So Jeremiah Johnson turned out to be a beautifully rendered, seventies edition of Legends of the Fall. It was really good. I was a whole ten minutes into it when the time frame shifted and Bob appeared with a full beard and longer, messier hair and I just about fell off the couch. He looked exactly like Jacob. It was a little bit unreal.
Now I see what the fuss was about, why everyone wanted me to see the movie when it came out on TV. And when Jacob came home and I mentioned it he just laughed and said if he cut his hair and shaved every day people think of him as Redford's character in Barefoot in the Park and so it's better for them to liken him to the half-crazy fur trapper living in the woods who does what needs to be done. The guy everyone reveres and no one will mess with.
He's probably right.
In any event, at least no one calls him Sundance. The mustache with the beard is cool, but the mustache alone just looks strange on Redford, kind of like it does on Jake.
I'm on a mission now to watch the future! So I have to hunt down the rest of Bob's newer movies. I've seen Indecent Proposal seventy million and one times and we don't joke about it. We lived it instead. Only I did it for less than a million dollars and there was an alternate ending.
Shhh.
Sunday 21 January 2007
Saturday 20 January 2007
Checking off a list.
I'm fine, really. I'm sort of okay if you don't dig very deep.
And I have a date tonight with Bob.
Four messages on my answering machine telling us we have got to watch Jeremiah Johnson on AMC tonight. No one said why. But they said not to Google it so I can't even link you.
Which is funny, I'm a huge fan of Robert Redford (not just because of the resemblance to Jacob, or is it vice versa?) but I've avoided a few of his movies because they were older and maybe the subject matter seemed unappealing. Fur trapping? Wilderness? Naw, I'll pass.
I'll watch it and see. Kind of bizarre, the enthusiasm for this one though. Sam said it was the 35th anniversary of the movie and it has been restored. He's all excited for me to see it but he wouldn't tell me why.
Saturday night fur trapping movies. Yeehaw. Not like we had any plans because Jacob has to work tonight and is on call but still.
So I can bury myself in blankets and absorb into a movie and pretend that life is like it is in the movies because I like it that way.
And I have a date tonight with Bob.
Four messages on my answering machine telling us we have got to watch Jeremiah Johnson on AMC tonight. No one said why. But they said not to Google it so I can't even link you.
Which is funny, I'm a huge fan of Robert Redford (not just because of the resemblance to Jacob, or is it vice versa?) but I've avoided a few of his movies because they were older and maybe the subject matter seemed unappealing. Fur trapping? Wilderness? Naw, I'll pass.
I'll watch it and see. Kind of bizarre, the enthusiasm for this one though. Sam said it was the 35th anniversary of the movie and it has been restored. He's all excited for me to see it but he wouldn't tell me why.
Saturday night fur trapping movies. Yeehaw. Not like we had any plans because Jacob has to work tonight and is on call but still.
So I can bury myself in blankets and absorb into a movie and pretend that life is like it is in the movies because I like it that way.
Friday 19 January 2007
Threats and promises.
Dollface, you'll never be in control of your life.
Cole used to say that to me. Too often. He was an in-charge type of absent in which he had final say and I did all the legwork and if I fumbled somewhere along the way he would simply reiterate that this was why he was in control, so that he could control me. Convince me I was useless.
Scathing, burning memories on a day when the sky is that milky grey it turns to just before the snow starts and I miss him.
His presence in my life was so prolific and predictable and constant it's still hard not to look around for him or to wait for him sometimes. When I have to make a decision I wonder what he would do. I miss the way I was able to get my way with him with a few big crocodile tears. Cole would drop everything and positively crumble when I cried, save for a few very violent occasions. His world ended when I was that upset, he much preferred me to be vaguely unsettled and permanently frail, in his debt. He wanted me to need him and so I did and I learned to rely on some phenomenally destructive personality quirks that grew into a wholly immature adult woman incapable of not needing a man around to be In Charge.
On days like these I wonder if he's cold and that's dumb.
