If it's chipped do you keep it?

Jacob regularly points to a flaw that I'm not sure is a flaw so much as a bad habit. To me a flaw is a defect that cannot be altered or fixed easily. This could be fixed with a little effort, a drive to not do it, like most bad habits.

I suppose I could let him hypnotize me too but I've demurred thus far.

My bad habit in private? Self-disparagement.

I talk very poorly of myself but only when it's just the two of us and it's late at night or we're alone. As if I'm looking for confirmation that I'm wrong, somehow. That maybe I am perfect after all even though I don't see it. That I maybe could be exactly what he wants even though I'm not sure if I am. I'm too thin, too pale. My hair is straw, my skin is bruised, my eyes are tired and emotionally, I'm a natural disaster. I shine a light on it, only the bad. Brightly lit for all to see the ugliness that is me.

He hates that. Despises it. He can't understand why I do it.

It makes two of us.

It makes no sense at all. My ego is relentlessly stroked, backed up and duplicated in threes. I get a daily if not hourly confirmation that assures me I'm amazing, that I'm wanted, needed, valued and admired.

I'm special. Unique even. They've all wanted me. If not for my terribly unstable emotions, they wanted a piece of me.

Bridget's wild streak hears it, her heart hears it and her soul wants it but her brain completely ignores it.

One more fault for the earthquake, one more anomaly to keep me grounded, one more strange and wonderful flaw for my husband to marvel over.

Like warmth, it would be nice to save up and use when you need it most. But we don't have the power to do that, we only have the power to fake it. Artificial heat and artificial self confidence.

An illusion.

One that would be fixed. I can be told I am special, I'm perfect, I'm exactly what they, no...exactly what he wants. I can see it in his eyes but I can't internalize it and so it waits like a tide to come in, just offshore while Bridget plays on the sand and pretends that she is nothing.

Which is hard because I am everything.

Sometimes.

I will follow you home

I should do a weekly entry telling you about my amazing nightstand, now stacked to four feet off the ground with things to read. Things we pass around, things from people I know who tell me I have to have a look or should take time out to check this or that. And though most weeks I get about a half hour at the end of every day to read for pleasure, I take it like medicine.

However, reviews are rare from me. I love what I love for my own reasons and I find people's individual tastes and subjective love of music, movies, television and books far too esoteric to be able to share most of the time. What makes you love Modest Mouse leaves me vaguely confused and I will never be able to explain my intense, overwhelming love of Tool.

So forgive me but I want to talk about something.

I mentioned a while back on a painful day that I was obsessed with being an ungracious widow and I said I was reading Lisey's Story by Stephen King.

Those of you literary-type folks who will nod approval of my mentions of Hemingway or Stevenson will now turn up your nose as if Mr. King, purveyor of fine horror novels that marked most of my adolescent reading jaunts, is a lesser writer somehow. Christine, anyone?

You would be wrong.

Read his offbeat novels-Dolores Claiborne, Rose Madder, Stand by Me, or one of my favorites of all time (of his), The Girl who Loved Tom Gordon.

And yet, Stephen King outdid himself here, with Lisey. And while I knew when I picked this up in Chapters that this widow, like all the others I have encountered, was happily married when her husband died, Lisey struck a chord in me that resonated and I can still feel the vibrations.

Her husband was mentally ill, destroyed by a terrible childhood that left him mostly crazy. I identified with the character of Scott Landon because he wrote his dreams, he harnessed his baggage and turned it into his lifelong work through his writing, all the while well aware that he was merely outrunning his pain.

Which is kinda sorta how Bridget lives.

Granted Scott was a multi-million dollar bestselling author and I might never be and that's okay, it was refreshing to read of their love through the eyes of his strong and adoring wife, who simply loved him, as Jacob does me, maybe in spite of and because of our demons.

There was even a bad guy, named Gerd Allen Cole. I'd be lying if I didn't choke when I saw that. But damned if I didn't sob like a baby through the final pages of that book, wishing it would never end and positively struck by the beauty with which Lisey found her closure for her life with Scott. And it was a little scary too. But like Tom Gordon, the scariness of the threats never manages to overshadow the emotional map drawn of the central character.

