I was told to stay in bed this morning.
I didn't listen.
One of my new commitments is that I keep going. Even if I have to phone it in effort-wise, I have to fight through every day and not cop out, opt-out or give up.
Today I couldn't give up if I tried. When the alarm went off this morning, Jacob reached past me and turned it off and then pushed himself against me. The part of him that sometimes wakes him up first was wide awake, and I was treated to a long, slow, gentle, very good Friday morning. And an even longer kiss that I finally had to tap out of, because my nose was so stuffed up I couldn't catch my breath. Jacob laughed softly and pressed the tip of his nose to mine and I sneezed on him for good measure.
A hot shower does wonders for post-sex and sneeze episodes. Plus I think it cleared my head. Then I took some Dayquil and drank a pot of coffee and burned my fingers on the toaster and now I'm halfway into my favorite winter dress, which is a cute little vintage plaid wool jumper that Jacob feels might be too short to wear to church and so I've worn it often and demurely press my knees together in the pew.
I'm serving tea and coffee after today's services and comfort is paramount.
But as soon as we get home, I'm switching to my jammies. And locking the door and turning off the phone and maybe making a pot of tea with honey and not sharing any of it.
If only I had cake, the day would be perfect.
Friday 6 April 2007
Thursday 5 April 2007
Thursday feels like Friday.
In my haste to rush out to lunch, I didn't expound on anything at all. Sometimes it's better that way, count yourself lucky.
This morning's progress concerned my feelings about Cole and how it's so fucking easy to fake the accolades for him around the children (because I have to, for their sake, and because he was a good father) and around his family and better friends but then I have a hard time accepting that he wasn't what I would like to see him as. A monster. My shadows. My fears. The personification of every fragility I hold now. And likely he is a huge part of that, but Cole had demons of his own and it's a long way back to the place where I can comprehend in my little pea brain that his monsters ate him alive, but he was not a monster.
You know what? I would spend all night here trying to summarize two hours of intensive reconstruction of my thought processes here, so maybe I'll stop with that. I can't make you see.
And believe it or not, this has little to do with the earlier admissions that my depression is as good as it's ever going to get. We simply have to learn to ride and deal with the waves as they break. Chemical and nurturing causes mean I'll never have a free pass to a permanent happy place. It's okay. I dealt with it before unmedicated, and I'm about to do it again. Only this time there's no one waiting to sabotage my efforts. Quite the opposite in my loving Jacob.
Just enjoy the wild loopy ride with me while I take a few weeks to get the medicine out of my system. Because now I'm awake. Finally.
And weird.
In any case, Loch was here just for the morning, to take us out to lunch and have a quick visit on his way out west and now Christian and PJ are here hanging out and hogging the X-box while I help Jacob iron his clothes for the weekend. And these boys are trying to teach me to love Death in Vegas as much as they do.
Blissful, blissful mediocrity.
This morning's progress concerned my feelings about Cole and how it's so fucking easy to fake the accolades for him around the children (because I have to, for their sake, and because he was a good father) and around his family and better friends but then I have a hard time accepting that he wasn't what I would like to see him as. A monster. My shadows. My fears. The personification of every fragility I hold now. And likely he is a huge part of that, but Cole had demons of his own and it's a long way back to the place where I can comprehend in my little pea brain that his monsters ate him alive, but he was not a monster.
You know what? I would spend all night here trying to summarize two hours of intensive reconstruction of my thought processes here, so maybe I'll stop with that. I can't make you see.
And believe it or not, this has little to do with the earlier admissions that my depression is as good as it's ever going to get. We simply have to learn to ride and deal with the waves as they break. Chemical and nurturing causes mean I'll never have a free pass to a permanent happy place. It's okay. I dealt with it before unmedicated, and I'm about to do it again. Only this time there's no one waiting to sabotage my efforts. Quite the opposite in my loving Jacob.
Just enjoy the wild loopy ride with me while I take a few weeks to get the medicine out of my system. Because now I'm awake. Finally.
And weird.