Dammit, the rambles are loose. Ignore it all. Or don't. I don't care. It's not going to be a happy blog. I don't do happy blog, okay? I need help.
So why do I miss Cole when it snows? I really don't have an answer. Considering all of our anniversaries and good memories are during warmer seasons. All of the bad memories are from those same seasons, too. He even died in the summer, during one of the hottest weeks on record. Maybe it's because I can't get away from him. He chases me through my dreams every night, he's woven firmly into my memories and good or bad, I can't erase him from my past because I have his living reminders here. Reminders that he did love me even though he couldn't show me in any sort of acceptable, peaceable way. Reminders that his legacy will do better than he did and that we survived his madness. Or did we?
Reminders that he made threats and they're all going to come true even though he's dead. A promise that I will never be allowed to deal with any of this because Jacob won't allow it. He would prefer to continue to pretend that Cole never existed, except to the kids. He has all the time in the world to talk with the kids about Cole, and not even one single second to talk with me about Cole. And that is why they're doing well with it and I am not.
It's been six months and I haven't been permitted to grieve. Ever. I've been led firmly, one hand on my back, pushed through decisions and plans and memorials and I can stand here and say I hated him for what he did to me but..
I don't.
So it would be a lie.
And Jacob doesn't like lies.
Cole used to say that to me. Too often. He was an in-charge type of absent in which he had final say and I did all the legwork and if I fumbled somewhere along the way he would simply reiterate that this was why he was in control, so that he could control me. Convince me I was useless.
Scathing, burning memories on a day when the sky is that milky grey it turns to just before the snow starts and I miss him.
His presence in my life was so prolific and predictable and constant it's still hard not to look around for him or to wait for him sometimes. When I have to make a decision I wonder what he would do. I miss the way I was able to get my way with him with a few big crocodile tears. Cole would drop everything and positively crumble when I cried, save for a few very violent occasions. His world ended when I was that upset, he much preferred me to be vaguely unsettled and permanently frail, in his debt. He wanted me to need him and so I did and I learned to rely on some phenomenally destructive personality quirks that grew into a wholly immature adult woman incapable of not needing a man around to be In Charge.
On days like these I wonder if he's cold and that's dumb.
Dammit, the rambles are loose. Ignore it all. Or don't. I don't care. It's not going to be a happy blog. I don't do happy blog, okay? I need help.
So why do I miss Cole when it snows? I really don't have an answer. Considering all of our anniversaries and good memories are during warmer seasons. All of the bad memories are from those same seasons, too. He even died in the summer, during one of the hottest weeks on record. Maybe it's because I can't get away from him. He chases me through my dreams every night, he's woven firmly into my memories and good or bad, I can't erase him from my past because I have his living reminders here. Reminders that he did love me even though he couldn't show me in any sort of acceptable, peaceable way. Reminders that his legacy will do better than he did and that we survived his madness. Or did we?
Reminders that he made threats and they're all going to come true even though he's dead. A promise that I will never be allowed to deal with any of this because Jacob won't allow it. He would prefer to continue to pretend that Cole never existed, except to the kids. He has all the time in the world to talk with the kids about Cole, and not even one single second to talk with me about Cole. And that is why they're doing well with it and I am not.
It's been six months and I haven't been permitted to grieve. Ever. I've been led firmly, one hand on my back, pushed through decisions and plans and memorials and I can stand here and say I hated him for what he did to me but..
I don't.
So it would be a lie.
And Jacob doesn't like lies.
Play dead, Bridget.
Bridget loves George.
Did I mention how cool was George Stroumboulopoulus' shirt on a few weeks back on The Hour? Well it was awesome, and with PLAY DEAD written across the back in huge gothic letters and an adorable tiny skull on the front it was bound to catch the eye of Bridget's hushed inner gothic princess, who promptly dragged Jacob in by the TV to see it. He liked it. I'm buying him one.
I found the company quickly, Play Dead Cult clothing. I have to get Loch to seek out the actual shirt as it wasn't on their website - he has all kinds of time to run wild goose chases down in hot potato town, right?
