This just in: no one is shocked anymore.

Sigh. Really angry right now. Not in the mood to write. I have to make some meatloaves and start some baked potatoes. I have to chill out a bit but I am averaging three hours sleep a night and as I said, not in the mood. 

Whoever thought it was prudent to report a three-year-old post about sword swallowing needs to fucking chill, too. I didn't post a how-to, I posted an almost-died but apparently it fell under the dangerous activities warning and is now behind a warning. It's fine. I warn you more than Google does that what I write isn't ever for the faint of heart nor is it for the easily-offended or closed-minded but if you refuse to listen then go find a farming blog to read or something. As I always say, this will never be it and if you aren't interested in my own private brand of random memories and what's for dinner, you're free to leave. Or email me if you have a beef but reporting posts, especially old ones is shitty and pointless. It's not like they took it down for your efforts, it now just comes with a little yellow bar that says 'hey don't sword swallow if you don't know what you're doing' which is what I said in the fucking post ANYWAY. 

My meatloaf is really good, by the way. And blame the stupid person who tried to fuck with me as the reason I won't bother detailing the last eight days I missed posting. I can pull the whole thing down at any time. I've done it twice before.

Trigger locked.

What was once a comfort now seems a curse. Jacob would have hated this life for sure (and he did, hence the knees-bent and arms outstretched swan dive, or so I imagine whenever I close my eyes) and I'm not sure we like it any more than that. Days are spent in gratitude and deep conversational therapy. Ideas are deployed, tested and then evaluated for change or success. Every day ends in a post-mortem of discussing events or rough moments. I eat too much. I don't sleep enough. They let me drink, if I so choose. I want to finish a book, get lost in a movie, or begin a painting but I can't. It's far too cold to get messy with throwing on the wheel, as my clean-up routine involves the house by the garage and the gravel side parking in the driveway as I refuse to be the guy who fucks up the sink in my studio with clay.

So I am aimlessly wander, a tortured soul on earth mimicking the footsteps of my angel in heaven. 

I asked nicely to be taken off these pills. It's been *almost* a year. The answer came back with a resounding denial. I researched stopping them myself and found out you can taper by opening them up and counting out the little balls. I opened one and found discs. Six of them. I took three and had a bad day. I won't do that again. Maybe they will decrease the dose when we hit one year. I've missed a lot of joy in that one year and a lot of writing and creativity too but I've also not had an anxiety shadow looming over me. I've had a bunch of panic attacks. I've had breakthrough fear but mostly I've just withstood and withdrawn, a capable tiny woman in a silent world who hasn't been a handful in a long time and now grows the risk of becoming an afterthought, a warm breeze through an open window, a less sparkling version of She who I once was, flaws and all. Is it better? No. It's like I am the best cup of coffee you've ever had and suddenly someone appears at your table and begins to pour an entire pitcher of milk into it, until it overflows the rim of the cup and begins to bloom across the tablecloth and drip onto the floor. Is it still coffee? Vaguely. Can you still drink it? I guess so. 

Is it good? 

No. 

I tell this to Lochlan and he laughs and kisses my forehead. 

Is it necessary? Yes, Peanut, it is. You're still here. I promise. 

But we know about Lochlan's promises and his bold reassurances that he has no way to guarantee, let alone fulfill. We know he has the want to console the crying child but can he? I shake my head. 

A facsimile. 

I can barely tell.

A perfect clone. 

Hardly, Bridge. The words come with a knife edge, suddenly as his patience is cut clean through and he changes the subject. Let's go see Ruth today. 

Please. 

And get some sleep tonight.

I shrug. I can guarantee one, just not the other. Sleep is for people at peace. Death is for people at war. 

I know what you're thinki-

No, you don't. 

We're not at war. It's peacetime.

If you say so.

It's been a really busy week. Busy organizing and cleaning the house, early spring cleaning, as it were. Burns Night. University transcripts in the mail. Dog rebounding. Cat warming up. Long bitch sessions in the hot tub and in the living room. Hot chocolate to the point where I should just open my own cafe for I am constantly making it lately. Furniture rearranging and planning for a little bit of paint and polish to the house when it warms up. It's supposed to drop down very cold tonight so this morning Lochlan and Ben and I took our weekend walk on the beach while we could. It's too slippery to walk on the rocks when it's below freezing and though I do love to be throw off the cliff and swimming back around to the beach, January is rarely the month in which I do it with any regularity. I can't say the same for every other month, but lately I want to be comfortable. I feel old and tired in my bones. 

Lochlan said that will get better as I get used to it just being the usual crew on hand. 

I wonder if he's right. This is the lull between seasons, between holidays and between storms. I've started pulling tax papers together. I've started wearing Valentino lipstick. I've begun to think less about what's for dinner and more about how I can relax. I haven't slept much but eventually I will. I continue to pledge to post properly even though my head is in the clouds or in the dirt on any given day and since we had our Burns Night supper the days are indeed seeming a little longer at last. 

That's good.

Oh look, nothing again.

I made a mountain of my famous mashed potatoes to go with dinner (chicken and zucchini) and there was none left for tomorrow's lunch. I should have known, but I wondered if anyone was hungry as they were all snacking around three this afternoon and I figured a light dinner would be enough. 

Now it's all finished and the whole kitchen has been scrubbed and all of the pots and pans and dishes too and the time machine is loaded and ready and I'm going to head down to Dalton and Duncan's to watch Singles Inferno and drink tea (DO NOT BUY THE TETLEY LIVE THEY ARE BAD). If I can stay awake, that is. 

In other news, we've finished Bling Empire: New York. It was terrible. The music was terrible. Their voices were terrible, the fashion was mostly bad and the whole thing screamed set-up and everyone was made to be a villain. 

Ha, sounds like my house.

Live, laugh, Be Cremated.

I received a (very) belated Christmas gift this afternoon from a not-close acquaintance. It was a reclaimed barn board hand-painted sign with a pretty ribbon for hanging. Very farmhouse. Very pretty. Very much a catalyst for the longest dinner debate we have ever had, I think. 

The signs says, and I quote, Don't let your dreams be dreams. 

And I know what the sentiment is supposed to be, but I just can't get past the fact that it seems like it means that your dreams are worthless so don't even bother. The boys, in trying to find kindness, point out that it means not to leave them as 'just' dreams, but to make them your reality. 

Then it is worded wrongly. Clumsily.

I had to hang it in the garage. Kind of wish it read YoU cAn ChAnGe YoUr OwN oiL, GiRlFrIeNd! or something less cutting, but here we are. 

Merry Christmas. 

Is it over yet?

Pussy riot.

Which one would you like? 

All of them.

He sighs a long sigh and checks his watch and then gets up to go to the front desk to let them know. 

I'm kidding. I don't think I can choose in a day. We'll come back. 

Another sigh, another time check. We stopped for a quick cup of coffee and visited a kitten shelter and now I can't leave. All the cats love me except for the ones that don't. My black outfit is now laced with cat hair and I'm wondering if I should add this twelve year old ginger diabetic to the mix. Or maybe the tuxedo. All of them. Perhaps this ancient chocolate point Siamese wants to yowl in a home of his own. 

I could but I won't. I'm already the crazy lady. We don't need to add cat to that description. Plus we have a new cat since just before winter and she's a dream.  But Caleb humours me in whatever I want when we are out and about and today we had a bunch of rare Saturday appointments at the lawyers office to shore up 2023 as the year we don't change anything at all, and so it was a bunch of new signatures to carry forward and the more things change, the more they stay exactly the same. 

I did, however, find a Van Cleef and Arpels charm as we walked. It's very pretty. I bet someone was pissed but what can I do? It's a needle in a haystack kind of problem but if you've lost one and you can describe it hit me up. Not my taste. I like finding dollar bills in pockets or on elevator floors. I never look up, just in, he said and I agreed in order to point out the luck of looking lets you find things and I will forever be the magpie sitting on my tiny trove of treasure. 

Just one maybe? Choose one you like. 

Is he talking about charms, cats or...men? I could never pick just one, and I no longer know what we're talking about as he holds out my coat for me to slip into and we're off for home.

The guests have gone and they took my smooth brain with them.

What do you want to do today?

Pick up some extra gas cans, ammo, cash and solar panels. Maybe guns. 

Wait, what?

