, Padraig or I will break I swear to God.) 

You never signed up for that. 

Oh, yes I did. I can show you the line. Wrote my full name out, even. He is so earnest. 

I can't ask you to do that. 

You didn't even try. 

I did. We're too close. 

Told you you should have married me. 

We would have been so boring though. I am crying now. Fuck.

Exactly. 

Asher is more of a maid than a nanny. I needed to be able to dismiss someone at the drop of a hat to go and fetch my errands or weed the garden and I can't do that with you.

Says who?

Says me.

He's coming back. Can I have the job or not? 

No, you can't. You can be my very close friend instead. With all the perks. 

Do you promise? 

Yes.

Can I have those perks this week or-

Hush, you.

Asher returns, holding out...my pink sweater.  I saw it in your closet on the weekend but I checked the boathouse first. I think you only have the one pink one, right? This should be it.

It is, thanks. 

Should I go again? PJ, man, I don't want to step on your toes. 

Just stay out of my way. PJ tries for casual but ends up all but growling on his way out the door.

Should I talk to him? Or maybe get Lochlan to? Asher doesn't want to cause problems. He looks almost scared suddenly.

He'll be fine. He just likes to run a tight ship. 

He seems like a good captain. 

Oh, I will tell him you said that. He can't hate you then.

The only good Mondays are long-weekend Mondays.

One of my favourite things to do is crack open all of the levered windows in the pool enclosure until it's humid and cold and then take a nap in my favourite chaise out there, bundled in a serape, listening to the rain pour down outside. It's always dark and breezy and life is drowned out and maybe it's escapism and no one had any patience to sit there for an hour in total silence, even with a book or a podcast or a movie on Netflix so it was a three-times-a-year if I'm lucky kind of deal. 

Asher is paid to have patience. He can sit for days and not say a word. Every so often, whether I am asleep or awake he will put his feet down from where he has them propped against a planter, and lean forward to pull the blankets up over my shoulder or tuck them around my hips. He doesn't say anything, he just looks after it. We've grown almost symbiotic here, with him able to anticipate needs before I recognize I have them, and he will ask if I'd like a cup of tea or a sweater or my shoes so I can check out the garden. 

Don't worry, I still put in a full eight hours yesterday building a tiny shed in the corner of the orchard. It's far enough away from the house that we need things out there. A first aid kit will go inside. A compost bin and some hand tools so you don't have to go all the way back to the garage if you decide you want to garden or tidy up a bit, a fire extinguisher and yes, an epi-pen is included in the first aid kit. The shed has two levels and a moon cut out to match my little garden gate and a roof made of cedar shakes and Ben trimmed in a little fairy window that I can paint a scene in to show someone might be home. I'm thinking a mouse rocking her baby mouse by a roaring fire. Or maybe a fox sleeping in a bed. 

Something dark and charming, anyway. That's the theme of my life.

Absent Jesus.

Try to dispose of a failure to decide
Holding fast and hoping for a sign
Keeping close this fervent lust for life
The greatest of all our enemies is time

I am turned unexpectedly, brought up into his arms, crushed against his chest, his hands tight around my hips, taking my weight in to hold, and I cry out in surprise, the sound truncated with a kiss, equally crushing, equally surprising. 

His face returns to his comfort zone, pressed against the side of my head, just above me so if I try to turn my head in towards him I wind up in a void underneath his jaw, set hard against my forehead. His hands are gripping me so hard. We're slipping. It's so warm and yet no one's going to let go first. But then he gives up and down I go, dropped back to the quilts along with his weight and we're safe again, on the way to the moon and he cries out just as I shatter along with him, both our hands coming up around each others heads to seal the moment (and maybe the night) with a kiss. 

It's a practised routine and no one gets in the way. 

But then Lochlan lets go and the cool air leaves me wrapped in goosebumps, shivers running down my neck across my shoulders and my back and down my arms to my fingertips as they connect with Ben. Ben isn't having it and back I go on my face with a laugh, smothered in quilts as he doesn't plan to be romantic at all tonight. 

