Fall. Thinking big thoughts today. Future thoughts and bad thoughts and every thought in between.

I cleaned out the trucks today. I have three sets of jumper cables and a jump starter in my Jeep alone. Ha. Also two snow brushes and a shovel. And a book about how to use my tow straps that's written in Dutch. 

Useful things. 

I replaced the batteries in the four flashlights though and added a lighter since there are already waterproof matches in there. Curious about the zip ties in the commercial break down kit. Are those in case I want to kidnap someone? Make a citizen's arrest? Then what is the duct tape for? 

Also cute little orange cone the size of an ice cream cone. That will be visible in the event of an emergency I'm sure. I am nothing if not organized to a fault. The minute they mention 'snow' coming to the mountains I prep the trucks and swap out my Birkenstock Arizonas for my Bostons and start gathering up and dumping outdoor plants. 

Phantom of the Opera is closing on Broadway in February. I won't get to see it. Dahmer is coming to Netflix and I don't want to see it. Jar of Hearts is trying to wedge itself back into my brain and I'm contemplating going off my medications since it's been six and a half months and I've been in zombieland for all of two entire seasons plus and I don't like how this feels. 

But. BUT. 

I'm curious if I would live through it. I almost imploded before Spring and I don't want to do that again. 

I want to throw some mugs but I got bitten (not by Caleb! Surprise! Fun cat in the neighbourhood and since I lost both my cats this year so far to old age I was trying to make friends but he wasn't interested!) I want to sleep but when I go to bed I am wide awake. I want to spend my time more efficiently but it's tough when everyone still needs a piece of me and oh, lord help me. I am planning for Christmas. Not like things aren't out in the stores. So don't blame it on me.

Learning about oxygen saturation.

Having my gasping while waking up investigated. Ha. I sleep four hours a night, who has time to run diagnostics? It's too bad we can't just use a code reader like on vehicles. Plug it in and say, ah yes. There's the problem. 

I have a reader but it's going to test the amount of oxygen in my blood and how many times an hour it drops. This should be fun. 

In other news, I managed to get my boyfriend back along with my email. But this time I got to level the caveats. Caleb pressed his dark hair down against my light hair and let out a long sigh while I detailed all the horrible things I would let the boys do to him if he hurts me again. It's incredible how emotionally delicate he is with me and how physically careless, almost like night and day. 

And so far I have always politely and firmly demanded, hysterically pleaded and thunderously begged the boys not to hurt him in return. 

This time I will turn lights on them, even encourage them should he cross that line. 

He's not going to. 

I believe him when he tells me this. His hands shook. He could not meet my eyes. He didn't like being cut off, didn't like being left out, wouldn't stand for the lack of comfort he could get so easily before. 

I made him watch all my shows with me. 

(That was I think the only part Lochlan liked. He no longer had to watch episodes of Wanteez. Which is hilarious.) 

I made him promise me the moon and stars and then demanded he not even look at them, that they were mine. I put him on trial. I gave him an apprenticeship. I treated him ridiculously terribly. I acted like a brat. I levelled all of his crimes at him when he protested. I made him repeat them back and reminded him that he will forever be grateful that I allow him to be in my life at all. 

I think he's beginning to see the light. 

But yeah, I took him back because clearly I'm weak and his charm is my kryptonite and we all know that was going to happen but apparently it took longer than people thought it would. There is only one week left of summer. He missed the whole thing. 

(Which is fine, I did too.)

Exercise, fresh air and good nutrition. It's almost like having TB.

Point Perdition has become somewhat of a sanitorium as of late as we struggle to keep up. The house is in good shape, inside chores are done since we can all pitch in while the outside suffers. I went out to the front porch to clear away tea mugs left overnight and an envelope that was on the grass and decided to remove the pretty wire trellises from the flowers since the flowers have been cut back. I brought the trellises around to the garage where I have a stack of them that will remain for winter and then went back up the steps and up to the porch to get everything else and go back inside. Then I had to lie down for half an hour. I have no energy. None. 

Not for sex, not for yard work, not for the painting I want to get done before winter, not for smiling, not for adventurous cooking (or eating, for that matter. Last night I had a handful of chips for supper), not for putting on outside clothes. 

Just wah. 