In any case, Loch was here just for the morning, to take us out to lunch and have a quick visit on his way out west and now Christian and PJ are here hanging out and hogging the X-box while I help Jacob iron his clothes for the weekend. And these boys are trying to teach me to love Death in Vegas as much as they do.
Blissful, blissful mediocrity.
Not a monster anymore.
He had alot to say.
He had alot of nothing to say.
We'll miss him.
So long.
We wish you well.
You told us how you weren't afraid to die.
Well then, so long.
Don't cry.
Or feel too down.
Not all martyrs see divinity.
But at least you tried.
Standing above the crowd,
He had a voice that was strong and loud.
We'll miss him.
Ranting and pointing his finger
At everything but his heart.
We'll miss him.
A good day is a day that I emerge squinting into the sun, breathing deeply from the stale freshly-scrubbed air of a familiar office building, smiling softly at a phenomenal amount of progress made and run straight into the arms of all four of my guys, who take turns kissing the top of my head and telling me that they are proud of me, the big one in particular.
Yay me, especially since I've been medication-free for one week today.
He had alot of nothing to say.
We'll miss him.
So long.
We wish you well.
You told us how you weren't afraid to die.
Well then, so long.
Don't cry.
Or feel too down.
Not all martyrs see divinity.
But at least you tried.
Standing above the crowd,
He had a voice that was strong and loud.
We'll miss him.
Ranting and pointing his finger
At everything but his heart.
We'll miss him.
A good day is a day that I emerge squinting into the sun, breathing deeply from the stale freshly-scrubbed air of a familiar office building, smiling softly at a phenomenal amount of progress made and run straight into the arms of all four of my guys, who take turns kissing the top of my head and telling me that they are proud of me, the big one in particular.
Yay me, especially since I've been medication-free for one week today.
Wednesday 4 April 2007
Magical mystery tour.
Every now and then I make a reference to running away to join the circus (Examples everywhere in case you missed the subtle year-long running metaphor).
Shhhh. What's that? It's the sound of Bridget getting comfortable in her own skin. That rarely happens. Usually I wish I was less full of regret. That always happens.
Circus people to me mean friendlies. Kind, accepting people who tolerate everyone and everything. They are the freaks, the fringe, zealots. People with beautiful souls unbound by modern constraints of time, expectations and the mindfuck of radiant cityesque urban suburbia. They only care if you are well and if you are happy, and they care very deeply for one another. It's not much different from Jacob's idea of perfect organized worship.
I'm going to be a circus performer when I grow up.
No, seriously. That was the plan and I made it, for a time. But I am not the only freak in this homemade urban circus. Jacob is a magician. He can pull quarters out of people's ears. We used to joke about him shaking down the congregation with his tricks and becoming a millionaire.
Today was a rare treat. We were outside cleaning up the parking lot and the yard at the church and based on my injuries I was holding the garbage bag and not doing a whole lot aside from following Jacob or Sam around in the searing cold wind and feeling as if I might possibly sell my soul for a hot cup of tea.
Treasures we compiled included three condoms (please don't ask me if they were used but hurrah for safe sex, right? Not so hurrah for the goth teens using the churchyard as their spooky boudoir) and a fork. Jacob stuck the fork in his back pocket and when we were finished he brought it in and proceeded to trot out his favorite mindblowing trick of all:
Telekinesis. The power to move objects with your mind.
He bent the fork into a wavy mess of stainless steel.
I jump out of my goosebumped skin every time he does it. Then I told him he had to show the kids today. He used to only do it late at night at dinner parties after a couple of drinks. So when the kids came home for lunch he showed them and they positively squealed.
Do it again! became the rally cry of the noon hour.
When I came back from walking them back to school, I counted seventeen bent spoons on the kitchen table. I gathered them up and took them in and dumped them in front of Jake on the desk in the study.
Okay, smartiepants, bend them back.
Oh shit.
What?
I can't. Once they're bent I can't bend the same spoon again, princess.
Then I guess you're going to the store because we don't have any spoons left.
Well then, let me get some money.
