If I had a choice, I would take the little copper box with the bluebird and I would carefully pour out the contents, away from the wind and with glue and hope and tears I would make a paste and put him back together and have Jacob back, fucked up or not. Maybe now I see that he loved me whether I was fucked up or fine and if I could pick any one of the men I have loved and get any kind of second or third chance or whatever number we were on, I would pick Jacob in a heartbeat.
I would resurrect him and ignore the ashes in his hair and the powdered bones within his skin and the hollows where his beautiful pale blue eyes once smiled at me and I would love him for the rest of my days.
And this, THIS is why Bridget lying through her teeth to get through things is so much better than just facing them head-on. She is a trainwreck.
Friday 22 February 2008
Thursday 21 February 2008
Twitter.
An extra-long walk with Butterfield in the bleak snow-swept ravines that run between the train tracks brought some much needed perspective today.
I wish I was the girl in that episode of The Twilight Zone. You know, the one with no mouth. Then I would never have to worry about sending all my misdirected and projected and unprotected words out into the wild blue where they immediately stab those around me with indelible marks of pain, leaving everyone for dead.
That's what I wish for today. An un-do.
I wish I was the girl in that episode of The Twilight Zone. You know, the one with no mouth. Then I would never have to worry about sending all my misdirected and projected and unprotected words out into the wild blue where they immediately stab those around me with indelible marks of pain, leaving everyone for dead.
That's what I wish for today. An un-do.
Wednesday 20 February 2008
Blowing smoke.
Well, shit. Apparently all I had to do was step backwards into the snow to my previous bootprints and whore that I am, receive in trade one single begrudged and forbidden cigarette from Joel in exchange for a hastily scheduled appointment because missing them means you're flung right off the face of the earth, Bridget.
There is a mountain in front of me. I need to either climb it, get around it or erode it little by little until it changes the landscape. Every morning when I wake up I face the mountain and I know there will be a long day of climbing ahead. Some days I wake up and I don't want to climb, but the walk around it is even longer.
Some days I turn my back on it and pretend it isn't there, and some days I go running at it headlong, shovel raised over my head and I dig until I can no longer hold the shovel and I look, and there's a big hole dug out of it and I nod and think, progress. I'll beat you yet.
Some days I just sit at the bottom of it and resign myself to staying right here, with no way over, around or through my mountain, forced to spend the rest of my days in a claustrophobic landlocked valley of shadows I can't keep count of.
And through the nights I dream that on the other side of this mountain, the sea waits for me.
She is so very patient. And I am nothing of the kind.
There is a mountain in front of me. I need to either climb it, get around it or erode it little by little until it changes the landscape. Every morning when I wake up I face the mountain and I know there will be a long day of climbing ahead. Some days I wake up and I don't want to climb, but the walk around it is even longer.
Some days I turn my back on it and pretend it isn't there, and some days I go running at it headlong, shovel raised over my head and I dig until I can no longer hold the shovel and I look, and there's a big hole dug out of it and I nod and think, progress. I'll beat you yet.
Some days I just sit at the bottom of it and resign myself to staying right here, with no way over, around or through my mountain, forced to spend the rest of my days in a claustrophobic landlocked valley of shadows I can't keep count of.
And through the nights I dream that on the other side of this mountain, the sea waits for me.
She is so very patient. And I am nothing of the kind.
Tuesday 19 February 2008
February stars.
Hanging on here until I'm gone
right where I belong
just hanging on
Even though I pass this time alone
somewhere so unknown
it heals the soul
There are only three writing days in this week. I've cleared them and will be spending them alone, ensconced high in my house in the glass room at the end of the hall. The terrarium. The observatory. Everyone has a different name for it, the creepy glass Victorian half-greenhouse that sticks out the back of the house that I love so. In that room are some plants and a table and a chair. One chair, just for me. From what I understand it was an open balcony at one point and someone glassed it in in the most gothic and wonderful way. This little cold cracked room is why I wanted this house.
Yesterday was a holiday in it's infancy, Friday is a half-day of school for Ruth and Henry and so I have today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow to get some work done.
This morning I put on a long black and white sweater and a pair of incredibly baggy army-green cords, tied a messy bun with a pencil at the nape of my neck, found my mocs and brought up my laptop with me, a huge steaming mug of coffee, a piece of carrot cake and a silent mental lament, why on earth would anyone put cake together with vegetables and I know I'm awful but I actually canceled every last therapy appointment I had this week, mostly because last week there were a few doubles anyway and Joel is always a phone call away, I could bend his ears. He'd prefer it, actually.
Wait until he doesn't see me walk past his office today.