We are supposed to go to the Roger Waters concert tomorrow night. That will be a haul. Not sure if we'll be able to. Really on the fence. Blessed to be able to not be sad if we stay home, since I've seen him before but honestly sick of missing out too. But recovery is most important, as is never catching this again. It sucks. It sucks so unbelievably much.

Queen of the vineyard.

I was recruited into slave labour again beginning Friday up until last evening late as we attempted to harvest and strip the grapes before the bears ate them all. Bears who up until now have had little interest in the grapes overall, more happy to leave them for the birds, raccoons and humans. Oh and the earwigs. But we worked hard to have a banner crop this year and no less than sixteen separate visits by bears threatened to undo the whole thing. 

The only thing that finally sent the bears far far away was Ben's bagpipes. Loud and proud and obnoxious in the vineyard. 

I say slave labour because the wasps were plentiful and after a good thirty minutes of fretting Lochlan decided I wasn't old enough to be outside and if I didn't get stung I would get mauled or sunburnt, something he muttered after I very loudly asked why the bear would pick me to chew on if they're all outside with me. 

But it was no use and I ended up sitting in the kitchen alone, stripping grapes from their stems until my finger joints felt bruised and soaked right through. We put everything in the freezer until we're ready to start the wine and it's done and the bears, fearing bagpipes, have not been back. At least it means this weekend I don't have to do it, but I still can't bend the first three fingers on my right hand and I am shellshocked and worn out from such an exciting weekend. 

We also started the new Lord of the Rings television show, like everyone else and it's good. I identify with the harfoots, and not at all with the elves. I can't stand the elves. They're so pretentious and horrid. 

I wish, like in the Witcher, that they would break into song. 

But yeah, that's where I was. Also got more meds. And some good stuff for the ever-present eczema rash around my nose and eyes this summer. Having a good time and summer's already over. The sunsets and moonrises have been spectacular however, so there's always a silver lining. 

And the bears are good luck. I have lost count already. 

The Elizabethan age is ended. God Save the King.

Glued to the monitor this morning as the news comes around the realms and the commonwealth that our Queen is dead. I am so sad. Her picture hung in my grandparent's living room when I was a child, and I have always been enchanted by the Royals, as are most Canadians, since she was our queen too. 

A sad day indeed. A spirited, fighting lady to the absolute end.

Back home they are the size of baseballs.

I tossed on my old Billabong sandals to go to Batman's last night. It's a long walk but a pretty one and frankly it's the time of year when my feet are black perpetually and everyone starts complaining. A good scrub helps nothing and so I wear shoes now while I wait for the dirt to fade. 

And the scars but wearing shoes honestly isn't going to help my heart look better. It's ruined and painted over, a pretty pink shade with a glossy finish. Good enough, they said, and pushed me back out into the world. 

I made it through the evening, dinner, the movie (did not stay awake but it seemed pretty good) and then the walk home with Lochlan, who came for the end of the film and to collect me. Couldn't feel the ground the whole way home and then woke up with my foot throbbing painfully at four in the morning. Which, oh well, because my glasses are on Lochlan's night table, my phone is on Ben's, the actual medical magnifying glass we have is downstairs in the kit and the whole house is paused on silent. 

I swallowed two Advil (I hope they were Advil) and went back to bed, looked at my foot in the morning and there was a bunch of little deep cuts in one spot where my heel begins. Fucking HURTS. I figured I dried them out on the sand, salt, water, lack of attention, whatever and then I threw on those flip flops again to go do some gardening and there's the pain again. I sat down and there was a sharp rock wedged in the sole of the shoe, poking right up into my foot. Black tusk after the mist clears. 

It took me a pair of pliers and a half hour to get it out, only to have Lochlan throw the shoes away. 

We'll get you decent shoes on the weekend. 

Hell, no. 

You're right. We should wait for it to get infected and then after they remove your whole leg we'll get you a scooter. 

Can I ride a unicycle with one leg? 

I highly doubt it. 

No way to test that, I suppose. 

Peanut! 

What?

Better sandals. Not foam. Not a dozen years old. Take a little care. 

Yes, Dad. 

So how did last night actually go?

You should have been at dinner. 

That good? 

I don't know, man, the food was great but the scallops were the size of like...peas! 

Huh. Must be a West coast thing. 

