What. This. Is.

Let me just...

Ugh.

The most expensive house in Canada was just listed for a cool thirty-nine million dollars in Whistler. Whistler is a little over an hour north of Point Perdition here, and we spend a lot of time there. The boys love the mountains, and since the trade off is that we live next to the ocean I indulge them and go with them whenever they are so moved. 

But this fucking house. (Not ours, the one for sale.)

Behold!

The one thing I hate about rich people is that almost every last one of them hands off the major design elements to an architect and they all end up with a wacky minimalist midcentury modern stark-ass nightmare of a home in the end. 

It's a freaking abomination. Especially the write up. The part that first grabbed my attention, after an article in the Vancouver Sun quoted from the listing agent who said "Some wealthy people have seen the house and understand what this is."

The fuck, dude. The pretension. In the next sentence he breathlessly compares Whistler to Aspen.

And then there are the word-dump thesaurus adjectives. Everything is impressive or stunning. They go on and on about this forty-foot granite fireplace that I was expecting to be a stunner, but it looks like that backsplash false half-brick adhesive you get from home depot to pretend you own an exposed brick wall (I love that shit). This looks like the end side of a drugstore. The 'light cannons' (I know, WTF, they're the most ugliest skylights ever) are in the way of the damn view and honestly the whole thing looks like a generic West Coast resort for small groups or clubs that don't want a ton of privacy or anything that might distract from their bonding exercises. The infinity pool looks like the walkway Magneto rolled out on in X-Men.

It's TERRIBLE. And like so many things out here, completely overrated, both in design and execution. 

LIGHT. CANNONS. 

Also that floating staircase is going to kill someone. 

***

On the upside, Stonebridge is a quiet neighbourhood ten months out of the year, and the kitchen is lovely.

Cows.

I hate the heat. HATE IT. I'm melting before my own eyes, now limpid opal pools of pale green and blunted pastel turquoise. 

Want to go for ice cream? The Devil craves the heat of the asphalt, and the roar of his car. 

No, it's too hot. I refuse to put on additional clothing or stick to the warm leather seats. Not today, Satan. I have a freezer full of ice cream in the garage anyway. At least I think I do. PJ and I compete for who has the biggest sweet tooth of the Collective, and so I usually go looking and find the shelves empty.

A full Levantine menu for summer, then.

Things I did this week included swimming (a lot), jumping off the cliff to supplement the pills (a lot-they work really well but then ten percent of the time they don't work and I panic and revert), watching true crime documentaries by the handful, and for the crowning achievement I stood in a dusty parking lot under a tree eating my first ever shawarma and guarding a found shattered cell phone until I was finished, after which I scooped up the phone and took it to a makeshift lost and found where they threw it in a box with ten others and I left, contemplating just offering to buy the shawarma truck and bring it to my driveway, where I could get one whenever I like. Don't even laugh. It gave me massive amounts of deja vu from the midway and I loved every second of it.

What's up? Caleb's head pops up next to my huge inflatable watermelon slice, where I float and burn, float and cry. Float and count my blessings, float and wish for food. 

I'm thinking we need a food truck festival in the driveway. 

When would you like it to be? (God, he's better than Santa Claus) 

Every day! 

He laughs and pushes off, leaving me bumping against the side. I'll consider it. 

The pool isn't big enough to get away from him, sadly. They've retracted the whole end of the glass birdcage for the rest of the summer and will enclose again in September, I think. It's not a small operation and so we had to have a referendum on it but the boys won out even with the mosquitos and I do agree now, the fresh air is better than the weird chlorinated humid air trapped in a dome. 

For a brief time I relished the snowglobe effect, I admit. I like to tilt-shift everything and then it matches me better. 

Want to grab a late brunch? 

Maybe. Do I have to get dressed? 

Yes. I don't do drive-throughs. 

Give me an hour? 

I can give you whatever you want. 

Of course. Of Course. 

The relief of casual intimacy.

I still cry because I'm bitter and angry. I can't accept that he promised me the moon and stars and then left me in a night so black it swallowed my soul. Because he removed any chance of ever trying again or starting over. Of changing his mind, you know? Realizing he made a mistake.

Do you think he made a mistake in leaving you first? Making sure you hated him so it was easier for you to go?

It doesn't matter what I think. I didn't have any input. 

The lack of control-

Psychoanalyzing me fifteen years on isn't going to change the fact that he's never coming back. He's a pile of dust now. It was a waste of a life. A waste of potential. He threw away every happiness and he took mine with it for so long. 

That's new. 

I'm happier now. 

Why is that?