Until the bittersweet end, I mean. Then it's much the same only slightly more violent and the kiss comes as an afterthought. Ben is tired. It's been a long night. We have not slept and my eyes begin to sting suddenly as it dawns on me how much they love me. 

Maybe too much, as I am handed to Caleb, who kisses the tip of my nose as he pulls me in against him. 

No, no, no, I plead. I need a break. I need sleep. I need something else entirely. A portal to another dimension where affection doesn't slide into this, automatically. 

Just go for a little longer, Babydoll. We're not finished with you yet.

I see Lochlan frown and look away, out the window at the sun. It always brings regret up with it, brightening everything dark, just so that there's no mistake, just so you know what you've done.

I keep it under glass, bright lights keeping it from growing, shrivelled and dry in the glare. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to throw a shadow if it had the strength anymore. I'll let it wither, requited just enough to keep it alive. I will make it suffer, and along with it, him. Humane? No. Deserved? 

Yes. 

I took that heart and I won't let it have any darkness any more. He came back with open arms and a plan and all the money in the world and then some. So much. Lochlan used to say we had nothing and so we have everything (ironically biblical, that) and Caleb came back to say everything was a phone call or a whim away and here, do that instead and bring everyone but I'm coming too and it will be okay. The gang's back together again. 

And mostly it is okay. 

Growing pains, that's all. Asher's arrival was so understated, it was bound to eventually blow up, boil over and melt down. The point is a forge and our emotions are weapons and the more tears I cry, the more bullets lodge in their flesh. The more victims I collect. The more hearts I break, only they get to keep theirs to regenerate and do it all again.

But Asher stays.

I watch Caleb sleep, the night long behind us now, the reluctant permission to make it up to me, the assurances, promises and plans. The lies we all recognize for their easy deployment and the peace in his slumbering expression now. 

I said I was okay but no one believes me. I said I wasn't but somehow they didn't believe that either.

Caleb = 0.

I see no volunteers to co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line
Alone, you're gonna change my circumstance
I know I need to move right now

'Cause I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me (Only smoking secondhand)
I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me
Coming for me

Caleb has my hands pulled behind my back, held in one of his. He is on the phone and I struggle briefly until he squeezes hard and I freeze, unwilling to cry out and give him the satisfaction of dismissing a sudden alarming sound to the person on the other end of the line as something inconsequential.

I could call out. I could cause a huge fuss and everyone would come running and then he would have to explain, he would have to swallow his demon tendencies even as they snake out from his cuffs, darken the white spaces in his eyes and turn his hands to claws that rip against my flesh like thorns against a cotton sundress, pulling you back, keeping you there tangled in something that's bigger than you. You can go later and cut them back and decide that you have disarmed the threat but it grows back. In your mind you know damn well it's going to do so but in the moment you feel as if you have gotten control. 

(I don't have control.)

He pulls me backwards as he wraps up his call and pins me against the door, hand around my neck, head bent down so we are eye to eye, only my chin is being forced painfully up and I am up on my toes and maybe not even touching the floorboards anymore. I close my eyes, checking out before he gets to her. I can go anywhere. Behind my eyelids I can fucking fly and yet I always head for the same place, the corner of the cotton candy booth, the shady spot where I can finish my lunch but Lochlan can still keep an eye on me here. His break is still an hour away but I was too hungry. The sun is so warm against my forehead, Caleb's hot breath as he levels threats, promises and God knows what else to an audience of none, as I can't hear him when he whispers and I don't even try anymore. 

And then a knock goes through me, from the other side of the door. 

I snap back to the cool wood, briefly wondering what's going to happen the first time I don't come back at all. 

Yes. Caleb barks the word at the closed door. He's going to open it regardless but he's buying time for composure. He's buying time to get his body under control, willing his predilections to snake back up into his cuffs, tucking back under his collar, horns sinking back into his skull, eyes changing back to bright white and medium blue. It's something to watch, anyway, but I still haven't opened my eyes. 

