Jesus, Apple.

My phone had a checkup and her battery was good (even at lowered health. I am what they call a power user) but something was wrong with my software because it would not charge past a certain low threshold. This is what I told them but they needed to prove it or something, so I was given some instructions on how to fix it and they offered to do it in store but I took my nudes and my secrets and brought everything home and did it all and guess what? We are back to one hundred percent charged. 

If only they could do the same with me. Actually, I know my hardware problems and I also know my software problems. The only thing is none of the fixes ever work. Too bad. At least my Bridget Care will never expire. 

Ben thinks it's hilarious. Especially the part where they told me if I wanted to restore from a backup that it would only take a few minutes. He understands. A restore takes a whole weekend for my phone due to the sheer expanse of music on it, and a restore for Bridget takes even longer still. 

He cupped his hands around my head this morning, pressing it against his chest (as one would when preparing to throw a football) and made a pretend twisting motion and I laughed so inappropriately Jesus (and Sam) rolled his eyes and gave up on the spot. Ben has picked me up by my head enough times to make everyone on the point cringe in fear but it's actually funny and feels kind of good. Besides, it's for a split second. Even my chiropractor didn't have an issue last time I went and had a good old crack session, which everyone swears will cure my headaches but after eleven million visits over the past twenty years, um, sorry but no. 

(The only thing that helps my headaches is mummy-sleep and Lochlan's lips pressed against my forehead for an eternity. Then I relax and breathe. It's a soothing trick he's been doing since I was eight years old and it still works. I didn't even have any really bad headaches until fourteen or sixteen or so. 

Mummy sleep is when you wrap up tightly in a sheet, arms in, swaddled, if you will and sleep hard, packed like a sardine. The temperature has to be perfect in the room, cold even, and there can be no light. It's probably like being dead except you can wake up later and go do things.) 

Ben has a third (fifth?) summer job helping some new bands dial in their sound, acting as an advocate between managers and record labels so the band doesn't get shafted, and being the tiebreaker on merch designs and single covers, something he lets us all vote on and we love every second of it. He's doing it for a percentage of a actual income, more as a favour to their fathers and to some of his friends in the business and so he is busy and in his element. With this and the eleven million other projects he is too busy to notice it takes him an extra minute or two to remember which drawer holds batteries and which holds ziploc bags and that's enough for me. He has a lot of support out there in the world and it makes me happy to see it continue even after he technically retired. Everyone needs an army. Mine is tight and local. His is scattered but more global. He would argue that we all know his army is my army too but it isn't the same.

So this morning we made an email to let the Collective vote on some items for accessories and designs  for picks and then we went for a long walk around the grounds to smell every lilac flower we could find before coming back and making camp coffee. Ben took his favourite chair and I took the hammock because nothing says good morning Sunday like feeling carsick and spilling my coffee within the first sip, right? 

I never learn.

(But you didn't want to.)

August is trading off Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne playlists this morning when I come downstairs and I know damn well he has a little Christina Perri mixed in there. Just what we need, a slide back into the Jar of Hearts season that almost saw the implosion of this whole Collective. 

Avril is listenable and catchy and I think I know most of the words and I'm doing great today, thank you for asking. Sam poured us each an orange juice and we went for a walk to see the beginnings of the garden, see the beans popping up through the soil and the poppies almost opening already and the lilac scenting the whole point with their sweet smell of memories long past. Lilacs remind me of Ben though, and he is sitting in the shade on the patio with a coffee and Duncan and they are having a lovely talk. 

I handed Sam my glass and bent to weed some interlopers out of the burgeoning lavender plants and then he handed it back carefully and waited for my report. 

I am breathing again. A tenuous week, to be sure but we navigated it, no one fell overboard and kind, windy seas loom ahead. 

Ruth has covid. So does her husband. It's a good time to have it now that the wedding, honeymoon and everything else is behind them right now and they are doing okay. I was over this morning fully masked to drop off test boxes, croissants, and juice and a few bags of fruits and veggies and soups for them. 

(This is one of the reasons Caleb came back. The kids are on the other side of it though now and begin the long road of regaining their energies.)