Ben woke me up this morning with a call, his voice sounding rawer by the minute. He asked me how my cold was and I said it was ravaging me beautifully, that I was vaguely foggy-headed and a little drippy and raspy and then I sneezed all over my phone and he laughed softly and suggested I drink tea instead of the coffee today. I asked him how he was feeling and he lied and said fine even though twice he held the phone away and coughed into his sleeve.
He asked if I was wearing the ring and I pointed out that since it was six in the morning that I was wearing absolutely nothing and it was so warm under the blankets I hated to leave them, but I did leave them shortly after we hung up, anxious to catch a shower and get the laundry started before I got the kids up for school so I can have less time running up and down three flights of stairs to the dryer in the basement.
He asked if I would wear the ring when I got dressed. I asked him if that would make him happy. He said only if it was done as an answer to his question. I said I didn't have an answer yet because the man who gave me the ring said he didn't care how long I took and I need a long time. He said he wished he could see into the future and I told him he didn't want to do that.
Reminders. Memories everywhere, covering everything with an inch of heartache and a layer of fresh pain. He stirred all of it up where it was settling. I had backed into a corner and slid down so I was hidden from view, obscured under the leaf of an old, peeling-paint table, sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up, my arms around them, hugging myself so I wouldn't be cold but I would be alone but Ben thinks the curtains should be open and the window up and the lights on and the leaf down so that there are no shadows, nowhere to hide, nothing to keep secret, nowhere to go to get away from life with it's relentless march forward. Not as a way to fix a thing, but just to keep going because if you don't keep going then you are dead.
It's a logic that is simple and flawless and slays every attempt to excuse my behavior. It's a plea. This time for Bridget, taken with a grain of salt as big as the chip on her bony shoulder is a promise that a man will have patience and a generous encouragement to take time that is needed all the while he walks behind me telling me to hurry up, can't he just have everything and he promises it will be awesome just hurry. But Bridget feels the sting of the salt and the grind of the weight of that chip and she knows better. She's touched by the efforts and the passion and the sweetness and even sometimes the haste and she recognizes the pattern and she knows that he won't wait, that he'll sometimes be frustrated and sometimes be angry but she's going to take whatever she needs and do this not to make him happy but to make her better.
Sometimes she is so close and sometimes so far. Sometimes things seem so normal and it's like falling into a trap. But always, always know that now, she knows what to look for and to stand her ground.
I asked Ben if he would not ask about the ring each morning, that soon I was going to resent it and then he would resent me, and that when I was ready I would just put it on and it was so beautiful he wouldn't miss it when I did, but that for now it was going to stay in the box and I might not look at it for five days or five years and if that wasn't okay with him he needed to speak up now before I finished falling, or hiding, or making a mistake because I have to be careful now, I'm operating without a complete heart, so any more heartache would finish me off.
He said fifty years was just fine, as long as I am his.
And I said I was.
And when he sniffed I asked him if he was crying.
And he said only a little. And somehow it's more than enough to warm me as I sit in this little glass room in the sky. A turret for the princess, but oh, such a fragile one. Made of glass and iron. Just like me.
right where I belong
just hanging on
Even though I pass this time alone
somewhere so unknown
it heals the soul
There are only three writing days in this week. I've cleared them and will be spending them alone, ensconced high in my house in the glass room at the end of the hall. The terrarium. The observatory. Everyone has a different name for it, the creepy glass Victorian half-greenhouse that sticks out the back of the house that I love so. In that room are some plants and a table and a chair. One chair, just for me. From what I understand it was an open balcony at one point and someone glassed it in in the most gothic and wonderful way. This little cold cracked room is why I wanted this house.
Yesterday was a holiday in it's infancy, Friday is a half-day of school for Ruth and Henry and so I have today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow to get some work done.
This morning I put on a long black and white sweater and a pair of incredibly baggy army-green cords, tied a messy bun with a pencil at the nape of my neck, found my mocs and brought up my laptop with me, a huge steaming mug of coffee, a piece of carrot cake and a silent mental lament, why on earth would anyone put cake together with vegetables and I know I'm awful but I actually canceled every last therapy appointment I had this week, mostly because last week there were a few doubles anyway and Joel is always a phone call away, I could bend his ears. He'd prefer it, actually.
Wait until he doesn't see me walk past his office today.
Ben woke me up this morning with a call, his voice sounding rawer by the minute. He asked me how my cold was and I said it was ravaging me beautifully, that I was vaguely foggy-headed and a little drippy and raspy and then I sneezed all over my phone and he laughed softly and suggested I drink tea instead of the coffee today. I asked him how he was feeling and he lied and said fine even though twice he held the phone away and coughed into his sleeve.