Yeah. Must be. 

Let me put something on that cut. 

It's fine. 

Peanut-

Okay, okay. 

If we can get this dirt off. Your soles are brown. 

Cut it with iodine. 

You are feral. I think sometimes they're right.

Fear is the mindkiller (YOU'RE NOT WRONG, FRANK).

Screeching in just in time for the sun to go down. I have a date with Batman in a few to watch Dune over dinner. He has promised Moscow mules and seafood fettuccine. My stomach has been growling for hours in anticipating of a late dinner but I am holding out because he said the magic words. 

You know. 

Scallops and vodka. 

I hope Dune is good. I hope there is popcorn for after dinner so I can stay awake. I'm not very good at science fiction. Lochlan has said he may join us if he finishes working on his latest motorcycle project but he might just meet me at bedtime at home. None of us are moving very fast at the moment but at the same time we are all anxious for routine, or whatever semblance of that we entertain here. 

I got my email back today too. They said at the end of the summer, right? Well that's here now and I blinked and missed most of it anyway. I'll get back on track. 

See you tomorrow, and I promise I won't review the movie since it's been out forever already.

Na na na na na na na na.

 I am still vaguely sick and operating at maybe seventy percent of myself so my time sitting up online has been non-existent and my apologies for that, but who really would complain if they get to lie in bed and drink Aperol spritzes and hot blueberry tea and snooze under the plantation fans with the Poppia song from KCON 2022 playing on repeat?

Not I, said the spider to the fly. 

Plus I have been conserving all of my energy. Today is the penultimate birthday dinner for Lochlan and Ruth (they opted to share their celebrations this year) and I am up and dressed and icing cakes and preparing the big garden table, hoping the rain holds off until after midnight tonight and it's nice. I have a lot of help and I sit down a lot and things are going well. Caleb still kisses way too rough, coffee tastes so bad now and someone gifted us at least a hundred scones and I have no freezer space left so that's all we've been eating for days and days now. 

It's great. 

I'll be back next week for dailies again. Life keeps changing. But the question is, did you miss me?

Stop touching perfect things.

For the record I am sick and cranky and boy do I HATE the Tiny Dancer remake Britney/Elton thing. Hate it. It's awful. Like so bad. So pandering. So on-brand bullshit club vibe stupid ass dumb song I want to rip my face off when ever anyone mentions it. Tiny Dancer was a perfect song. A beautiful song. A song I adored. This Hold Me Closer duet is an abomination. If you need to dredge up a fifty year old song to remake to be relevant maybe rethink your career. Seriously. Fuck this.

Also for the record, Covid is not 'a mild cold'. It's the worst flu I ever had with bronchitis sprinkled on top. It's so bad. I am on day fourteen? Twelve? I don't know. I hate it. On the upside we are all recovering safely at home so that's good.

Eleventh hour announcement: No one is going to Burning Man.

It was an outside hope for me, a chance at a do-over, a logistical nightmare on the best day and an almost certainty for the crazy boy contingent here, led by the least crazy person I know (August) but somehow a pattern that has worked for a very long time. I think I've worked through my intense jealousy, now that I've been an almost died at it and I still wanted to go quite badly for whatever reason if maybe only to have a better time or not leave under medical duress, I guess. 

Instead I can be here under medical duress. 

We all have Covid. All of us. Every last one of us.

Ha.

Part 2.

I finished Keep Breathing. It was really good! It actually ended fairly strong and got very deep all in all, though honestly, well, gawd. The lead actor, Melissa Barrera was incredible skilled at her craft and never once put in a cringe-worthy moment, though as I said I questioned the writing a few times. The bear doesn't come back for the dead guy covered in blood, but the potential suitor AKA office-romance guy gets brickwalled time and time again and just aw-shucks climbs up higher. 

Right. 

I guess the whole thing is a big allegory for people doing what they want to do. Dad wants to protect his daughter from a flighty, absent mom. Mom wants to stay connected though she must be her free-spirit self. Office boyfriend is just enthusiastic about all of it (right or wrong) and Liv (main character) is determined to somehow heal her complete roster of childhood traumas by figuring out how to make a compass and then getting lucky with some well-placed falls into water or soft woodsy spots.