Because I know now that he took the easy way out, even if it wasn't easy. I'm here. I took the hard road and I'm proud of myself and even when things are wrong and difficult I still want to be here because sometimes things are easy, things are right and it's worth it and I also have so much love here to get and to give and even the parts that are fully unfixable aren't as bad as nothingness. As fading all of it to black. 

August nods and then stares appreciatively as I adjust the strap on my bikini top. I've got a cute sarong to cover my bottoms and the top is so spare but nice for healing my tattoo work and I can swim for a bit tomorrow because I heal way faster physically than I ever do mentally. 

Mentally I am coding orange all the fucking time. Physically I am a war machine.  

Take it off if it's uncomfortable. 

Sexually harassing my counsellors has never done me any favours. 

Oh, are we formal again?

Only if you're inside my head. 

Then it's time I closed that door for now, unless you wanted to talk more on the subject.

Where are you with it all, Augie? I ask because he always makes it about me and so rarely about himself. 

More or less the same (Ah. Closed book). Want to swim? 

I'm not allowed until tomorrow. Tattoo. I gesture. I get them at the stupidest times of year, I think. 

Well then come and float on a big watermelon floatie or the swan while I do some laps to cool off? 

Yes. I'm never going to say no. 

I didn't think you would since you showed up in your swimsuit. 

Oh. Right. But also it's really hot and it's the smallest outfit I have. 

Well, it's on my gratitude list now for the day. August smiles so wide I match it. 

Pickles and ham (21).

Twenty more bug bites or so, and a wicked wood splinter under my middle fingernail from where I grabbed a sawhorse without looking to make a makeshift kiln cover when it started to rain this afternoon. Yes I have the kiln under the eaves but only barely and the rain and wind picked up all at once and I'm not taking chances, thanks. 

The rest of the day was spent wrapping gifts, decorating and baking a cake for Henry's birthday this weekend. He'll be twenty-one and I am stunned by how fast it all happened, how he was four and asking for more goldfish crackers an hour ago and a minute ago he was nine and having outbursts of frustration and we learned how to help fix them, together. 

We read a lot of Robert Munsch (Love you Forever was a staple but our favourites were We Share Everything and A Promise is a Promise) and cooked a lot of dinners together. We read Harry Potter and fell asleep on the couch and rode bikes down the sidewalk in the sunshine. We pet llamas and cuddled cats. We learned math. We had deep conversations about what it means to be emotional and how it's not a bad thing. He makes short jokes. I make tall ones. He asks for help when he needs it and reassures me when I need it, and vice versa. He is the best son a mom could have, frankly and it's very hard to let him go. But as the saying goes, you teach them how to leave you. 

He is independent and almost ready for that job that's waiting for him. He hates the heat and loves chocolate, just like mom. He is the rose at the centre of the compass of this Collective. He is Ruth's easy accomplice, and Ben's gullible shadow. He is Lochlan's verbal spar and Caleb's foil. He is a prince among men. He is bunny and I love him forever, my baby he'll be, as the book goes.

I'm pretty sure bugs and noise are considered international war crimes.

Sixty-seven bites. I'm going to lose it. I look like I have big juicy measles on every exposed ounce of flesh. You would think in the wind, in the sun that it would be better but I did a little gardening and I took the dog around the yard this morning for his flower inspection time (he adores smelling flowers) and so I have more mosquito bites. 

Emmett is here fixing something and there's so much goddamned noise I want to cry. I'm not great with loud, prolonged noise unless it's music. This is prolonged. He has yelled SORRY multiple times. It's not helping either. 

I want to watch Netflix but I can't sit still. I want to take out all my money and stuff it into a backpack and move to a deserted but shady island with a freshwater lake surrounded by beaches and a saltwater ocean and have a chocolate tree and one that dispenses Vietnamese food too and I want unlimited high speed data and a kitten and a whole  host of puppies and some painting supplies and I'm going to nap in the sun and not lift a finger. 

Emmett says I must have sunstroke. I don't. I have daydreamitis. It's when all you do is wish you were someone/where else. 

A bite, a moment, and a threat.

George lands hard. Caleb is in the doorway. I look up, startled and he winks and comes out onto the porch. 

Less mosquitoes out here? He tries again.

Eh, not so bad. 

Bad is relative. I have fifty-three bites and counting. I am itching and dancing and flapping around the point like a bird. I have gone through a tube of afterbite and one of hydrocortisone too. I contemplated swallowing a thermocell portable carry along but then figured that would be yet another emergency and I still managed to deal with all of the ivy in the front yard today and also scrubbed the bathrooms as I drew all the shit chore cards today. To retaliate I made personal pizzas and potato salad for dinner and I took my peach popsicle outside to the gazebo to see if I could make it fifty-four. I'm sure they're there. 

