Out, smarting.

Batman asked for a breakfast meeting this morning, which I don't have time for. I have to bake and iron and prepare for house guests and get this wedding together and besides, I know what he's going to say. But after a couple of quiet empty threats and an offer of having some people come and help I finally went because I'm not going to turn down a big huge breakfast of fried carbohydrates ever in my life. Or good coffee. Or bacon, frankly. Also I love the little squares of grape jelly. They're ten times better than the whole jar, and I still don't know why. 

I think it's from years of arriving at a Howard Johnsons motel and having breakfast when I was younger and knowing there would be a pool and a restaurant and a door with a lock on it and we were safe for a moment. Food always tastes better when you're safe. 

But I don't think this place will have the squares. Nope. This is too fancy for foil-packets of jam.

He orders for us and then we sip our coffee and wait. This isn't a HoJos, that's for sure. Caviar on my Eggs Benny. Half the food for three times the price, Lochlan would say. 

Caleb needs a time-out, Bridget. He's not reasonable. 

He had almost all of Lent and look what that did. He was worse than ever. 

Batman looks away, and then down, as he fucks with his fork and then his napkin, composing himself. They hate it when I can so casually reference this. 

Ben wants to bite him back. I laugh sadly and Batman rolls his eyes. 

Then he'll expect Ben to have the same punishment for the same crime, and that will leave us down a man. 

Ben is his size though so it doesn't count. 

It does now, after he hurt Ben, remember? How much damage are you going to let him continue to do, Bridget? How long are you going to let him off the hook? 

What's your magic solution, then? He goes away and he always comes back worse. 

What about a fine. A devastating financial hit. An expensive one. Pay to play. I hate that I just said that. But we both know his numbers and we know what he cares about. You and money. It's one or the other. 

How much? 

He tells me and my eyebrows go up and the server, who has just brought our plates, asks me if everything is alright with my order. 

It is, thank you. 

Batman repeats it once the server leaves. 

That's a...big hit. 

An expensive lesson. 

What if he says no? 

Then he leaves. And he never comes back. 

He'll pay it. 

I know he will. 

Who to? 

To me and then I'll hold it in your trust. 

Then you have power over me. 

You don't need the money but it's yours nonetheless. If you want Lochlan can act as trustee. I don't really care. 

What if he does it again? 

Then I will kick him back to hell. He won't be able to afford another mistake. 

He'll tell you to stay out of it. 

The days of discretion for him ended the last time he hurt you. If you're not going to care than I will be your proxy on this. 

I care, I just know why and what set him off and how easy all of this is to prevent if I just let him-

Your husband would like a little peace of mind here too, Bridget. 

Then he should have married someone else. Tears are flowing freely now and Batman reaches over with his napkin and dries them. More come and I'm sure the servers are lingering nearby wondering exactly how spoiled I am that I haven't touched my plate when it cost sixty-seven dollars and something and now I'm crying over it. 

He doesn't want anyone else. He just wants you to be safe. 

I'm not ten anymore. 

You never got a chance to be a ten-year-old, Bridget, and monsters aren't real if you don't let them be.

The sandwich wasn't THAT good and next time we'll just go to the diner and a million more rules like always.

No stitches! Butterfly bandages changed twice daily and some heavy duty antibiotics and antibiotic cream and I am standing on guard duty (since I can't really sit) in order to protect the Devil, who, like a classic abuser, couldn't help it, didn't mean to, and will never do it again. Oh, and he'll make it up to me. Also I make him into a monster. 

Of course it's all my fault. She believes him. I don't. I can't swim for upwards of three weeks to come. He may have ruined my birthday. Probably on purpose. I gave every safe word I had. All four of them. The gentleness in the beginning should have been heralded for the violence to come but I thought we were doing good. I thought he learned his lesson last time. 

I won't let Lochlan hurt him and I won't let them banish him either. 

Ben wasn't in the mood for negotiation. He looked at me for the longest time and then said, 

Then it's time somebody bites him back. 

They can fight it out, then. I'm not allowed any more input and I'm not allowed to leave Lochlan's sight.

Someone should burn the plane.

I know Gatlin isn't real. Apparently Children of the Corn was filmed in Iowa. Okay fine. Also the weather was bad. Sandwiches were really good. Fries were good. Grits were really really good this morning. They taste a lot like a not-very-well-mixed Cream of wheat but it could be that I am biased. And Canadian. 

Flew back in between storms with Rammstein's new Angst on repeat in my headphones for nine hours. Cracked a lot of gum. Bit my nails off. Caleb left a bite mark in an awful place and I can't get comfortable. Pretty sure this one will leave a scar. Or my asshole is gone. I'm a little afraid to look but I did since the bathroom is all mirrors and yes, there is not much left. This one might get infected and I'll probably need stitches but for now the whiskey works and the music works and the sandwich wasn't worth the price and I knew that but I had to follow through.

I probably could have left off that whole paragraph but at the end of the day I didn't die in a plane crash, I'm home safe and sound and honestly it's just another bite mark, just another x marks the day in history like every other day and eventually it will be forgotten and we'll do it all again. 

I was supposed to get the rest of my internet privileges back this weekend too but that probably won't happen now. Ha. Ow. Don't make me laugh. It hurts. I found a Vicoden in the drawer just now but I think it's expired. I took it anyway.

FLAT. LIGHTNING. BREAD.

We are in Lincoln, NEBRASKA. 

Actually. Here. Getting myself a sandwich. Long flight. Crazy storms now. I hope we can fly out tomorrow.

I told Caleb I wanted a real Reuben and he called my fucking bluff.

Cardinal sins.

 Oh, hiiiii. 

I spent all day yesterday trying to convince the boys to go to the last-minute next-week show that Behemoth is playing because Archenemy is opening. And Napalm Death. But I was so excited about Archenemy, even though I thought it was a bit of a strange pairing. 

But who cares! Metal shows are back, right? I went looking for a song to play while PJ asked if I was okay, that I never liked Archenemy much before and I was like, are you the mad one here? 

And then I realized I mixed them up with Antimatter. 

Oops. 

My brain is completely fried.

Personal (finance).

Today I'm snarking on the Financial Post while the Devil tries to quell his laughter at my outrage. I've been reading it since I used to read the paper copy of the National Post. I know it leans right but it's well-laid out and has some decent sections, like the part where they detail whether or not Very Rich families can retire based on how they manage their money. Like all media right now, none of it is grounded in reality but I've been reading this one column for twenty years and it still makes me laugh. Now I just read it online.

They always seem to land on a family with three or five rental properties, bags of cash pouring in every month and fully defined golden pension funds. It's just plain horrible. How will they ever manage? 

Indeed. Just how.

I used to try and do the math using my numbers in place of theirs. I never came out on top. No one gave me five stars for my retirement plan, instead maybe a loaf of bread as I looked hungry. 

None of that is Lochlan's fault. He was trying so hard to make a life for us but he counted and continues to count life in terms of days instead of years. Loch doesn't have time to look ahead, he's always looking over his shoulder, making sure he has my hand. Making sure I didn't drop the bread, that my coat is zipped up and that he has my hand. That I'm not crying (or bleeding). That I can keep up. That we have a place to run to, sine we've always running from somewhere. 

Danger is always hungry and cold. Danger means never sleeping or taking precious minutes to worry about the future. Lochlan would get a score of five full stars on his retirement plans because all his money is stuffed in a fireproof safe hidden away In Case. In case he needs it. In case we have to run. 

He is one of the reasons I keep the Devil so close. Not because I ever wanted to but because the Devil has to pay for this five-star future now. He promised and I continue to hold him to it. I take the money and I stuff it everywhere and I don't worry about returns or plans or anything now. The numbers look good and one of these days Lochlan will see that.

Evil lives on. In the form of shoddy filmmakers and not in the form of my beloved slasher dudes.