My iPhone stopped charging again. When I wake up it's on sixty percent and after trying a week of different things she's getting a battery replacement today at Apple. I never know what to do. Should I delete the nudes first? Remove all of Ben's in progress songs? Delete all the secrets of everyone I know? Haha, of course not. By the time things get to me they aren't secrets as I am the last to overhear, as it were. 

Unfortunately. 

(Fun being deaf and all but I still adore the shit out of my phone and so I need it fixed. I have 276GB of music on it.)

I really just want to take the world, lick my finger and blur off the parts I have no interest in and sit and watch the radishes grow. Sam doesn't believe in escapism. I remind him the only one here who does is gone and he frowns. No one likes it when I talk about Jacob. They'd rather pretend he never existed which is escapism, IS IT NOT? 

Of course not, because it's majority rules and Bridget isn't a queen, just a princess. She gets no say. 

We survived and I didn't have an overwhelming amount of panic or fear, even with Caleb coming back. Even with Lochlan breathing on the top of my head perpetually. He is sleeping in, exhausted. I think he keeps watch all night so Sam has promised to be my forbidden sidekick today. Maybe he'll let me take some nudes for the Apple geniuses later. Maybe if I ask real nicely. 

But probably not, and that's how things are shaping up today.

I can hear August belting out Already Gone as we return to the patio. Ben is just listening. 

Should have put him to work. 

He's offered. I remind him. 

I want you to know that it doesn't matter-  

Wow. Those NOTES. I hate to interrupt but I want to put the glasses inside and get busy with my plans for the day, which don't include casual archaeology on my brain, uncovering years of regrets and misfiled memories. My thief is a dreamboat, not a crack administrator and so some things are inevitably going to be in the wrong spot. I need to make kiln cookies and test tiles for glaze so that I have a reference catalog. I need to beg for my email back, as I still don't have access. It's been six months. Do they care? No. Why would they care. It's just a 'blog'. It's just the record of my entire life as a mother and as a wife to four different men in the span of twenty years which sounds really fucking stupid. 

Those of us who read it and the one who wrote it, know differently. Don't we?

Ohhh noooo. Almost made it. Here's Jar of Hearts now.

Preservations.

What did you do with the money? Caleb is trying to make conversation as I empty the dishwashers. I don't really carry on discussions while doing it, it's loud and clanky and everyone ends up repeating themselves so I wait until I'm finished and by then he has decided that I am freezing him out, or angry at such a question or worse, simply ignoring him. 

Nothing. It's still wherever you put it. I didn't look. I'm guessing it's in the trust account he uses to send my money. Every time I get some I hope eventually it will add up and I will buy my dream house somewhere else. Today it's a cottage just on the other side of the little causeway between the lake and Queensland beach. It's perfect. It's a little weird and it comes fully furnished for just under half a million. 

Other days I want to take twenty million, fly to Europe, move into a moss-covered moldy castle and never be seen again. 

Some days I want to encase Lochlan in bronze or resin and preserve him forever but I think my brain already has done that for me on my behalf and so he is forever eighteen. Sixteen. Twenty-one. Doesn't matter, really. 

You should let us do these things. Caleb has been very all-in, very helpful since he's been home. On his best. No teeth. No fists. No fetishes, no frights. For now. I've been keeping my guard up though, otherwise he uses his charm as a vacuum to suck me right in.

I'm good. You have your list, I have mine. I smile but not with my eyes. And he doesn't push.

Dear.

Yesterday I was refreshing and repainting the mural on the side of the boathouse and so I spent all day on a ladder with two two-hour breaks and now this morning I am all but in traction, a twisted pretzel with aching limbs and core and a blistering headache to boot. I had my big floppy hat with the chin tie and I was in shade for most of it but that still doesn't change the sheer effort, especially since the previous day I cleaned up the entire perimeter of the stables, pulling out endless giant weeds and keeping a quick check somewhat regularly over my shoulder for the bears. I saw three deer up at the top of the glade nearer to the road and they took my breath away and then ran with it back up toward the mountains. I don't even want to think about where or how they cross the highway. I've seen the dead ones and it breaks my already broken heart but there isn't much I can do about it and also sometimes they jump into traffic out of the trees and it's just simply too late. 