George is sorry he hit you. 

I could take him. But in all fairness, Bridget, I need to apologize to you. I thought I was calling out a double standard and instead I was being invasive and crass. I am sorry. It's not my business-

I can hear a but. 

But I would like to resume our relationship. 

You aren't good for me, Diabhal. 

His laugh rings out across the darkened woods. That's us in a nutshell, Darlin'. He does his best Jeffrey Dean Morgan here and I am rapt but noncommital. 

Maybe later. 

Maybe is better than no. Besides, and he gets right in close against my ear. You like the hard parts.

I might be bitter because it's another ten days until I can use the pool.

 It's Tuesday. Sorry you haven't had anything to read since Friday or whenever I was here last. I threw a punch and was sent to purgatory circa 1633. No devices. No access. No light. I contemplated turning into Black Philip but then decided I could tackle my book pile instead. The boys all felt bad and figured I learned my lesson and also got tired of incessantly relaying replies to Ruth who is always connected to me and refuses to play along (it is a game, isn't it. It gets harder when suddenly the children are now adults and you have to explain yourselves, isn't it?) so I got my services back yesterday and I outclassed them by saying it no longer mattered anyway and I reached out and pulled the chain to turn the lights back off and I refused to engage or exgage for that matter, and they came crawling back one at a time to do a sort of virtual penance while I ignored it all in my dark corner of the world and I came out when I damn well felt like it, which isn't even now, technically because it's still too warm so I'm only here for a minute. The second someone decides I have died or been killed and will never write again is usually the moment I will gesture absently from the back that they are probably wrong, and that I am indeed here. 

So hi. (Gestures absently)

I am reading a lot. I turned on the air conditioning today before I even needed it. I only cried twice so far and I don't think I am having a good summer overall. Maybe a little but certainly not a lot. I remember being nine, when my biggest worries were whether or not I would run out of freezies or when my lip balm would melt. I remember tanning because I was never inside. I remember the endless patch of eczema on the outer corner of my right eye and my nose which is back again and that's how I know I've hardly moved past the daydreamer dissociation that keeps me going, keeps me from focusing too keenly on all the bad parts of the world and has honestly saved my life more than once. 

I am ignoring Lochlan, who pulled me against him, wrapping one hand around my back so I was pressed against his heartbeat and the other hand was around the back of my head so I could hear that beat while I felt it, too and then he kissed the top of my head and took a step back but then put his hands around my hips and pushed me up against the door and my dress hiked up to my waist and he let out the longest breath I have witnessed from him as the air got sucked from the room and our lungs and then he yanked my dress back down on his way out after putting me down while I swore a blue streak and then, the irony here, oh are you ready for this one is that not fifteen minutes later I was making tea to take out to the gazebo with my sketching supplies when Caleb made a comment about a girl and a door and a moment and a double standard and I had enough and tried to slap him but I couldn't unclench my hand (oops. Well, maybe not oops but oops is my official response) and popped him a good one and the bigger irony is that the all-seeing PJ saw it and grounded me and then Lochlan levelled the punishment because what's good for the gander is good for the Bridget too and yeah. 

Yeah. Exactly. 

Life is a big run on sentence and it's up to you to make sense of it, I guess. Or maybe it's up to me. In which case we are most certainly doomed.

You look sad, Princess. 

 I have a headache. 

Still?

I've had it for fifteen years. 

Can't relax?

Can't relax. 

Do the soundbites work better than long absences or are you all just gone?

( I still don't have my access that I would like so I don't know.)

I have a long day tomorrow so this will be as short as everything has lately. I'm really minding not having much internet and having to go through one of the boys to send mail or make appointments or whatever. Mark is out here and we're finishing my chest. Long story but when it comes to my chest I'm a superwhimp but he's brought numbing cream and his new apprentice, Zoe, and she is going to do the work. She isn't new-new but new to me. He said I will love Zoe's humor and her style and that's the main thing I think. So lots of water for me and a good night's sleep (ha) and tomorrow I will be in agony. Yay? On the upside, gotta get this suit finished already. I'm losing my ability to sit like a rock for hours. 

Disney Princess.

A bird landed on my head today and came up the driveway and into the house. We opened all the doors so he could fly back out and he did and then this morning he was by the patio steps. I picked him up and put him on my head again and he hung out for a little while before flying off. If he's there tomorrow I am keeping him. 

Lochlan was shocked. PJ said he wasn't surprised. Ben said it was one of my small miracles. 

I didn't forget, I was busy.