He slides me back down, letting go, frowning at the red handprint around my throat. No time to hide that so he shoves me out of the way as Lochlan opens the door. 

I was with you- I tell him, excited that I can still teleport when things get really bad, as he looks to me first. 

Ash said he couldn't find you. He finally looks at Caleb. Jesus fucking Christ, Caleb. 

Maybe you interrupted something. 

Lochlan looks back at me and I shake my head. No, I say but no sound comes out. 

Lochlan comes past Caleb, takes my hand, pulls me in against him and takes me out of the room. 

Caleb is shouting something and Lochlan ignores him. We go past Asher, who is doing a magnificent job of not being surprised (guess they filled him in completely) and he fills the gap in the hallway, going head to head against Caleb and pointing out he's here to keep an eye on me and Caleb is pointing out no one needs to do that when he is with me and the last thing I hear is Asher disputing that masterfully and then we are outside and the sun is warming my face for real and it wasn't a daydream at all.

(I had told Asher where I would be and dismissed him for some free time of his own. He didn't listen to me and promptly called in my army. Had I known Caleb was going to wake up on the wrong side of the day I never would have gone though so I am grateful for him right off the bat.)

Longer nights.

God bless Everett and God bless Joel. They've been working together (!) with Sam, with Lochlan and with Ben behind the scenes, with August, who probably worries most of all but works so hard to keep it casual, to figure out what to do next. 

And they did. Monday everything changed again and this is another attempt to organize things here or at least make them easier for all of us. Not just me but okay, fine, mostly me. The smallest and weakest. The runt of the litter, as it were. 

Asher's back. He's been back for five days and it's been really nice. He's a familiar face if you're a longtime reader for a breath seven or eight years ago and we had a plan for him but it wasn't quite right. He arrived with intentions to become the butler and just...look after things, but it was strange and no one would let him do anything and he wasn't really sure either, he only knew he wanted an unconventional life but after seeing the world and getting a little older, he is back to settle down. Or rather, he hasn't settled down and so he's back for another go. 

He's Batman's Godson, and he's really mellowed into a handsome, easy-going, take-no-bullshit personality with humour and grace. He's a lot like Sam in that way, though Sam takes all my bullshit. I don't know where he keeps it, but he takes it. 

So Asher's focus this time around employment-wise is not to manage the house but just me. If I have errands, he'll do them. If I need food, he'll get it. My chores are his chores now. If I do something it will be a whim, apparently. He will be a bodyguard against wasps and sea lions and strangers and bears, oh my. He will rub my neck for me and choose my outfits. He'll be a human buffer between me and Gage the world. He'll set out my toothbrush and my pajamas.

He's going to listen to my problems, whether first or third-world. He'll put up with my whining. He's going to be my confidante, my best friend and my assistant. There's no overstepping with PJ now, no difficulties trying to raise the kids with extra faces on hand (the kids are adults, Ruth is apartment-shopping) and even Caleb is on board. 

He will disappear when Lochlan is around, however unless Lochlan asks him to stay close.

I had zero problems being honest and open with him. We are easy friends. This morning when I came down, a few minutes before Lochlan was ready, I showed Asher the progress on my face and he told me I was still adorable but also stupid for for assuming the world was a friendly, safe place. I don't assume that and tell him so with colourful belligerence. He ignores me, hands me my pills and a glass of water, then hands me my coffee. In a travel mug so I don't spill it or burn myself, and so it doesn't get cold. He watches everything and fixes it. He is a quick study, or maybe I'm a short read. He's a sharp wit. He's going to lift the weight without the demands. If I don't want to talk I don't have to. No one is demanding I flay myself down to the bone at their command. No one wants to talk it out and fix it instantly anymore. No one's demanding anything. They just decided to pitch the fuck in. But he'll be able to sound the alarm before I know we need to ring it.

There's only one problem and it's that always-present awful one that I can't get away from. 

Yes, he's really cute. And now that he's close to thirty he's doing that thing men do when they go from cute to easy-handsome. 

Lochlan laughs when I lay it all out for him. Lochlan is not worried. 