Of course he will for me.
For Valentine's Day, which is just about a week after the noted day on which Jake and I will have been married for six whole months. Where in the heck did the time go?
Did I mention how cool was George Stroumboulopoulus' shirt on a few weeks back on The Hour? Well it was awesome, and with PLAY DEAD written across the back in huge gothic letters and an adorable tiny skull on the front it was bound to catch the eye of Bridget's hushed inner gothic princess, who promptly dragged Jacob in by the TV to see it. He liked it. I'm buying him one.
I found the company quickly, Play Dead Cult clothing. I have to get Loch to seek out the actual shirt as it wasn't on their website - he has all kinds of time to run wild goose chases down in hot potato town, right?
Of course he will for me.
For Valentine's Day, which is just about a week after the noted day on which Jake and I will have been married for six whole months. Where in the heck did the time go?
Thursday 18 January 2007
Glowbug.
I just noticed how early it is. We've been up since 5. No running today, for the man of the house had other plans.
Jacob dusted off his hammer this morning and tore the back porch to shreds. Shreds. Right down to the insulation. He and PJ are installing new drywall later today and then he's going to build a bigger coat closet, cubby-holes for the kids with hooks to hang their coats and backpacks and then on the other side he's putting in another bathroom and some cabinets that will house the pet food and all the recycling bins, out of site.
He loves doing this stuff. He even had some extra tin-punched insert cabinet doors shipped up from the cottage work so he could tie it all in.
It's going to look amazing once we dig out from under all this sawdust and drywall dust. Which is now tracked from the back door all the way up the stairs.
But a nicer, functional and warmer back porch will be wonderful so I'm not complaining.
Jake wants me to paint the floor, as long as it isn't plain. Which was almost the coolest idea ever. A floor mural. A scene painted directly on the floor and then sealed with many coats of varnish to protect it. I've planned to do a forest scene with a lake with owls and the moon and stars which will be done with glow in the dark and sparkly highlights. All dark blues and greens and rich browns. It'll be amazing. Bats, hidden bunnies, moonflowers and pond lilies.
Maybe you'll even get a picture of it. Cole wasn't the only painter in the group.
I sketched a quick representation of it and Jacob went and bought all the paint for me last night. I can't start for a couple of weeks, until the rest of the room is finished, but it gives me something fun to look forward to and our house remains unique but is brought up to date because that porch was probably the worst room in the house. When we moved in Cole and I ripped up the old carpet and tore out the old cabinetry and then dropped it. It was a shell that was used simply to keep the heat in the house while we came in and out.
Now it's going to be a neat place to enter into our home. Full of love. Full of kids-little and big.
Edit: There seems to be a proliferation of flannel and toolbelts going on around here. It's hot. Or maybe I have inhaled way too much sawdust.
Jacob dusted off his hammer this morning and tore the back porch to shreds. Shreds. Right down to the insulation. He and PJ are installing new drywall later today and then he's going to build a bigger coat closet, cubby-holes for the kids with hooks to hang their coats and backpacks and then on the other side he's putting in another bathroom and some cabinets that will house the pet food and all the recycling bins, out of site.
He loves doing this stuff. He even had some extra tin-punched insert cabinet doors shipped up from the cottage work so he could tie it all in.
It's going to look amazing once we dig out from under all this sawdust and drywall dust. Which is now tracked from the back door all the way up the stairs.
But a nicer, functional and warmer back porch will be wonderful so I'm not complaining.
Jake wants me to paint the floor, as long as it isn't plain. Which was almost the coolest idea ever. A floor mural. A scene painted directly on the floor and then sealed with many coats of varnish to protect it. I've planned to do a forest scene with a lake with owls and the moon and stars which will be done with glow in the dark and sparkly highlights. All dark blues and greens and rich browns. It'll be amazing. Bats, hidden bunnies, moonflowers and pond lilies.
Maybe you'll even get a picture of it. Cole wasn't the only painter in the group.