 I spent yesterday afternoon on the wheel without a break. When I tried to stand up I couldn't. I Made more glaze test tiles out of my favourite darker clay, and a few plant pots with matching saucers and a knobby little bear mug with big ears and I threw and practiced pulling up cylinders and trying to find my speeds and my pressures and my patience and I worked hard and then ran out of time and here I am today finishing up with some hand built, hand-cut stuff to round out a decent load for the kiln. I like to pack it full and then I have a lot of glazing to do. Everyone hates glazing but it's my favourite part. 

Caleb is being good. I'm sure everyone's wondering. No threats, as of late. No puppy dog eyes or directed triggering. No deals, offers or efforts. I'm enjoying the summer of just sleeping in as late as possible and sometimes not at all. Ben is being sweet. Lochlan is being sweet and present. We are watching the gardens, some thriving in the cool rainy spring-like weather and some struggling like the veggies without heat or prolonged sun. 

I don't mind a cold summer, truth be told. 

I like today though. Our Mondays are quiet. I did the floors, I did some clay, I fixed some stuff up, I talked Ruth's ear off after she called with some career questions and I contemplated owls and trees. I want to paint some later this week. I miss my sketchbooks and the quiet of strokes on a page. Of mixing colours to get just the right shade and of not requiring an outfit change and a complete studio scrubdown every time I want to make something. 

I also have a blistering headache now. PJ can kiss it better and make dinner tonight and I'll take his tomorrow shift, maybe.

Working on piano now (and that beautiful wail at the end).

Every day every night here we go go go

It's Utopia and it's stuck in my head and it won't leave. A little faster and more frenetic than I would usually like stuck there but I never get to choose, now, do I? 

Jacob would laugh. 

Lochlan thinks it's hilarious because it's Korean but Lochlan never fails to have a head full of eighties power ballads on tap, whether it be humming, singing out loud or picked out gently on the strings or the keys. He doesn't venture far from his playlists and that's fine too. 

(I am off the hook because this obsession with Ateez is Ruth's fault.)

Caleb doesn't laugh about anything lately. Last night I am outside in the porch reading. Falling asleep with my screen in my hands, fighting yawns (and mosquitos) and he comes out and presses his head against mine, waking me up gently, telling me it's time to go to bed. I shake my head and fight his hold and then I feel myself turned into familiar arms and still I misunderstand. 

No, no. Don't make me. 

Shhhh. 

And then I wake up this morning at five, tucked safely between Lochlan and Ben, just like always. I don't know if it was a dream or he was being kind or they were testing the waters or what until I looked at my phone. 

The smallest words are the ones that break my heart. I didn't know that until now. 

Sent last night by Caleb around eleven.

Huh.

Perfection is a prison-

-You were meant to fly. 

Spending breakfast at the little airport today for Canada Day. It's so busy here, and also very busy above my head. Someone made me a coffee and I'm talking with someone else about the Piper Archer versus the Cub. High wings everywhere but I prefer low. I don't know, maybe I'm crazy but having a plane is a kind of nice and I miss being able to travel easily. 

I'm not flying it but I know way more than I should, frankly. I could in a pinch. And I know a stupid amount about engine hours and procedure and I don't want to say much more, but I think I could fix a plane if pressed. 

I would store it here, maybe and come and fly when I want to get away or go for a sightsee or maybe just to get the rush and feel alive or maybe I'll just listen as everyone talks shop. It's like cars but the highways in the sky are a thousand times more beautiful, if not more. 

We're not going to talk about people who flew to become ghosts. No, not today.

I called him a piecemeal salty motherfucking timbit and he got mad. I mean, come on.

LOL 

Sorry, I went AWOL again. I still don't have access to anything other than this page, and I am not online much at all. The news sucks, the weather is hot one minute and cold the next and I do as much as I feel up to when it's cold. My allergies went crazy this week and so I got some allergy pills that I'm not allowed to take and cut them in half and took one a day, just to take the edge off the constantly runny nose and sneezing. My face is pink and raw around my nose from the constant wiping on tissues, hankerchieves and Ben's shirt sleeve, and Lochlan has a perpetual worried expression that doesn't leave his face when he sleeps even. 

I backslid a whole lot with the anxiety this week too. The sleep doesn't get better. The fear won't leave completely, just enough to function and I tried to throw myself into working away at the landscaping (we're changing some areas to make more room to grow food, of course. Full-on commune now, thank you very much) and it was hot and too difficult but I made enough headway to feel accomplished and then the mercury gave me the excuse of not finishing anyway, and PJ gave me a covid test just in case it wasn't allergies and my nose was so sore and it hurt so much that I snapped at him and then the look on his face made me cry. I know it's not his fault and he knows I didn't mean it but if I've going to break their hearts it shouldn't be over something this dumb. 