I also, without any guilt whatsoever, ate PJ's croissant for breakfast this morning.

And never ever feed him after midnight.

My rules were much the same as Caleb's, truth be told. No alone time unless someone is very nearby. Outside is fine. No trips. No overnights. No lies. No defending the Devil from the actions he takes, only to be excused away by my practised, immature inner voice. She will let him get away with anything. He made sure of it with threats that she once believed and doesn't anymore, but it all happened at such a young age that it made something grow crooked inside her. 

(Spoiler: It was her/my brain.)

Loch made me pinky-swear to him and I did easily and then we had a picnic on the windy beach below, egg salad sandwiches, tonic water and baked chips. A favourite meal. We watched the logs bump on the shore and the foam ice the tops of the waves and he asked me what I would change. 

I want to be like everyone else.

How do you mean?

I don't want to have to need pills to function properly. I don't want to be taken at face value. I want to be deep and mysterious and together-

I look at him and he is shaking with laughter. Of course I'm not offended. Just fatally curious as ever. 

What's so funny? 

You are who you're supposed to be. I don't like hearing you doubt yourself. The pills are-

They make me thirsty and I can't concentrate-

For now and we'll deal with later in a little while. You are deep and wonderful and beautiful. No one here wants a robot or a superwoman. We just want you. Safe. Happy. Not hurting. Not being hurt. Not suffering. Not being tortured or in distress twenty-four hours a day. You promised you would trust me but I see the way you look at me. 

I don't-

You do. It's as if I have become the enemy. And I never will be, Bridget. We'll get through this. Even if it takes the rest of our lives. But I'm not going to let Caleb consume you slowly or try and tear you away from me. 

He can't.  

But you can't let him go and I understand that but he's going to do some real work on himself too and we're all going to get to a healthier, less-fucked up place. Or die trying. 

I nod. Is it hyperbole? No. Is it encouraging? Maybe. 

A little, anyway.

Hands inside the cart at all times.

I woke up to shouting this morning. Caleb was back first thing and PJ sent out a heads up which is interesting because PJ sleeps in on Sundays and to wake him takes an army. Maybe that was it, the army's sole dissenter rode up and PJ snapped to, and before I woke up I guess some of the others tried to get him to quietly go again and he was having none of it. 

Because he knew I was taking two steps forward and three back. The usual. Things seem okay, make a little progress and then turn around and let go and slide all the way back to the beginning. It's a human game of snakes and ladders and grief is the snake and life is the ladder and he doesn't want to be left behind. 

Ha, like me on the stupid log in Call of Duty. That never gets old. 

Jacob didn't stay. It's fine, I think Caleb learned his lesson too, I point out to Ben but Ben is watching body language and keeping me from moving forward (three steps back, Bridget) while Caleb and Lochlan get further away. They walk down the driveway and I am left wondering if Caleb is going to shove Lochlan next and maybe he'll fall and hurt his head and forget me or I'll have to feed him for six or eight weeks while he learns to use utensils again, helpless and weakened in the space of one calculated moment of overwhelming emotion. 

Which is why we are always stuck right here in that before moment. 

Jacob gave me a gift and I'm not squandering it, I swear but my curiosity is a lethal mistress, always and I strain to read their expressions as they return. Caleb hurries ahead of Lochlan and sweeps me into his arms in a hard hug, my feet off the ground. 

I missed you, Neamhchiontach. His voice breaks. Lochlan is allowing me back early. He has some rules I can easily agree to if it means I can see you. He touches my face, my nose, my ears. I just want to know the rules. 

Tell you later, Lochlan says as he brushes past me when I look to him for confirmation. I'm sure there will be another set of rules for me to listen to later when it comes to the devil but what good is an army with missing soldiers? What good is an angel without a devil to be the foil? And what the heck is the summer going to look like now that there's no countdown and a velcro-ghost, stuck like static on a fine silk shirt to my skin, inside my heart, all over my face, written like a letter I never read?