Sorry, I spent all day waiting for the postman and then all afternoon decking out my twelve-year-old pressure washer with a new pressure hose and tips and a cord because I have maintained it and looked after it well but it is also as big as I am and so sometimes it got cranked around and bashed up as I tried to wrestle it around things and over things and down the path, as it were. It conked out a quarter of the way into my spring cleaning last month and so I ordered parts and sat back to wait and hopefully I put them on right (after fifteen minutes of swearing) and now I have to wait for a boy to carry it outside for me so I can test my connections, lest the whole thing blow up the minute I pull the trigger. It is a dream machine and so I'm not giving it up anytime soon but I do think keeping it in the garage is a better idea than keeping it in the appliance room in the house. That's just dumb because it's in the lowest level so you have to lug it up the stairs, down the hall, across a porch, patio or walkway and down more steps. I can't do this myself, why can't I just wheel it out from the garage? 

Because, says PJ, who lost a lot of gear by keeping it in his truck/garage/shed and so now everything of value comes in. Power tools in the work room. Also downstairs. The only thing in the garage are Jeeps, freezers and plant pots and cheap stuff. Fertilizer. Bags of soil and grass seed and shovels and acoustic garden implements because they are too dirty to bring in. The two lawnmowers are out there but the weed wackers come into the house. So dumb. 

We're dumb. This is dumb. If I can't lift it let me roll it. 

(Now I have Wings going through my head: Let me roll it to you)

I ordered more things for the wedding. We are quickly running out of time but the dress is back and it fits Ruth like a dream. She had her last fitting last week and then we went to Marshalls where I wanted to buy everything but as usual bought nothing. They had Longchamp, Gucci and Valentino bags. They had so many pretty things. I couldn't do it. Hahahaha. Ruth went nuts and bought a few summer dresses and I just watched and poked around. Maybe I'll go back. Maybe I won't. Who knows? 

I watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre last night too. Couldn't sleep so I sat up between the boys with my ipad and my airpods and I tried not to jump too much when I got scared but really, and since it's been out for a good long while now, would someone please tell me why Hardesty automatically went to the orphanage AKA Mom's house when last we saw Leatherface he was outside on the street? Also why a direct rip of Laurie Strode and Michael Myers multi-decade delayed showdown? Why a shotgun that can hold a whopping two shells? Why why why? Why in the hell were people so goddamned dumb and why was the guy with the truck so smart and then also so dumb? Why does everything end in a fistfight? Why did the killing start in seconds with nary a hint of inbreeding or lore or anything substantial before they phoned it in with 'naive influencers show up to party wooo!'. Maybe I'm getting old. 

The one saving grace? Leatherfuck (as coined by the only smart-ish character there) has learned to throw his chainsaw like a discus. Not sure why it stays on, as the safety trigger means if you let go it turns off but his is SURPRISINGLY UNSAFE and the chain continues to turn as he whips it fifty feet across the room at our poor hapless victims. 

Gawd. 

The last good one was the one with Jessica Biel. TWENTY YEARS AGO.

Doing it again.

 I got Lochlan to bring the kiln outside. It is packed full of wheelthrown bowls, greenware that's not going to get any drier so may as well get on with it. This is the ninth time I've used the kiln and I have so little to show for it so yesterday I threw for four hours, three of which were on a bat with a loose bolt, and the last successful hour on the wheel without the bat. Throwing on the bat means you take the whole bat off with the piece to dry and you don't have the stress of trying to get the item off the sticky wheel. I have tricks. It's easy, but on the wheel direct I murder the sides of my hands so not sure how this will work going forward. Maybe the bats for big pieces and the wheel for little ones. Who knows? 

It's supposed to rain this afternoon but just a little so I am tempting fate as always. 

In the meantime, I had a decent-ish sleep, it's Friday and I'm plotting a few errands, plus Ruth and I are headed for her final dress fitting before lunch. So hard to believe. She can bring the dress home and then no more trips to the bridal shop and the only thing to figure out is finalizing the food plans and a few odds and ends.

I'm drinking kettle-coffee which is just coffee made with instant from a jar like when we go camping or the power goes out, and I'm going to have a bagel, I think, with cheese, since it's going to be an on-the-go kind of day. I threw away the keurig because I wore it out, and also I added at least twenty dollars a week to the grocery budget which is just dumb to me. And it wasn't all that good anyway. And even though I just cut my caffeine in half the best thing about kettle coffee? No GRINDS. I hate grinds. No mess. No cleanup. No refilling water. No counter real estate gone and no more hassle. I'm not fussy on coffee anyway. Gas station coffee, whatever, I'm here for it. 

Netflix's biggest fan.

 Watched Into the Woods, Red Dot and Intrusion on Netflix (so far) this week. Starting Prey now. Trying to heal my back and learn how to be a little more productive. I can get my list done and then I crash and I haven't had the want to paint in months, trying to throw on the wheel is tiring due to the cleanup routine, and drawing just doesn't work at all so I watch movies and if they don't have subtitles I can work with yarn or do some mending or sewing. Everything is a herculean effort but I'm trying. I sort of went off the grid this week too. I talked to Bailey and the birds and no one else. I talk the dog constantly. I talk a little to Lochlan and a little to Ben and PJ but not much else. 

For the record, Into the Woods you can skip. Red Dot is nonstop jumpscares that end in a Babadook-style parable on grief and Intrusion is rich people games and wives who go from noticing absolutely nothing to suddenly being expert private investigators so maybe we are zero for three. I keep trying, but I'm also saving the good ones (like the new Texas Chainsaw) for movie nights so these are almost just rest hours. That's fine. Not every movie has to be great, not like I'll run out of options, right?

It's spring too, so I'll have to fire up some anime movies and throw in a couple of Bollywood musicals since those are always uplifting. A good foil to all the horror.

New week, new me.

Two showers later and my nails are still caked with dirt, fingers pocked with thorns from the roses and raspberries, palms with blisters from a wooden-handled shovel with a very sharp edge on the metal spade-shaped bowl and the best, shortest and yet heaviest shovel we own in order for me to wield it properly. I moved just over three-quarters of a cubic yard of soil myself yesterday and now, due to the impending storm coming tonight and tomorrow, I have to get it finished, when I would much rather have a long sauna and a short swim, put on pajamas, order a crappy west-coast pizza from somewhere and eat it in the dark while watching scary movies. 

Garden Jesus didn't show up yet today but I think I met him anyway in the form of a woman who stopped to talk to me in the seed aisle at the local small hardware store and we struck up great and long conversation and then I left thinking about it all day. It was focused on children growing up and then self, afterward. It was based around identity, before and after and on enthusiasm and making one's own decisions and it was almost as if Skateboard Jesus (remember him?) found a different form and perhaps a different approach, and came right back, to make me think. 

Life feels good right now. I wrote in my gratitude journal last night. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner (we love our starchy pastas in this house) and I drank enough water. I felt like I had accomplished along but my bones winged and hawed in misery as I tried and failed to get comfortable enough to sleep. This morning the house is quiet, though there is a big bowl of chocolate eggs on the table, and the laundry machines send a quiet hum through the floors beneath me. I have the countdown coffee on, as there are four or five keurig pods left and we are limping to the finish, here and then it goes in the trash and will not be replaced. 

I bought a jar of instant. Fuck it. 

I want to finish all of my projects and this week I'm going to work on finding the energy to do just that.

Facing inward.

Ben has taken to sleeping on the side of the bed with the door closest to him, and Lochlan has taken to holding my head cupped against his neck like he's always done, affectionate to a fault, rubbing his fingers through my boy-haircut but never actually letting go, content to breathe in tandem with me, content to not have me out of reach, or rather out-of-arms. It's a defensive mechanism that serves as a visual reminder but doesn't do any more to keep me safe or to keep Caleb from glowering nonstop. 

We still lock the door at night, but Ben serves as a volunteer extra-measure of security. It also keeps me from leaving to wander the halls when I can't sleep. Now I have to lie there and count the stars on the ceiling, if I can see the ceiling. Or count the freckles on the Lochlan as usually I'm looking that way. Ben's a whole cage with two arms that surround us both and he's so content to just be close and watch the clouds and sip tea and talk books and movies, whereas the Ben of the mid-2000s had to be flying/driving/running somewhere/doing something/someone and he never slowed down for a second. I really love mellow Ben but then again I always have and I often reach up and tug his too-long black curls now, as he has let them grow out to like four inches and they just start flipping and he looks so young again, save for the dark circles under his eyes and the habitual frustrated expression. 