In any case, I am here and the allergies seem to have tapered off a little or maybe the pills last longer than I thought. I am sleepy and hungry and agitated and I wish it was fall but maybe not and this weekend is a long weekend for Canada Day but we're only going to finish some more landscaping and shop for Henry's upcoming twenty-first birthday. I can't even believe it. 

I also want to take PJ to the fancy gelato place in town for a special treat since he's God's gift to everyone but honestly if you shove a giant sharp q-tip up someone's nose you have to be prepared to be sworn at (exact words are in the title, I didn't choose them, they chose me). It's a given.

Melted lip gloss.

What are you thinking about, Peanut? 

We are at a lake I don't know the name of, pretending we are residents at the campground even though we've just walked up the road from the asphalt parking lot where the camper is parked with blocks against the tires for the next five days as we work a show four hours from home, but a lucrative show with last day bonuses, meant to keep everyone from bailing as we are paid each night at ten. We've heard rumours that the bonus might be a full days pay and that would be amazing, as the camper needs tires and Lochlan needs better food. I can live on sugar and fresh air but he works hard in the sun and needs the calories. Seventeen year old boys are walking appetites. I've never seen them eat so much as they do now. I wonder how much he will eat by the time he is twenty, though that's so far away from now.

I'm wondering why they call it a glove box. How that kind of label would persist when I've never seen a grownup reach over and tuck their gloves into a special locked case in the dashboard. Like, if you're wearing gloves then it's winter and you'll need to leave them on until the heater warms up the car. Unless that's why and once it's warm you put them in the box. Just because they might get lost otherwise?

His laugh rings out across the water. That is what you're thinking about? 

Well, what are you thinking about?

Where we should go next. Do you want to stay out?

Yes, at least until the beaches are empty at home. 

What if we went really far?

How far?

New York far. 

I don't know where that is. 

It's a few hours past Cape Cod. You just keep driving. 

Oh. That's REALLY far. We're going to drive? 

Maybe. 

If you don't need the glove box since it's summer can I use it for my lip gloss?

Sure.It will still melt in there though.

No. Hot.

Not going outside today. Even though the pool is set to a refreshingly cool temperature, the air conditioning in the house is too nice to leave. I am hot, though I did find bras yesterday. FIVE of them. All cotton, all comfortable and god it sucks to be a woman. I mean, I could just whip off my shirt and wander around but that's distracting. Hilariously I'm not wearing any of them, instead opting for a very spare, very revealing cotton sundress with ties that has a halter and an open back. Which means everyone touches my back and makes me shiver. 

Dinner will be ice cubes and lettuce leaves.

Well, shit.

I don't think I'm staying on the new-new meds. After three short days I'm waking up with a terrible headache that takes half the day to go away and it takes me all day just to wake up, and I'm on half a dose. The doctor told me dosages go up to 400mg. Hahahahahaha. I'd be in a coma on that prescription. My pills are 5 mg and I would sleep all day. I hit snooze four times before Lochlan got annoyed, mostly because my phone cord is threaded under his pillow so I can have my phone close since I wake up first. 

Or rather, I used to. I think those ones are not for me. The hypomania is exceedingly productive, the sleep isn't real if it's drugged but if I get super-worn down I can pop one at night, right? Which is what they told me not to do. Also holy shit they make my legs go like a marathon runner winning in their dreams. So no to that. The hangover and exhaustion and weird fog isn't going to fly for this poor sleeper. On to the next idea, which Lochlan says will be a good head start across the lawn and a line of boys with tranquilizer guns disguised as Nerf water guns. 

Cool. 

In other news I think I found a bra. Hahaha.

Top heavy.

Ben and I had a swim race today. The rule is three laps across the longest part of the pool and no touching the bottom during said laps. Winner gets to choose a sexual favour. The game is rigged and I cannot keep up with someone who is almost two feet taller than I am with arms the length of my legs. I also have a lot of strength but am a surprisingly weak swimmer and so guess what I get to do tonight?

Maybe get my revenge with teeth. Maybe no teeth. I haven't decided. 

I ran out today for a couple more errands, I almost need the reassurance that I can still drive and I can, I just concentrate a little more fiercely so that I don't zone out, and I keep the cold air on and the music off. Supposedly once I get used to this medication after a few weeks things will be easier on it. So far so good though. 