There's something to be said for just letting the words out, and not worrying about whether they will sound cheesy or if anyone will really understand them. Is it too deep, too feeling, too honest or too revealing? Mr. King managed to let it out, he let the words flow over the page and he spun an incredibly moving river of a tale of love and loss and he did it with such aplomb. Or maybe I was in the right place at the right time to be able to find a personal theme in this book and so perhaps it touched me more. I'll never know any different, so here you go.

Well done. It's now one of only three works of fiction that have literally brought me to tears in my life and it's by far the most compelling.

Now I'm back to reading college review mags because Thorn is so much more bitter and harder to swallow.

The part where PJ tries his hand at a lecture.

Boy, you really are Jacob's 'main squeeze'.

I always knew he had a 'crush' on you.

And those were the ones I can repeat, as the boys weigh in on the latest news. The unrepeatable ones were references to the friendly giant's commanding size and how girls should watch out, lest he rearrange their innards, or some such depravity.

I said I love my friends, right? Does that mean I can tell them to fuck off?

Secretly I love it but not today. Today Jacob is still rather sensitive. Today he sees how easily I wind up with dents and knocks and also how accidents happen and oh my God I wish he would smile. Just once. Ben poked him in the shoulder and made some crack yesterday and Jake didn't even move his head but shifted his eyes sideways and Ben actually made some excuse and left shortly after, never wanting to be on the bad side of Jacob. No one does and thankfully they're mostly sparing him the digs while I try not to laugh because it hurts but oh fuck me, it's so hard not to.

If all injuries came as a result of such fun. And I kept going! Which is scary because the more time passes the more babyish I'm getting about my ribcage.

But it's time to move on, to greener pastures, better topics and more excitement because life demands it. Life is to be grabbed and squeezed and emptied out and refilled and dammit, do it with gusto.

PJ took me out for coffee last night and we took the truck since I wasn't going to walk and I played Eulogy loud. Then I remembered I won't be lapdancing for a long while which made me sad and so I turned off the stereo because that's one of my favorite songs to get into.

PJ eyed me curiously.

What's up, Bridge. You okay?

Yes, just tired.

That's because you're a freak.

Nice.

Well it's true. Maybe you should slow down.

We were.

You aren't twenty-five anymore.

Well fuck you too, Padraig.

Listen, Bridget, Jake can't handle you getting hurt. He hasn't been able to yet.

We didn't mean for this to happen.

No, but maybe if you two had a normal sex life you wouldn't have gotten hurt.

I'm not having this conversation with you, Peej.

Then just take it easy. Very few things upset Jake to that extent and one of them is you and injuries, he doesn't care how they originate. The guy needs a break.

We all need a break.

Right, so just cool it.

I cannot believe you're lecturing me on Jacob.

Oh don't worry, I talked to him too.

About?

Ruining you with his giant schlong.

You DID NOT.

I did. I reminded him that princesses are delicate.

Fuck right off with that. Did you really?

No, I just said I hoped it was going to be funny in the future, because it's a good kind of disaster. Especially moving that desk.

What are you talking about?

He said the desk moved a good foot.

No way.

You hit the corner of the desk, Bridge.

I did?

Bruised livers don't come from being squished by 200 pounds of love machine.

Ah. I didn't notice but it explains a lot.

Yes, since it took both of us to push it back.

Cheese and crackers, peej!

So no more monkey business.

Right. I'll get right on that.

Bridge, you're a riot. I'm just glad it's a happy thing for you. I worry about you.

You do?

All the time. But I worry about Jacob more.

Gee, thanks.

We laughed and he turned Tool back on and put the volume on eleven, so that the next time Jacob starts the truck he'll get blown out of his seat. PJ's fun like that.

Tender mercies.

I'm not giving up. You might.

A trip to the ER yesterday afternoon netted me a handful of painkillers and advice to take it easy. We managed to crack two of my ribs and they never really decided if my liver was bruised or not so they went with a yes, just in case. Fuck.