I've gone down a rabbit hole reading about the WEF. It's ninety-nine percent entertainment and one percent doomscroll. It's wrapped up in an ugly package and it just makes sense. I feel guilty for using private planes. I feel dumb for having taken the vaccine. I feel helpless in the face of a world without power or internet and dammit, we just adopted an orphaned broken electric mower and fixed it to use and I conquered it handily (you have to do a series of movements to start it) and so I don't want to give that up. But I also think some stacks of cold hard green and a stockpile of weapons (I saw The Road) are a good way to go for now. If the cyberattacks come or the electromagnetic pulses or whatever they have planned hit, we need to be ready. 

I love conspiracy theories. Love them love them. Especially since some of them are glaringly true.

A brief update on why there are no updates.

A revolving door of Christmas and post-holiday visitors keeps me from being able to write. A rock in my jeep wheel means we have a project for the weekend. A new study points out the huge quantities of lead and cadmium in dark chocolate (of all things) and I am ready for a vacation or at least a bottle of wine and a spate of horror movies in a row, all to myself. That's my reward for all this and *checks watch* next Wednesday will be the day, barring any further FAA issues, that is. 

I'm making Caleb watch k-pop videos (okay, just one, actually: Halazia). I'm making Lochlan study rudimentary hurdy gurdy playing, as we are considering having one made for Henry, and I'm listening to The Arcadian Wild all the damn time now, because it's like Nick Drake but with bluegrass. Ruthie is knee-deep in taxes, having had a banner year and then some working her butt off and it reminds me that tax time is coming (haha please kill me) and I need to maybe double my pills. My skin is finally clear after months of antibiotics and so a breather from the eczema is so nice, but my fingers are all split on the tips and it doesn't help that I heavy-clean the office each Monday for my employer and he says I should chill but dirt is bad for business and I just coat my fingertips in lanolin overnight. 

The new cat settles in on the bed each night too. It's amazing. 

The good news is our guests love to eat out, and so cooking is on the light side. They also aren't my guests and so short of small talk and asking them if they need anything I am off the hook. I love that. 

In other news, all of the Christmas gifts I ordered from overseas are still in the mail system. Hahahaha.

Feeling useless when in pain.

Ben is busy setting up my iphone again. He has a crazy EQ on it to change the songs to be very vocal-centric for me so I can hear them properly. Something broke after the last update and I can't hear it to set it up properly. The joys of being deaf, let me tell you. Deaf enough to need all this help but hearing enough to function so that others don't understand how frustrated I get.

And when I get frustrated the whole world caves in because if ever there were an issue of main character syndrome it would be here on the point, and it would be me. 

In other news, we took the dog for a swim, and we went for breakfast, and it was so late I have a headache from the distinct lack of eight-in-the-morning-sharp coffee, and we got some bacon on the side to feed to the dog because I have decided that his moments of clarity are getting further and further apart and so every day I try to make sure he spends his happiest moments. He sleeps next to me in bed, he gets fifty treats a day if he wants. 

But I still have a headache. 

The boys want to go see Avatar so I told them to go. I don't want to see it. I want to nap and listen to music and paint and draw and make things but I am also so tired. I don't think the sleep apnea thing is going to get anywhere, Rather than fucking with the symptoms I want to fix the root cause and see a specialist. My doctor is strangely not on board so I'll have to put him on board somehow but I will deal with that in a week or two. Once the headache goes away.

The eleventh day of Christmas.

We are...drinking Sazeracs and having an all-day horror fest that consists of putting every new horror movie we haven't seen on Netflix yet onto a piece of paper and drawing them one at a time. I wish for a sweet black licorice death at this point, let me tell you as most of them are worse than bad and I can't name what I love about  my slasher movies so much except that if people are outside running away from maniacs in the dark I am there in spirit. Maybe it's because I couldn't run from my own monster? Maybe it's because the monster is inside. I don't know, I just know that I am almost drunk, and there's a storm coming. The wind is warm and fierce suddenly, the rain is moving in and the seas feel wrong. The moonlight is off. The neighbourhood is pitch-quiet and Ben is already fast asleep in the theatre, taking up three places on the huge sectional instead of the usual two. Boys come and go. Dinner arrived, and lunch did too at one point. I ate some jelly beans in between. At one point, Caleb came down for a visit, hand snaking around my throat to tip my head back for a brief kiss before the glare of the redhead filled my peripheral vision and I told Caleb to either sit and watch or go out and I'll see him later. He's promised me a storm walk tomorrow which is beach combing when the tide begins to furl in against the shore, a dangerous time but also the time with the highest rewards.

I hope the power stays on.

8:05/4:25

And just like that Henry has graduated from university. Wow. When I started writing here he was a thirty-pound toddler straining my back and my brain with being so incredibly like and unlike Ruthie and he worried me more but less and he remains a twin to her but his own person just the same. 

I am so proud of him and I can't believe that's it. No more school for him. No more lunch bags, no more tuition, no more working on projects and waiting forever for marks. No more any of it. 

It was a wonderful end to a very long day. I worked today and after a two week break all of the plants were half-alive and everything was so grimy. It's an office with crazy windows and a partial atrium ceiling so they have so many tropical plants and yeah...the heat was cranked and the plants were suffering so I turned it way down and gave everything a long drink and then cleaned for a few hours. Then I rushed home because the dog is getting old and having separation anxiety issues and I didn't want him to get too upset and now I'm going to surprise the boys with hot turkey sandwiches and stuffing because there weren't any leftovers after our big Christmas dinner and so I picked up extra and I'm roasting more turkey breast and making gravy and I know they will be excited. Definitely a whole new sort of countdown to longer days, as suddenly the thought of an endless dark January isn't so bad right at this moment.

Twenty Twenty Three.

Have you ever been alone at night
Thought you heard footsteps behind
And turned around and no one's there?
And as you quicken up your pace
You find it hard to look again
Because you're sure there's someone there

 

Never question a princess on whether or not she can competently (and accurately) perform Iron Maiden's Fear of the Dark for an audience. She can and she will because performing is in her blood. Singing is not, especially this genre but I skewed comedic and it held and I had a rousing round of polite and surprised applause. Which is great, because secretly I've been off trying to figure out the lyrics for Halazia (the new Ateez music video) and this had me reaching into the darkest corners of my brain, my fingers trailing lightly over the ghosts the light refused to reveal. 

Iron Maiden remains the singlemost LOUDEST concert I have ever been to. I took earplugs. I was wide-eyed and ringing for days afterward in spite of them, however, but it was fun and I'd do it again. 

I have the tiniest bottle of Piccolo to split with Lochlan on the beach at midnight. The rain is holding off, humanity is ruined, everything's fucked and we'll be standing in the wreckage hoping for a better future, or perhaps amnesia from the past, or something or other. I wrote my resolutions with imposter syndrome and I'll eat them smeared on crow three days from now, having broken every word into matchsticks, as I always do. 

Happy New year.

 

I don't talk shit about you on the internet.

We're having a great time singing along at the top of our lungs with Kelly Clarkson's incredible cover of Happier Than Ever. Oh my God, it's a masterpiece.

Welcome back.

Me, I mean me. 

I have had a great week eating my body weight in chocolates, gin, cheesecake and tourtiere. Turkey, carrots and butterflake rolls. Every time someone walks into this house they bring me a coffee and so I roll through the day into the night and then into the next, wide-eyed, sugar-crushed, Santa-spent and reeling in the glow of our prettiest Christmas decorations, still on the tree.

The weather was bad. So bad. It snowed and snowed and then it rained so hard I thought we would be swept into the sea. I waved to Santa at the mall and he did not see me. Lochlan wanted to make appointments for us to visit with him and I declined. I was tired. I didn't work too hard. I listened to Ali & Theo. I listened to Shostakovich and I put on Ricky Montgomery on for the dog and the dog finally stopped freaking out and fell asleep. 

We changed light bulbs and faucets today. Some were too dim, some too bright. Some faucets were hard to turn, others seized completely. A multi-hundred dollar trip to the hardware store and the assurance of the staff that we wouldn't get a plumber this week left me pointing out that I can do this myself but in the end Lochlan only let me change one of them myself while he and Ben did the others and PJ did two in the next house over, for a case of beer, I think. He came home slightly drunk, anyway. He waited too late to go but we only have one basin wrench so there was no choice in the matter. 