And I'm looking for summer bras today online. Which, well, always a treat since the sizing is so fucked up. I have my measurements and they aren't helping. Nothing is actually all cotton or all organic or bamboo and it's all synthetic or has uncomfortable looking straps or weird colours and I'm here refusing to give up. Caleb offered to send a shopper out. I told him I'm fine, it's buying a bra, it's easy and he just laughed because I can make anything difficult. I also reminded him that he does not need to provide for me and he said of course he does, and not to be ridiculous. 

That's my middle name. Ridiculous. But I am picky about clothing, especially uncomfortable clothing and now I'm wondering if I should take them up on the offers of surgery and have a reduction so that I can skip wearing bras forever. 

Except I won't and we both know it.

Also I heard the best description today of a book I was wanting to read, which I won't name here because I'm on the fence now, because the description called it struggle porn and I am still laughing.

I'll be over here online shopping if you need me.

Eighteen months.

A weird first day of summer, to be sure. 

Woke up very early but not early enough. I rushed to do my morning chores and then headed out for a long-overdue dental checkup and cleaning. Surprise. I have a huge cavity. Nice. Getting it fixed in a week. They did a gazillion xrays. I will glow in the dark tonight. I let my insurance pay for most of it and then I headed down the mall to the grocery store to stock up  on caffeine-free cans of pop and ice cream sandwiches (HA DID I MENTION THE CAVITY) for the BOYS for the summer weekend to come. 

When I left the grocery store and was loading my Jeep an older lady was staring at my tattoos which makes me somewhat irritable but whatever. She got into her car and backed out without looking, into a vehicle that was passing behind her. WOW. Huh. It's like karma or something. I manifested that moment. Or maybe I didn't but it teaches a valuable lesson about rudely gawking at people. 

Then I unpacked all the groceries, checked the garden and drove out to see Ruth. There was nowhere good to park and I finally shoehorned in a spot just off the main road and walked back to her little neighborhood. We hung out with her cat and watched the sun play off her numerous plants and then I decided to join rush hour traffic home. Hilarious. A long day, but very doable by my new completely legal drugs that finally work or something, cross your fingers. No mania but a lot of weird punctual-panic and eh, I'll get used to it eventually or it will go away. 

And now we're having dinner and then some ice cream sandwiches because yeah. First day of summer. Maybe a late-night swim in the pool. Maybe a backflip off the cliff. Maybe nothing. Maybe bed at eight. I don't know yet but I am tired.

Seroquel Tuesdays.

Okay, the title is catchy to my brain, and this is only one medication of many I am on. I have three doctors, four specialists on tap (globally) and a host of psychoanalysts, psychiatrists and well-meaning boys who are well-versed in all of this to look after me so please, no armchair comments since you don't know the full regimen. 

Or story frankly. But this one is the tranquilizer gun. This one is new because Bridget was out on the roof cleaning windows. Bridget was painting trim on a shed at eight at night. She organized the inside of every drawer and cabinet and closet and brushed and trimmed the dog and made dental appointments for everyone and hauled out fans and spring jackets and cleaned boots and sneakers and baked cookies and froze chopped green onions for the rest of the year and-

Right? I'm so manic it's wonderful. So productive. Fucking crazy. Hypo, unfortunately and I'm glad I got it all done and then I outed myself and now come more pills to stabilize everything in the in-between. We want a perfect blend of less anxiety and also less frenetic activity so I will keep you posted.

That or I'll be asleep facedown in the grass for the rest of the week in which case everyone has promised they will bring me inside or something. They'll probably use me for lawn dart or paintball practice first though. I would. 

(OMG, I'm KIDDING. Kind of. I'm very nervous to take this. Wish me luck. Also wish me sleep. There is never any sleep.)

My army, their world.

I just wanted to drop in and proclaim a Happy Father's Day to all of the honorary dads here on the point. 

To all of the hunkles who dropped potential one-night-stands, drunken ragers and epic seats at NHL games to come and play Speak and Spell with Ruth and Henry, to the men who had their hair, nails and makeup done, complete with photoshoots by Ruth and who tore up a large percentage of the backyard when requested to by Henry so that the Tonka Trucks could DO THEIR JOBS, who followed boyfriend new-drivers at a safe distance (only the first couple of times) and who have waited up with me when the kids went to parties. To these hunkles who insisted their brains and muscles actually came from the carrots, beets and green beans the kids didn't want to eat, but did and then spend thousands of miles and dollars over the years taking us out for ice cream since somebody ate all their beans and now gets a reward.

To the men who gave the kids' friends the third degree but played chaperone at pool parties and junior high dances and to my army who provided an easy, impenetrable wall of protection for me and my children when I (and they) needed it most and who still tell endless stories always with a good theme that teaches a specific lesson and to the ones who taught them Pythagorean therum when mom had given up in tears because 'they do it differently now', thank you. 