He asked if I was wearing the ring and I pointed out that since it was six in the morning that I was wearing absolutely nothing and it was so warm under the blankets I hated to leave them, but I did leave them shortly after we hung up, anxious to catch a shower and get the laundry started before I got the kids up for school so I can have less time running up and down three flights of stairs to the dryer in the basement.
He asked if I would wear the ring when I got dressed. I asked him if that would make him happy. He said only if it was done as an answer to his question. I said I didn't have an answer yet because the man who gave me the ring said he didn't care how long I took and I need a long time. He said he wished he could see into the future and I told him he didn't want to do that.
Reminders. Memories everywhere, covering everything with an inch of heartache and a layer of fresh pain. He stirred all of it up where it was settling. I had backed into a corner and slid down so I was hidden from view, obscured under the leaf of an old, peeling-paint table, sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up, my arms around them, hugging myself so I wouldn't be cold but I would be alone but Ben thinks the curtains should be open and the window up and the lights on and the leaf down so that there are no shadows, nowhere to hide, nothing to keep secret, nowhere to go to get away from life with it's relentless march forward. Not as a way to fix a thing, but just to keep going because if you don't keep going then you are dead.
It's a logic that is simple and flawless and slays every attempt to excuse my behavior. It's a plea. This time for Bridget, taken with a grain of salt as big as the chip on her bony shoulder is a promise that a man will have patience and a generous encouragement to take time that is needed all the while he walks behind me telling me to hurry up, can't he just have everything and he promises it will be awesome just hurry. But Bridget feels the sting of the salt and the grind of the weight of that chip and she knows better. She's touched by the efforts and the passion and the sweetness and even sometimes the haste and she recognizes the pattern and she knows that he won't wait, that he'll sometimes be frustrated and sometimes be angry but she's going to take whatever she needs and do this not to make him happy but to make her better.
Sometimes she is so close and sometimes so far. Sometimes things seem so normal and it's like falling into a trap. But always, always know that now, she knows what to look for and to stand her ground.
I asked Ben if he would not ask about the ring each morning, that soon I was going to resent it and then he would resent me, and that when I was ready I would just put it on and it was so beautiful he wouldn't miss it when I did, but that for now it was going to stay in the box and I might not look at it for five days or five years and if that wasn't okay with him he needed to speak up now before I finished falling, or hiding, or making a mistake because I have to be careful now, I'm operating without a complete heart, so any more heartache would finish me off.
He said fifty years was just fine, as long as I am his.
And I said I was.
And when he sniffed I asked him if he was crying.
And he said only a little. And somehow it's more than enough to warm me as I sit in this little glass room in the sky. A turret for the princess, but oh, such a fragile one. Made of glass and iron. Just like me.
Monday 18 February 2008
Tall, dark and absent-minded.
The heart is a small thing, but desireth great matters. It is not sufficient for a kite's dinner, yet the whole world is not sufficient for it.
~Francis Quarles
The phone calls ended Friday afternoon via PJ who acted as the supreme go-between, sandwiching me into a chair and sitting on me while I was forced to hear what I thought was going to be a massive campaign of retribution by Ben but turned out to be two-separate conference calls from a whole bunch of higher-ups that I didn't know but they sure as hell know who I am now and they were incredibly and deeply embarrassed for the behavior of several people who were present at an impromptu party.
Ben's phone was there because he had left it on the table and gone up to his own room and someone's girlfriend got a hold of it and had a little fun. He leaves his phone everywhere.
The apologies were formal and profuse.
Like I said, it's happened before but usually it was one of Ben's girlfriends trying to get her hooks in or increase the odds in her favor. In this case he didn't even know who had his phone until he woke up and went to call me and had to go get it.
Then the shit hit the fan. He quit. They sorted it out. He was equally impressed with the phone call I had received earlier telling me not to expect him back alot, and the whole thing smacked of underhanded trouble-stirring so I took the apologies with a grain of salt, mostly because I really don't feeling like dealing with people I don't even know and also because we've been keeping things private and I'd like them to stay that way. No one save for the guys knew he went out there with a girlfriend at home this time.
When PJ finally got off me and let me breathe, he suggested we find some major distractions for the weekend, as in leave the house, get away, keep the kids busy because honestly, while I believed that what happened was the truth, him being out there is still hard. I don't like it. Fine, I said it.
I woke up Sunday morning and Ben was standing in the door of my room. He was ashen, positively exhausted and looking as if he were about to cry. He didn't say a word, he was waiting for me to go first.
So I did.
My skin isn't thick enough for this, Ben.
He closed his eyes and made a face. He leaned back against the side of the doorway in a physical interpretation of the wind going out of someone's sails.