Spinning back toward reason.

If we're counting the days, we've made it to winter solstice. That means the days will soon be getting longer again, and didn't I get a hint of that this morning, as it seemed bright enough to open the window treatments on the main floor around seven this morning, and I don't think that has happened for a while. 

The boys went out to do a coffee run and we've spent the remainder of the day guessing singers from the Youtube Christmas station Google found for us and has been playing ever since. 

Bing Crosby? 

I think so. 

It's Gene Autry.

Wow. I was so off. What the fuck. 

If you knew Gene Autry by sound I would be surprised. He's a bit before your time. 

I didn't know Pentatonix either, if we're being truly honest. I did know Wham, Bruce Springsteen and John Lennon, played in a row and I half-expected Live Aid to round out the segment but then Mariah Carey came on and I realized there's no human plotting these playlists. I would do half-hour themes, mix old and new a little better than they are now and skip the annoying 'classics' that are repetitive and stale. I would mix in songs from other countries and more rare pieces and some classical, maybe some instrumental. I don't know, maybe that's just as flawed as what I'm listening to now, I suppose and we can't all agree on what's good and bad and that's why you can listen for going on ten days now without hearing the same song twice. 

I need to go light the candles and prepare the rituals. They are just rebirths in the starlight, fresh hymns for new seasons, taking deep breaths and exacting gratitude for everything we fought for, and everything we've kept.

My epic tale (for today).

At the edge of the world
Fight the mighty horde
That bashes and breaks you
And brings you to mourn

This morning I am listening to Ayla Nereo alternating with The Arcadian Wild and yet my brain is screaming the lines from Toss a Coin to your Witcher at every pause and it's maddening and it's par for the course, sadly. 

And I don't have any attention issues at all, because there is no attention left to be paid. My debt has been cleared and I've moved on to once again pretending to be functional while I wait for Santa, while I bake endless loaves of Stollen bread, while I wrap the few remaining presents and make white-knuckle drives to the store for provisions, for supplies, for escape. 

We're ready and over the next month we're also hosting some guests but all of that depends on the weather, as it's absolute chaos right now. The mountain highways are the first to check out of reality as people in mclarens with racing slicks try to go to North (or South, or East) and take out everyone else. The boys call it road-bowling as the unprepared drivers hurl themselves into perfectly capable everyone else. I sneak out here and there during less-crowded times, shift into four-high and get where I'm going. Back in the day of my sports cars I would throw eighteen-inch snow tires on and use the skills I learned doing donuts in snowy parking lots as a teenager, as instructed by the boys, since I was the last to get my license and was the most celebrated upon doing so. 

They don't worry about me driving and my Jeep is big enough to push everyone else off the road but they worry about me being trapped in traffic endlessly because roads here are designed to be impassible bottlenecks at the BEST of times and that's dumb too.

Used to be sweet, now I'm just bitter.

Six loaves of bread proofing on the stove this morning, three big crockpots on the go. Beef stew tonight. My recipe, which I won't share and they can't seem to duplicate. It's always almost but not quite. Lo-Fi winter jazz playing through the house thanks to Google being yelled at until he/she got it right. I had it on Shostakovich and it was choosing the most morose pieces I was losing my mind. Then I switched to Ali& Theo and again, the most drag-me-down choices and finally I just said what I thought was the name of my favourite Youtube random snowy cafe jazz music and it was a direct hit. 

Perfect. 

The dog is sleeping on the living room floor, one eye open so he can watch me from there. Cat is playing nearby. She's a little maniac and then she conks out for three hours straight. It's hilarious. 

Duncan is also conked out. He did a coffee run, mine was wrong and had cream in it so I drank as much as I could and had to pour out the remainder, almost half a cup. I can't do it. It tastes bad. I'm actually finding that since contracting covid (in September), things since have a weirdly metallic taste and it's difficult to know if it's the thing or me. 

He felt bad, but not bad enough to stay awake and cut onions so there I was, alone in the kitchen with my intrusive, non-consensual thoughts and my ghosts and my tiny grey and white furry friends.

On bribing PJ to stay up for the 9:45pm Amazon delivery.

I made it. I didn't think I would but then I got sucked into Lookism on Netflix and it's really good and I had a big glass of orange juice to sip so I went to bed just as Amazon sent an email saying that they would try again tomorrow. That my packages aren't coming. That they ran out of time or something. 

And we're doing it all again tonight. 

My orange juice is two ice cubes, a quarter of a glass of actual juice and then water to the top. The undiluted version is so freaking overly sweet and I grew up in a household where my mother mixed orange juice from concentrate and always added a can of water 'extra' to make it go that much further so to me that's what orange juice tastes like only I'm too lazy to mix the cans. I also am criminally short on freezer space and live with several men who think it's a damn shame how I regiment myself. 

Lochlan just wishes I was that sparing with my alcohol. I can drink the whole of a fermented lake. If they added sugar I would be less likely, you know?

All of this wages an ironic war with my love of candy but I clench my teeth at night and they hurt and sugar somehow makes it all worse right now so we are looking at retraining muscles, different pillows, a shit-ton of relaxing techniques and biofeedback and it's maybe ten percent better already. 

Have I finished wrapping? No. Do I care? Of course not. Do I have any motivation? None to be seen for hundreds of miles in any direction, thank you. Just grey clouds, swirling wind and that unravelling striped scarf I keep meaning to fix after it got snagged on the picket fence one late afternoon in November. 

I am not productive in any creative, meaningful way but I'm not procrastinating either. This morning I did the floors and the beds. The whole house minus the downstairs suite but the theatre too. I swept outside and walked the dog and played with the new kitten, a white Bengal that I weighed days on as she was somewhat feral and unfriendly. Only weeks later and she sleeps in Lochlan's lap as long as he's sitting down. Her name is Aurora. She loves the dog. He thinks she's very interesting.

(I was considering getting a Russian Topaz and then Aurora came along and was touted as unfriendly and not a good choice for adoption and so of course we love a challenge and we gambled and won. How often does that happen?)

My fingertips split from the chemicals and from the dry indoor winter air. I still have my job, though I won't be working many more dates this year. I'd like the next ten days to go by quickly so the days will grow even longer after that. I'd like to have more fun and fret less. Yes, I still fret but I don't care about it so does it even count? And I want to find more of this feuerzangenbowle incense because it smells like Christmas, smells like winter in the woods, a bonfire at the far end of the little bridge just over the brook, a place that felt like it was the middle of nowhere but the highway was only a hundred yards away if you kept walking. My tiny little mind and oversized imagination didn't know that and I was raised by the boys to believe if you walked into the woods they would never end and you would just keep walking until you were lost. Now I see that they said that to keep me from going in alone, but what a gamble. I was such a stubborn little girl that I would have done it just to see if they were right or wrong but Lochlan rarely took his eyes off me and never let go of my hand when we were in the woods, as it were. 

I am going to go wrap some presents and listen to some Christmas music, I think. Then I won't feel so bad about the lack of drive or about who has to stay up late and wait for overworked and underpaid couriers.

(The She's So Lucky title from the last post was a line from one of Britney's songs in case you live under a rock. I'm not saying she's actually lucky, to clarify a bunch more.)

Christmas is in full swing here, suddenly. The trees are up and done, the gifts are 99% bought and ready, I just need to wrap the gifts now and find decent Christmas crackers. Six boxes. They all such toy-wise. I need to branch out, perhaps. 

A diamond fell out of one of my bestest rings so that goes in to the jeweller today. It's pouring. Hopefully everyone will stay home. I'm watching Lookism on Netflix. I'm still reading The Night and Her Moon. I'm still listening to everything under the sun and I'm drinking the most amazing gin royal by Compass. It's a beautiful elderflower blue and then it turns pink and then lavender when you pour tonic water into it. No, I'm not supposed to drink and yes, everyone cares but its a couple a week if any. I'm fine.

She's so lucky.

Are we following the Britney Spears drama on TikTok? Should we be? Is there any, actually or is it all made up and spread around like ashes after a wa-

Let me not go there. Not today. Today has been weird enough. 

I'm not Britney. At least one person a day tries to tell me I am but I'm not, sorry (not sorry).

In this hell of a season.