Happy Father's day. Thank you for loving the children as though they were your very own, for keeping them safe, for keeping them happy and entertained, and for teaching them how to be good people and for keeping to my rules, when I said one bowl of ice cream a day was enough, and you agreed even when you wanted another. Thank you will never be enough to repay you all for this twenty-plus year commitment to two kids who are literally the luckiest on earth to have you all. And their mom, who is the luckiest of all to have you, and know you have my back.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Take out kings.

A good Saturday is when you sleep in until nine (I only actually slept from five until nine), get up, have a hot shower, have McDonalds coffee for breakfast, buy a bunch of crystals, a new pair of Birkenstock Boston clogs (black leather, on sale since it's summer for $130) and then manage to mow a third of the backyard before they realized it was me, then they finished the mowing and we went to our favourite Indian restaurant for dinner, where the owner's son not only told us we deserve to be there but I ate my body weight in pakoras, keema naan and chickpeas and now I am in pain and really full and damn, what a good day.

On a bed of rosemary and lemon balm. Like a chicken breast. Just wrap me in foil and throw me on the grill.

I had a very bad dizzy spell at the grocery store this morning, between the muffins and the deli counter. I gripped the handle of the cart very hard and it passed as quickly as it came on. So I of course ignored it and then later I am standing at the top of the concrete steps, on the side that is open to the garden below and not on the railing side, and it happened again! This time I wavered mightily and managed to save myself from falling into my precious rosemary and oregano bushes but it was a close one and Lochlan watched it happen and I mentioned the earlier incident and now he won't let me do anything at all. 

He was already miffed at Caleb's hope that I might change my mind and extremely chuffed at my insistence that Lochlan and Bridget aren't a decision or an option, we're a brand. A lifestyle choice. Two kids running headlong into bad decisions and epic romance through so many decades now we are practically cojoined. 

I was hoping I'd have more than a few days of you to myself, though. He looks concerned. Me too. I've been fighting some awful side effects with so much success lately. This is not something I need. After a quick trip up to the house to check my blood pressure (129/91) he ordered me to do nothing so I called Daniel who brought his polishes over and now I have confetti glitter fingernails to go with my blue toes. 

I want to look good in death. 

Or something. 

Lochlan keeps finding ways to check on me and it's sweet. Ben is sleeping the rainy day away so he isn't good at keeping watch under those circumstances and I really just want to help make dinner and then go to sleep for a few hours. Maybe an Ambien but I probably won't be allowed to have one in case it simply hastens this slow death of mine. Maybe he will allow it so I get some sleep for once and live to see another day. Cast your vote and we shall see. 

Just kidding. You only get a vote if you live in my house.

Very important, useless conversations.

I have been back now for over twenty-four hours and I've caught up on laundry and boys and stories and even painted my toenails robin's-egg-blue and have all my plans ready to devote to a long weekend full of firing and glazing and firing and maybe some gardening, though I popped out today and planted more tomatoes, peas and sunflowers everywhere I could fit them in, so there isn't much left to do now but wait. 

The brief getaway was much needed and though it was short we accomplished so much. And no I wasn't drunk. Borjomi is just a brand of sparkling water and it's oddly addictive and I can't buy it here so I get it when I can. It's also a place, where the water comes from but I didn't have time to go there, sadly. 

I had a debriefing by Sam and then by August too, I ripped out all of my earrings (every last one) and I'm having my medications adjusted again. We are slow and steady, though I had two panic attacks this week and I couldn't get control of either so odds are more medication will be in my future. Chemical Bridget is a necessity, not a preference, trust me. Things were getting weird and I did this willingly. As long as I hear the right reasons I will agree with you. As long as it's for the right reasons I will agree to it. 

I still do not have my phone, I don't have email. I don't have television. I do have the ipod for music and I have my fifteen puzzle and my fidget ring (it's from myconquering and it's the best. I actually have five from here. Not an ad, just a rec) and I'm not for want of things to do, I'm just trying to take it easier than normal. Apparently I go way too hard. 

Ha. 

Me? 

Of course I do. That's how I roll. And if anything, I fight the lethargy and low-key motion sickness by going super hard and that's where I falter. It's just a bad idea. But not doing anything seems worse. 

I went for a walk with Caleb. Down to the sea where I couldn't hear him all that well but I tried. It was better as we walked back toward the stairs so that's when we had our brutally honest heart to heart and we're going to take it one day at a time and see how things go. 

For how long? 

I don't know. A few months, maybe a few years. 

Do you want me to leave?

Do you want to leave?

If you want me to I will. 

No, but I understand if there's nothing to stay for. 