I sketched a quick representation of it and Jacob went and bought all the paint for me last night. I can't start for a couple of weeks, until the rest of the room is finished, but it gives me something fun to look forward to and our house remains unique but is brought up to date because that porch was probably the worst room in the house. When we moved in Cole and I ripped up the old carpet and tore out the old cabinetry and then dropped it. It was a shell that was used simply to keep the heat in the house while we came in and out.
Now it's going to be a neat place to enter into our home. Full of love. Full of kids-little and big.
Edit: There seems to be a proliferation of flannel and toolbelts going on around here. It's hot. Or maybe I have inhaled way too much sawdust.
Wednesday 17 January 2007
Keys.
I think I'm done with my tantrum. You said what Jacob said. Ignore the bad, or take what you need and leave the rest.
I deleted all of the bad from my email and I felt somewhat better. It's kind of like therapy, being forced to admit your mistakes over and over again, being judged for doing all of it ass-backwards and having everything go wrong all at once. I quit therapy, remember?
And I'm on edge anyway. So much stuff, and it never stops.
But I'll be alright. Eventually. And I know it's hard to read here, it's certainly not the most uplifting journal in the world unless you can somehow pick your way past the difficult parts and predict the future for me. That's what I hold out for.
Sometimes everything is wrong. Sometimes it's so perfect I can't see straight. Days like that I fall to my knees and thank God. I am safe and I am loved and the kids are wonderfully resilient and loved and provided for and I can't ask for more.
I'll try to make it a little better, I've still got so much to work on and this is where I sort it all out, so it will take a little time, we all know how slow I am to do things.
So we need a little light.
I've got a little here and I'm using it.
I deleted all of the bad from my email and I felt somewhat better. It's kind of like therapy, being forced to admit your mistakes over and over again, being judged for doing all of it ass-backwards and having everything go wrong all at once. I quit therapy, remember?
And I'm on edge anyway. So much stuff, and it never stops.
But I'll be alright. Eventually. And I know it's hard to read here, it's certainly not the most uplifting journal in the world unless you can somehow pick your way past the difficult parts and predict the future for me. That's what I hold out for.
Sometimes everything is wrong. Sometimes it's so perfect I can't see straight. Days like that I fall to my knees and thank God. I am safe and I am loved and the kids are wonderfully resilient and loved and provided for and I can't ask for more.
I'll try to make it a little better, I've still got so much to work on and this is where I sort it all out, so it will take a little time, we all know how slow I am to do things.
So we need a little light.
I've got a little here and I'm using it.
Rootless forest.
You got it wrong. All wrong.
Weren't you paying attention? Or did you skim through a few entries and decide you knew me better than I know myself, than my own husband knows me, or Cole or eight different doctors and therapists and counselors. Or my goddamned friends?
So many nasty, unbelievably off-base emails I am considering just taking this down forever, or making it private or just deleting the whole fucking thing. Or maybe I could take off the email but sometimes I get amazing letters of encouragement from people who have been where I am, who know what the fuck they're talking about instead of projecting their useless bitterness on to me out of spite. The wonderful, beautiful souls have left their names, they're written many times, they give a shit.
If you don't give a shit about me then leave me alone. Why waste your time?
It seems pretty simple.
Oh and I know my world is small and yes, right now it revolves around ME, while I struggle to not alienate my brand new husband or fuck up his life, while I comfort my kids who miss their dad and struggle through holidays and they can't understand where exactly he is or why he is dead and why Mommy sometimes can't explain it, or why she cries when she thinks about him. Or how to keep moving forward when I'm in this Quaalude fog that never ends but if I leave the fog I might just simply kill myself if I get low enough and I can't let these three people down. I made this bed.
So fuck you too.
I've had enough.
But I'm not taking it down because the accountability close to home is something I need right now.