I'm fine, it just hurts when I try to breathe super deeply or flex my torso at all.

Or move at all but really let's just gloss for Jacob's sake. Mkay?

So hi! Radioactive Vicodin girl makes her unwelcome return to the house.

Which is really great, she's a perfect match for Guilt-Laden Husband Shouldering All The Blame, who isn't welcome. I'll take the blame, hell, I walked into the study knowing exactly how the night was going to go down, and he can't resist me. He thinks he is my guardian angel superman, somehow able to pluck me out of thin air and save me from harm. We have this fight weekly because I still wipe out on the ice and fall down the basement steps just about every second trip.

He sees zero humor in this so I brought him with me to see Claus today because for once I attack a situation as well-adjusted which is always just in time for him to fall apart. Christ, we're a perfect match. Jacob pointed out that support from me is like building a house on broken stilts and hoping for the best. He'd like to keep moping while I bounce off the walls.

I reminded him that if I am glass then he needn't insult me when I try to help and he lost it.

He has this magnificent ability to cut me down and yet he wouldn't let go of my hand. He has barely let go of it since he got home yesterday afternoon, which is fine because my solace comes from him. But I had to ask him to release me so I could go to the bathroom at one point. Sweet and frightening.

Hey, wait, that's my description.

God, we're so fucking well-adjusted. Just when we had begun to finally put fragile miss to rest once and for all. Just as we were beginning to make some progress on our joint obsessive issues with each other. Just as we approached normal. Sexually and otherwise.

It figures.

But this is not going to be a setback. Maybe a very brief delay but that's all I'm going to allow for.

When we were looking at antiques on Monday Jacob held up a horseshoe and we were cracking jokes about wedging it firmly up my ass to see if our luck might change. We got sidetracked and never actually bought it.

I asked him if we could go back and get it and oh, the bitter laugh that came out of him practically curled my hair.

I am glass. Handle with care, angel boy.

Burden in his hand.

 Words you say never seem
    To live up to the ones inside your head
    The lives we make never seem
    To ever get us anywhere but dead

I'll defer to the biggest Soundgarden fan in this house for today's musical inspiration, his delight at a lapdance with The Day I tried to Live as accompaniment faring nicely for me last night because it...er, okay, I was doable. When am I not doable?

Shortest lap dance in the history of the universe. I climbed onto his legs in his chair to face him while he was on the phone, and he wrapped up his call at once and pulled me down right into his lap and that was that. No wind up, no grind out, just straight-up sex in his lap.

He's a very strong man.

Who knows what he wants. And waiting was not something he wanted to do last night. And so he didn't.

And the next office chair I buy will not be on wheels.

The visual on being that out of control and the chair tipping over but tipping forward meant I bore the full brunt of Jacob's weight as he fought to cradle me with one hand and break our fall with the other, failing at both when he landed on top of me and he knocked the wind right out of me, along with a few assorted internal organs, and I think he might have displaced my whole uterus but I was laughing and crying and Chris Cornell was howling and it really wasn't a very pretty sight at all.

Kind of a mood-killer when you have to take stock of what hurts before you get up. The look on his face was half-hilarity and half-concern because he's still fourteen inches taller than I am as much as we try to ignore that fact. I managed to stand up and breathe at the same time.

First thing out of his mouth?

We should stick to the bed for that kind of thing.

While I was saying,

We need a chair without wheels.

We looked at each other and nodded at the same time.

And then finished the night in the middle of our bed, where no one can get hurt.

I want to write very much anyway. But I didn't. Oh, I did. Nevermind, another story for some other day.

I still think an x-ray or two might be a good idea. I have aches in strange places this morning.

The thought of attempting to explain to my doctor exactly how much torque Jacob is capable of putting into sex just does nothing for me today. I'm just going to breathe through it and take some more ibuprophen.

Keeping promises I haven't made.

Sometimes I'm not as dumb or as blindly led as I seem to be.