For a moment a lesson was learned.

PJ got me a foot long sub to conquer today and I don't think I can do it. Haha. It's crispy chicken with lettuce, tomatoes and pickles and sweet onion sauce and it's so good but so huge. Worth the money when you can get lunch for eight people for a hundred bucks I think. And he just gets the big ones so you can eat half and save the other half for dinner or eat the whole thing for lunch so it's decisions made. So I don't need to make pizzas tonight like I had planned and instead I can throw some pottery. Which I'm going to do now because it's a break for my mind and I can focus on building and technique and squish mud between my fingers and make a huge mess and I don't have to worry or fret or be anxious and that's a gift.

The fretting is creeping back and that makes me fret more. I hate it. 

It's Thursday and I'm back.

I was not planning to take another four days off from writing but sometimes things happen and in this case it was total mutiny in the form of Benjamin and Lochlan not letting me leave the bedroom for over forty-eight blissful hours of breakfast in bed, long naps, a whole host of movies on Netflix and at least three blistering-hot bubble baths, sorely needed after what seemed to become endless gardening and fixing up and changing and planning and I did not mind it and had a burst of energy which always seems to be followed by a long rest as I will continue to run until I can no longer breath or see. 

Until my legs will no longer carry me and my heart abruptly caves in, slowing to a dangerous crawl before a staccato beat is detected in the air and Loch comes running. 

Because he just knows. Knows when it changes, knows when something's different, knows when there's a shift in the matrix and something is wrong. 

Jacob followed me inside on Tuesday, screaming helplessly at my retreating form, shoulders rounded in against the rain, head down against the wind, legs wet from the tall grass, ears broken to his pleading voice. The wind took it and it wasn't until I reached the patio and pulled the doors across the tracks that his voice came into focus and I could hear him and so I was granted half of a one-sided conversation which makes things neither comprehensive nor fair. 

I tried to respond but then Lochlan was there with a warm towel and he started to say something but then he abruptly told me to finish my thought, and then he never took his eyes off me as he told Jake to please leave and then I heard and felt nothing after that and we were alone. 

Then he watched me for a few minutes as I started to stutter and flutter and lose my shit and he cancelled the week and everything else too and he called for Ben and that was that. Four arms to hold me while the ghost of Princess Past breathed on the top of my head in my mind but not in real life and sometimes they get a little bit mixed together and so this was a much needed reprieve. 

I know I'm never going to be okay, I was never going to be the same anyway, and this always serves as a reminder that I was supposed to be something special and instead I'm just something, alright.

Doesn't matter what flavour (and it's the only time I don't care that I'm allergic to food colouring).

Planted the potatoes, tomatoes, basil, wildflowers, peas, beans, cucumbers, radishes, carrots, pumpkins and sunflowers yesterday. 

Very excited. Wore (that took a while, kept writing whore. SNORT) myself out a little in the heat and we had slushies from the gas station for dinner so not a loss exactly and I am excited to see if any of these seeds come up. It's supposed to rain all week so who knows? I'm just glad it's done. We also gave a spare lawnmower and a bike to the neighbours which is nice because it saves them a few hundred dollars and frees up some space for us.Win-win. 

I want to do the front gardens a little better but I also have zero energy and no one else does either. Fun times! 

Might get another slurpee today and snooze by the pool. Duncan has an exceedingly comfortable lap to rest my head and unless Lochlan randomly tickles me like he does when I nap by the pool it could be a good day. 

(Oh my god I just realized I can buy a slushie machine. BRB shopping.)

No one banished the bug.

Today I had a phone call from the Devil, which I was permitted to answer, I got bitten by a ladybug after doing some garden prep ahead of this weekend's planting and I was cleared to swim, and so swim I did, first around the point after jumping off the cliff to celebrate, and then in the pool this afternoon with the boys and the cover a quarter open to the sunny skies, as we celebrated the first nice day this year. It's almost twenty degrees and I am embracing it. 

Daniel also trimmed my hair for me as it somehow grew two inches after he cut it all off a month ago and so this time it is boy-short and I love it. 