Lochlan and Caleb are ignoring each other. It's new to me. It's not new to them but Caleb's still on his best and Loch has chosen not to waste his energy when he knows he's got the upper hand and the rights besides. 

And again it's not a bunny-year as no one replaced the costume and no one wants to give out eggs when we don't feel like celebrating life after death or spring or anything really. We're saving our energy for May, which is proving to be a packed month, and we're saving our resolve for this impending threat too which rings hollow but is probably still somewhat true.

Hit first (come away bruised).

The world hasn't ended, Mo Grá.

Give it time, Neamhchiontach. 

I meant by your hand. 

I don't repeat myself, Neamhchiontach. 

There's not going to be any push here-

There certainly is if you do that again. Part of a healthy relationship includes not freezing the other person out for some ridiculous ceremonial display. 

Sam asks us to observe certain things as a test of faith-

The only thing I have faith in is you, Bridget. 

A ten-year-old looking the other way. 

Sometimes. Sometimes looking back. And not ten anymore. 

I had to grow up fast. 

And I pay the price for that, and I'm trying to do the right thing by giving you everything you need. 

Then give me space when I ask for it. 

That's the one thing I'm afraid I can't give you. 

Or the world will end. 

Mine does when you ask for time away. 

Then you need a hobby. Besides terrorizing Lochlan. 

I think it goes both ways.

He wouldn't harm a soul. 

Then that's the difference between us.

Life has changed.

It's weirdly disconcerting to go over to Ruth's house, and have her call her cat to come and visit and get used to me by saying Come see Grandma. 

Lochlan almost hit the floor. 

We will be tasked with feeding said cat while she and her husband are on their honeymoon and she wants the cat to have a lot of time to get used to me, but the hard part is the cat won't come near me at all. 

Maybe it's the shock vibe emanating from Lochlan as he realizes that his once ten-year-old girlfriend has a grandchild, even if it has four paws and is velvety-soft. Of course not that his early twenties daughter not only got a pet but is getting married soon. Very soon. In a blink soon.

LMAO. 

Also Ruth and I invariably end up piled on the couch trading memes. Same as ever.

Manic pasta dream girl.

I made Fettuccine Alfredo and garlic naan for dinner last night. I made a metric ton of it. Everyone was full and pushed off from the table after an hour or more, scattering to the four corners of the house to enjoy the heavy rain and a second glass of wine for those who indulge, and water or ginger ale for those who don't. 

But then every single one of us had absolutely bonkers nightmares. Mine were ludicrous, ranging from trying to make a toy shop owner laugh so that she would let me leave, to beating a delayed preteen to death because he made an inappropriate move on me, as I was trying to use the bathroom in a derelict building that I had run into to escape the whole toy shop experience. Every single person I touched in the dream melted where I touched them. I hit the kid with a metal pipe and his whole head caved away like it was cheese dripping off a barbecue grill and I woke up angry and scared. Then I heard the dreams of the boys. They were different and weird and some were worse. 

We are never eating Fettucine Alfredo ever again. What the fuck.

Tart.

 I found a decomissioned WINDMILL in...uh...second here..

WAINFLEET for sale. Wainfleet seems lovely but in a way like I would still be that newcomer with the harsh Maritime-Canadian accent* twenty years after moving there. Or that every building would give you a mini-history quiz as you walked into it and if you fail you get electrocuted at the front gate. It also looks like it floods a lot, often, actually and is almost four hours by car to London. Maybe too far? Maybe not far enough. I don't know. 

Plus the actual blades are missing from the house and I don't know if I would find that charming or not, as I would much prefer to go to bed at night with the soft thwup-thwup-thwup overhead to lull me to my dreams. 

Lochlan gave me a few names of towns I should look in, he said they actually would be enjoyable to live in and they aren't so remote as to become a daily hardship. 

But what isn't a daily hardship at this point, if not life. It's not like I can find Chef-Boyardee at the store. We have four kinds of poptarts in this town. I have to order almost everything online anyway, wouldn't it be better if they drop-shipped it to me from a plane to my windscarred island near Scotland or off Ireland or whereever the grass looked greener before I packed up all my toys and realized it isn't? How many kinds of poptarts do you think you can buy on Anglesey? 

(The answer is it doesn't matter. Duncan found them all on Amazon. Apparently also at Target just across the border since we don't have Target in Canada any more either. I just need to pick my flavours now holy magnolia.)

I think we should stay in Canada, Lochlan reiterates. Not like I get to pick in the end, anyway, right so I just daydream. 

But look. You would see the Devil coming from five miles away if we lived here. I point to a renovated Friary on the Western border with Wales. You could make a gun turret out of this tower. 

Or you could just be Rapunzel, there. I miss your hair. 

I don't.The pixie cut is hilariously easy and I hate washing my hair. When it's long it's never ever down and it's heavy. My head feels so light and free. 

Lochlan had Daniel buzz off all of his curls so that we would match. Lochlan looks so young with his flippy ends and close-crop, no beard and pale-green button down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos out and proud. His cargo pants are threadbare but he still wears them three days out of each week and his leather shoes are so soft he forgets he's wearing shoes and leaves them on in the house until given a reminder. 

What if I miss your hair, Locket?

It'll grow back. 

Exactly. Then you can be Rapunzel. And I will be the bad guy. 

You're not the bad guy, Peanut. 

Maybe I am. 

You just always bite off more than you can chew. 

Yeah.

And then you choke. 

Okay, you can stop now. 

*( Fun fact: after weeks and weeks of trial and error it appears Google still and forever cannot decipher my accent. Hilarious.)

In my dreams the Devil is nowhere to be found.

I didn't make it through Lent, unfortunately I gave up something I needed and I didn't realize it until I had a craving that was uncovered late last night. 

I stayed up to read. I've been doing that a lot lately. My doctors have said part of my sleep issues is that I use the bed for everything. Eating. Watching movies. Reading. Having long conversations and longer naps. Looking at my phone. Drawing. Watching the birds outside the window or the fire inside. Sex. Everything but sleep, unfortunately and so a line was drawn and everything but sleep and sex has to be elsewhere. 

Or sometimes sex can be elsewhere. 

Caleb came downstairs just as I was nodding off at the last page of my chapter and pushed his head against mine from behind the big chair with the lamp where I curl up to read. He kissed my temple and told me to come up and nap with him. 

And I realized I was hungry. Not because my stomach growled but my heart did and he said if I loved him I wouldn't freeze him out like this, so long, so abruptly, and it hurts his heart to even look at me and he needs to hold me, needs to feel needed and as he said this my ego swelled right out of my head and for a brief moment I held all the power over him which is a feeling I would sell my soul for, as it's fleeting and rare. 

I said it was fleeting because I was pulled to my feet, book hitting the ground and I was steered upstairs to his room, door locked behind us, steered down the hall, another door, another lock and I was pushed down, stripped and turned over and I was not about to give up that power so fast so I cried out. 

Gingerbread! 

Nothing, he isn't listening. His hunger is so much greater than mine and I don't want to have it be like this. Not like this. I hate it like this. 

Wenceslas! Diabhal, please. 

But his ears are suddenly deaf, like mine and he says something dismissive that I miss and he is inside me and I was fighting him but I can't now, pinned into the blankets like a Riker frame, a fluttery little moth stuck inside a window glass, looking out at freedom, looking at the reflection of her own death. 

I stop fighting and go numb, curling inward, letting my wings rest. He hates this more, and it's the only strength I have left, to deny him any reaction at all. Any response. Any reaction. He slows to a crawl and then turns me over and is back inside me. 

Neamhchiontach, look at me. Tell me you love me. Every moment hurts. Does he care? Of course not. 

I stare at the wall. 

Harder and I cry out involuntarily. Stop it. Stop hurting me. A sob escapes and he slows, more gentle now. 

I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. 

Liar. 

I can't help this, Bridget. It's what you do to me. 

Don't blame this on me. 

It's how I feel when I touch you. 

Like a monster?

Yes. Exactly. 

You can stop it. 

Not after so long.