I was going to show you my phone screen from this morning. Forty different alerts from our home security cameras that there was movement on PJ and Duncan (easier to name zones after the boys who inhabit them) and that my TDMySpend categories were through the roof since I spent $3400 yesterday and that was a little more than usual and also I spent specifically a large sum at the music shop and that wasn't included hahaha because it went off the page. It's fine. 

But they talked me out of it because my lock screen is my children's faces and even covered by notifications it wasn't feasible. 

We did decorate today a little. The trees will go up on the weekend but all the garlands and tiny lighted things are everywhere. The wreaths are up. The ancient pocked Santa who sits in the upstairs hallway has arrived and the sled is in the tree out front, above the gates with a spray of LED stars behind it. The reindeer are in the attic storage so we'll get those down on the weekend too. There are three of them. 

It looks vintage and magical, just like I like best. 

Lochlan is singing his most recent favourite, Friday Pilots Club, a song called Would You Mind, and I'm a little weaker in the knees now for it than I was before dark, and I'm not complaining. There are so many I can lean on, lean into, keel over with or simply swoon in the dim lights as the candles drown at the dinner table and the last droplets of wine dry in the throats of the thin glasses we use for every day. 

He will belt it with the passion of a thousand sparks, joined into flame and I swear I've never had eyes for another.

Pretending it's not real.

 They keep taking my internet and then I forget that I wanted to post because the pills are a whole new level of lombotomy-kind, to be truthful and I've said it dozens of times in the past few weeks. I mean to post, I really do. I mean to be reactive and interactive and forthcoming and then I slip. It's like being an addict in a room full of temptations and you should congratulate me because I've avoided saying too much by not saying anything at all. 

Today will be no different, but I did manage to spend today Christmas shopping and I think I've got it all done. 

Almost, anyway. I will finish up this week. 

I was so panicked about it when I woke up and now I suddenly feel like I'm miles ahead. 

It's the latest I've ever gotten underway. I'm saying that a lot about almost everything these days. I appreciate that you are still here. I really do.

Rest in peace, Christine McVie. You were a big part of my tiny, brief childhood and a prolific voice ever since.

Recon, recoup, relax.

I did not get out of bed last week. My mood was bad, my enthusiasm got a failing grade and my smile was in such poor form, if not nonexistent, that I chose to not subject anyone to that crap as it is always a first world problem and I am always the first in my own little world, as it is muffled from yours, silent and still. 

Lochlan spent the first day fretting, the second day yelling, the third day he slumped into his own brief depression and then on Friday he summoned the doctor, who not only gave me more meds but also gave me some meds for the latest round of eczema around my nose, as I get stress induced bumps when it isn't caused by anything and everything else. I look like I have a very bad cold and my nose is raw. Ben called it a must-rash and now we're laughing again but I think it took far too long to pull off and this morning I got out of bed, showered and put on warm clothes and pulled myself the fuck together and woke up Lochlan and suggested we go for brunch so I could hit the ground running. He was so happy I think he cried and then I had to eat my breakfast with my left hand as he came and sat on my side of the booth and never went back to his own, a customary habit long in the making. I am decent with a fork in my left, anyway. I still have both eyes, so that's something. 

That joke is also long in the making. 

I have almost finished the Unabomber miniseries. I'm going to watch everything else in my list this winter and sit by the fire and rake leaves and shovel snow and be productive because that's the point of life. If not you're wasting it.

Those were the orders from Loch, backed up by the whole army. I asked if this plan had a name and he said Operation: Princess.

Cool.

Valentino for the imposter, thank you.

Four plane trips and two attempts at high speed Netflix and I finally finished season 3 of Bling Empire. I don't even know why I watched it, though I was really hoping for Kevin and Kim to finally give in and get together and so the stupid plot device DeVON or whatever seemed so fake. 

Not like any of it was 'real' but that was really disappointing. LOL I love trash television and I get so little of it. Humor me. 

Now I'm going to cry my way through Twentieth Century girl I think, unless I decide to knock off some horror flicks first, but we shall see. Ben is up for anything now that Bling Empire is done. He watched two episodes of it and was horrified. I was like but look at the Chanel dress or the Gucci bag! And he would ask if I wanted one. 

Sigh. That's not the point. 

The point is if I have a bag like that or a dress like that it's a Very Special Occasion. And I have a handful of beautiful bespoke designer pieces but not to wear every day just to go to some sushi joint like they do. Not that I would anyway because I'm not a fashionista or even a wannabe, but I am a huge people watcher and am fascinated by what people do in the wild. 

I watch them in order to become less...feral. I don't know. That's what Christian always said. And ever since he started saying that I see that he's right. I can follow the trend and dress to the nines and look like I am the epitome of self-assuredness or whatever I'm supposed to convey but on the inside is that sticky little wild brat screaming to run free. 

Then again maybe they all feel that way too. I mean all the self-assured folks in their designer outfits. All the confident people strolling into and out of my peripheral vision. Anyone. Everyone. Who knows? No one will tell me either way so I am left to imagine it, as I am with everything in life.

Better.

Caleb pops his head in to where I am lying on the floor in the sun like a cat, the only human characteristics being my headphones, clothes and the fact that I am belting out broken Korean lyrics with all the passion of an accidental tourist because I know like a handful of phrases and that's it. 

I see him and rip the headphones off, ending my singing and he smirks briefly, looking all of twenty. My heart lurches and then slaps itself backwards into next week and I snap involuntarily. 

What. 

I just wanted to say I appreciate your discretion with Samuel and I've also spoken to him about attempting to gain inappropriate time with you. 

ARGHHHH. I pick up my phone without responding and dial Sam, who picks up instantly. 

Bridge. 

Are you okay? Caleb just told me he came for you. 

Huh? He asked a few questions about church and then we talked about maybe getting some Japanese food on the weekend. 

Oh, okay. 

He didn't mention you or our conversation. I was ready for it. Thanks for typing it all out. 

Anytime. K, love. 

Love. 

I hang up. Liar. I go to put my headphones on and he barges right in, taking them out of my hands. 

It was implied-

Yeah, yeah. And what did we say about not interfering? 

What should I do when someone attempts to usurp me? 

Nothing? Unless you're there and even then you do nothing. That's the deal since you hurt Ben. I can handle Sam. 

You could handle Joel too.

Stop it, Cale. I'm having the best Friday and you aren't allowed to ruin it. 

Then I shall leave you to your uh...music. 

Thanks.

Appetite for destruction, I guess.

Sam and I went out for breakfast this morning, a rare getaway with just the two of us since Matt is sleeping in and so is Lochlan, truth be told because it's a hella windy Thursday and we were all up late last night and there are precious few morning people in this household at any given time. I got a text, woke Lochlan long enough to let him now and then let myself into the bathroom to shower quickly and put on warm woolen tights, a wool dress and pearl earrings, which I promptly took off again as I hate how they feel. An extra ring instead made me feel semi-polished and I was off to meet Sam in the driveway where he opened the car door for me and then came around and got in and we were off. No radio, no talking until we were seated at the restaurant and our coffee and drinks order had been taken, with nary a frown made for my request for a mimosa made with grapefruit juice, since coffee alone is static, boring. 

Besides, if you aren't day-drinking are you even having a day?

That isn't funny OR clever, Bridget, Sam says kindly. 

If I had wanted to be funny I would have ordered one for you, too. I mock-glare at him over the rim of my cup. The one downside of this restaurant are the chairs are rather low for shorter folk and so the table hits at chest-height. I stand up, place my bag on the seat and sit on it. Brings me up to above armpit level and I feel more normal. Hahaha. Do I actually? I mean, have I ever? 

Then I realize I could fuck up my phone, key fobs and everything else and slide off it and return to sitting at child leg-swinging height, chin on table top. Well, not actually but it feels close. 

Should we move to a booth? 

Let me test it. I head to a booth but it's not much better. In fact, it's worse, somehow. Great. No, that's fine. 

Excuse me, could we have a cushion? 

Yes, of course. 

They bring a big stiff pillow from the lounge window seats. Nice! Eight going on whatever old I am now. Perfect. A booster seat like the one in my truck. Semi-humiliating but also exceedingly helpful.  

The food arrives and I order another mimosa. It's going to be a long day. Sam eats exactly one quarter of his food before starting in, and I was ready for it. 