I harboured no bad feelings toward the ladybug, who didn't want to be trapped under my shirt any more than I wanted it there and I released it into the backyard after losing and catching it twice from the couch to the patio doors. 

The Devil is doing well and was very pleased to learn I have the all-clear and there is hardly a mark there now, just a pink semicircle where the punctures were. No more scabs, and the bruising has faded to a yellow-brown shadow. Not that I would know but Ben looks and then gives me highly detailed reports from my backside which makes me laugh and then he'll make terrible jokes or even worse propositions and I have to bury my laughs in my hands because it isn't supposed to be funny. 

But yes, floating in the coldish pool in the warm sun on a Friday afternoon is possibly the best thing. We even invited Batman and New Jake but neither of them showed while I was there. Maybe they did later. I'm hoping to go back in after dinner for a quick swim but dinner is always so late and I have to wait an appropriate amount of time so maybe not tonight.

Maybe tomorrow though.

Progress?

This morning I asked Lochlan if we could audition for the new iteration of Ringling. 

He didn't say anything but he also didn't say no.

The tin girl (who already had a heart so she wished for a brain instead).

Oh, don't mind me. I was spraying painting some old picture frames out on the far lawn. I put down newspaper weighted with small rocks and I grabbed my trusty chrome and copper metallic krylon cans and went to town. I was having a good time, holding each frame up by one corner so I could get the inside edges and outside all the way around and then I laid them flat to dry. An hour later, same deal on the back side of each frame. 

They're now having a final cure up on the porch floor by the patio doors so I figured it's a good time to go clean up as my hands are bright silver up to the wrists. 

And the nail polish remover didn't work. 

Neither did the paint thinner. 

I think I should have learned my lesson with that oil-based exterior paint that time but apparently I HAVE NOT.

(Also I have pretty silver rocks in the corner of the yard now which is really neat looking, truth be told.)

Hoarding daylight.

Dalton and Duncan are making a farmhouse breakfast for the whole point this morning. Baked beans, scrambled eggs, toast, super-thick bacon and fruit bowls and coffee and juice and I am here for it. Pastries too because we have scones and croissants to use up and then we are doing a major rain-gardening event today. That's where you garden in the rain, if you were wondering. It's a bit messy but the ground is soft, the plants are happy and if you leave everything on the lawn afterward you can go back the next day and all the shovels, rakes and claws are clean so you don't have to waste water hosing everything off and waiting for it all to dry before putting it away. Saves a step, if you will. 

Also nothing beats coming inside and changing into dry clothes and warming up by the fire so that's maybe the best part. Maybe we'll order pizzas tonight too and just have a quiet day catching up. I am still exhausted from the wedding whirlwind and still in awe that Ruth is married and so my brain has been drifting along on auto-pilot since. Lochlan too, though he did take my phone away since Caleb won't stop messaging me and he stuffed it in a drawer I can't reach in the walk-in closet and then for good measure took the little wooden stool away. 

He asked me to not reply if I need my phone back, which I do. If Ruthie messages me to go to Marshalls with her I need to know, you know? Then I will load up on handbags and everything will be well. A handbag addiction is an attempt to organize your life, or so I've been told and I'm terrible at it, I guess. Maybe a Longchamp or a Gucci would change that, right? Oh, probably not, but a girl can try. Valentino will look smashing with my new button fly jeans and my twenty-year old Switchfoot t-shirt, right? Right? 

Of course it will. Valentino looks good with everything. 

Not like I'm going anywhere though so maybe just a Longchamp, but only if the leather ones aren't heavy. I have a Rogue bag by Coach that I can barely lift and need to sell but I also want to keep it because it's easy to organize. And it fits my laptop and my ipad. So there. 

I also have a bag coming from overseas presently. So excited. 

Give me a break, it's the only vice I have left, if you don't count men.

Can't feel my fingers.

Today we got matching button-fly jeans (not matching inseam sizes, SIGH) and yaki veg noodles from my favourite Japanese chef and I made Lochlan listen to the whole new Stray Kids EP and I contemplated getting a pair of bonded cats that were in the window of the pet shelter but I just lost a cat and it's too soon and also I think when all the pets are gone, and Henry has moved out and I have given away all my plants too and reassigned anything that is dependent on me I will sleep for a whole week and get up for nothing. 