He stuck his hand down into my shirt and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. Lochlan can do it too but you'd expect it from him, not from Jake.
And I am still laughing. Because this morning I realized when he bent that fork that he was capable of using his powers on people too, it just took him almost ten years to perfect it.
Shhhh. What's that? It's the sound of Bridget getting comfortable in her own skin. That rarely happens. Usually I wish I was less full of regret. That always happens.
Circus people to me mean friendlies. Kind, accepting people who tolerate everyone and everything. They are the freaks, the fringe, zealots. People with beautiful souls unbound by modern constraints of time, expectations and the mindfuck of radiant cityesque urban suburbia. They only care if you are well and if you are happy, and they care very deeply for one another. It's not much different from Jacob's idea of perfect organized worship.
I'm going to be a circus performer when I grow up.
No, seriously. That was the plan and I made it, for a time. But I am not the only freak in this homemade urban circus. Jacob is a magician. He can pull quarters out of people's ears. We used to joke about him shaking down the congregation with his tricks and becoming a millionaire.
Today was a rare treat. We were outside cleaning up the parking lot and the yard at the church and based on my injuries I was holding the garbage bag and not doing a whole lot aside from following Jacob or Sam around in the searing cold wind and feeling as if I might possibly sell my soul for a hot cup of tea.
Treasures we compiled included three condoms (please don't ask me if they were used but hurrah for safe sex, right? Not so hurrah for the goth teens using the churchyard as their spooky boudoir) and a fork. Jacob stuck the fork in his back pocket and when we were finished he brought it in and proceeded to trot out his favorite mindblowing trick of all:
Telekinesis. The power to move objects with your mind.
He bent the fork into a wavy mess of stainless steel.
I jump out of my goosebumped skin every time he does it. Then I told him he had to show the kids today. He used to only do it late at night at dinner parties after a couple of drinks. So when the kids came home for lunch he showed them and they positively squealed.
Do it again! became the rally cry of the noon hour.
When I came back from walking them back to school, I counted seventeen bent spoons on the kitchen table. I gathered them up and took them in and dumped them in front of Jake on the desk in the study.
Okay, smartiepants, bend them back.
Oh shit.
What?
I can't. Once they're bent I can't bend the same spoon again, princess.
Then I guess you're going to the store because we don't have any spoons left.
Well then, let me get some money.
He stuck his hand down into my shirt and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. Lochlan can do it too but you'd expect it from him, not from Jake.
And I am still laughing. Because this morning I realized when he bent that fork that he was capable of using his powers on people too, it just took him almost ten years to perfect it.
Tuesday 3 April 2007
Witness protection.
Oops. My friends are holding me at arms length this afternoon. Not because I publically shared a profoundly intimate moment with Jacob (who holds his words more sacred than his flesh just like I do) but because I admitted that I'm still listening to a song that came out when I was thirteen years old.
I know.
Then you won't be surprised either if I told you I keep Kansas, Bad Company and Bon Jovi in heavy rotation too.
And I didn't grow up to be embarrassed of my pictures in off the shoulder shirts and parachute pants and giant plastic neon jewelry, oh no. My wardrobe was a heavy rotation of Metallica t-shirts and incredibly tight jeans. Black high heels, eyeliner and a whole lot of hair. My dream? To follow in Tawny Kitaen's footsteps and get paid to roll around on the hood of a car.
Go big or go home, Bridget.
(As you can see, I went home.)
And pretty range wildly between gypsy lovechild and metal queen now. Okay. Shut up.
I know.
Then you won't be surprised either if I told you I keep Kansas, Bad Company and Bon Jovi in heavy rotation too.
And I didn't grow up to be embarrassed of my pictures in off the shoulder shirts and parachute pants and giant plastic neon jewelry, oh no. My wardrobe was a heavy rotation of Metallica t-shirts and incredibly tight jeans. Black high heels, eyeliner and a whole lot of hair. My dream? To follow in Tawny Kitaen's footsteps and get paid to roll around on the hood of a car.
Go big or go home, Bridget.