About this winter-

Yups.

Bridget-

WHAT. 

Caleb isn't-

Up for discussion? No, he's not. You're right, Samuel. 

He looks at his plate. I spear a piece of roasted potato from it and eat it in spite of having saved all of mine for last. I'm hoarding them to absorb the alcohol. 

Lochlan-

Is fine with it.

Is he? I don't think he is. 

Are you? Because I'm thinking you are not. 

You're very good. 

I nod, no idea at what. 

I am jealous. 

You have Matt. 

I was hoping-

Okay, I think we're ready for the bill. Let's not even go there. If you want a visit here or there just ask me. Don't turn it into something obsessive. I'm the queen of that. Trust me. 

I feel oddly calm and detached, like I'm giving the safety announcement on a plane before takeoff. Put on your oxygen mask before putting the ones on the people you need to help so you can help them, for God's sake and if we go down none of this is going to help whatsoever so good luck and hope you had a nice life. 

(I did, thanks for asking and no thanks to those who fed my overstuffed ego. Or let her drink.)

Wax-sealed (for her pleasur- EW).

We finally got the whisky advent calendars at stores in Canada this year. If we had them before I didn't see them and no one at the stores knew what I was talking about but of course now that I can waltz in and buy one I am balking at the price tag ($336 for 24 30ml drams which isn't even a full shot each) when I can by two bottles of Lagavulin for the same price...ish. 

So that's what I'm going to do. 

Also...climate people...a Klimnt? Are you mad? Stop it. Want to target something? Go glue yourselves to an Amazon warehouse. Average of four trucks a day on my street. It's ridiculous. I still make jokes that I can order 4 things and get 7 deliveries. Even if I check the box that says to wait and deliver it together. 

I should see if they have the advent calendars. Can you order alcohol through Amazon? Should I even look or should I leave that monster in the closet with all of the skeletons?

Waked goods.

How the faces of love have changed turning
The pages
And I have changed oh, but you, you remain
Ageless
I turned around
And the water was closing all around
Like a glove
Like the love that had finally, finally found me
Then I knew
In the crystalline knowledge of you
Drove me through the mountains
Through the crystal-like clear water fountain
Drove me like a magnet
To the sea

Today is decidedly fall-like. PJ snuck some maple rum cream into my coffee, Duncan pretended he didn't see it. Caleb did see it and began to protest before receiving a swift kick under the table to the shins from Ben. The leaves are halfway down now, piled everywhere and I drank my coffee and then went outside to lie in the biggest pile, listening to Stevie Nicks on my air pods, plotting maybe some breakfast when I went back inside, but later and maybe more coffee since I didn't feel awake. The rain threatens but holds, clouds obscuring the blue this morning. Ben came out and threw me off the cliff at nine sharp and then I had to change into dry clothes and suddenly needed woolen tights with my dress and Lochlan's ancient cardigan with the big wood toggles. 

I didn't need any more coffee though. I'm awake. 

I'm awake.

I made eight dozen chocolate chip cookies, boys all but hover-drooling around me as I worked and they quickly volunteered to clean up afterwards while I took a plate of fresh cookies to Batman's. When I left his house Lochlan was waiting by the path. He took my hand and we automatically went the long way, through the grass at the top of the cliff. To the sea. To the sea, I hummed inside my head.

My airpod batteries died hours ago but I can recharge them. I am currently also recharging myself.

Jacob, the elephant in every room, on the lawn, floating in the sea, sitting on a cloud. You name it, I can see him.

A beautiful blonde elephant and I chose not to mark his death or his birthday, though I may have poured a whole scotch into the ground for him right in front of Lochlan but I didn't say anything out loud, I only said it in my head. 

Happy birthday, Pooh. Wish you were still here. 

Fifteen years on and I don't know what to think anymore. It physically hurts to imagine him or think about him or hear his voice and see his face in a video or in my brain. It cuts my heart in half on an hourly basis and I don't know what you want from me, truthfully. I thought I would grieve and then live and move on but I just tuck the grief in under my elbow and go about my day and I'll forget it's there until it falls to the floor and rolls to the centre of the room and then everyone looks at it in horror until I snatch it back up and tuck it back next to my ribcage where my heart lunges for it and just about kills me, every single time. 

It's a giant hole and the boys did an amazing job not filling it but padding the sides so it's like a trampoline I can jump into and then bounce out of again. Lochlan's done an amazing job filling my field of view with his hesitant smile and his huge red curls, his easy hands and endless affection. I never have to ask for a hug or a kiss. My hand is always held. I am always in his arms. He is always right there, keeping his promises safe. 

The pills remain a necessity. With them I am brave. With them I can easily navigate things. I can deal with the thirst, the sudden narcolepsy and the late night wakefulness. I can deal with being benign about everything and emotional about nothing now. It's better than the fear that shadowed me my whole life thus far. I still cry. I still laugh like a teakettle someone forgot about, red in the face, tears streaming. I still feel things but they don't sink me in the quicksand sorrow I swam in daily before. Writing is so hard. Painting is so hard. Creative things are fleeting and difficult to begin but I am still here and before this I didn't want to be, in all honesty. I thought the kids were grown and independent and I could just disappear. I don't want to anymore. Thank the boys for that, they've been working so hard on this and I didn't say much because yet again I thought I would be a dismal failure to everyone. 

Jacob seems happy that it's working. I still look for his approval. I still look for his permission. 

Maybe that will change eventually too.

Am I home? I don't know, check the itinerary. Check the flight. Check the time. Check the gate. Don't check the bags. Check my brain.

Sorry. I know it's Wednesday. We arrived home last night due to a bunch of semi-comical and also tearjerkingly awful delays and we are just in time for storms everywhere, except here. I am happy to be home and I can tell you with great certainty that I am never flying commercial again, if only to erase the horror of listening to some woman chat up a guy so obviously (and he was so oblivious) for seven hours straight without even a fucking BREATH and when they got to zodiac signs and he said he was a Scorpio and she screeched Oh I lovvvve Scorpes! Lochlan and I almost howled out loud with laughter, two rows behind them. 

That almost made up for four hours of misery. Let me tell you. I am five foot nothing and those planes are made for preschoolers. Also people are so entitled. They put their carryons overhead and then proceed to stand there and organize the contents while the lineup grows behind them. Like what the fuck, get it later. SIT DOWN. 

And then when the plane lands? SIT DOWN. GOD. 

Yeah, I can't do it anymore. Call me a carbon slut but don't make me fly with the peasants. 

(Don't worry, I am the original peasant, dirty knees and all. Two dollars in my fist for a coffee and a sandwich, it's the first food I've had all week, thank you.)

(That statement for those who are blissfully unaware of how poor we were and are ready to rake me over the coals I stole to keep warm.)

I walked the empty beaches. I found rocks. I forgot about the rocks and damn near got ROASTED at the airport in security. I ate. I drank. I did not sleep at all and am ruined, mostly. I navigated (!). I cried. I heard bagpipes in person and I paid the piper. I bought silly souvenirs like good tourists do and I may have smuggled so much food home in our luggage we considered throwing away all of our already-worn clothing to accommodate it but in the end we rolled everything tightly and it worked. We had a wonderful week. 

We are exhausted.

We are never doing it again.

God's menu.

Packing for what kind of weather I don't know and he won't say. We leave tomorrow. Tickets in hand. Checking in to a flight tonight for twenty-four hours notice. Going a little crazy but also flying commercial. It's been a while. I am spoilt but I also know I can buy food after security and bring it aboard. Probably water or juice and then drink on the plane. 

Muhahaha. Am I kidding? Of course not. 

Am I crazy? More than a little, but we all know that already. 

Will I miss my boys? Of course but this is a Lochlan-exclusive trip. See you Monday (actually probably Tuesday.)

Jake.

His singing voice kicks into my head every time I stop moving. I've washed all the curtains, radically trimmed the huge tea-rose bushes around the back side of the backyard gate and pet the dog so hard I might have worn a hole in his fur, if not for PJ whisking him out of my arms and telling me I was in need of a good drink or maybe something even better. 

I tried that too. I went to Duncan. Then a night at August's. Then I kept Lochlan and Ben up all night the next night and then I ended up with Caleb because Lochlan and I are going away later this week and he won't see me for a few days so he wanted time. 