Then you need to fix that because this is the past. This is where we're supposed to be better than what we were. 

I'm never going to change, Bridget. Not as long as you're not with me. Full time. 

Then you'll always be the bad guy, and you'll never get what you want. 

There isn't a chance anyway so none of this matters. 

Then maybe you should go. He hates that suggestion, and he covers my whole face with his hand. I can't breathe. He ramps up hard again, violent driving into me and I squeal into his fingers, tearing at them with my own but he doesn't stop until he's finished. Then he gets up and lets go of my face and as I take a huge breath, ready to light into him, so angry and betrayed that he breaks his promises time and time again, he tells me he needs a sixty-forty time or the world as we know it is going to end. I turn back onto my stomach, skin stinging from his harsh touch and I ignore him. He's not going to negotiate from this place of the enemy. 

The world ended in 2007, I point out, muffled against the sheets. 

Caleb swears and walks out. I hear the shower and I race off to my dreams, to meet my ghost. He's always a safe haven even if he did leave me here with the monsters forever.

Promise you anything.

Got tickets to Nazareth today. Happy, happy girl.

Will I feel this way until the day I die. (This isn't really a question as there's no proper punctuation, is there?)

Today is still the crushing ennui mixed with a low-grade panic to run, peppered with the seeds of self-doubt as the anxiety ebbs and flows just enough to leave me questioning everything again, but also since I don't care I'll just continue on. I still feel like if something out of character occurs or any wrench is thrown into the gears I will lose my shit but otherwise it's all just okay. The gratitude is present, just behind and underneath the grace, as always and the sun has come out for a while to warm our hair while we start gardening and maybe don't talk quite so much. That can wait for the rainy days, or the days we work closely together in a quiet environment and for now it's good just to exhaust our muscles and bones, allowing our blood to drown both in a pulsing river of activity and effort. 

That's a mouthful, Lochlan says thoughtfully. He's impressed that the Devil is far but dismayed to find the ghosts so close. Is it better the other way around? I don't think so but then again, it depends on the day. It depends on the day and the bravery of our dear Princess. 

Sometimes I can handle either or both. Sometimes I can't manage breathing and opening my eyes at the same time. 

Sleep would help. Some restorative adventure would help. Some less-frightening alone time would help. I was ridiculously worried that everything would go to shit while the boys were away and that's carried over and I haven't quite let go of it yet but I will. I made my list. I did my breathing. I'm trying to keep up with all of my tasks to help myself and yet it feels so solitary and overwhelming I'm not sure how to proceed half the time so I just plow ahead even when it feels yucky or weird. It's akin to the feeling in the Prairies when the boys had moved already and I stayed behind to finish the sale of the castle and pack our most precious things. And I'd sit in the garage and sing along with the CD player and wish I was anywhere or anyone else. 

Sam says that Lochlan is the anchor but Jake was the rudder. 

Why can't you be the rudder now?

I'm trying but you fight me at every turn.

Me too, Pooh.

Everyone is home safe and sound, just in time before the wind ripped the sky off and blew our brains out, leaving them to be diluted in puddles of torrential rain. I'm rarely afraid, listening to the wind, thanks to growing up in the land of hurricanes (Maritimes) and then living in the Prairies where the storms were as fierce as the flatness of the land. Here the big wild storms are somewhat muted in comparison, but this one was such a banger I yelled at Schuyler for not latching their gate, so I listened to it bang against the fence until at least four in the morning, when I finally fell asleep and I also counted the shingles on all the houses and garage and outbuildings this morning, as you just never know when a storm is going to result in a call to the insurance adjuster. Last time we got a new roof. This time all is well. I will check attics in a month or two, as is my seasonal routine. 

So I don't think it was the storm as much as it was my latent anxiety about everyone returning before the storm began. The plane was on time (a first) and the mood was tired and so everyone is sleeping in this morning. It's almost noon. Lochlan was just happy to be home, I think. Happy I didn't look to the devil for comfort or company and instead used Dalton and PJ like big brothers. I traded off orders to get food and we watched a ton of movies and gained weight and we caught up on the chores and some more spring cleaning and we're ready to roll, I think, or close to it. 

I'm having more tiny flashes of anxiety but it seems liveable. I think I am predisposed to suggestion and so when the doctor pointed out I can increase if shit goes south I instantly started waiting for that to happen. Has it? Maybe a bit. Or I am metabolizing it really quickly even though it's supposed to be an extended-release sort of medication. Either way they won't need to get the tranquilizer gun out for me but they should still put their shoes on and linger near the door, just in case. 

Jake laughs when I say that. He remembers this feeling well.

Gale.

Today is a quiet day. I'm working on sanding and painting a little cabinet with a glass door that I found at a junk shop. I'm painting it white and I'm going to keep my crystals in it. It's not actually little but it will still fit nicely on the shelf by the window going up the front staircase and it will keep things more secure. 

Ruth and her fiance came by on their way home from an appointment. They stayed for half an hour and played with the dog while they tried to cement their plans for the remainder of the day. I felt vaguely obtunded and dull. I didn't sleep well last night at all. I couldn't get warm. The dog wouldn't stay put. I've already added a blanket under my pillow that I can wrap up in if it happens tonight again. 

The rain is supposed to start in earnest in the next two hours. So excited for a dark stormy day. I'm going to finish Red Dot and maybe start the House of the Witch. Apparently it's leaving Netflix soon so I need to figure it out. 

Hanging out with the dog. By myself. Henry's asleep. Haven't see the Devil yet. Dalton is here keeping an eye and everyone else is out. The wind just picked up like crazy. I guess the storm arrived sooner than I thought it would. 

*Yawn*

Today I bought another gazebo and a privacy trellis for the guest garden suite so that if someone ventures outside they aren't in full view of the driveway since it wraps around now and then I let Daniel cut off all my hair for me into a cute little shaggy pixie that made me weirdly happy. I have very expressive features and a very small head and I grew out my hair over most of last year and hated it long even though I always say I'm going to grow it long it's such a hassle and it's thick and heavy and I wanted it just...off. Daniel did a great job and I gave him a huge tip too. Mostly I was stalling because I don't want to put the gazebo together at all and I just want to materialize but we will work on it next weekend maybe. That will be fun. 

In the meantime tomorrow is a rare day. We're supposed to have rain and wind and Dalton and I both drew the laundry card so we will fold the laundry and get it all done and returned to the right rooms and catch up. Nothing else needs to be done. We're way ahead overall for spring by many weeks. I even got my potato seedlings to plant in a few weeks. Normally I'm not even thinking of any of this until my birthday. 

Loch and Henry went out and picked up Japanese food for dinner. We had tofu yakisoba and gyoza and spicy chicken while we watched Moonfall. Gosh, it was so exciting and so pretty. I loved it. Would have watched it all night but tomorrow there are things to be done so everyone needs an early turn-in. The boys have a project (sadly not the other gazebo) and I am going to play ghosthunter. In my pajamas because I won't be going outside. 

But first, a good nights sleep.

Daydreaming about running away.

Found a house on Purplebricks tonight and it's only around eight hundred thousand pounds. It's in Bodmin, a four-hour drive west from London and it looks like a pretty place. I could be invisible anywhere, truth be told, as long as I know where to get things like..wait, nevermind. Watch batteries, vacuum belts and kids' snowsuits used to be the triple-threat, once I knew where to buy those things in a new city I had it all figured out. 

Now there's Amazon and forty other online places and the internet so it's not so hard to find what I need. 

This is a four-bedroom rural two-story with greenhouses and a sunroom and a kitchen with a very big aga stove and it looks bright and quiet and peaceful. It looks nice. No imposing historical architecture, no glaring modern twists, just a slightly shabby and light-filled home that is cheap, probably because of the location. It might be a little too invisible and so I will resume my search. I still think if I'm going to do this is should be an island so I can literally as well as metaphorically cut myself off from the world proper, misanthrope as I am, and live out my days knitting by the sea, death metal in my headphones, heartbreak in my bones. 

The Devil hovers, hungry as if for a bone, soaked by the blood of the past, baptized by the rain at present, unsure of a certain future. If I show him this house he'll just buy it and keep it, just in case. He's done that before. So I won't say too much about it and I'll come back to it in a few weeks and decide then.