I didn't say you should be worried-

I'm not jealous either. 

Why not? 

He's not Caleb. 

Ah. 

Ah, he repeats.

Still? I cock my head at him, eyes narrowed. 

Forever, Lochlan frowns and my heart breaks a thousand times in the space of one beat, becoming stars. Asher comes back, sees the darkness, appreciates the stars for a minute and then instead of asking me if I'm cold, just hands me my sweater, staying close as I need help putting it on with the forever-fucked up elbow I can't bend the way it should. 

When my head pops through the neckhole Lochlan kisses my nose and tells me if I have worries I can put them away now. 

 Asher turns his pockets inside out and says he has room. I think he needs cargo pants. Or maybe a cargo plane. I tell him and he laughs and tells me nothing is insurmountable. 

That's how I am reminded how young he still is.

Goldilocks and the three things (One too small: the mouse. One too big: The Devil. One just right: The redhead).

My bird cam (which is set in the big tea roses in the upper part of the garden on the woods side of the house) regularly catches a curious adolescent Spotted Towie and a bully Starling, three unique and habituated hummingbirds and a giant Northern Flicker is now a mouse cam.

We have a mouse. In the garden. Or maybe it's a rat. I don't know but it's small and it makes three trips a night across the garden and back. Every time we fill the hole we think it's using it finds a new one and this has been my entertainment this past week as my eye stops hurting and my skin heals, all the swelling slowly returns to normal and I finish out all these pills, which give me headaches. At least it's cool and raining today and I checked all the places and we learned where it goes and where it's coming from. Not sure we can do anything about it save for removing the water from the fountain and turning it off and taking down the bird feeders. I take them in every night anyway to usurp the bears and raccoons but apparently this critter might be attracted to the little bits of seeds and suet left behind. 

I felt well enough to organize Caleb's life a little, looking after picking up packages and having a look at his emails. He isn't all that dedicated and will just read things. He won't act on or file them away though and so I have to chase him down to find out what his plans are for each and every thing. I transfer all of his dividends to my account and check shipping, clean out some old files and then book him in with his barber and cardiologist. Pre-summer stuff. In exchange for three hours of admin-light he had to take over cleaning five bathrooms and making lunch. 

It's all done now. We had bagels with cottage cheese, dill and cucumber and fresh peach slices. He made a point of going to find Loch and bringing him back to make sure he had a decent lunch, as Lochlan is out in the yard sanding down every last sharp edge and thorny path in my life so that he can sleep at night. Apparently we have reverted somewhat and instead of calling it an accident and removing the hollow log so there will never be another surprise, Lochlan has gone full fearful parent and is demanding we cut back all of the flowers to minimize insects and maybe brick over more of the yard. Maybe the gazebo should be glassed in like the pool to have a safe waypoint in case it happens again. The points on the roof and eaves and doors and windows will be regularly sprayed now. Someone has to sweep the garage, stables and sauna before I can go in, oh, and I'm never allowed down to the beach again because God only knows what's under those steps but it's probably bad all the same. 

He will not listen to reason. 

He did however, stop at the pharmacy to pick up Matt's spanking new Epi-Pen, good for sixteen months, and got me a bag of Sweet Sixteen licorice tape (the absolute best) and that's how I know he's still in there. He isn't worried about my teeth, just my skin. So we're good, I guess?

Not even remotely good today.

I'm gonna check my scars at home
Gonna cash my chips and roam
Gonna walk before you fade to black
I'm gonna write a new resume
I'm gonna write you off the page
Gonna take what we might take away

Caleb knocks on the door softly. How is Tuesday? 

I shrug. Noncommittal. Epic headaches. Epic weakness when I want to be strong. Epic exhaustion when I want to be energetic. I want to be the sun and the moon. I want to be able to play more than three-quarters of any verse on the piano before someone interrupts me. It's okay, I lie.

He frowns. He knows my lies. I have a present for you. 

What is it?

A nap. In the shade. With Ben and I. 

Yes, please.

Ooh. Wrote a whole bunch and now I need to go lie down.