And for the record, I don't have him wrapped around my finger. Jacob's had a thing for me for years and I fell for him right back, I have never tried to excuse that, I have said more than once I was a shitty wife to Cole. Jacob is also not a pushover. The only reason he never killed anyone is because he believes that shit is for God to look after. He has one hell of a temper, I just leave that out.
Because I don't need people to tell me I'm about to repeat history here. So once again, fuck you. Because I've got no words for this today.
Weren't you paying attention? Or did you skim through a few entries and decide you knew me better than I know myself, than my own husband knows me, or Cole or eight different doctors and therapists and counselors. Or my goddamned friends?
So many nasty, unbelievably off-base emails I am considering just taking this down forever, or making it private or just deleting the whole fucking thing. Or maybe I could take off the email but sometimes I get amazing letters of encouragement from people who have been where I am, who know what the fuck they're talking about instead of projecting their useless bitterness on to me out of spite. The wonderful, beautiful souls have left their names, they're written many times, they give a shit.
If you don't give a shit about me then leave me alone. Why waste your time?
It seems pretty simple.
Oh and I know my world is small and yes, right now it revolves around ME, while I struggle to not alienate my brand new husband or fuck up his life, while I comfort my kids who miss their dad and struggle through holidays and they can't understand where exactly he is or why he is dead and why Mommy sometimes can't explain it, or why she cries when she thinks about him. Or how to keep moving forward when I'm in this Quaalude fog that never ends but if I leave the fog I might just simply kill myself if I get low enough and I can't let these three people down. I made this bed.
So fuck you too.
I've had enough.
But I'm not taking it down because the accountability close to home is something I need right now.
And for the record, I don't have him wrapped around my finger. Jacob's had a thing for me for years and I fell for him right back, I have never tried to excuse that, I have said more than once I was a shitty wife to Cole. Jacob is also not a pushover. The only reason he never killed anyone is because he believes that shit is for God to look after. He has one hell of a temper, I just leave that out.
Because I don't need people to tell me I'm about to repeat history here. So once again, fuck you. Because I've got no words for this today.
All the same.
I love karaoke mornings, he sings with so much passion. It's awesome.
I don't mind where you come from
As long as you come to me
I don't like illusions I can't see
Them clearly
I don't care no I wouldn't dare
To fix the twist in you
You've shown me eventually
What you'll do
I don't mind...
I don't care...
As long as you're here
Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same
Hours slide and days go by
Till you decide to come
And in between it always seems too long
All of a sudden
And I have the skill, yeah I have the will
To breathe you in while I can
However long you stay
Is all that I am
I don't mind...
I don't care...
As long as you're here
Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's always the same
Wrong or right
Black or white
If I close my eyes
It's all the same
In my life
The compromise
I close my eyes
It's all the same
Go ahead say it you're leaving
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same
For the uninitiated, the song is the same one that plays during the video for the Free Hugs Campaign. Which still makes me cry and I've seen it dozens of times now.
I don't mind where you come from
As long as you come to me
I don't like illusions I can't see
Them clearly
I don't care no I wouldn't dare
To fix the twist in you
You've shown me eventually
What you'll do
I don't mind...
I don't care...
As long as you're here
Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same
Hours slide and days go by
Till you decide to come
And in between it always seems too long
All of a sudden
And I have the skill, yeah I have the will
To breathe you in while I can
However long you stay
Is all that I am
I don't mind...
I don't care...
As long as you're here
Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's always the same
Wrong or right
Black or white
If I close my eyes
It's all the same
In my life
The compromise
I close my eyes
It's all the same
Go ahead say it you're leaving
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same
For the uninitiated, the song is the same one that plays during the video for the Free Hugs Campaign. Which still makes me cry and I've seen it dozens of times now.
Tuesday 16 January 2007
Bravely marching forward.
My sister sent me this and we got the biggest laugh out of it when I sent it back, I thought I'd post it here while I pointedly ignore all the negative emails today's post generated. The show must go on, after all.
Soundtrack to my Life Movie Forward:
Here'ss how it works:
1. Open your library on your Zen or other MP3 player.
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question type the song that is playing.