The flashbacks I hated at first finally fit together well enough that I enjoyed both the survival aspect and the human interest, well-lit moments leading up to it. 

The only string they dropped was the bloodied meat bag showing up so many times to her psyche to warn her that someone would be looking for the money and then suddenly this...stopped being a concern? And also to everyone who said the location was the Cheakamus River, I beg to differ. I think some of it was at North Beach and Gold Creek. It would have been safer by a hundred times. And easier to film at.

But very well done. Worth the investment. 

I hear there is a season 2. I hope it's the baby, all grown up but somehow I doubt it. What in the heck would they even do for it? Ohhh! The family with newborn could go on the run away from the guys looking for the money and figure out how to outsmart them with psychology and calming habits. It'll be great. I will watch. 

Also as always the most useful thing you can carry with you for survival/EDC is a scarf. Never fucking fails! Tourniquet, gear-wrapper, flag, blanket, towel, washcloth, rope, pillow, sun protection, bandage, yada yada. I've been saying this for decades. 

PJ, come fight me.

Ah, Netflix. I thought I was going to be watching a survival series. But nope, it's about MOTHERHOOD. As always.

I am watching Keep Breathing on Netflix. It's a limited series that has been out for a hot minute so I'm not too worried about leaving spoilers for you. However I am two episodes in and I'm extremely concerned that the director (writer?) literally has a woman able to scare a bear away from a body that's been hemorrhaging blood for like two days, and the bear comes along, eats the power bars she rescued, takes a fat shit on the beach and lumbers away without the giant bleeding man that would have been such a tasty snack? 

Righhhhhhht. 

I will report back when I finish the series. There is so much wrong with it but it's also weirdly good.

Macca and Naz are currently tied.

Last night I took Ben to see Nazareth! We drove all the way out to the beginning of the Fraser Valley proper (same area I go for my blueberries and also there is a spooky Halloween farm out there every October or just a little further I guess) and found free parking and then got some cans of pop and hung back to see the band play. We caught the end of Honeymoon Suite which made me laugh. The juxtaposition of summer radio hits from Canada against the powerhouse of craziness that is Scottish hard rock was very strange. 

Also I went in with a broken heart because I knew up front they would not be playing Crazy (A Suitable case for Treatment) which is my all-time favourite song by them, from the Heavy Metal Soundtrack for the movie that came out when I was nine and I hated the movie but the soundtrack might be my single desert-island album. 

They played everything else, though and they rocked everyone's faces off. It was a beautiful warm night and I was sweating. Ben was nice and cool and really minded the lights from the stage as they whipped around in our eyes so we were so far in the peripherals by the time the show was over I think we were the first ones to leave the field. 

But he talked about it the whole way home. So excited. Had such a chill time. He didn't need to sit, we leaned against one of the barricades for a tent and I noticed he moved his fingers when the leads took place, picking out the notes on an invisible full-moon air guitar and I smiled at nothing in the dark. 

That was our date night and by the time I drove us home (HA. That isn't fun anymore. I have a crazy sideways astigmatism that gets worse every damn year now and night driving sucks so bad. It's like driving straight into a KiraiKira filter.) we were both exhausted and very sweaty and had a cold shower and then passed out cold, only for me to wake up like a rocket at eight because it's Monday and I am supposed to be doing things. 

Ha. 

Best show. Might have topped Paul McCartney if just for charm and smiles and effort.

The home videos are all of us when we were so much younger than we are now.

Sitting with Dalton today while he gets some work done on his (tattoo) suit. It's ice-cold here so finally I can cool off as much as I would like, though I never feel cold-cold any more even sleeping with all the windows open and the fans on high and the AC on full blast until the white noise drowns me out and I am but a memory. 

My Teflon Jesus is a rock. He doesn't say much while he's getting tattooed. He goes to a place inside his head but he likes to have company in the form of a hand to hold tightly and someone to be his advocate and remind him to eat and drink and breathe. I go and get smoothies for the whole group and come back with two trays stacked and a bag that contains bananas, baby carrots and a package of store-bought croissants and he inhales everything gratefully. And then I resume holding his hand and saying Hey TJ, breathe normally as I notice he holds it in his lungs deeply. Sometimes he is good to watch home videos on my phone with me but mostly his eyes are closed. Four more sessions of four or five hours each and he's done. Maybe three if he can manage. 