It doesn't work, PJ. Pour the drink. 

Get a grip on it, Bridge. It's just the time of year. 

Yes. I know it is. The weather turns cold and dark and rainy. The trees blow hard against their roots, surrendering their leaves the sky and to the earth. The pavement is slick and reflective. The heater comes on. The dog burrows in closer to the abandoned blanket someone left on the couch and my mind instantly flicks a switch on a mechanism slowed by rust from a million oceans of tears. 

The hard part is I don't know what he's singing, and so I catch myself listening. That's always how he ropes me in and one of the reasons I can never get too far from him. Time is not distance, it's just time. Space is meaningless because he follows. Trips are good for fun restaurants and distractions and I think I'll be okay but he'll still be singing, just out of earshot.

Herds and herds of grass-fed bread.

It's raining and cool and I get to have a forbidden glass of red while I make dinner, which tonight is two large down-home turkey, broccoli and pasta casseroles, with a healthy serving of garlic bread. I should just start a garlic bread farm. We go through a lot of it. Like loaves and loaves a week. It goes with everything. It fills up the boys in a season where groceries now cost a third more, which means we're spending close to a thousand dollars a week on food. 

I know that sounds weird. There's a lot of boys in my army. There's a lot of mouths to feed in this Collective. There are a lot of fancy things to be made. 

Like you know, turkey and rotini casserole. With cans of mushroom soup to make gravy and copious sprinklings of salt and pepper. But didn't everyone save for Henry absolutely love it and come back for seconds. It tasted like growing up in the seventies. 

Tonight we're watching the rain roil the sea, enjoying the calm between storms, Ben is off on a tangent, playing Yes' Starship Troopers on a loop, and Lochlan is practicing braiding PJ's hair for Halloween. Caleb has already retired to his rooms as he did not sleep last night, and I am going to watch a few videos on my Youtube feed and then turn in early, I think. It's the most lazy, laid-back Halloween weekend I have ever spent and I am really looking forward to doing absolutely jack-shit. 

I might offer to help Lochlan. It's been a long time since he's done braids. He used to braid my hair for me and then weave them up over my head like a milkmaid. It made him worry less, somehow. 

Getting your hair caught in a ride is the worst thing that can happen at a fair, he said, forgetting it isn't.

No actual spoilers..

We watched Halloween Ends. Or rather, I did. 

Ben gave up and wandered away somewhere in the middle, just when major characters were starting to call each other, and the plot holes of Halloween Kills out on screen. I almost expected a fourth wall moment from Jamie Lee Curtis but instead got what I thought was going to be knitting-needle redemption arc but aw shoot, no such luck. 

And then the credits spooled up and I was profoundly sad, suddenly. Sure it was campy and poetic and existential and downright masturbatory in places but it's also one of my all-time favourite franchises, right down to knowing the difference in movement between James Jude Courtney and Nick Castle. 

(I prefer Nick Castle but I do not prefer to hear the stupid heavy breathing sounds. He shouldn't grunt when he fights, he had almost a supernatural immortality thus far and this is dumb.)

Let's see who pulls out the new direction card next. Gosh I hope it's some insane director like Bernard Rose or Todd Phillips or hell, give it back to Rob Zombie. Or don't and call it a day. Either way the Blue Oyster Cult was a nice touch and it's the first time I managed to see one of these before Halloween instead of after!

If you bought a Camp Crystal Lake sign for your house I already hate you.

It's Sunday and I had hot chocolate and a banana for breakfast but then PJ brought us coffee and muffins so second breakfasts all around. I caught up on my chores and then some, and now I've moved on to things that are regularly ignored. One of the best ways to spend a Sunday is with an ipad with a good movie on it or a book, or both, time-permitting. I might bake some bread but then it will just vanish. Plus my hands and arms are so sore. So, so sore. 

The rain stopped but is due to come back right after dinner tonight so I am debating whether anything needs to be done or brought in outside. I think we're good, honestly and the leaves aren't going to stop for the next six weeks so no rush there. 

I will rake them up before Halloween to minimize slipping, however. Our sidewalk up by the end of the driveway gets very slick though it is supposed to pour rain so we may not even do Halloween. I used to love Halloween but it's exhausting now. It's also that I am sick and tired of bones and black and fire. I'm sick of death. I want earth tones and soft cleansing rains and Hygge. I want cheap decorations to disappear. I want things that are different. 

But like Halloween, it's a stage and it will end and on to the next one. 

Lochlan is plotting a little getaway for us, for fall. He won't tell me much, but said to pack in layers but pack light so I am doing my very best. It's almost two weeks away but it's exciting still. 

Off to finish watching Imitation. Wish it had at least five seasons instead of just one. So good.

Elitist, ignorant, ivory-towered. You pick. I'll wait.

The internet has become my forgotten child, I'm afraid. It's full of such...trash and also the place where all my entertainment comes from. Does that make me trashy? 

Oh, probably. Especially if you ask my readers. Does that include you, specifically? I don't know. I don't look at email these days. My ego is fragile and asleep, woken only if startled, eyes wide in the darkness before pulling the blanket closer and nodding off again. 

I did see that Jacob Hoggard got five years in prison for sexually assaulting women. I read every article that came across the news out loud in the room so that Caleb could pin and then also count his lucky stars. He would get far more than five years and there's no statute on that crime anymore here. 

But I also would have ratted him out years before if I was ever going to at all. The news just reminds him to be grateful and relieved. 

In other news I spent the night with Duncan. We were watching movies and I couldn't stay awake and so he tucked me in and left and slept on the couch in their living room. So I guess I should say I spent the night at his place (downstairs in my house) and not with/with him. Lochlan came down in the morning and was pleasantly surprised, since at the very least if I'm not going to get a black mark for the week on my Good Bridget chart I will be used as a human body pillow and snuggled to pieces. This time it was neither. 

It's raining this morning. Finally. I regret everything. It's dark and miserable but also infinitely cozy. This is what Pacific northwest dreams are made of. No more wildfire fears. No more brown grass and wilted plants. No more thirsty trees. 

Of course, now the floods will come because the ground is bone-dry, compacted and unable to absorb anything. This should be interesting. It doesn't flood where we are, just seemingly everywhere else. 

Sea lions on the beach this morning and so we couldn't go down. Sad. They are the size of my Jeep sometimes and so I don't bother them. Also animals are faster than you think if you are too close. Google a video of a bear chasing someone and you'll see. Fucking fast.

But the BEST news this morning? They're going to open the vehicle lanes back up in Stanley Park, since the park board is ABC-led now (the slate that got elected and have the mayorship, council and park board) and that is amazing (Note: I don't live in Vancouver, proper). Bicycle riders have the whole seawall and they can ride on the road as well, not sure why they pushed to have yet another lane. There's a very weird vibe in Vancouver where super-rich people who live right downtown in skyrise condominiums and bike everywhere or walk want to gatekeep the city by keeping out vehicles. I guess they want rickshaws delivering goods and supplies or something. They were trying to toll downtown, hospitals and all, and the park was a huge polarizing fight over the past few years. 

It was those people versus everyone else and I guess majority rules. But I will be glad to see the park open and less traffic getting in and faster to get around and then zip, over the Lions Gate bridge toward home. Yay!

A house around the sea.

Yes, I know I have to vote. As soon as Henry is up and dressed so around noon or one or something. He promised to go with me today but said he wouldn't get up early to do it. Ruth said she'll do it after work. I am trying to raise civic-minded people who make an effort to at least elect the people who align with their own thoughts on infrastructure, development, recreation, trails and property taxes. It will be important later. For now it is learning. 

Also the boys. They are being taught as well. They are not as civic-minded but they also bitch and winge about traffic and development and trails and taxes so BOOM. VOTE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

In the meantime, I did all of the winterizing, or as much of it as I could do over the past week. Cutting back plants, taking down hoses and covering the spouts. I'll turn off the inside valves before it gets really cold. I will leave the one hose out by the side door due to it being where I clean my tools and buckets from throwing clay. The clay goes into the garden and I get clean tools and I don't have to worry about the plumbing. 