I'll let the laundry pile up and the groceries run out. I will read every book on my nightstand (Lochlan's nightstand. There is no middle nightstand in a poly bed) and watch every dumb show. I will not speak to anyone except for the kids and I will catch up on all the sleep I ever missed all at once.

This will never work. Someone will do the laundry for me, PJ and Ben keep the grocery shopping under control, Dalton loves the plants, and I am slow to read easily and every day. I also have that speed-mouth thing where if I go too long without talking I will catch you up on my thoughts in seconds with a manic verbal-diarrhea event of epic proportions. It's weird. I'M weird. So it makes sense. 

Going to spend my Saturday night drinking ice water and watching the second season of Bling Empire. What are you all doing?

Perfectly normal conversation save for the fact that one of us is dead and I'm not sure which one.

I think you were better before he came back. 

That was before people died. Things are different now. 

Yes but you were navigating life with more confidence then. Now you shake almost all the time. You don't do anything without permission or approval. 

Lochlan would not agree with you-

He never agreed with me about anything anyway. But we do have something big in common. 

The kitchen table-

No, we both want you away from Caleb. 

I don't want that. 

That isn't you talking, it's the abuse he inflicted on you. 

Yeah, well, it's not like it's a separate entity. It's part of me now. 

Does it have to be, Princess?

If I want to keep him in my life it does. 

Cut him loose and save yourself. 

It's too late for that-

It's never too late for that.

If he left forever it would be like he was dead too and I can't do that. I can't-

Like everyone else, those who are gone are still part of you. They shape who you have become. 

Now you're contradicting yourself.  

Am I? Oh, I am, I guess. I just want to give you permission. 

I take a bite of my ham sandwich. The wind whips all around me and I shiver. It's so cold today but I am promising myself a picnic a week and it's the only dry day we're going to get. I stare at Jacob but he is hard to focus on because my eyes keep swimming and then dry in the wind and then swim again. 

Permission? 

Since you seem to look for it. Permission to let him go. You don't have to keep everyone. He will probably flourish too, just like you will without him-

I fall apart without him. 

Maybe at first but eventually it will be easier. 

In fifteen years like with you? Be careful with your answer here and remember I have known Caleb since I was eight years old. 

I wish I had done things differently. 

Me, too. 

I should have killed him but I was trying to keep God in my heart when I spoke to him. 

God likes to throw punches though, huh. I laugh in spite of myself and Jacob frowns. I can see my Jeep right through his face. Wow, this sucks. 

I should have said it was an accident but then I wouldn't have been able to live with mys-

I choke suddenly, rush to climb down off the wall, gather my lunch and my book and run up the hill. It's too cold suddenly and too hard to be out here and PJ was right. I should eat by the fire. 

I get a glass of water and then for good measure finish Lochlan's tea. He is amused and waits until I am finished. 

Did Jacob at least try to talk you out of letting Caleb come back? 

Yes. 

Good. He is relieved. At least now someone's on my side here.

Exponents, opponents, moments.

Caleb's penalty was a million dollars and a thirty-day break. Batman said it will double for every infraction going forward. This sounds like a Lochlan-plan but Batman will always offer to be the bad guy (the worst guy) if it means Lochlan can get ahead by an inch or two and so I dutifully nodded and then tried very hard not to laugh in his face because this is ludicrous. He is my boyfriend. We can't play the revisionist history game. We just need a cage for his head so he can't bite me when he loses it but then all I can think of is the Jackal in Thirteen Ghosts and I would just scream and scream. 

They won't listen in that the longer we spend apart, the more violent our reunions. They don't understand how much he aches alone and how easy it is to placate him once he's had a recent taste. They seem to forget so easily that my brain and my heart will only willingly work together if everyone is home and safe and this isn't going to work at all. 

But for Lochlan I would do anything, including rip out my heart, handing it to him with my last breath if only he asked. 

I wish Diabhal knew that, Lochlan says.

(He does. That's the problem.)