My friends are here. You are still here. In whatever capacity, it's better than being away from you. 

This isn't a healthy response. 

You sound like you just left August's chair. 

I did, matter of fact but that's not the point. What we never go back to what we had? What if I simply move on?

Then I will wait for you until I die. And then beyond. 

Will you haunt me like your brother does? 

Yes. But probably more often. Would that be okay with you? 

Caleb-

Don't worry. I'm not the type, in case you're worried. 

I nod, suddenly unable to speak for the lump in my throat. 

You do care. 

Of course, I choke out.

Then I will stay here for the rest of my days. In case you change your mind.

Yeah, whatever. I ran.

 I'm so tired of hanging on
To everything I thought we had. I was so wrong
There's nothing left here to fight for, we've both been bled dry
Stop wasting time, yours and mine, cause God knows we tried

I don't wanna hold you back anymore, no
And you don't wanna live with the guilt of leaving me behind, oh
You know I'd be lying if I said that we were meant to be
So let's just move on and say goodbye to you and me

It was after I choked back a third glass of Borjomi that I looked at Caleb level, eye to eye and said I needed a break, that it started now. That he could fly home without us, that we were going for a few days in Montauk before returning to the West Coast, and that he didn't have to try hard anymore because there will be nothing to try for. And my heart was breaking the whole time because all I can picture is him falling backwards off a building in slow motion but that isn't a likely end to this love story and instead I know he will shore up his resources and begin a new campaign the moment I get home.

So here I am, home at last and I haven't seen him yet. Haven't seen him since Brighton Beach where I found the best way to spend all that money (on rent control of all things), that he could put something good out into the world and keep it that way and we would call it even. The most recent thing, that is. Not the whole of our history. That's a different weight all together and it's not going to be fixed by filling Bridget up on potatoes and sausages (oh my God SO GOOD AS ALWAYS) and I had a few furtive glances at Coney and an empty promise or two to come back in the fall and then the fairy tale slipped into the sea and real life returned. I did a favour for a friend, as it were, because I promised. 

I should have stayed away.

Harder than it seems.

My peonies started opening today and the poppies were gone in a flash. Too late, too wet for them but also they were too crowded and I had put a cage around the plant for the winter and then forgot to take it away when the growing began in earnest. It's fine. It was a small cheap plant that I was stubborn about and it's spectacular some years and ugly others. 

Like me. 

I have an enamel fifteen puzzle I can't solve. Ha. You'd think it would be easy. My fingers are down to the bone sliding tiles for hours and I can't do it. It's worth the twelve dollars and the boast that it's from the thirties. Pretty sure it will be ninety years before I can solve it, truth be told. I'll be like a hundred and forty something and blathering on about this little puzzle that fits in my dress pocket and is the stuff of kinder, gentler nightmares. 

Lochlan holds me while I sleep, which is the best way and so the nightmares have to go through him first, and so I know he is exhausted, catching some and setting them on fire before they can reach me, others he dilutes in seawater to make them less sharp, some he lets slip through his fingers gently into my brain and others he bricks into a room, covering the door and they'll never see the light of day again. He's always been so good at keeping the monsters away, there's only one he can't read, one he doesn't know what to do with. 

We're working on it though. 

I hold him while he sleeps, softening the alarm, anchoring him to me through the night so that he can find the light of day, keeping him focused and reassured that we're doing good. We're okay. We'll be fine and we'll be stronger afterward. It's been a multi-decade mantra and we are superhumans at this point but then why do I still feel like wet paper in a strong wind? 

What's written on you? 

My whole heart. 

It's such a long read. 

With no ending. 

It will be happy though. The fortune teller said so.

Twos.

Okay, phone is sorted (turned out to be a twenty-five year old extension cord that was the issue) and I spilled my coffee two days in a row, as it turns out. Actually we got take out coffee and I was distracted and brought it up to take a sip and the hole on the lid was turned around so I got no coffee in my mouth and instead it poured down my cheek, flowed across my shirt and puddled in my lap. Luckily, as always, it was already cold because as I've said before, I forget. 

I also forgot yesterday, as I was busy organizing, and I got a grocery list from Ruth and headed out this morning with Lochlan to get them all stocked up and now they have lots of groceries and are on the mend at last. Tired and easily worn out and easily discouraged but on the mend and it could have been worse. Thankfully it wasn't and so we move on to the next thing this week. 

For many reasons, the 9th through 16th is going to be a big of a challenge but we will figure it all out and technically it will be okay. I worry too much, as always. I'm kind of looking forward to it, but at the same time, a challenge, as I said. I will say more after the fact. 

Also I splurged today and bought a new dog leash. A pretty one.

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.