(As you can see, I went home.)
And pretty range wildly between gypsy lovechild and metal queen now. Okay. Shut up.
Because it's twosday and I have a lot on my mind.
I apologize. I'm prone to wax poetic when faced with old, bad, familiar news. I also posted half an entry, but you can't tell, because I spin. And here, I might even get personal.
Bridget cannot be fixed.
Like anyone had any doubt. Okay, one person did and I feel bad for him. He's so idealistic, so innocent in his plans to conquer the universe. My God.
He's awesome.
And naive.
And he never listened when Cole laughed seven years ago one night and told Jacob that he made sure he broke me good. I didn't listen either, instead attempting to take full responsibility for myself and my problems. A losing battle that made it that much worse.
But hearing that we've gotten just as far as we're ever going to get here just sucks monumentally because I watched Jacob, I watched his expressions unfold as they pinned him to his chair with pessimistic prognoses that he had thus far refused to sit for or acknowledge. He gave no weight to them before, preferring to enjoy a false levity, a gamut of second and third and fourth opinions that merely served to grind it in, salt in a wound. Clarity was never a more unwelcome revelation in our presence as he realized with total and utter grief that he's not going to be able to undo it by galloping in on his white horse to save this princess from certain danger.
The time has passed now.
Time is slipping away, passing us by,
You're wondering why but it's gone,
Gone forever my friend,
and it won't come again
So don't try to pretend you feel fine
Killing time,
killing time
It's a fucking joke, really. I didn't start out this way. And I'll blame Cole until the day I die. I'm going to give myself that, right or wrong. Chemical, my ass. The simple fact is that Cole had twenty years of me all to himself to beat me into this frame of mind, and it will probably take Jacob twenty years to love it right out again.
Which is okay. We've got time.
When we came back home he put his arms around me and he told me I had it wrong. But instead of berating me with further attempts to find ways to get inside my head and tinker with the parts that aren't working, he instead gave me a gift that I don't think I know quite what to do with but it left me speechless in his generosity and total surrender all the same.
He asked me if I would take care of him.
I could never make you understand what that means to me, for us. You'll never fully understand what lies between us and surrounds us. With all my stupid words, I could never sufficiently describe it. It goes to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
That I will do, Jacob.
Bridget cannot be fixed.
Like anyone had any doubt. Okay, one person did and I feel bad for him. He's so idealistic, so innocent in his plans to conquer the universe. My God.
He's awesome.
And naive.
And he never listened when Cole laughed seven years ago one night and told Jacob that he made sure he broke me good. I didn't listen either, instead attempting to take full responsibility for myself and my problems. A losing battle that made it that much worse.
But hearing that we've gotten just as far as we're ever going to get here just sucks monumentally because I watched Jacob, I watched his expressions unfold as they pinned him to his chair with pessimistic prognoses that he had thus far refused to sit for or acknowledge. He gave no weight to them before, preferring to enjoy a false levity, a gamut of second and third and fourth opinions that merely served to grind it in, salt in a wound. Clarity was never a more unwelcome revelation in our presence as he realized with total and utter grief that he's not going to be able to undo it by galloping in on his white horse to save this princess from certain danger.
The time has passed now.
Time is slipping away, passing us by,
You're wondering why but it's gone,
Gone forever my friend,
and it won't come again
So don't try to pretend you feel fine
Killing time,
killing time
It's a fucking joke, really. I didn't start out this way. And I'll blame Cole until the day I die. I'm going to give myself that, right or wrong. Chemical, my ass. The simple fact is that Cole had twenty years of me all to himself to beat me into this frame of mind, and it will probably take Jacob twenty years to love it right out again.
Which is okay. We've got time.
When we came back home he put his arms around me and he told me I had it wrong. But instead of berating me with further attempts to find ways to get inside my head and tinker with the parts that aren't working, he instead gave me a gift that I don't think I know quite what to do with but it left me speechless in his generosity and total surrender all the same.
He asked me if I would take care of him.