Potatoes are starchy gold. Fight me.

Right in my face and I didn't even see him come out. He put his hands on the arms of the patio chair I was curled up in, brought his head down until we were nose to nose and smiled bitterly at me. 

You can't..stop me from loving you. That's what my life is devoted to, Neamhchiontach. 

Then Caleb pushed off from the arms of my chair and walked quickly back inside. 

Tell us how you really feel. Lochlan yells toward the house with the chuckle and I shoot him a look that shuts him up. We're no longer allowed to bully or roast anyone when they're struggling, no matter with what. 

Peanut-

That counts and now you need to apologize. 

If I go chasing after him he's going to think I'm just being possessive and he's going to go on the defensive. 

Then text him. 

Fine. Lochlan studies his phone for a minute, sends a message and then tosses his phone on the table. 

Better, Princess?

Oh, you're in a mood tonight. 

The Devil just came outside and tried to ruffle our feathers and you want me to not be in a mood?

Right. I don't. 

The next thing you say better not be that he's harmless. 

I shake my head. It wasn't going to be. We know that better than anyone. I just want to change the subject. 

You just want to live on your potato farm by the sea. 

I do. 

That's a wonderful goal, Bridgie. I wouldn't have expected it from you. 

What did you expect? 

I figured you would get stars in your eyes from all of the trips and gifts and I'd become the brunt of jokes for a completely different reason than he has.

I still get the gifts and the trips and the stars though.

Yeah, not sure how you pulled that one off. 

I learned from a master thief. 

That's grifter. I just take opportunities. Not stuff. 

Is it diff-

It is. 

Honest? It's boring.

A huge victory for me in that I've earned another three months at my current dosages, as it's working and it's 90% miracle, 10% doubt at this point but also my doctors are loathe to fuck with it, lest it trigger a return of the narcolepsy. Mine comes and goes depending on the rest I do get, stress levels and of course medication and so I try and manage it but it still gets the best of me and I'll have several months of fighting just to get through a sentence and then other times I feel like I could make it through the week without a single bout, but since it's a lifelong chronic condition I'm happy just to keep it quashed as far down as I can and no one wants to wake the beast, so yay? 

Yay. 

(Because I won't take those drugs. they've tried but I'd rather fall asleep than run at a million miles an hour.)

I was gifted a three-month bottle of pills and now I'm good.These ones keep me from being nervous about every little thing and they keep me from finding my ghosts. I'm pretty sure those two things are closely related but what isn't? In any case it's really nice to watch Lochlan take good care of me. We cook for everyone, we spend a lot of time checking for the first signs of life in the garden, we beachcomb for hours at a time. I am not allowed on my computer, someone opens a window for me. No email, no news anymore, no nothing. It's lovely. I paint and I sculpt and I take a lot of long walks, some fast, some slow, I keep my hands to myself, stay wedged in between Ben and Lochlan most of the time now and I feel like maybe that's why Jake isn't around right now, because he doesn't have to watch over me because I've stopped running. Stopped letting the Devil love me, stopped looking for Jake or Cole, stopped crying, stopped feeling, stopped breathing so hard, stopped wishing I could go at least halfway but not the whole way (just enough to see), stopped being Hard To Manage. 

Lochlan's having a good vacation. I am easier. Things are great. 

The problem is, and this is what I keep telling everyone, it's not default. This isn't the way things are or they would already be this way. This is my artificial pharmaceutical dreamscape and it ends when I get to the bottom of the bottle or whenever they change the dose and I won't even remember to care that I was busy looking for Jake before they distracted me with these pills. At least I can do that now. Care, not look, I mean.

But the boys deserve a break and so I'm trying to give it to them. 

And I am no longer unique or special.  

Fuck me.

Rain drops and last rites.

This morning I am ticking off my list. I fixed the Keurig. I fixed the CD changer in the vintage Jeep. I fixed the vacuum and I fixed my face a little. We went for a walk and saw a dead robin. She was pale and powerless, just off the walking path way up the hill on the school road. I wanted to collect her and give her a proper safe burial underneath the hemlocks where the roses grow unchecked but Lochlan wouldn't let me touch her. I'll go back later when he is busy and I'll wrap her in the Chanel scarf I hate and she can be buried it in. She deserves better than to be left at the side of the road.

The rain stopped but it won't be replaced by the sun. The landscapers were here to drop off a fresh mountain of soil for the gardens and I'm really not sure if I should get out my gloves and shovels or run to the store and get some toy trucks so we can play in it first. Maybe both. Play and then work, which is never how I do a thing, now, is it?

We're going to cook tonight. The weekend is over. Cinderella turns back into a mouse or however it was that that works and routine returns to the point after a brief respite from everything. My medication is being doubled, starting this week and I may miss it all anyway.

We ate outside tonight. First patio dinner of the season. I did not find all the chairs yet.

Sunday night and I'm sitting on Lochlan's knee at the corner of the big glass patio table eating nachos from our favourite Mexican restaurant with extra jalapenos, licking my iodine-stained* fingers and reading guitar reviews out loud from the musical instrument shop we frequent. 

My favourite was for a Jimmy Page edition double-necked epiphone: 

Pros: Stairway!!

Cons: This is heavy!

(Most people try to sound cool or nonchalant when they're writing reviews. This was the first one that was just straight-up honest.)

(*I lost a fight I didn't know I was in, against some surprisingly sharp picture-frame glass from the early eigthies. Almost severed my damn fingers.)

Tiny lessons.

Dear Future Self: Always check and make sure your locking nut key is in your Jeep when you leave a repair shop. Fate woke me at three am and I tossed and turned and woke up at six and went out to check and SURE ENOUGH it wasn't there. 

Big Sigh. 

Called the shop and they had it (a BLESSED MIRACLE, I SAY) and so I took another vehicle in for service when I picked it up, this time in and out in a cool thirty-five minutes and now I've paid my dues to the universe and I'm fucking done for the week. The madness continues but the will does not. It's time to watch some horror movies and rest a little. It's Friday, Bitches and I did more before ten this morning than most people do in a month. 

(Yes, I checked the other truck for the key before I left the lot. HAHAHA I'm not STUPID, right?)

Texas Chainsaw weekend for me. Bye.

Just. Well, look at the 'character' properties first. Those are always the best ones.

Yesterday was an even MORE wild ride that began with sex and groceries with Ben (in THAT order, no less) and then I don't think I actually was on the point until three in the afternoon again as I had a sudden burst of manic energy that saw me tick off a bunch of languishing appointments and chores that I was ignoring thus far. I still have a few left but those will play out over the next few weeks, and that's fine. The doctor returns on Tuesday and this morning was my first massive anxiety wake-up, as it's always worst on the way to sleep and first thing and then the courage comes with the dawn. When I jumped on the scale the scale told me my heart rate was 170 and I believed it. A second try registered 74 so that's probably more accurate but I do feel like I can let today cave in because I was Productive yesterday and that's all people care about. 

Also stop tightening your fucking OIL CAPS SO TIGHT THEY BREAK. That alone added over an hour to my trials of Wednesday the twenty-third of March. FFS. It's not hard. Also the replacement better be metal or I'm going to be pissed off again. 

Today I get to Netflix and laundry. Tonight is steak stir-fry on rice with peppers and onions. In the meantime I am waiting for Henry to wake up (he's in his final two weeks of fine-tuning his graduation project wtffffffff) and browsing Purplebricks for my next house. Purplebricks is a huge time suck in my life right now, I spend hours looking at listings. 

And I'm going to try to go back to posting every day. I have the go-ahead. Everyone's super happy with my 'progress' or something, as apparently my personality before was too much or too stressful.

This makes me sad.

Drama in real life.

Yesterday was a wild ride. Did I tell you I broke my toe? Dropped my phone on it and boom, now it's black and purple and it looks a little like it's been lying on Mount Everest for a few decades and I'm so fascinated I keep showing everyone. They tell me not to drop my phone. Uh. Okay, right. Will do. 

Hopefully it will be back to it's normal colour soon or I will arrange a service at base camp for it, I guess. 