5. When you go to a new question press the next button.
Opening Credits: Me & my friends, The Red Hot Chili Peppers
(nice, so far so good)
Waking Up: It's All Understood, Jack Johnson
(perfect wake-up music)
Falling In Love: Dragged Down by the Weight of Existence, Fear Factory
(uhhh...interesting in a cosmic joke kind of way.)
Fight Song: Mary Jane, Alanis Morissette
(if you're going to fight an internal battle, maybe)
Breaking Up: Another time, another place, U2
(oh, ouch)
Making Up: Nothing Else Matters, Bif Naked (covering Metallica)
(PERFECT)
Life is Ok: Tea in the Sahara, The Police
(Yes, please.)
Mental Breakdown: Dirty Glass by Dropkick Murphys
(funny, this is one of my happy songs-Jake and I sang this at a karaoke thing in Newfie and brought down the house).
Driving: Heartache Tonight, The Eagles
(makes sense, my dad's favorite song, I was raised on it)
Flashbacks: Fatal Wound, Switchfoot
(this was one of Cole's favorites so why the hell not?)
Happy Dance: Sober, Tool
(tool time is happy time for Bridget)
Regret: Song of the Flesh, Black Crowes
(okay, it works.)
Final Battle: Eskimo, Damien Rice
(way off. I don't even favor this song.)
Death Scene: Mad World, Gary Jules (covering Tears for Fears)
(I could see this happening for real.)
Final Credits: Default Judgement, Fear Factory
(Perfect, I couldn't have chosen better.)
Feel free to try it, it's kind of neat.
Soundtrack to my Life Movie Forward:
Here'ss how it works:
1. Open your library on your Zen or other MP3 player.
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question type the song that is playing.
5. When you go to a new question press the next button.
Opening Credits: Me & my friends, The Red Hot Chili Peppers
(nice, so far so good)
Waking Up: It's All Understood, Jack Johnson
(perfect wake-up music)
Falling In Love: Dragged Down by the Weight of Existence, Fear Factory
(uhhh...interesting in a cosmic joke kind of way.)
Fight Song: Mary Jane, Alanis Morissette
(if you're going to fight an internal battle, maybe)
Breaking Up: Another time, another place, U2
(oh, ouch)
Making Up: Nothing Else Matters, Bif Naked (covering Metallica)
(PERFECT)
Life is Ok: Tea in the Sahara, The Police
(Yes, please.)
Mental Breakdown: Dirty Glass by Dropkick Murphys
(funny, this is one of my happy songs-Jake and I sang this at a karaoke thing in Newfie and brought down the house).
Driving: Heartache Tonight, The Eagles
(makes sense, my dad's favorite song, I was raised on it)
Flashbacks: Fatal Wound, Switchfoot
(this was one of Cole's favorites so why the hell not?)
Happy Dance: Sober, Tool
(tool time is happy time for Bridget)
Regret: Song of the Flesh, Black Crowes
(okay, it works.)
Final Battle: Eskimo, Damien Rice
(way off. I don't even favor this song.)
Death Scene: Mad World, Gary Jules (covering Tears for Fears)
(I could see this happening for real.)
Final Credits: Default Judgement, Fear Factory
(Perfect, I couldn't have chosen better.)
Feel free to try it, it's kind of neat.
Exoteric, or, Nothing that's perfect is real.
Do you know the story of Icarus? Maybe it's my story too. He was a slave, imprisoned, and he built a pair of wax wings to escape but when he did it felt so good that he flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. He fell into the sea and drowned. In other words, perhaps I am pushing my luck.
Thirteen unlucky words to describe Bridget this past weekend:
You're a pretty little masochist with a high pain threshold and absolutely no remorse.
I laughed. He always gets it right. Jacob has a name for everything and I am simply a sheltered girl, insular, locked in her turret by the handsome prince while he tries to figure out what the fuck to do with me. For the second time in my life, no less.