So I wasn't in church today and that's fine. I think.

On the upside I am a beast if you piss me off. No more tears, just instant rage. Must be fun to not be me right now.

It's a little bit cooler today. Rain mixed with sunny periods and a little bit of cloudiness and it's only seventeen degrees still which makes me exceedingly happy. 

This is perfect weather. I am definitely an East Coast girl. Everyone talks about the rain here but honestly it makes me feel safe and cozy. As long as I don't have to drive at night in it I am good. 

We are supposed to be at a music festival this week but we are not. It's outside. Might go for a bit tonight. Didn't really think it through when the tickets came out and shouldn't have gotten them but FOMO was big back then and we jumped to do something, anything, like pre-Covid times. 

Things are so different now. 

My mind races ahead and then turns and lags, distracted by nothing of consequence. Ben says that the chemical lobotomy must mimic his brain injury as he can't settle, can't focus but then ends up down a rabbit hole of nothing in particular. Worst of all is the endless apathy. I used to care so deeply about everything and now I feel like I care about so little. I fret and wrung and reeled and ached in my fearfulness and now I'm courageous in every instance without blinking. It's so strange. It's such a small amount too, as the doctors say most people are on five times this amount. But at the same time it's way too much and there has to be a switch I can turn to dial up the peace when I need it and be present when I want to be. 

You don't want those kinds of drugs, trust me. This is frustrating but better. Ben is watchful, adamant. 

I know. My reply noncommittal. It's just-

You don't.

Friday benign information of no regard.

Today I closed my Air Miles and my Sephora accounts. Neither does me any favours and the end of a twenty-year era is upon us. The one thing I am not is a digital pack rat and so I always delete/close/clean up all traces as I go. 

Also I scrambled my MEC information online since the membership will never go away without a lot of hoops. 

Air Miles doesn't have any affiliated shops that I use and I won't shop online through their portal so nevermind and Sephora has been on a downhill train forever. It was so fun while it lasted but after a while I realized I like drugstore products better and the costs were astronomical plus half was Ruth buying Kat Von D crazy lipstick colours back in the day so that ship has long sailed into the sunset and I just don't go there anymore. 

Three new spots in my wallet, I guess. I will spread out my vaccination cards or something. I'm not a rewards collector unless it's very good. Right now the only good one seems to be PC points. I actually shopped there last week for the big shop and got a lot for my seven-hundred-dollar haul. Their carts need to be larger tho. We had two and probably could have used a third. 

(If you hate this post, know that I do as well. We can both blame the Devil.)

 It's hot again so I am inside, a slave to air conditioning even though the roar of it makes me mental. Even the quietest ones are so loud. I have decided people who say No worries are psychopaths. I have decided ASMR toys from my childhood will heal all kinds of trauma. This morning I took a bath and went through at least eighty percent of the hot water in the house before I realized the silver knob wasn't seated in the drain correctly and then I fixed it and just had enough boiling water to lobster myself up to my neck before it turned to cold again. 

I have decided most people are full of shit and just trying to appear capable. I have decided sugar isn't actually so bad and that people who walk their dogs on people's outer lawns or boulevards are nosey and stupid. 

And I have decided that today I am cranky and therefore I am the problem.

News from 'the home'.

Placated today with chocolate and a running commentary about the brief and comical pseudo-feud on Twitter between the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building over my latest obsession, Ateez. It was funny to read and even funnier to hear Duncan chuckle as he read the whole thing out loud to me from his account while I ate a bagel with my own homemade raspberry jam from last year, since we didn't have any bread and also since I haven't been arsed to make any jam yet this year. There's no rush. I've been diligently freezing berries as they are picked and so we will be able to make it whenever we damn well please.

I was also exceedingly well-prepared and have jars lined up, lids and pectin. Usually pectin is hard to find by now but I bought it in June in anticipation of a good crop and a good crop we have had. It's hard to keep the boys from eating what they pick so trust me, this is a good amount. 

I don't think I'm moving to Sweden any time soon. Lochlan said ghosts don't have passports and drown in the ocean when the person they are haunting flies too far forever and that horrified me enough to drop the idea. Maybe years from now when my ghosts die of old age which will be interesting because they're already dead and sometimes they are young and sometimes even older than I remember but I think that will happen when I begin to forget about them and honestly I can't wait, though I have this vision of being a combative old lady who doesn't remember my boys except for brief flashes and now I'm breaking my own damn heart too. 