I brought in cushions off the patio and took down some of the more delicate globe lights. I put the cut plants in the mulch pile. I raked up the garden beds and flattened them out. I covered the little baby cement fountain that lives in the orchard and Lochlan has already put another coat of clear stain on the swing to protect it from the eventual rains. I pulled up the big stepping stones and stacked them in a pile at the edge of where the grass turns to soil and I harvested the remaining rosemary that I want with a plan to plant holy basil all along the path next year and leave the path in forever. We change the pattern in order to maximize nutrients and grow things in different places. It's a weird habit but if you've ever grown corn you know that some things suck the life out of the soil, and some things suck the life out of the soil around everything else too so I try to rotate crops, as it were. 

I will watch the temperatures and do the remaining things just before it all gets really cold. They are covering the pool today and by that I mean the motorized walls that slide back are being slid closed today and the pool becomes a snowglobe for the next six or seven months. We can still use it but it's not half-outside any more. They are also servicing the outside gas oven and the sauna and the hot tub and everything will be spickity-span for winter. We want it all done so we don't have to do it later, drought be damned. 

The rain is out there. I know it. Climate change doesn't happen this fast. We just had a period of strange record-breaking weather and then it will return to the previous way it was. Wet and dim and mossy and gorgeous. 

We also are moving slowly. Recovering from the headache and stomach-ails of eating questionable Thai food last night. I made Pad Kra Pao from scratch and I probably shouldn't have. Haha. It tasted almost as good as the real thing but also nothing like the real thing. At least I tried.

Whoops.

I grabbed a bunch of the non-civic-minded boys from here and walked up the hill this morning in the endless dry heat to vote at the local school in our advance polls and sure enough, advance voting ended last night at 8pm. 

Now we have to do it all again tomorrow. 

Remind me next election to go vote on the first day early voting is up. What a pain in the arse.

Also it is supposed to be 25 degrees this weekend. No rain, records being broken all over the place. I hate this weather. I am always sweaty. Also if you throw your cigarettes out the car window fuck you. There's a fire up the hill from me. Everything is tinder-dry. Sirens all damn day.

Fighting.

They found Jaqui McDermott's remains and we are left to speculate on whether she gave up and ended her own life or fell off a cliff or got eaten by a bear or what, since there was no 'criminality' involved. They used to say 'foul play' but maybe that's out of fashion now, or someone got offended by the use of the word 'play' to describe monstrous things. Either way I know her family is hurting and life sucks so badly sometimes but then you see a beautiful sunset or hear a great new song and three minutes go by and you forget you're hurting but then you remember again. Eventually three minutes becomes three hours becomes three days becomes three weeks becomes three months..

And that's where it stops, I think. I don't go three months without thinking of Jacob or Cole, even as I launch into this season of misery, grifting happiness from anyone who doesn't have their nailed down. Less than four weeks and we would have been planning a birthday party. Less than four weeks and we would have been marvelling at seventeen years together and wondering where the time went. 

The time is quicksand and I am up to my neck, as ever. You can still save yourself if you're only in it up to your chest, because you can use your arms. I am shorter and my arms are as mired as my legs. I am a statue made of grief, the hardest substance known to man, but also the most brittle. If the wind blows the wrong way I will shatter and dissolve into this mud, never to be seen again. 

That's what grief does and I hope it never finds you. 

I'm really having a hard time being online. I'm having a hard time with everything. I am so drugged out of my mind here it's hard to decide on a juice when I open the fridge and so I just default to grapefruit, every single day. Every day is a mindless float on an air mattress in a pool of my own nightmares and I don't know when it's time to go. 

That's all. I don't know how to respectfully decline. I don't know how to convince the ghosts to leave, that the dinner party is over and I want to go to bed. I don't know how to stop it. I just don't know.

Blademommer.

It's definitely a full moon around here. 

Everyone drives like a maniac on the highways. Everything just feels sinister and off today somehow.

I got sucked down a rabbit hole reading about all the missing people in the BC triangle, especially in light of the missing woman in Merritt. She's Ruth's age. I'm watching for any news like a hawk. I want everyone under forty to just swallow an air tag and be done with it. We need to know where you all are. At least with Ruth and with Henry they check in when they arrive where they were going and they let me know when they're leaving and Ruth lets me know she made it home as well, since I don't actually see her arrive home. Maybe it's helicoptery but I'd rather see them safe than missing. I don't think my heart could take it. My heart goes out to Jaqui McDermott's family, I hope she is found safe and sound, and soon. 

Back to reading about scary things. It's easy to do when I am locked in my house with an army. I consider myself incredibly lucky for that, as I know so many people don't have a place that is safe.

If you haven't read about Jaqui, go and find the news articles, find the social media posts and share share share, especially if you are here in BC. If you are not, then just pray for her. Thank you.

Amuse-bouche (and intact).

The Devil decided to take his due while I was down for the count. I felt awful all week and so Caleb took it upon himself to fix that, and I was installed in his bed, air conditioning on full blast, blankets piled high. I had drugged sleep for most of my week, waking to eat Thai food and drink mimosas (which don't go together, unless you're sick, frankly) and text with Lochlan. Caleb sent for the doctor who brought vitamin shots and an iv of fluids for a couple of hours, and then I slept some more. In the evenings we watched every Texas Chainsaw Massacre film we could conjure from streaming sites and then I dreamt sporadically. No nightmares. Just Lochlan in my head.

When I was returned yesterday, still not feeling super-great but not willing to spend any more time away, Lochlan was happy to see me, though you'd never know it, as he was silent right up until I pointed out that I had had my fill of Leatherface and he started laughing and did not stop for an inappropriate amount of time. I thought it was relief at first.

I figured that would happen eventually. I like the new nickname. 

And then I realized I hadn't told him what movies we watched.

Spiked.

My sushi came in contact with shellfish tonight so I ate and then lost all the feeling in my face and it turned bright red and swelled up a little. I went and washed it and washed my hands and brushed my teeth and held a hot hot washcloth over it for a few minutes until it started to feel less fiery. Then I laid out the box of Benadryl and pointed out my allergy to the boys just in case it got worse. Luckily it was short-lived so probably crab. I'm allergic to crab. 

I still eat it but only once in a blue moon. 

I also had a ripping good gin and tonic after a pretty nice day today. I went shopping. I did some errands. I trimmed some bowls. I got my covid shot, which hopefully is no relation to the crab thing. But you never know. My arm hurts a lot. 

I watched Dahmer. It was bad. So bad. Evan Peters is great, I love him but this was just bad. Maybe I'm icked out by serial killers from my own more recent lifetime and happier to stick with the shadowy ones from the seventies. Which is fine, as the best part of the show was watching 'Jeff' mopping in the prison floor while watching live television footage of John Wayne Gacy's execution by lethal injection. The irony of that was a bit jarring. The show itself was dull. Kind of like a badly-executed The Joker without the in-your-face insanity and undercurrent of evil. Jeff seemed like a misunderstood kid. It was bad. 

Hoping for better tonight. All the shows lately have been such turkeys.

(Shallow graves and deepest fears Someone tell me why I'm here).

 Dear lord. I don't think I'll make it through this album. This is the new Slipknot (The End, So Far). It's somewhat like a warm bath.They always have been. Familiar but more. Always love them. Love their masks, love the whole angry scary vibe that is pretty mellow IRL. Like all my boys. An easy choice. But their slow songs eviscerate me and maybe they always will. They seem to find a heart string and pluck it so hard it breaks and you're left out of tune.

Adderall is the hardest one here. Fight me. Softest actual melody but most difficult to listen to, I mean. 

Today I again am noticing huge blocks of time slipping by. I need to be better with time management here, as it keeps coming up on days after I write instead of hours and I keep promising to change but I am doing my best. I am still waiting for the terror to stop, still amused that I can drive myself into the ground physically here and have no concept of repair. I still hope for miracles that have been long cancelled and I vow to make the most of this even as I am paralyzed by it. 

My nails are too long. I can hardly type. I keep nicking the bowls I am waiting to trim. But I don't care, either. We managed to get our Covid vaccine appointments in a big block at an unfamiliar pharmacy for this Saturday so I expect everyone will spend Sunday sleeping, as always. I am trying to pregame the chores, thus and am defrosting the stupid freezer so we can fix it tonight. Got the part, just have to stick it on. Fun. 

Then mowing and landscaping. My arms are killing me so I'm sure I'll be left out of the fun but I have things I want to do towards winter and the boys don't prepare as much. 