And then I cried. I took my praise for making Cole so goddamned happy and just ran with it. If I told you I was easily influenced by the men that I love would you forgive me for it? If I told you we once had it down to a science, my pain for Cole's pleasure and he gave me whatever I wanted as my reward would you forgive me for that?
Jacob won't.
He sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed, feet on the floor, perhaps planning to carry him away of their own accord. His hands covered his face, fingers clenched in vexation, lines underneath to prove his eyes had closed themselves, a futile, inept reflex to protect him from even thinking about accidents of intimacy that we caused on purpose.
He told me he was sorry. I had asked for all of his limits to be removed simply so we could explore it together and unwittingly he agreed because he is devoted, because he is generous with me. When I insisted that he wouldn't hurt me, he grew angry very quickly. He pointed out our obvious, marked differences in size and strength for the umpteenth time and that if he got caught up in it and harm came to me he would never be able to live with himself. I interrupted him and he yelled at me.
You don't understand, You're not helping things, I won't hurt you, Bridget. I will not hurt you and neither will anyone else!
We've had this conversation before, and it made me angry and I raised my voice but he cut me off again. He turned around and stuck his finger in my face, jabbing at the air around me and I cringed at that while he swore that if Cole could turn me into a masochist then Jacob would turn me back into who I was before that. I was the salt to Cole's vinegar. Rubbed into my wounds because it feels good, figuratively and otherwise. I am what Jacob says I am.
So add it to the list, we'll put it somewhere before victim and after mentally ill. And funny, I covet my submissive label. I like that word. That was the one I can live with. No one cares about that one, it's a very quiet little epithet, my inevitable role and the only one I can play that covers up the darker, shameful ones. That is the only one he likes.
The next time I opened my mouth, I was cut off once again. Jacob looked at me sadly and said,
No, Bridge. I don't care if we ever fix any of it or don't. I love you and I always will.
A small comfort, found in his anticipation of my question. Which is sometimes the very best kind of comfort. Even in the throes of a painful argument, we can still read each other's minds. I could eat him alive and I know he feels the same way and yet sex is this huge battleground, every night he is forced to be dominant, to physically restrict me so that I don't turn it into something he doesn't like, a double-edged dangerous sword in that half the time that's exactly what I want from him.
It will never be perfect at this rate. Jacob wants movie sex, in which he carries me to the bed and I make little noises and simply receive him and let him gently lead the way.
Bridget, well, she's in the seedy unmarked theatre down the street watching a whole other kind of movie.
He just read that and laughed. A laugh barely tinged with a bitter contravention, discernible only because I know him so well and maybe he didn't know me so well.
And one of my greatest joys is that even though such a huge part of him is entangled in his work, he's such a passionate, reverent man, he's upright, and he confided in me that he loves all of it, he doesn't just pull out the easy parts of Bridget to adore and plan to fix the rest, he truly loves all of it. All of me: the sweet, deeply emotional, fiercely loving, word-inventing distracted writer and the fucked-up over the top freakish sexual deviant too.
Which makes him vaguely a freak as well. He's only just a little chagrined by his own revelations on a regular basis but the fact that this has become our new standard argument because we've just about settled everything else is almost comical.
I can live with this one, Bridge. We'll get where we're going.
Do we know where we're going, Jacob?
Of course. But the point isn't the end, it's the journey. And ours is an adventure, we're granted passage a little at a time.
I bet you wish you had booked a cruise instead.
Are you kidding? I thrive on conflict, and adrenaline. This is my fetish, maybe.
I knew you were a freak.
Birds of a feather, princess.
Oh, you're not going to start in with the Icarus-stuff again, are you?
No, instead maybe I'll tell you about Atalanta, and the golden apples she could not resist.
You have a very large brain.
Oh here we go.
Matches everything else.
Uh-huh.
I like that, Jacob.
I bet you do.
Thirteen unlucky words to describe Bridget this past weekend:
You're a pretty little masochist with a high pain threshold and absolutely no remorse.