Duncan just told me I am far less intimidating right this minute with my puffy half-face and fragile health than I usually am, without it.

He is my babysitter right now. He's healing a full back of hand and knuckle tattoos. He is hurting and it's GLORIOUS.

I love being bowled over with their honesty at nine in the morning while I'm still sipping my first coffee and enjoying the rain, however light it is right now. The rest of the boys are walking the property now to make sure there are no more nests.

This is somewhat comforting, as we were playing Night & Seek just about every evening at dusk up until last Saturday when I got stung during the day, at least, and it was so much fun. And I can fit into weird surprising places that I didn't expect, like the cupboard that holds the hose reel on the back side of the house, as long as the hose is out of it and unspooled across the side yard. I can fit behind the lawnmowers under the steps where we keep them in a locked shed built under the steps of the loft going up from the garage. 

I did mention that's where I got that big scary spider bite in 2011 that turned my arm black, right?

Do I learn? No. Is Night & Seek as much fun forty years later? Hell yes it is. And it only took fifteen minutes on the first night to convince Lochlan that if we hide together we will be way too easy to find and then the game is ruined for everyone so we need to split up. The only rule was you have to stay well inside the perimeter of the property and you have to keep your eyes open for wildlife. They turned the fence on after walking it for bears and bobcats at the start of each. Gosh it's fun living in the woods by the sea. He let me hide alone as he knows I am so competitive about the game. 

The first night I saw the fattest raccoon I ever laid eyes on. The second night both neighbourhood local cats who won't stay out of my garden/off the point/away from my birds showed up and I sprayed them away and then ran through the dark for my life to hide as far away from the hose as possible. The third night I think I saw a rat but I haven't seen him since and the fourth night Lochlan got cold feet and made me hide with him again and we hatched a serious plan and sacrificed Ben, who was found first. Lochlan did not throw a rock to Ben to draw Sam to where he was, nope, uh-uh. 

*whistles*

We're trying to have a great spring and we're going to have a better summer. This is the plan. 

Thank you, I think.Can I smack your hand now, by accident? 

Please no. It's nice being on the same level, that's all.

Oh, you're slumming today? 

Not what I mean, Bridge. I mean you're this ethereal creature most of the time and today you're just a hurting human. 

God, I love it when you talk dirty to me. 

You know what I mean. 

Okay. 

Seriously. 

I said okay. 

I didn't explain it well. Nevermind. He looks at me and I look back and then he looks away again.

Okay, I say, and crack up.

HOLY FUCKING HELL (also BEES. But not actually BEES).

One of the hardest parts about taking extended breaks (four days is apparently a lifetime?) from my daily updates are the rumours and the terrible predictions I come back to in emails. 

People wonder if I died. If I did myself in or if maybe Caleb killed me, or worse, someone else did. People wondered if we were taking a fancy trip abroad and I didn't want to get flack for it in the time of a pandemic. People wondered if Lochlan finally got tired of me and left, leaving me heartbroken. People wondered if I was finally moving on from writing everything down that I want to share or even don't want to share.

A lot of you wondered if maybe I had been sent away to be fixed or bettered or helped somewhat, that it was good. Those ones were weirdly encouraging and loving and now I feel strange about every word I've ever written here. 

But nope. Close but I didn't. I wouldn't. He didn't. No one else would dare. Of course not. No, he didn't and he never will. No I'm not. And no, I didn't. 

Hope that helps, okay, byeeeeeeee-

Ha. I am still here. 

This is totally sad but as I said, my body takes Great Delight in sabotaging me every single chance it gets and so the DAY BEFORE I am to have my Covid vaccine I stepped right into a wasp nest in the back of the orchard. One tucked in to the place where I stand to reach up and hang the bird feeder when I remember to refill it. There's a large piece of driftwood underneath that delineates the path from the arbour and it's also a great way for me to reach the lowest branch. Apparently it was also a great place to build a nest for a large quantity of super aggressive yellowjackets and of course when I stood on it they came out and in my surprise I kicked the log again and oh, my. 