I could never make you understand what that means to me, for us. You'll never fully understand what lies between us and surrounds us. With all my stupid words, I could never sufficiently describe it. It goes to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
That I will do, Jacob.
Base jumper.
Jacob has done it and so this can be for him.
Put me somewhere I don't wanna be.
Seeing someplace I don't wanna see.
Never wanna see that place again.
Saw that gap again today
As you were begging me to stay.
Managed to push myself away,
And you, as well.
If, when I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay,
You minimize my movement anyway,
I must persuade you another way.
There's no love in fear.
Staring down the hole again.
Hands upon my back again.
Survival is my only friend.
Terrified of what may come.
Remember I will always love you,
Even as I claw your fucking throat away.
But it will end no other way.
Petulance achieved today in self-destructive historically significant songs in my personal soundtrack.
Pay me no mind, it's proven to be a tough morning from the get-go. And I'm mad at myself for talking about shoes and books and inside jokes and home renovations here when I want to talk about things that are going on in my head and in my heart and sometimes on my flesh itself and instead I distract you with my cuteness, as Jacob calls it. It's the ugliest cuteness ever, if that's true, because it's a dangerous space for me to occupy, a hazardous cliff on which I stand, directly at the edge, to the point where your audible sharp intake of breath exposes your own fear at how close I really am.
But your eyes wear the colors of rationality and calm, and you rightly begin to speak in soothing, relaxed tones, words of warmth and remembrance, memories and promises of good, light and gentle, oh so gentle admonitions, almost canonical and comical at once in their desperation to reclaim my soul.
It's not failing, you just don't understand. There is a point to which I will come away from the edge, a line drawn that I don't seem to have permission to cross, and then when you aren't looking, when you aren't paying attention, I cross my fingers behind my back and take three very big steps back, sometimes landing on an unsure footing that puts my own heart in my throat and gives me a tiny thrill of anticipation at what it will feel like to fly, but the fear is greater and I grab the strong hands that reach out almost too late but not quite.
This is as beautiful and as fucked up as I am ever going to be. This is as good as things ever will be for me, and I'm okay with that.
Just don't take away the memories I have made away from the edge. And don't look too closely, for if you do you'll see I don't have a parachute.
Put me somewhere I don't wanna be.
Seeing someplace I don't wanna see.
Never wanna see that place again.
Saw that gap again today
As you were begging me to stay.
Managed to push myself away,
And you, as well.
If, when I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay,
You minimize my movement anyway,
I must persuade you another way.
There's no love in fear.
Staring down the hole again.
Hands upon my back again.
Survival is my only friend.
Terrified of what may come.
Remember I will always love you,
Even as I claw your fucking throat away.
But it will end no other way.
Petulance achieved today in self-destructive historically significant songs in my personal soundtrack.
Pay me no mind, it's proven to be a tough morning from the get-go. And I'm mad at myself for talking about shoes and books and inside jokes and home renovations here when I want to talk about things that are going on in my head and in my heart and sometimes on my flesh itself and instead I distract you with my cuteness, as Jacob calls it. It's the ugliest cuteness ever, if that's true, because it's a dangerous space for me to occupy, a hazardous cliff on which I stand, directly at the edge, to the point where your audible sharp intake of breath exposes your own fear at how close I really am.
But your eyes wear the colors of rationality and calm, and you rightly begin to speak in soothing, relaxed tones, words of warmth and remembrance, memories and promises of good, light and gentle, oh so gentle admonitions, almost canonical and comical at once in their desperation to reclaim my soul.
It's not failing, you just don't understand. There is a point to which I will come away from the edge, a line drawn that I don't seem to have permission to cross, and then when you aren't looking, when you aren't paying attention, I cross my fingers behind my back and take three very big steps back, sometimes landing on an unsure footing that puts my own heart in my throat and gives me a tiny thrill of anticipation at what it will feel like to fly, but the fear is greater and I grab the strong hands that reach out almost too late but not quite.
This is as beautiful and as fucked up as I am ever going to be. This is as good as things ever will be for me, and I'm okay with that.