    I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
    Watch you smile while you are sleeping
    While you're far away dreaming
    I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
    I could stay lost in this moment forever
    Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

Yesterday turned out to be a much needed family day for us. With a languid start to the morning we took our time, drinking extra coffee and juice and replacing snowboots with wellies for the puddles and warmer air, and lighter insulated jackets and knit gloves for the kids. I wore a fisherman knit sweater and jeans and a vintage scarf and Jacob smiled when he saw me.

He said I looked like I was ready for a Sunday drive. An inside joke, I think Mondays will forever be our Sundays. He pulled on his midweight suit jacket over a green button-down shirt and there was the CD. I thought he had left it in the old truck when it went to truck heaven but he didn't after all.

We headed for the highway and I was singing about pilots and he was smiling, one of those happy smiles people have when everything is going well.

Of course. It was a set up.

We spent the morning poking through an old barn that had four floors packed to the rafters, but they turned out not to have anything we couldn't go home without. Then we got some lunch and took it outside to the park next to the diner, so the kids could eat and and then run around to blow off steam. It's hard to keep their hands to themselves when we're in a environment that seems fully breakable.

And Jacob turned to me and let his smile die away and asked me if I was ready to try something new.

I stared at him and didn't say anything.

Hmm?

New, Jake? What did you have in mind?

Going back to no pills, Bridge.

Oh, no, can we just have this because this is better.

You're not you, Bridge, you're someone else and it concerns me.

Gee, thanks, honey.

You've said it yourself.

If I recall correctly you also said better I stay on them and be here than be off them and lose what's left.

That was before everything else got so much better so quickly.

Right, we're rushing again, Jake.

No, I don't think we are.

Wait until-

I already talked to Claus and a few others about it. You had such a good balance before, and you did pretty well without pills. They're on board with a test run, with tapering off.

Jake, have you forgotten what life was like? I was so high strung. I wasn't doing well, I was trying to survive and hating every second of everything.

You didn't appear to have as hard a time.

Jacob, you can't be serious.

Oh geez, now I'm panicking and trying to keep my voice down and he put his hand on my face and it was so warm and he looked at me and I believed somehow he could snap his fingers and gold would just fall out of the sky. My beanstock giant.

You found a way.

No, Jacob, I was held together with a cool breeze and the weight of a thousand threats. Fear kept me going. My God, I can't believe you've forgotten.

No, I didn't forget, princess. But what if you did what you did then but without the fear? Picture it, everything as before but no Cole. All support, everything you need, plus the routine and therapy and fresh air and all of it but no pills. So you wouldn't have to be half-asleep. So you could stop taking the drugs.

I think we should leave it, Jake.

But you don't like it.

No, what I don't like is any more changes right now. I just got used to them again. I can stay awake, I can write a little, and things are going well. Stopping now would be asking for trouble.

So you don't want to stop.

No, I don't. Everyone is happy.

Are you happy?

I'm not suicidal, and that's all that matters.

But are you happy, princess?

Yes.

He looked so doubtful.

I don't want to mess it up, Jake. I don't want you to have any regrets.

The only regret I have is that my wife is perpetually drugged and all the enthusiasm has left her eyes and she has to work so hard to smile it makes me want to scream.

I'm sorry.

It isn't your fault, Bridge, so don't say that.

Of course it is. My accountability, remember?

Fuck the accountability. I don't think the drugs are doing anything for you.

No, but they make everyone else happy. You're happy.

I'm happy because you're with me.

I'm happy for that too.

With effort, Bridge.

Life is an effort, Jacob.

So what would you chose to do?

Stop taking them.

What?

I would want to stop taking them if I could chose, Jacob.

Let's.

Jacob, if I-

You won't. Your life will never be that hopeless again I promise.

Even with-

No matter what, princess.

I nodded, still not convinced but not willing to risk spoiling the rest of the day with a big blowup. I didn't sing on the way home, Jacob played Anima and kept looking at me, but I chose to ignore the music, ignore the looks and instead I just looked out my window with my own defeated expression. I don't want to go back there, or anywhere else where the lights aren't on. Not now. God, I got shivers reading that entry again.