It was a cloud of black angry buzzing in my face and all around me. 

They stung my hairline and my lip and my nose and right at the corner of one eye, one on my elbow, getting caught and then for good measure my thumb, too.

I am not allergic, or rather, I wasn't, but fourteen stings at once is a lot and I didn't fare so well and my blood pressure dropped and my heart began to dance and now, well now I am allergic. Really thought I would be fine before my body went hey...what? No.

The whole side of my face swelled up, a rash developed almost all over my top half and my eyes swelled shut. My nostril swelled shut. One side of my mouth blew up. It was frightening. It hurt so bad. So, so bad.

Expired epi pens still have lots of life though and that's good. 

The boys are surprisingly good in emergencies now and didn't fuck around wondering if it was a real emergency or something we could figure out. It was just go go go.

Doctors are fast and incredible at what they do, and that's even better. 

The boys have spoiled me rotten for more the last week. It happened last Saturday afternoon and I think I lost an entire week of my life but I'm feeling so much better and the only long term effects are whatever time it's going to take the rash and subsequent nerve pain to subside and the fact that I have to add ALLERGIC TO STINGS to my HARD OF HEARING medical bracelet. My vision is okay, hearing bad as ever and when do I not have a rash or reaction to something?

Fun fact since I managed to demonize Caleb at the beginning of this post for no reason and I have to not do that, as he spent all of Tuesday randomly describing the screen for me as we watched Bling Empire on Netflix. Well, he watched and I listened because I couldn't see and even if I could have I couldn't put my glasses on because it still hurts and my skin feels like a third degree burn and it almost burst in places. He said they paused and zoomed in on various designer items during the episodes and I told him it's to give people time to buy something from that designer online and there begat a new game for us and now we have some interesting packages coming in the post this week and fully a third of them are from Cartier. 

(the rest are men's Dior and Balenciaga RTW items for Lochlan since he expressed interest in a shirt so Caleb bought him a BUNCH of stuff he thinks Lochlan might like. They, along with Ben have stuck beside me around the clock even though I look like the elephant girl. Still do, pretty much though the swelling has gone down a little now.)

So all is not lost. The silver lining in a long week turned out to be white gold. And never stand on a hollow log without checking to see if anyone's home first.

(My vaccine is rebooked for the end of the month, thank God. That's all I wanted in the first place and it's why I was rushing to get the gardening done so I wouldn't have to do any on vaccine day or the day after that because the boys were all really tired after their shots.)

One foot in the gr- (Don't be so morbid, Bridget!).

Not dead. Just having some fairly extreme surprise medical issues over here and apparently I will start to feel better in four or five days or maybe that was weeks, I don't know. I was supposed to get my vaccine this afternoon but my body decided to stage a mutiny and come up with something new and different. Not online. Not doing anything but lying in the shade watching Netflix and sleeping way too much. She goes until she stops, I guess. 

I'll be back when I feel good enough to sit up for five seconds and don't have other pressing things to do with that energy.

Overcoffeed already this morning, chewing on the headphone cord while I try and figure out how to clear this fog. I never have energy but I don't sleep and I eat too much sugar. I don't sleep because I worry too much but I can't let go and just give in to the medication, give in to the booze, give in to the endless, constant chronic reassurance that it's all okay, no, life is a goddamned white-knuckle extreme thrill ride and honestly I got every thrill I ever needed from the most basic standard Ferris Wheel and never asked for more. 

I have headphones permanently plugged in to my shitty laptop, an Asus zenbook (never ever buy one) that can be flipped around to become a tablet which still remains useless as fuck, the pencil is useless, the sound is so fucking bad except through headphones but I hate taking my airpods out of my bag because then I forget to put them back and get out somewhere and wish for them dearly. 

I miss the macbook but I have an ipad pro that can almost do everything anyway and Lochlan got me a folio case with a spot for the pencil and a full bluetooth keyboard and the sound and picture is unfucking real from it but I'm going to wear this laptop into the ground first before I go ham on the ipad, though I use it for drawing and for watching movies by the pool or in bed. 