I'm also going to drop everything and watch Dahmer this afternoon. I think Dalton is going to join me. Andrew said he might too. Friday afternoon cinema. I got an email about advance tickets for Halloween Ends and I'm on the fence. Evil dies tonight was a lie, I guess. Mike Myers never dies and I will be enraged if he walks away at the end but also enraged if they finally kill him. So no one wants to take me to the show. I will make Lochlan do it. He was there at the start. We have to see this thing through.

The antithesis of Diabhal (career version).

It's the season of sweaters in the morning and barely anything in the afternoon since it's gotten to twenty-five degrees just about every day. Three months without more than a day of meaningful rain. Three months of unbearable heat. A long stretch of being miserable in my own skin and I am tired. Today I walked around in a long fuzzy pink duster cardigan and combat boots. More than one comment asked me if I was wearing anything underneath and I gave wrong answers only, just for funsies. 

My head hurts. 

I worked yesterday (in proper clothes). All paperwork and filing and then a last minute run to get coffee and sweetener for the break room which is really a small side table outfitted with warm bottles of water, a big ancient Keurig and two cups filled with powdered creamer and powdered aspartame. 

This lawyer has no airs. Zip. Zero. No people skills either. Usually the lawyers are smooth and charming and try to invite me out for drinks or at least buy me dinner but this one asked if I had a Per Diem in my contract and then pushed his glasses up his face and frowned at his computer again. I offered to get him a coffee and he laughed and told me to close the door on the way out. He was not supposed to be there but at the same time it was easier to have direction from the horse's mouth, so I knew exactly what had to be done and it seems to be some of everything. 

But there were fumes in the building and the printing was small on all the pages and I had breakfast but no lunch and therefore, headache. 

And there was an extra twenty dollar on my pay for that lunch, just to be sure. 

I might go back next week. We shall see!

Last minute/ice crystals.

I got cold feet last night, weirded out by all the early storm reports from my beloved East Coast and almost at the same time a gradual frost hardened Lochlan's heart, insulating him from whatever generosity he felt briefly flitting past us, a spectre of a time when we tried to find a warm place on a cold point. 

Tell him it's off. A quiet command from the dark of the front porch. It gets dark before I can bring my tea out now, later than ever due to a last moment freezer-defrost which caught me by surprise. The fridge is technically broken but parts have been ordered and honestly we don't need either a water dispenser nor do we need an ice maker and if this doesn't get fix on the first go I'm never buying a huge expensive fridge again as the ones that are white and have a tiny freezer up top never ever break and this is the second time we've had to fix this one. At least the boys are handy. At least the parts are plentiful. But talk about badly made. Holy shit. 

So at ten pm after many delays I cancelled on Caleb who said it was my call, and that he understood, no pressure and another time. I'll see him at brunch tomorrow. He'll miss me but one drink has sent him and he's going to sleep anyway. That he loves me. 

I replied with a heart and breathed a sigh of relief. My bread stayed frozen. The big freezers outside took the bulk of what I had on hand and I am so tired suddenly. I just want my tea and a deep breath. We sat on the swinging double chair and I had both. 

I already did. 

An inaudible, barely noticeable breath held and then Lochlan nods in my peripheral vision. 

Smart, Peanut. I don't think I'm ready to be without you again. 

Then don't be. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes and I woke up this morning to the sun. 

Blood of my bl- Enemies? Yes, that's it.

I had a long weekend planned with Caleb. Well, Friday afternoon to Sunday morning. We were going to marathon horror movies and eat take-out Chinese food and not leave his wing, enjoying the rare rain and a bit of a break before the fall routine sets in. Today is the first day of fall and there is lots to do on the horizon. 

And then my period started. That stupid thing I haven't had to deal with in over four months returned triumphantly like a toxic aunt from an overseas sojourn. I was stunned, frankly. I thought it was done forever. And now I'm back to square one and enjoying an endless hot flash. I've sweat through three outfits already and my whole week is off the rails now. 

Let's reschedule. I found Caleb on the porch. I put my hands over his forehead and leaned way over his shoulder and he pulled me right off my feet and into his lap. I might have kicked him good in one ear in the process but if I did he didn't notice. 

Why, Neamhchiontach? Loch having second thoughts?

I tell him what's happened and he looks concerned. 

Been a while. 

Yes. 

Interesting how it comes back the minute we are together again. 

Oh, you're right. Weird. 

No, evil, remember? He smiles. Amused but not deterred. 

So maybe next weekend instead? Since this throws a huge wrench into our plans?

Who said that? It's fine. We're still on. 

Then the wicked smile plays across his face and the reasons why I run from him flickered across my memories, reflected in his medium blues. 

It might even make things more fun.

The horror queen is coming back. Even PJ bailed on me for this one.

Ooh. The boys were watching Cyberpunk tonight and last night and I didn't have much interest in it so I stayed upstairs by the fire and rewatched Children of the Corn. Yes, the original. From 1984 (it's on Youtube even!) which was the summer I was thirteen and I ran around all of the rest of that year calling Lochlan Malachai whenever he got mad because of the red-hair similarity. 

Wow. That movie did not pass the test of time. The most glaring hardship being Linda Hamilton playing a damsel in distress (badly, too). And Peter Horton's Nike colour change halfway through. And Isaac being the roadmap for the kid who would later play Joffre in Game of Thrones. Creepily similar.

I had forgotten all about the ridiculous fire-monster-god-thing that bubbled up when the whole mess was solved, not with a Molotov cocktail, but with a Molotov cocktail thrown in the right direction. 

Disappointed? Maybe a little bit. 

Damn.

Oh my god. My brain is a blunt object these days.

Since we're on Pacific time I missed the funeral. I don't sleep so purposefully waking up at all hours when there will be days of minute recap to come would be foolhardy. 

Also, I don't really like funerals but I see that the queen had a good send off and that's the important part, I guess. I wish they'd let Harry wear his uniform. He still served, whether he's a working royal or not. So dumb. I also think if he had married Chelsea instead he would still be a working royal. 

Just dumb commonwealth thoughts, I suppose. 

I mopped today. I got the boys out of my hair, sending them out to pull down vines and cut down spent plants for the year and work on finishing the back and I did the carpets, then swept the floors and then mopped and did a deep clean. I contemplated adopting a cat or two. I am shooting for maybe after Christmas with that. Maybe not but it's good to have a loose plan, as I have said many times before. Something to look forward to? A reward? A new companion to love on? The dog has never had so much attention in his life, and today I even rubbed coconut oil on his little toe beans so they will be conditioned and nice going into the cold weather. It feels like fall but this week is supposed to be hot still. I did a lot toward shifting the house to the fall and winter season. We winterize and cover things, we take in fragile glass lanterns and string lights that won't survive the rainy season as much as the box says they should, we swap fans for thick blankets flung on the backs of chairs or couches and we start taking inventory on firewood. 

We get a new furnace filter. 

We will soon bring in the hoses and turn off the valves to outside and we will wear sweaters and pants. I feel like I spent the whole summer in one outfit. I feel like I couldn't go outside much because it was so hot and now soon it will be wet and cold. I have to enjoy this time in the middle before it's too late. 

I will try.

Employee #1.

I got a joooooobbbb. 

Again! 

Ha.

No coffee shop bullshit this time. Just pure one day a week executive management and organization. So I will clean/stock/file and organize. This person is a friend of Batman's, it's safe and they want someone they can trust, the pay is really good, I can bring my own playlist and it's time alone to sing, scrub, think and neaten a three-room office and then I can clock out when I am done. There are plants to look after and supplies to pick up. There are fun perks. There is just enough to make me feel useful without much pressure or a huge time commitment. I love it. I hope I love it, I mean but even if I last one single winter it will be nice. 

Lochlan is on the fence. He worries when I leave the house. He tells me I can bail on it any time I want. He is thinking it's unnecessary but he's wrong and I need the confidence and the satisfaction of a job well done. I need to be out of the house so I can appreciate it. I need to show even him that this is a cool thing.

I don't know when I start. Maybe this week, maybe next but I will still be around. 

Wish me luck. The 'friend' of Batman's is a known as a tough customer but they called me a 'doll' (sounds familiar) and I think that's a good sign. Or maybe a red flag. Naw, he won't be there when I am. The office is closed early in the week.