We did have a nice rest of the day, heading to the library on the way home where I got a mystery novel and he got some guitar-making books and the kids filled up on Franklin and Critter books. We came home and barbecued steak and baked potatoes. I had a destructive glass of wine to finish off a bottle from Loch's visit. One glass puts me on the floor now, for the record.

    Lying close to you feeling your heart beating
    And I'm wondering what you're dreaming
    Wondering if it's me you're seeing
    Then I kiss your eyes
    And thank God we're together
    I just want to stay with you in this moment forever
    Forever and ever

Jacob didn't broach the subject again until the kids were asleep and we were settled in front of the fire. And by that time I had respawned my strength.

I don't want to push you, princess. I'm just so proud of your hard work.

That's good, because I'm staying on the pills, Jake.

Really?

For now.

You're sure?

No, but I'm not taking any chances yet. It's too soon.

If that's what you want most, princess.

I do.

Good for you.

I'm still me, you know.

You're everything, you always were and you always will be.

Then we need to keep going slow, we've got forever, you know.

He looked positively shocked.

You're absolutely right. We do. We've got forever.

He shook his head in disbelief and smiled, like it was something he had never considered before and then he repeated himself, because in his head I had just made him a promise that I could never make out loud. I let him have it, because it's the only thing he ever wanted from me.

We've got forever, princess.

Life is a gift to us all, you know. One of the reasons that I'm doing better and doing well at all is because we've dropped our pretenses and turned to each other instead of turning away. He hasn't abandoned me and I don't shut him out of my feelings out of some misguided attempt to spare him from feeling like a interloper. It's done wonders for finally putting Cole's ghost to rest once and for all. Despite the continued lack of ability on my part to voice promises I'm obviously not in charge of making.

And for some reason Jacob holds me so much harder now. Longer, too. This morning he handed me my pill and my coffee and smiled and told me I was beautiful. Probably because he just realized that maybe I'm not as dumb as I look. Or maybe it was because I think he finally realizes I'm giving him everything I have to give, whether I confirm that out loud, or not.

Maybe it's finally enough. For both of us.

The late bloomer.

This is not my entry.

I got waylaid by the Rude Cactus this morning, reading his post and finding myself welling up over his words today when he usually makes me laugh. He's usually my internet lift, I enjoy just about everything except for his unpronounceable Friday post about current events because I have my head in the ground and fail to keep up with American news, my fault, not his by any means. I'd just rather read his words about his family, the job he seems to dislike or just about anything that rolls through his freaky brain.

His post today was about a journey to the town where his grandmother lives to celebrate her ninetieth birthday, and he talked about his close family ties and how it made him feel. I'm paraphrasing badly, go and read instead, I'll wait. I'll get coffee.

Ready to continue?

I apologize in advance, I didn't plan to go here, I'm on my way to the doctor shortly but my brain runs a billion miles an hour on days like these, and this is eye-bleedingly esoteric at Bridget's finest.

It made me think. I don't really have that. That small town stuff, the closeness. I never have. This isn't a woe-is-me rough childhood post, hell, I've had my thrills and my knocks too. Typically average. Just like everyone else.

Or not.

I spent my childhood talking to the Atlantic Ocean. She holds all my secrets, my hopes and my fears and my dreams. I was monitored intermittently through the window as I grew up alone on a beach, to fend for myself in the changing tides, bleached and then burned to a crisp by the sun, content to prattle on as children do, and never expecting the reply, only the comfort of that sea that goes on forever and is always going to be right where I left it. Then I went straight to the freak circuit with Loch and it may have finished me off. I'm about as mature as a lollipop, stuck in your hair.

Maybe that's why I can write for hours and hours without feedback, I can talk to my doctors and not feel the least bit self-conscious about the lack of appropriate response.

Jacob really cannot fathom the exact depth of my emotions regarding this. He only ever hit the tip of the iceberg with his penchant for taking me to the beach as an adult. I was usually headed there anyway. I believe I'm acquainted intimately with every single wave. The ocean has tasted me and I have tasted it right back. We've been lovers.

But as a grownup there is nowhere to go now. And so I made my own family out of my male friends who serve as brothers, uncles, babysitters, heavy lifters, confidants and sounding boards. I would call any one of five or ten of them in an emergency first, before my family.