Just don't take away the memories I have made away from the edge. And don't look too closely, for if you do you'll see I don't have a parachute.
Monday 2 April 2007
Rarities and B-sides: A girl who doesn't like to buy shoes.
One of the more cringeworthy running jokes in my circle is how incredibly difficult it is for me to buy shoes. Some say now that it's as hard for me to decide on a pair of shoes as it is for me to decide on husbands. And then once I find something I like, I wear them into the ground.
Oh, let's face it. I'll make the off-color joke and spare you from feeling guilty.
So, yes, those pretty new Earth shoes are awesome.
The previously loved ones by Demonia are toast, the four-inch platform I can no longer depend on, and I fit right under Jacob's armpit again (yes, that man who doesn't like shoes much either).
Now if this isn't a metaphor for something, I really don't know what is.
Oh, let's face it. I'll make the off-color joke and spare you from feeling guilty.
So, yes, those pretty new Earth shoes are awesome.
The previously loved ones by Demonia are toast, the four-inch platform I can no longer depend on, and I fit right under Jacob's armpit again (yes, that man who doesn't like shoes much either).
Now if this isn't a metaphor for something, I really don't know what is.
This is the house that Jake built.
Throw the rocks and break the glass
I'll get down on my knees and kiss your ass
'Cause you're the one to be in my dreams
It never was
It isn't what it seems
Good morning. My apologies to Caldecott for stealing his title and changing it to suit my whims.
I have new Earth Shoes and a fresh outlook. I feel like a million dollars.
Shhh. It might be the Vicodin.
I haven't run, the last day being with Loch who is the most impatient, quietest, most dedicated non-runner ever. He doesn't run, he prefers to do strength training in a sweaty gym somewhere, standing still (pffft) but by the time he left here he was talking about maybe starting a daily run. Ha! And, must be nice.
Consensus is definitely that something is going to be taken away here, therapy-wise. The pills seem to have little effect, what's having effect is the brutal honesty with which I can finally confess to Jacob exactly how many times a day, a night, an hour I think of Cole, or remember something about him, and exactly how many times a day it's a positive or a negative thought. I didn't think I could tell him, and I told him that and he floored me by being able to take that. God forbid if our roles were reversed, I wouldn't want to know.
My God, I love this man.
And the wall came down yesterday, the wall in the kitchen that was my target as the human flying machine, a wall full of shelves and dishes that shattered brilliantly in the evening light as every bone in my body flexed magically and only 3 out of 206 broke. I should have kept count of exactly how many dishes Cole broke over the course of our lives together.
Jacob had taken what was left of the shelves down and repaired the wall itself from the outline my head and shoulders embossed into it but we never put the shelves back up and now the whole wall is gone, a beautiful archway in it's place, a new door opens, literally and figuratively, and we made the old opening into a wall. The house flows better and I don't stand and look at that wall anymore, swearing I can still see my outline because there is no wall to look at. It's one less proverbial wall to climb over in search of memories that don't hurt.
Sparing Jacob's feelings, sparing Bridget's, it's sweet but it doesn't fix Bridget, what's fixing her is the time. He keeps pointing out how much time has passed and how quickly it's slipping through our fingers. And I don't know anyone as strong as Jacob. I never will again. He is it. Strongest man I ever met. Strongest man you'll ever meet, should you be so lucky. A man convinced that no matter how much I think it might be hard for him to hear things or for me to say things, or for him to have to rebuild an entire room to change the past, then the step forward is worth the harmful part, if only as a means to an end.
He wanted it down before a year was up and so he did it.
It's our house now.
I cheered. And he grinned and I noticed his dimples filled that new doorway.
I'll get down on my knees and kiss your ass
'Cause you're the one to be in my dreams
It never was
It isn't what it seems
Good morning. My apologies to Caldecott for stealing his title and changing it to suit my whims.
I have new Earth Shoes and a fresh outlook. I feel like a million dollars.
Shhh. It might be the Vicodin.