Anyway, he comes back June tenth and it could have been worse. PJ's plan was to vice Caleb's head in the garage on the workbench and pull all his teeth out with pliers. They were lining up to help. Fucking barbarians, here. 

Yes, WE are the barbarians, Ben says, not kindly either.

All the eggs in one nest.

Super hardcore drugs now to the point of ambivalence even if my dress were on fire and the plan is the same as before, only with tweaks now to fill in the holes left before, a pattern of errant gunfire blasting through our thin facade of normalcy, a street war waged with hearts soaked in gasoline and sparked on the crooked pavement, thrown through the windows, lighting our world on fire.

This morning PJ was upstairs packing a bag. Caleb's bag. With his laptop and chargers and clothes and his hard drives, a few toiletries and some other highly precious and needful things. It's being delivered to wherever he is right now, as he didn't return yesterday and I'm thinking we're going to do another drought, another vacation from each other until tempers around here lose their lava-glow and everyone remembers that I have a preference and that is that I prefer Caleb to be here, with us and not Elsewhere. 

It's punishment that's almost worse for me and I didn't do anything wrong here, unless wrong is a term you draw a line in the sand with, catching on the g and just glancing through until it digs deep on the end of that pesky w, and then well, I can't help you. We have an arrangement. Or rather, an agreement. 

Right now you and he have nothing, Lochlan reminds me as I am pulled along to see off Caleb's things as they depart with the courier, who will put it directly in Caleb's hands. He can't be that far, then. 

The rain starts to beat against the glass as we run back into the house and my phone beats a single heartbeat against my dress pocket. I know it's Caleb but I will wait until later to look at what he has to say. For now I am to listen to Lochlan because the shots are something he feels the need to call. I know he's running out of patience, and that Caleb has broken every simple easy rule Lochlan has given him. I don't know if I can blame him for the way he feels but I also know there's no twelve-step plan for being addicted to the Devil.

Sticking points (in my soul).

The pretenses were dropped over breakfast as I was washing a pan in the sink and I felt a rumble and turned in time to see Lochlan lunge at Caleb, who pushed his cup away as he backed off from the table and it splashed against PJ's back as he threw himself in between. 

PJ is fine. Luckily Caleb will sip his coffee even after it's cold. One of the rare things we have in common. He switched to instant too. He's not all that picky, in the end. 

Dalton has Lochlan by the arms at this point as PJ swears the instant the cold liquid soaks into his shirt. 

Just let me get one good one in-

Locket-

Bridget, stop defending him! 

Go. I look at Caleb and he looks defeated and rights his cup on the table before striding out of the room. I hear the chimes as the door opens and closes and then the soft hum of his vehicle driving up past the house. Only then does Lochlan relax enough that they let go of him. 

What did he say to you? I'm talking to Lochlan but looking at Dalton and PJ. PJ heads away down the hall as well, to change his shirt, and Dalton points at us as he backs toward the downstairs steps. 

If you need me, yell. 

I nod and turn back to Lochlan, waiting for his answer. 

I'm not a rat, Peanut. 

I need to know. 

Why? There are no dealbreakers with this guy for you. What difference does it make? As long as the money keeps pouring in you let him do whatever he wants. I didn't raise you to be like this. The money isn't supposed to be the important part in life. 

It's punishment. I'm taking it all. 

He's GOOD at money, Bridget. He never seems to run out. How much is enough? Take that and cut him loose. 

I want all of it. 

The irony here is the cost to you. And the cost to all of us. I don't think we can afford to have him so close any more. When is this going to be enough? Just answer the question.

I don't have to iron any shirts this time.

It's easier to iron things just before they are worn because when they're in closets, jam-packed against other things they wrinkle so easily. 

I wore my striking green dress, it's too big and too long but it somehow worked and I wore my emerald earrings and I carried the cake down and then set it up and everyone kept coming up all day saying You made that? 

Yes, it's a weird rare side-hustle and this was the most stressful cake I have ever made, because it was for Ruth's wedding. 

No pressure. 

(She loved it.)