I have nine other toes, right? yes, of course I do but the smallest ones are the runts and they are fairly useless and also hilariously misshapen. Everything is micro on me. Especially my hands and feet. So I'm surprised my phone didn't miss by a mile but nope, toe-smash city. 

In other news I also witnessed a crime this week. Fun! Especially since it was something in my own neighbourhood and while minor, it was completely unnecessary and glaringly obvious to the point where I do believe the world has lost it's collective mind, and also yes, I made a report and now get to wait and see if anything plays out. 

I hate that but I also know who did it and don't plan to let them get away with it because they're fucking batshit and they need to learn a lesson here. 

God. Just do the right thing. It's not hard, people. I can figure that out and I only presently have nine useful toes! 

I will provide updates soon if anything comes of it all. 

Happy Ostara.

I climbed out of my fog yesterday and had a great day. I played in the muddy gardens, went through three pairs of garden gloves, put out and set up two hoses, helped prune and stack grapevines in the vineyard, unwrapped and pruned the tiny olive trees, marveled at the buds on the cherry and pear trees and counted all the buds on the rosebushes and tearoses. The bee balm is multiplying already, the larkspur has come up along with the poppies and the ivy seems lush and plush again suddenly. The Japanese maples have huge buds and the grass is even coming back, at last, though slowly. We cleaned up for around two hours en mass and then ended the day with a feast of Chinese food and television. We finished Lucifer. We made plans to finish Lost in Space and then begin the new season of Ozark. We enjoyed the sun on our faces and the good back pain that comes from hard physical work and we look forward to getting the garden planted and underway soon.

The wedding plans tick along too. This week we have a couple of things to do, namely Ruthie's dress fitting for alterations and possibly shopping for shirts for the men. She's requested an unusual colour scheme and yet it's extremely flattering to the skin tones among us so no problems there. She is the furthest thing from a bridezilla but she also has a tiny vision in mind and we intend to make it happen for her. I'm excited. So excited but also loving coasting on the decided lack of anxiety. It's great. When it's not a pure fog it's absolutely great and working. 

Winter is done. Just when I gave up on hating the darkness at four in the afternoon and the endless damp cold, it's done. Again. I love it. I'm looking forward to Easter and my birthday, and the wedding. 

And we're having slow lake-Jesus today because coffee at a lake in the mountains is better than coffee in church. A million times better. Sorry Sam (he doesn't blame us truth be told).

Maybe coffee would he- no, it probably wouldn't. You're right.

I feel like a dull pencil. Too blunt to write purposefully but still good enough that eventually I will be sharper and in the meantime no one is going to throw me away. But a hopeful pencil, with stories and dreams I want to write but I just can't because I am too rounded to use. Too dull to be able to put to paper any of the words I thought I had, blurred by the moment and now I forget. 

I am pushing through. Maybe it will get better? Maybe not. Who the hell knows? This the halfway point of the whole trial of it anyway so we shall see. 

*yawns* 

Christ.

Recycled.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Our Padraig is having a wonderful time. He's almost already drunk. He's had three meals and it's only two in the afternoon and the rain is pouring down so hard and that, coupled with the three-degree wind and darkness has made us cancel our plans to go and carouse about town tonight to celebrate being Irish as only a few of us actually are. 

Kidding. We had zero plans to carouse, as it were. 

I am busy throwing mugs anyway. Not throwing them on the wheel, actually throwing them. At the fence, which is cathartic as nothing I have ever seen before except then I have to go and pick all the shards up and put them in the recycling clay bucket and make them back into clay. As long as they haven't been glazed you can do that and apparently I am the QUEEN of weak handles on cups, which shrink and crack a month later and ugh, the learning process coupled with my OCD-perfectionism (DIAGNOSED, in case you're easily annoyed) is just about ruining this whole thing. I ground the edges down with a file and now it's a drinking VESSEL, just not a MUG. 

It's fine, everything's fine. 

*picks up shards*

I get to start drinking at five. 

As soon as you've eaten, says my minder. He makes the rules, I follow them. 

*throws perfectly good mug this time, just for emphasis on the 'follow' part.*

The Sunlight Protection Act.

 If you've tried to reach me and haven't gotten a response (or a block, HA) it's because for the past little while I don't have access to my email. Lochlan won't let me have it. I post remotely from my blog post link from blogger (really glad I set that up that first time I took a trip and wanted to post from the road without logging in, per se) and haven't really acknowledged any readers as of late. I haven't even posted every day, as of late, truth be told and things are as ever. Though after many attempts to stop taking these pills I am given them now and it's an illness to be cured or maintained, not an experiment and yet the joy vanished with the anxiety and I'm trying to figure out how to live in this unfamiliar place where nothing inside my head can get a rise out of me suddenly, and I can poke around and find the panic but then I drop it and it's gone again. 

In other words, bear with me. It isn't like we haven't done this a million times before, Dear Reader, which is why I'm not too concerned. Eventually I will have the energy to rebel or something with trigger something else and we'll be back on the rollercoaster you know and crave. 

Gee, can't wait. 

(See? That's the reaction you get out of me these days. Like they shot me with a tranquilizer gun and then shook me awake so that I can still respond in conversation. Not less than eleven different people have remarked that this shit may be too strong. Hahahaha you think? And the talk was that the dosages WILL BE RAISED.)

In other news, my current province (British Columbia) saw our premier waiting for the United States to make the first move on leaving Daylight Savings Time always-on due to trade and cross-border logistics and since the senate or congress or whichever you use voted unanimously to adopt permanent Daylight Savings Time (hilarious name for the act, by the way. I fucking DIED at the gravity of it all) I think, Mr. Horgan, that it's time to make our announcement too. And never again will I have to turn on lights at three in the afternoon. That alone is worth cheering for. 

I will get back to my emails soon. I'm hitting all my progress points, or so they say. Baby steps and all.

Annnnd this is why I ordered not one but two extra glass doors because we already have to replace one from where Lochlan shoved Caleb right into it, and now I still have a spare. I'd put a laughing emoji here but it's not funny.

Do they ever learn? Or change? Do I? No to all of it.

I thought I made it out alive.

Neamhchiontach. 

Caleb's breath is warm against my forehead. His head is bent down against mine and I am frozen in place. Wanting so badly to run but wanting to stay, too. 

Ten days interest is going to cost you. He says it softly, voice breaking on the cost part. Every day that goes by means you're going to pay dearly. 

His birthday was on the third and we celebrated as a big family. As always. As always, it wasn't enough.

I struggle out of his embrace, tears streaming. My voice is caught in my throat, choked out by sudden insolence. Just pretend it's a year we aren't together and you'll be fine. I wipe my cheeks, trying to find the rage to replace the fear. Trying to be stubborn and hold my ground when it's an avalanche. He holds firm and I give up my fight, waiting for the dead (or the living) to rescue me. Not wanting to rescue myself. I don't want to be the bad guy in my own story. I just want him to stop keeping score. I'm not a game. There are no points to be had, here. He lost before he knew he was a player but he refuses to concede.

Supervillains (and Vanity Flair).

I just read the most terrible, downright...obsequious article and honestly, does it make any sense to frame your subject in such a way, so..transparently when the other articles in the same publication consist of a list of books we all should read and a list of face products we need to try? 

Just...GOD. 

Fucking hell. "Time flies around her in a nonlinear fashion". Dear sweet Christ. Someone begged for that assignment. On his fucking knees.

***

I actually hate the internet today. Be warned. Between seeing that Putin bombed a maternity hospital (you're never more vulnerable than when giving birth) and pretty much, oh, everything else I'm going to disappear into the only true equalizer (and my all-time best lover, Netflix) and live out the rest of my days watching nice things happen on the screen and just pretend it's my life.

***

Please, Neamhchiontach.

Five weeks to go. Easter is exceedingly late this year and Caleb has already had more than enough of Lent and my plans to see it through. He's gone from pouting to openly protesting to worrying to threatening and back around to moping. I guess those are his Five Stages of Disbelief. 