I'm probably going to electrocute myself on this cord at some point but I'm pretty sure the four other times I got blown off my feet by electricity and lived to tell the tale probably explain everything we need to know about my brain, if not everything that came before those events. What can I say? It all goes into the mix, gets stirred up and whatever comes out is pretty much your fault. 

Especially the lower-lip-biting, which was a concentrated, painful reminder to think before I spoke but now serves as some sort of visual heartbreak to everyone. I don't know how that happened but Lochlan just said the cord is the same thing and please stop it. 

Guess I'll go back to just blurting out whatever comes to mind, whether I heard you properly or not.

Little electric nightmare.

Yesterday I think my energies got out of control. I don't know it was leftover dismay at my birthday year or the fact that Schuyler completely unpacked my very being, breaking it all down, taking inventory, and then packing it all back up again. Maybe he forgot to put the lid on, maybe there was an air bubble. In any case, I popped four balloons, three lightbulbs, broke a mug and failed to successfully replant an errant majoram sprig for no freaking reason even though I've been patiently pulling them out of the marconi daisies where they took up residence and moving them to a different section of the garden for the past two weeks and it worked great up until today. It rained like the dickens through dinner and I just bandaged up my hand from where the mug edge cut into my flesh and I took my shitty energies and went to bed alone. The dog joined me and then Lochlan, who slept with his elbow in my face. I had to get up like five times to pee even though I cut out my water at dinner and Ben came up in the single digits and woke me up again, mumbled sorry, turned away and that was that. 

I swear to God, I wish there were magic sleep spices that didn't involve severe tranquilizing. I wish there were vacations. I wish my energies extended to being creative instead of locking down and imploding. Here's hoping today is off the grid though. Yesterday grew exceedingly stressful and I don't want a repeat of it.

On the other hand, fully half the point is being vaccinated this afternoon and there are still like five pieces of birthday cake left and I get to cull favours in exchange for them, which is always fun. Oh yes, and it's Friday! Tomorrow is wiped clean just in case there are effects from the vaccine (it's Pfizer or Moderna, we waited for the government rollout instead of the pharmacy one, which is AZ) and I can watch and plan because I get my shot on Tuesday.

Aftersmash.

Working on big picture stuff, and prioritizing my goals today with Schuyler, from where I am newly jammed in between he and Daniel, all three of us in boxers but I get a warm long-sleeved t-shirt, because I am always cold now, having scones with jam and pretty good coffee. Schuyler likes to check in with people on the day after their birthdays now to help them set goals for the coming year and shed bad habits and old ineffective methods. 

I think you just banned yourself, I take another bite of toast. I try to keep it neat but Schuy leans over my face and steals a huge messy bite. 

Never, he says through his mouthful. This refines you. 

Daniel laughs. He is sleepy but loves having guests, loves watching Schuy play life coach. Loves watching Lochlan nap. Lochlan army-naps. He can sleep anywhere. And I sort of love having a life-coach who knows me. Who doesn't? Schuy is level-headed, organized, successful and retired so he has time to devote to helping those of us who struggle with meaning and whatever our definitions of success might be. I am loathe to realize my entire creative existence was borne out of pressure from my publisher and isn't even under my name and he is loathe to see how much that bothers me, after a fashion. And he isn't some stranger, some counselor brought in to work some sort of textbook program. And that's what I think I love most even though of course again, there is work ahead.

But in the meantime there are scones and semi-naked men. Savage Garden. 

***

It was a blissful birthday. A quiet, dry one. Lochlan outdid himself, right down to the tiny detail of telling Caleb he had already looked after champagne and a drink order and then made pink lemonade, from scratch. Dinner was outside. Pizza, which was awesome, and then ice cream cake inside and hot tea and balloons that burst at random, seemingly and made us shriek and laugh. It was one of the nicest and most wholesome birthdays I think I've ever had and I would do it again every single day if I could. 

We'll go back to being heathens tomorrow, Lochlan said. For tonight I just want to see you smiling like this.