The wedding was so beautiful. SO beautiful. Of course I cried. I still can't believe she is married. I can't believe she grew up and it took forever and then suddenly she was there, a woman standing next to me, drinking her champagne after the toast. Being charming and shy at the same time, like Lochlan. 

Just like Lochlan. The red curls, the endless freckles, the easy jokes, putting everyone into a relaxed mood as we watched the ceremony and then took photos, and then the reception was well underway by mid afternoon and I was underfed, dehydrated and a little bit good-drunk by ten. It was so beautiful. The skies opened up multiple times and we ran through the rain in the grass with umbrellas. Lochlan lit the torches and gas firepits with magic and we warmed ourselves near to them all evening. We marveled at how this tiny dynamo turned into such an accomplished young woman, now a bride. 

We're still doing that, to be honest and it's a feeling that doesn't seem to want to leave me. 

My dress survived, my shoes did not, the pictures are incredible (and those are just the ones we took, not including the photographer). The suits survived, the umbrellas did not, the champagne never ran out but we also had none left, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. I've never seen so many grown men sobbing openly as Ruth took her place in front of her groom. He is a good man too, and cares for her in a way I couldn't have even imagined, and she is so happy. He is happy too. 

They left on their honeymoon early yesterday morning. I had to tell her to stop texting me and go enjoy life twice already. 

I am happy too. I am insanely tired.

She's like a pet. I think I'll name her Bex.

Happy birthday to me! I took the dog outside in between baking sessions and I'm glad I did-sometimes I just open the door and let him go wander for ten minutes but I like the rain (a lot) and so did the bear the size of my Jeep that was lumbering around the backyard. I opened my mouth in a quiet O and scooped the dog back up and then stood to watch as the bear wandered up the driveway around the corner and then lumbered back down. As she came down I backed around the patio and up the steps, put the dog inside and just waited by the door, hand on the handle, dog waiting inside wondering why his trip out was cut so short. As the bear came back around the corner to the backyard, Lochlan pushed the door open all the way and took my hand. 

Your birthday bear, he said softly. Come inside, Bridget. 

In a minute, I say, not looking away.

Now, he says.

I had a wonderful pre-birthday celebration since tomorrow is a wedding baking day. We had chicken pot pie and ice cream cake and I opened presents from everyone and everything was a perfect gift and I love everything so much. I'm about to have a third piece of cake and then maybe a walk around the neighborhood to burn it off before dark and then a good nights sleep and it's all hands on deck for tomorrow. We bake tomorrow and decorate on Friday and also have to decorate the arbour, tent and tables. I'm so excited. SO excited.

The Bite Tax.

That's what it's being called and he paid it with an appropriate amount of hubris AND he showed his face to every man on the point and swore to them in person that he lost control and he is working on it. August wants proof of that. Lochlan just wishes he would go. Ben still wants to know what he tastes like (and I fear he'll find out the moment I turn my back) and Batman is holding all the cards again. 

Unfortunately for all of his assurances I know monsters are real whether you acknowledge them or not and sometimes it's not only physical danger you're in. 

Sam thinks we've all lost our way. 

PJ wants to crack skulls. More than one of them too, to be fair. Caleb didn't do this on his own and he's sadly not the only one to have an oops moment, even if he does bare his teeth on the regular even as he knows he won't be able to keep himself under control. The fine will only slow him down but August is going to be staying on him to make sure he maybe undertakes a program or some intensive work to cut this shit out. Not like he isn't already putting his money where his mouth was. 

Speaking of which, I heal fast. Everything is freshly scarred over and I am halfway through my antibiotics and no infection, no fever, no red streaks or fresh swelling and I can sit and my skin is crawling and itchy and so I'll be in the pool by Victoria Day and that's all I wanted. Also I want to not have this hanging over our heads and I went to see Caleb after Batman was through with him (and everyone else too) and I asked him why he can't manage sometimes but other times he's fine. 

Caleb just shrugged. Demoralized, stung even, as payback comes since Bridget no longer keeps his secrets, bound by threats she knows are no longer real. I think that's the part that surprised him here, and not the bounty he just paid in order to see me keep my own soul. 

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.