I'm not concerned. He will live. No one is writing articles about him. He's rich but he's not that kind of rich and he's also one of the rich who doesn't advertise it so you won't find articles about him in the newspaper or local magazines because by the time he had any money (all of it new) we had Benjamin and we all made an effort to keep Ben's tiny island of privacy as quiet as we could. Even Caleb, who was just starting out and back then Cole was the millionaire, though it was never millions, and we kind of knew Batman but he wasn't (and still isn't) exactly in the fold. 

***

Should I buy the Swiss village outside of Golden? Six houses, the perfect place for a commune, truth be told. 

If you're a billy goat. Lochlan laughs. Besides, it's not near the water. 

Oh, nevermind then. 

I know vaguely where Golden is but I wasn't actually paying attention. We haven't made it past Chilliwack, honestly. After living in the Prairies for so long I have no desire to be away from the sea ever again.

On not spending enough time alone.

Today was taken up with ferrying Ruthie back and forth to her car repair appointment (next city over) and having her come to the house in between to hang out while she waited out emergency repairs. I was tired but the moment they called to say her car was ready I started missing her again. It's very hard when she leaves but I'm getting used to the feeling of sadness in a way that makes it easier to cover with the pride I feel for how well she is doing out in the world. 

So now it's time to make dinner but I didn't have time to paint door trims today and that's fine. I'm only responsible for one door so it's easy. Maybe I'll add flowers on the inside trim. Just for fun, but probably not because if there is one thing I have learned it's to keep it plain, neat and neutral. 

In other news we ducked into an old favourite restaurant last night for a last-minute date night. Showed our vaccine passports, found a big booth in the back and ordered wine and pasta and just savoured being out. Not cleaning up takeout garbage. Not rushing home because it couldn't get cold. Not thinking about a thing, including the usual frowns I get when out and about due to the tattoo suit. Not that I truly care but I do hate the attention but I left the house in a t-shirt and leggings, expecting drive-through food. 

It was so nice, though, just to sit and sip wine. It really set the mood for the rest of the week. Maybe it's been too long since we've done that and we should do it more. Lochlan agreed, with that smile he reserves just for me.

Mellow(drama).

This morning I am playing the fun game of Are these side-effects or am I having a heart attack? and I'm honestly not concerned so probably side-effects. It's going to be so sad and pointless if I'm wrong. 

In the meantime I have shipped the remaining vodka back to my former friends at great expense to make a point, in spite of Caleb's efforts to not rock any boats (this after changing doctors) and received a lovely call whereby a voicemail was left acknowledging his (not Caleb's) distaste for the current 'situation' and complete understanding for my actions as a result. It won't do anything in the long run aside from denying myself my favourite imported vodka but you know what? I don't care. This war is bullshit. 

I have give up McDonalds and we all know how hard that is. Unless they withdraw from Russia. Who do I call?

It's going to be sad if this is my very last post though I'm fairly certain this is not a heart attack and just a muscular ache from scraping the door frame for painting prep or lifting boxes of bottles. Or side effects. Because THOSE aren't driving me nuts.

Wish me luck. I need a finger oxygen meter thingie. Maybe I'll order one on Amazon (gosh are they doing sanctions? If not I am fucked) and it will ironically arrive ten minutes after I die.

And I wore heels today! First time in ever.

 I was so sick last night and then I slept fitfully and was out the door at six-thirty this morning for (distanced) meetings and I have to make four pans of meatloaf for dinner but I think Lochlan is going to call a change and take over or let everyone fend because I don't think I have any steam left for anything. I still feel sick though I did have breakfast and lunch, a croissant and some coffee at the meeting and then dumplings on the run (living dangerously) and I did have an orange when we got home and now some tea to try and settle my stomach but I don't know. It would probably be wiser not to eat anything tonight and see how it goes. I did get my chores done this morning and then some, lots of extras in there but there are always things that need to be done, for sure. 

Food poisoning?

I don't know. We all ate the same things and everyone else was good but it sure felt like it. 

They have iron stomachs, Bridge. You...don't. 

I know. Hopefully it's gone. I feel better today. Just weak. 

Well, take a break and do nothing for a day. 

(*Snort*)

Don't snort at me. 

It wasn't 'at' you, PJ, it was a generalized noise. 

Same difference.

Pancake Princess.

Everyone wants to know what I gave up for Lent. Lent was a blur, frankly. These pills continue to kick my ass but in a good way, oddly. I don't feel all that creative and I can't concentrate and last night my heartbeat was in my throat and I was like this feels interesting but I didn't care about it either. 

I gave up my Diabhal for Lent. That's what I did. He is exceedingly unhappy about it but somehow takes comfort in the fact that as per Sam's rules it has to be something meaningful, something I will miss and struggle to avoid.

LOL.

Glass castles.

Storm doors are all done and after two days of being helpful, holding up this piece of trim or that mechanism and fetching t-squares and then drill batteries and then another trip to the hardware store I am freshly showered for like the fourth time here, sore and now the one to paint the trim to seal it against the elements sometime this week, I think. They all look amazing and it's nice to have a locked glass door that we can put the window down and have a breeze or simply have the glass and have light pouring in from outside with more security (the real reason I think my screen doors were changed out) without sacrificing heat or cold, depending on the season. 

There was only a little swearing, and boy, paint prices have increased a lot in the past year or two. Also we lost a bunch of drill bits halfway through and took forever to find them because I had put them in the box with the leftover nails and then promptly forgot. 

Also ladders. Ladders are so fun. And so is caulking but really not and it doesn't go very far but we bought a bunch of extra tubes so we're good now and now we have a whole raft of old wooden screen doors that aren't really salvageable because they were just about falling apart. 

Especially the side door to the driveway which has borne the brunt of Caleb and Lochlan pushing each other into it just about every third or fourth day for the past half-dozen years if not longer. 

But yeah they're done. Yay.

Rollercoasters and timeskips.

Yesterday was waylaid completely by an eleventh-hour invitation from Ruth to go wedding dress shopping. It began as a casual effort to go look around and then before I knew it she had found the dress and the women at the bridal store were losing their minds over it and her in it, zipping it up into a garment bag and making appointments for alterations to come as we don't have a lot of time but we have some. She wasn't sure what she wanted, even with ideas, though after trying on the dream idea it wasn't right in the end and she did a full turnaround. 

She even tried on my last actual wedding dress (the princess one) and deemed it not right which was fine as I didn't think it was either, and she talked alot about colour before we left, before finally going with a blush pink satin under cream lace. It's incredible. It's Ruth. And we are two months away from her wedding suddenly, all at once and yet every time I look at her I still see this little girl rocking out to Avril Lavigne and asking for Dunakroos. I'm almost in shock here and can't get over how fast life moves just when you think you're getting comfortable. 

My children continue to impress me with their poise and confidence. I'm envious but also so so proud.

Is it Wednesday?

 I'll be watching kpop videos today and maybe making cod and caesar salads for dinner since it's my night and probably going to bed even earlier than usual because I'm godsmackingly tired. 

Last night I had my first really weird dream on this medication, which I'm bearing with in terms of having decided I need to take it to fix a specific illness, versus it being an optional trial kind of thing. That's helping me accept the side effects and even those are slightly better than they were last week. 

But the dream. I can remember every detail. I walked up to the playground way up the hill and the mail for the whole neighborhood was laid out on the grass, everything opened but only valuable things taken, like gift cards out of birthday greetings and parcels. I stacked it all up and called for people to come out of their houses and get their mail and I gathered mine up and stuffed it into my satchel and then I was suddenly downtown and I met up with someone from work (I don't know the person or the job, actually) and she said the bus was leaving but I opened my wallet and my bus pass was cut into pieces and I told her it expired and she was like just pay cash but I didn't have any. 

I got on the bus anyway and ignored the driver as he called for me to pay and I went to the back and sat down. When I got home I lived in this tiny attic with Lochlan's mother and she had boxes stacked up everywhere and they were all addressed to me and I was trying to gather everything up and I told her I had to buy a new bus pass but my phone was dead so I would do it before work in the morning. I climbed way up into this wooden bed that was so high in the air and when I went to plug my phone in the charger was gone. I asked her if she had it and she said it was probably lost under all these boxes and so I went to sleep. 