Let's just say I've always been an outsider, content to keep in touch, whatever that may be, but really I'm not close to anyone I was born related to. Sometimes it feels weird. I had an average suburban seventies childhood and eighties adolescence. I was alternately spoiled and deprived. I was often ignored and so maybe when I grew up it was an unconscious payback. Now I find them stifling, suffocating and judgemental, absent when they should have closed ranks, stonefaced when sought out for advice, never once venturing out of their ivory towers until it was too late, and then they looked around and decided I would keep my secrets because they were perfect and life would go on. This is the same flesh and blood who refused to acknowledge my hearing issues which led to a lifetime of shame on my part, hiding it and adding insult to injury as I try to manage getting used to hearing aids on top of everything else I'm trying to deal with.

Cole was a perfect fit, in their eyes, finding perfection at the expense of comfort. And while they love Jacob, it's mostly because he cleans up nicely and they can say there is a minister in the family. I don't think they don't know a thing about him.

They don't know a thing about me.

And oddly, I'm not bitter anymore. Sometimes, like when I read that post today, there's a twinge. But looking back it's mostly wistfulness. Instead of being permitted to thrive and bloom I was permitted to exist.

And they'll read this and not understand. And I don't really care.

I made my own family, one that brings up all of those feelings now, and I'm grateful for it. I think that God puts all the people together who don't have that, and they make their own little families. That's what we've done, because as I said before, I'm no different than anyone else that I know. It was less of a commune, and more of an effort to fulfill all of our needs. So those of you who capitalized your obscenities at me for still being close to Loch or anyone else shouldn't bother, because you probably have relatives you can go to in a crisis, family you love without hesitation, without having to skip a beat and then make your affirmation because it's the right thing to do. I never hesitate when I say how much I love my friends.

Never.

Congratulations, you are blessed and apparently so much better of a human bean than I am.

Did I ever once argue that point with you?

I'm not sure if writing this out makes me sad or makes me feel better.

My pilot is here.

    She can't remember a time when she felt needed
    If love was red then she was color blind
    All her friends they've been tried for treason
    And crimes that were never defined

    She's saying love is like a barren place
    And reaching out for human faith
    Is like a journey I just don't have a map for
    So baby's gonna take a dive and push the shift to overdrive
    Send a signal that she's hanging all her hopes on the stars

Guess what CD I found this morning in one of Jacob's spring suit jacket pockets? Was it that long ago that we listened to that song? I was sure he wore that jacket since July but I guess a lot of things got missed.

Nice to have the tunes, we're hitting the road today to go antiquing down south. I have decided I'd like a hutch/cabinet/thing for the bathroom and he likes to poke through old tools.

It's quaint in it's normalcy, I know. Embrace it, Bridget.

House of fog and pie.

I am agitated. I even skipped talking about cake, but there's a pie in here somewhere.

Today was gloomy, dark and rainy, foggy and silent and very reminiscent of days back home where the ocean ruled the weather patterns and it changed by the moment.

Kind of like moods do.

None of that was missed by the three adults coming from the far eastern edge of the country, all now stuck somewhere along the middle like Christmas lights on a string. One blows up, the others all go out, it's a group effort to keep the fucking lights on sometimes.

God I love that comparison. So so much.

Loch is on his way home as we speak. I tried not to cry at the airport but it was inevitable. He's the only fixture I have left from my former life and it seems sometimes he leaves me in a strange land that I'm never quite comfortable in, which is not an insult to my husband, just an observation in that it's taking so long to get used to this. I still pinch myself because Jacob will always be my too-good-to-be-true dream. I still talk to Cole. I still talk to Lochlan in terms of Cole not going away easily, the way friends can talk, the way husbands can't. Jacob no longer retains enough objectivity to talk about a few things. Bless his heart he has fixed everything else, but somethings he cannot touch.

Like the history Loch and I share. Kiera (his girlfriend of five years) asked him not to come back out here again so he broke up with her.

He's an idiot, yes, I know.