I laughed. He always gets it right. Jacob has a name for everything and I am simply a sheltered girl, insular, locked in her turret by the handsome prince while he tries to figure out what the fuck to do with me. For the second time in my life, no less.
And then I cried. I took my praise for making Cole so goddamned happy and just ran with it. If I told you I was easily influenced by the men that I love would you forgive me for it? If I told you we once had it down to a science, my pain for Cole's pleasure and he gave me whatever I wanted as my reward would you forgive me for that?
Jacob won't.
He sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed, feet on the floor, perhaps planning to carry him away of their own accord. His hands covered his face, fingers clenched in vexation, lines underneath to prove his eyes had closed themselves, a futile, inept reflex to protect him from even thinking about accidents of intimacy that we caused on purpose.
He told me he was sorry. I had asked for all of his limits to be removed simply so we could explore it together and unwittingly he agreed because he is devoted, because he is generous with me. When I insisted that he wouldn't hurt me, he grew angry very quickly. He pointed out our obvious, marked differences in size and strength for the umpteenth time and that if he got caught up in it and harm came to me he would never be able to live with himself. I interrupted him and he yelled at me.
You don't understand, You're not helping things, I won't hurt you, Bridget. I will not hurt you and neither will anyone else!
We've had this conversation before, and it made me angry and I raised my voice but he cut me off again. He turned around and stuck his finger in my face, jabbing at the air around me and I cringed at that while he swore that if Cole could turn me into a masochist then Jacob would turn me back into who I was before that. I was the salt to Cole's vinegar. Rubbed into my wounds because it feels good, figuratively and otherwise. I am what Jacob says I am.
So add it to the list, we'll put it somewhere before victim and after mentally ill. And funny, I covet my submissive label. I like that word. That was the one I can live with. No one cares about that one, it's a very quiet little epithet, my inevitable role and the only one I can play that covers up the darker, shameful ones. That is the only one he likes.
The next time I opened my mouth, I was cut off once again. Jacob looked at me sadly and said,
No, Bridge. I don't care if we ever fix any of it or don't. I love you and I always will.
A small comfort, found in his anticipation of my question. Which is sometimes the very best kind of comfort. Even in the throes of a painful argument, we can still read each other's minds. I could eat him alive and I know he feels the same way and yet sex is this huge battleground, every night he is forced to be dominant, to physically restrict me so that I don't turn it into something he doesn't like, a double-edged dangerous sword in that half the time that's exactly what I want from him.
It will never be perfect at this rate. Jacob wants movie sex, in which he carries me to the bed and I make little noises and simply receive him and let him gently lead the way.
Bridget, well, she's in the seedy unmarked theatre down the street watching a whole other kind of movie.
He just read that and laughed. A laugh barely tinged with a bitter contravention, discernible only because I know him so well and maybe he didn't know me so well.
And one of my greatest joys is that even though such a huge part of him is entangled in his work, he's such a passionate, reverent man, he's upright, and he confided in me that he loves all of it, he doesn't just pull out the easy parts of Bridget to adore and plan to fix the rest, he truly loves all of it. All of me: the sweet, deeply emotional, fiercely loving, word-inventing distracted writer and the fucked-up over the top freakish sexual deviant too.
Which makes him vaguely a freak as well. He's only just a little chagrined by his own revelations on a regular basis but the fact that this has become our new standard argument because we've just about settled everything else is almost comical.
I can live with this one, Bridge. We'll get where we're going.
Do we know where we're going, Jacob?
Of course. But the point isn't the end, it's the journey. And ours is an adventure, we're granted passage a little at a time.
I bet you wish you had booked a cruise instead.
Are you kidding? I thrive on conflict, and adrenaline. This is my fetish, maybe.
I knew you were a freak.
Birds of a feather, princess.
Oh, you're not going to start in with the Icarus-stuff again, are you?
No, instead maybe I'll tell you about Atalanta, and the golden apples she could not resist.
You have a very large brain.
Oh here we go.
Matches everything else.
Uh-huh.
I like that, Jacob.
I bet you do.
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