My alarm woke me out of that, thankfully before I had to deal with figuring out who was stealing the mail and how I was going to get my new bus pass. 

Goddamn. I hate dreams like that but they're also weirdly fascinating.

Grooves in the pavement.

We're not coordinated. An early walk with Sam. An after-breakfast walk with Lochlan. A mid-morning walk with Dalton. An after-lunch walk with Benjamin and Duncan. A late afternoon walk with PJ and then after dinner Caleb asked me if I wanted to go for a walk and I had to beg off as I've already logged fifty kilometres today and I just want to stop moving. He understood and didn't feel singled out as I also had refused one from Batman earlier but damn. Why can't we just go for a group walk?

Lady luck.

It's cold, dark and raining on this atypical Monday and I have a house full of men in flannel shirts and jeans, all of which seem to be perpetually with coffee cup and phone in hand. It's so loud outside I turned off the music as it was just noise competing for my attention and it's kind of nice to listen to. I think I will miss it whenever or if ever I leave here. 

We had some really exciting news in amongst the screen door wars and I am so looking forward to the spring suddenly.

Your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.

Jacob is on the wall in the rain with his guitar. I can see him from here but it's pouring in sheets, turning the grass to mud and the skies to graphite and if I open that glass door the chimes will sound and they'll come running so I am content to sit in the big easy chair and watch him from the great room. From this chair I have a wider view of the backyard, and can just see the lower portion of the rock wall. He's just up from the platform where we set up the telescope on clear evenings in the summer, and I'm guessing his guitar is probably so far out of tune it's not in the genre he's playing any more which would be something by Stone Temple Pilots, Billy Joel or maybe Joe Jackson. Maybe a love song I no longer listen to, maybe a Beatles arrangement. Maybe some unconnected notes, like the song between us now that has been forgotten, no longer played on the record player or radio, no longer in the back of my mind, a soundtrack for a film that's over and been remade already. 

Or, 'reimagined', as it were. 

I look over at PJ on the big couch. He is nodding along to whatever's in his headphones and reading, swiping down the screen of his phone, content, coffee cup in his left hand, feet up on the tabletop, warm by the fire. He looks up, feeling my gaze and I look away. He is in charge this morning while everyone else sleeps away the rain after such a busy day yesterday. He didn't come out with the group and yet he's thrilled the rickety, warped screen doors are soon to be history. We also cleared out an extraordinary amount of things over the past several months from previous lives, a cobbled collective history of belongings that were redundant and copious. It's a spring-clean for our souls, and he is a big part of what keeps us organized and productive, though he is always perpetually worried that I might find things move too fast and regress, or worse. 

I'm doing okay. Things are good. He is cautiously optimistic for that, that the darker period now ebbs once more and we come out into the light. I take a deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. I take a sip of my ever-present water bottle and meet his gaze again with my reassuring smile, but only with my eyes. He winks and goes back to his reading. It's a content Sunday so I don't know why they let Jake sit there and play. They were supposed to banish him from my existence. That was the plan, I know now.

Shim it and skim it.

Replacing my beautiful wooden screen doors today with actual storm doors. Metal ones with slide-open windows and locking latches and far more quality than my country-farmhouse shabby chic painted doors that never matched the house style at all. It's too modern and austere and I was still in my Prairie Victorian stage, I guess. 

Next week will be twelve years here in the Pacific Northwest. Twelve years on the wrong coast, but here we are. 

But storm doors meant two trips to the hardware store, replacing all of the brick moulding around the doors too (all of them, not a one was exempt) and also a weird discussion, complete with procreate for visual charts, in the aisle of a Home Depot while we tried to figure out how to make it work. Oh, and latches for each door that are patent-pending that added almost a hundred bucks to each door, which was funny but also not. 

And we got all the stuff but now it's dark and it's raining and we've missed our chance to actually do the work. 

This is good, this is normal. This is how we roll.

Today is the first day of the- yeah, yeah.

Doing okay today. The early relief that comes with promises of change or help or sympathy or whatever this is. The hope of a reprieve from the monster that is my mind. My corrupted soul trying to change my body and heart in place while I fight without a rest. I don't know what this is, I only know it isn't normal and I know that he rewired my brain in the worst way possible and then before he had time to teach me how to use it, he was gone again. And now he's back and he gets a front row seat to his destruction every day of his life and somehow I hope the guilt eats him alive. 

But it won't. 

In the meantime, Caleb's been hovering. He hates new doctors, hates not having control or at least input, as it were, hates being told what will happen and when. 

It'll be weeks before I see improvement. You can go rest, Diabhal. 

Not on your life, Neamhchiontach. I'll take care of you. 

Stop, I whisper but he can't hear it. 

Yes I can, and no, I won't, he says in return.

Maybe the guilt will eat him alive. I want to be here to see it. Every moment of it.

I will wait for my Rice Krispies on the moon.

NICE. If someone had told me I wouldn't be able to buy Rice Krispies for six fucking months I would have stocked up, the way I did on Goldfish crackers, toilet paper, cold hard cash and now Doritos, because my province is literally in hell lately. 

On the upside? They have rapid tests at the pharmacy now but I didn't get any because I forgot as I listened and fidgeted through the pharmacist's list of cautions and side effects for my spanking brand new pills and then for good measure I was handed a seven-page printout of information. I think they have to, though this has nothing to do with signing legal contracts and just about everything to do with me falling asleep in a bowl of Honeycombs this afternoon. All of this above-board now, as it seems to keep the wolves in check.

All the boomers back home have covid. The rest of us only go outside when we have to. I woke up Ben and dragged him to the grocery store at seven this morning and he dragged me to the doctor at ten. It was a cold call, just to see what transpires and she passed all the tests and after a lengthy discussion it's clear Bridget's anxiety is absolutely off the charts at this point and something has to be done. 

Also more therapy (yeah, no) and no alcohol and mindfulness off of youtube. 

Or something. 

But let's start with drugs. Half dose to begin and then next week I'll be asleep before I can even pour a bowl of cereal and still make it to the big table. I hate side effects. She said to give it five weeks and then come back and we'll shoot for the moon but hell, I think I'm already there.

Yeah, yeah.

Flooding into my brain. Jacob's voice at a time when I don't have the alertness to protect myself nor the want. I loved the sound of his voice. A soft rumble. Easy enough to understand but strikingly deep. He went up an octave if he was very passionate or singing but otherwise it was like riding a wave of warm molasses. The closest deep voice in the house now is Henry, followed by Caleb.

Princess, you need to wake up. You need to get up and do things. You can't hide under the blankets all day. 

I don't know if it's in the present or if I'm reliving a memory. All I remember is that I was stubborn and he knew how to goad me into doing things. He would state a fact (usually untrue) and I would leap to prove him wrong. Lochlan always said that was an unhealthy way of forcing someone to comply but if anyone was a professional insubordinate, it would be Loch. 

I roll over and off the bed. I don't know where Ben is but I hear the shower. When Ben doesn't have meetings or medical appointments he sleeps halfway into the morning now, since mid-January or so but I like to think he actually does it to keep me company because this is a place I rarely leave now. I cheek my pills, they're in an old pill bottle under the top of the headboard. I don't sleep, contrary to Jacob's (and Ben's) observations. I do sometimes put on a face and go and hang out, like with Daniel a couple of days ago, but otherwise I live in pajamas, I watch Netflix and I swallow back as much panic as I can overnight only to drown the moment I'm distracted. I know the big meds are coming. I can see them from here. I hear the train and see the smoke on the horizon. Lochlan only lets time go to a certain point before he calls in the seriousness because he doesn't enjoy peering into the darkest holes to look for me and he certainly can't be content to look the other way. That isn't in his DNA any more than listening to orders is. 

Is that healthy? I don't know.  I see no irony. He tries. I fail. He is ultimately responsible because I'm not even allowed to start an online candy subscription, as it is technically a legal contract and guess who is not a legal adult? 

The story of my life. 

*sad laughter*

But I'm up and I'm clean and in jeans and Cole's sweater and somehow if this is better than bed then I wait patiently for Jacob/Lochlan's argument on precisely why.