Even though I am almost the youngest here, as it were. 

I'm going to go up the road with a bowl in a little while to get blackberries. That can be a free for all bowl since I never make blackberry jam. It's too seedy and too rich. Not even sure I like jam all that much truth be told. I like cheese on my toast. Actually I like marshmallow fluff on my toast, but my diet is going to see me go down a deadly road of sins, Willy Wonka style. I eat too much sugar and I know it. I did stop buying cereal and so ditched the sugar bowl and the milk in the process. No one puts that stuff in their coffee and if someone reallllly wants cereral they can go next door to Daniel and Schuyler's and choose from about eight different kinds. 

Ruth was the cereal fiend in the house and she has lots of it in her new house. 

I'm good here with all the chocolate, coupled with apologies and a lot of promises. They hated doing the lobotomy and really love that there are still flashes of Bridget in here somewhere. Like reverse Alzheimers, I guess.

I am looking at properties in Sweden so I can be a hermit by the water and never talk to anyone again. It's easy enough to get, but if I hate it the capital gains taxes when you sell are very high, though they can be offset to some extent and can help mitigate that hit to the wallet. 

The boys are reluctant. 

Who said you're all going too? I yell in response.

Pom poms and gin.

 It's a perfect afternoon. Twenty degrees and clouds are rolling in with the rain set to start after supper. Lochlan just brought me a gin and tonic and last week he bought me a pink pen with a huge pink pompom on it. I am starting to think about making chicken sandwiches and salad for the actual meal and then I want to put on a scary movie to start and watch some each day until it's done. This is the calm between storms? Had to go out late last night and run errands. Have to get up scarily early tomorrow for an appointment so instead of helping to mow the lawn I'm just enjoying this small window of peace before dinner prep with Dalton and Duncan begins. 

I know we persist in doing family meals at least five nights a week because why not? We're all family and people eat better and are happier when they can sit around a table en masse and share the weights and burdens, maybe share a laugh too. It works. Or I'm drunk. Not sure how much gin is in this drink. I didn't even think we had any left, frankly so it's a nice surprise. 

Hope the rain starts soon. Hope I start remembering I'm supposed to post too. These pills are the lobotomy I wanted and now hate, but it's so much better than everything else so far. And that's a lot to admit.

Everyone's gay today.

Pride weekend is wrapping up here. Holy cow. So hot. So tired. A little heat exhaustion, a lot of glitter, mostly in parts I am surprised to still find any, and a lot of colourful moments that I will remember forever. Nice to be there, nice to be here, though here on the point every weekend is Pride weekend and the glitter is always plentiful. 

And food grade, as always, because we are not monsters. 

Well, we are but not in the way you would think.

I'm going to spend the next few days rehydrating, resting up and probably testing positive for Covid or Monkey Pox, I haven't decided which, and deal with the sunburn I got. I might fill the hottub with aloe gel and just stay there. 

It was so fun though. A lot different this year as we didn't go so hard, mostly because Ben is different now. He's not big on the heat and he gets overstimulated in crowds which is a far cry from how he used to be but we figured it out and mostly stayed on the fringe. Which in itself is ironic. 

I'm glad the heatwave ends tonight though. I'm melted to a puddle of fairy dust at this point and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Burning man might possibly be next. I need a do--over on that anyway.

A good scream.

Pure decadence today, my friends. Coffee and a early swim in the pool and then did a few light chores against the coming heat before making screamers. Screamers are slush puppies with ice cream on top and they're not bad, though I was happiest when the ice cream was gone and I just had slushie ice. Mine was vanilla ice cream with lemon lime slush. We made them in our snoopy sno-cone machine and then used the soft ice cream machine at Daniel and Schuyler's to finish them off. So good. Then we had a long nap in the camper. Me and Lochlan, with all the doors wide open but a stick of Indian Temple incense lit on the counter to ward off any sun-loving mosquitos. Now we have to figure out dinner but I think someone's going to Dairy Queen to get it so maybe I don't have to think too hard. 

Perfect.

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.