I haven't run, the last day being with Loch who is the most impatient, quietest, most dedicated non-runner ever. He doesn't run, he prefers to do strength training in a sweaty gym somewhere, standing still (pffft) but by the time he left here he was talking about maybe starting a daily run. Ha! And, must be nice.
Consensus is definitely that something is going to be taken away here, therapy-wise. The pills seem to have little effect, what's having effect is the brutal honesty with which I can finally confess to Jacob exactly how many times a day, a night, an hour I think of Cole, or remember something about him, and exactly how many times a day it's a positive or a negative thought. I didn't think I could tell him, and I told him that and he floored me by being able to take that. God forbid if our roles were reversed, I wouldn't want to know.
My God, I love this man.
And the wall came down yesterday, the wall in the kitchen that was my target as the human flying machine, a wall full of shelves and dishes that shattered brilliantly in the evening light as every bone in my body flexed magically and only 3 out of 206 broke. I should have kept count of exactly how many dishes Cole broke over the course of our lives together.
Jacob had taken what was left of the shelves down and repaired the wall itself from the outline my head and shoulders embossed into it but we never put the shelves back up and now the whole wall is gone, a beautiful archway in it's place, a new door opens, literally and figuratively, and we made the old opening into a wall. The house flows better and I don't stand and look at that wall anymore, swearing I can still see my outline because there is no wall to look at. It's one less proverbial wall to climb over in search of memories that don't hurt.
Sparing Jacob's feelings, sparing Bridget's, it's sweet but it doesn't fix Bridget, what's fixing her is the time. He keeps pointing out how much time has passed and how quickly it's slipping through our fingers. And I don't know anyone as strong as Jacob. I never will again. He is it. Strongest man I ever met. Strongest man you'll ever meet, should you be so lucky. A man convinced that no matter how much I think it might be hard for him to hear things or for me to say things, or for him to have to rebuild an entire room to change the past, then the step forward is worth the harmful part, if only as a means to an end.
He wanted it down before a year was up and so he did it.
It's our house now.
I cheered. And he grinned and I noticed his dimples filled that new doorway.
Sunday 1 April 2007
Two fools, early on a snowy Sunday morning.
When I woke up Jacob whispered to me that it was raining. It was soft, muffled by the snowflakes falling too, I couldn't hear it, but I closed my eyes again and tried to drift back into my dream. He wouldn't allow for that, instead he put his arms around me in his customary protective cage that he makes for me and he put his hand gently around my neck and felt, with his nose, for the soft place directly under my left earlobe that he likes to kiss when he wakes up.
Then he told me we had to get up and get ready because he had to do the service this morning. Oh wonderful. I love to watch him so I started to get up (still gingerly) and he frowned and stopped me, pulling me back into his arms and pulling the quilts up over our heads.
April Fools, princess.
Aw, I was actually hoping to hear you today.
You're my fanclub, I can do a home version for you today.
Okay, maybe later.
Can we go back to sleep now?
Just for a bit. I need extra time to get ready today for eleven.
I'll help you. Goodnight, princess.
We did go back to sleep for a bit. And in my dreams, I traveled back a year in time to the Sunday before Easter, in which I put on my rose-print dress and went to church by myself, Cole hardly ever went, and I sat mid-sanctuary and watched Jacob and wondered what a week from then was going to bring for us all
Then he told me we had to get up and get ready because he had to do the service this morning. Oh wonderful. I love to watch him so I started to get up (still gingerly) and he frowned and stopped me, pulling me back into his arms and pulling the quilts up over our heads.
April Fools, princess.
Aw, I was actually hoping to hear you today.
You're my fanclub, I can do a home version for you today.
Okay, maybe later.
Can we go back to sleep now?
Just for a bit. I need extra time to get ready today for eleven.
I'll help you. Goodnight, princess.
We did go back to sleep for a bit. And in my dreams, I traveled back a year in time to the Sunday before Easter, in which I put on my rose-print dress and went to church by myself, Cole hardly ever went, and I sat mid-sanctuary and watched Jacob and wondered what a week from then was going to bring for us all
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