He told us that she wasn't his Bridget, which briefly ruffled feathers and so Jacob jumped the gun. Lochlan only meant that he wanted his soulmate much the way Jacob and I are soulmates and that he hadn't found that with her.

Jacob and Loch sorted that out before coming to blows. Thank God.

They also sorted out a few other things that concern me, like the affection I pass out like slices of pie to my friends, which Jacob never liked to see unless he was the recipient, and yet it's been a hard habit for me to break. I love hugs, I love kisses. I love kisses on the lips and hands to hold and backs to scratch and an arm to stay warm in and frankly, mistakenly, I never cared who it came from, if Cole was absent (mostly he was) and Jacob was busy, there was pecking order and I would go off down the line finding someone to snuggle with, or lie on or hang out with. This will help clarify how Ben got so far off track last fall.

And I've been good about not seeking out my other friends for physical comfort anymore but Lochlan was still a welcome target and I never even considered Jacob's feelings, but I realize now that Loch would have been a sort of public enemy number one for Jake in that regard and so we've just stopped cold. It was easier than I expected, and it doesn't hurt that Jacob is as much of an affection-giver as I am, so we just keep it tuned on each other. I won't look back again.

And Lochlan wanted the breakdown (ha, what a WORD!) on how I am really doing. Jacob may be the expert, but Loch is impartial, unbiased and just as involved in my mental health and so they had a few heated conversations about how and what and why, but I won't go into it, let's just say everyone is updated and in agreement. At last.

And hell, I'm masterfully fucked up and unhealthy. I have so many flaws I'm literally bits and pieces of a whole human being. Flaky pie crust. Flaky indeed. Berries and sugar and spills and a broken crust. Still sweet though. Who can get enough of it? Of me?

Well, I'm working on it, aren't I?

And Loch has gone back with instructions to keep his eyes and his heart open to find his own Bridget, like all of my friends have, because Jacob stole the original and he won't be giving her back. He won't be sharing either. Not anymore. Loch is fine with that, he always has been.

God, I just cringed as I wrote, I hardly ever do that but maybe the whole former whore-designation is really starting to be glaringly obvious, like dark circles under fluorescent lighting. Ugly and harsh.

I'm done with the ugliness. I can't even believe it sometimes how goddamn messed up I was.

Whoops, how messed up I am.

And now I'm relieved it all got sorted out. I'm happy that Jacob and Loch have dealt with everything openly and honestly and we're not going to cause any more hurt here. There's been enough. Loch can rest easy knowing I'm almost okay (as okay as I can be) again and Jacob can rest easy knowing he's no longer fighting for a piece of my affection, he's got the whole pie.

The pie that turned out rather messy, if I do say so myself.

The one that's far too sweet and might make you sick but you want it anyways.

Which is far better than the blown-up string of Christmas lights, because they're out of season now.

Comfort in Beta.

I'm actually all talked out today.

Something incredibly sweet and grown up about last night. I fell asleep in Loch's arm, turned away from him but he was there and we were talking and the next thing I knew he slid away and Jacob was there asking me to come to bed now and I could barely move or open my eyes but it felt good to have my two closest men there and getting along and being friends.

Loch laughs with a sad smile and says he misses his Bridget-time. He only tolerated Cole in the end for me. Cole let Loch get away with murder to spite Jake. Now no one even tries. There are no head games, no hurt feelings, no winners or losers, no stakes in Bridget anymore.

It's somewhat healthier.

Loch's trying to quit smoking so Jacob is going to hypnotize him. He also broke up with Kiera, who decided being grownups isn't enough to overcome the history here. Loch said his standards were high. We knew what he meant and vigorously objected, but he said they can't fill my shoes. I pointed out that I couldn't fill those shoes and he smiled sadly again and said,

I'm fucked, Bridge. Fucked.

No you aren't.

Yeah, pretty much, baby.

Oh Jacob didn't like that and he frowned with narrow eyes and got needlessly protective. A reflex, for he and the world think Loch and I have changed. A reflex after which he relaxed. Now they've gone off to go look at climbing gear and I get a break from all this masculinity.

More later in which I explain. Since I didn't, not really.