Keep them away from me.
He nodded, eyes still closed, as if he were afraid that he might see something he didn't want to see. And I don't know if I was just handed the party-line of placating the wives back home 101 or if they meant it when they said that Ben would garner more respect this time out and that they would work harder to keep the riffraff away and keep his personal property secured, which basically means if Mark finds Ben's phone he's to pocket it, but I chose to believe that he didn't know it was happening, corroborated by virtually everyone present and so I chose to forgive him and only him. Because he threatened to abandon what he lived for and breathed for rather than lose me, something he also now seems to live and breathe for. Huh.
I love you.
He cocked one eye open at me and winced.
Seriously?
I never say it lightly anymore, Benny.
Oh, dear God, I love you. How badly did you eviscerate me to everyone?
Thoroughly.
Great.
I'm sorry too, Ben.
Don't be, I wouldn't want to be sitting at home. Well, I would now. I want to be, here, that is.
You will be soon enough.
Not soon enough for me, Bee.
Ben asked me to know that he's working as hard as he can to have a future with the one girl who never turned her heart on him and that he wasn't about to watch me turn it now. That he's never wanted to marry anyone before in his entire life and when the thought of only being with one girl would have given him hives before, now it makes him happy, it gives him something to look forward to while he's out there pretending to be someone he'll never be.
That all he wants is what's in front of him and that now he has to leave again and for fuck's sakes we're going to get this right.
He asked me to keep the ring and the chip and that when he returns things are going to be a lot different. No, before he comes back. Starting now. Starting with trust, getting it, keeping it, invoking it and not needing to worry about it at all. And then he said Happy Valentine's Day and I burst into tears.
He flew out this morning. Here's hoping for that quiet spring I wished for.
~Francis Quarles
The phone calls ended Friday afternoon via PJ who acted as the supreme go-between, sandwiching me into a chair and sitting on me while I was forced to hear what I thought was going to be a massive campaign of retribution by Ben but turned out to be two-separate conference calls from a whole bunch of higher-ups that I didn't know but they sure as hell know who I am now and they were incredibly and deeply embarrassed for the behavior of several people who were present at an impromptu party.
Ben's phone was there because he had left it on the table and gone up to his own room and someone's girlfriend got a hold of it and had a little fun. He leaves his phone everywhere.
The apologies were formal and profuse.
Like I said, it's happened before but usually it was one of Ben's girlfriends trying to get her hooks in or increase the odds in her favor. In this case he didn't even know who had his phone until he woke up and went to call me and had to go get it.
Then the shit hit the fan. He quit. They sorted it out. He was equally impressed with the phone call I had received earlier telling me not to expect him back alot, and the whole thing smacked of underhanded trouble-stirring so I took the apologies with a grain of salt, mostly because I really don't feeling like dealing with people I don't even know and also because we've been keeping things private and I'd like them to stay that way. No one save for the guys knew he went out there with a girlfriend at home this time.
When PJ finally got off me and let me breathe, he suggested we find some major distractions for the weekend, as in leave the house, get away, keep the kids busy because honestly, while I believed that what happened was the truth, him being out there is still hard. I don't like it. Fine, I said it.
I woke up Sunday morning and Ben was standing in the door of my room. He was ashen, positively exhausted and looking as if he were about to cry. He didn't say a word, he was waiting for me to go first.
So I did.
My skin isn't thick enough for this, Ben.
He closed his eyes and made a face. He leaned back against the side of the doorway in a physical interpretation of the wind going out of someone's sails.
Keep them away from me.
He nodded, eyes still closed, as if he were afraid that he might see something he didn't want to see. And I don't know if I was just handed the party-line of placating the wives back home 101 or if they meant it when they said that Ben would garner more respect this time out and that they would work harder to keep the riffraff away and keep his personal property secured, which basically means if Mark finds Ben's phone he's to pocket it, but I chose to believe that he didn't know it was happening, corroborated by virtually everyone present and so I chose to forgive him and only him. Because he threatened to abandon what he lived for and breathed for rather than lose me, something he also now seems to live and breathe for. Huh.
I love you.
He cocked one eye open at me and winced.
Seriously?
I never say it lightly anymore, Benny.
Oh, dear God, I love you. How badly did you eviscerate me to everyone?
Thoroughly.
Great.
I'm sorry too, Ben.
Don't be, I wouldn't want to be sitting at home. Well, I would now. I want to be, here, that is.
You will be soon enough.
Not soon enough for me, Bee.
Ben asked me to know that he's working as hard as he can to have a future with the one girl who never turned her heart on him and that he wasn't about to watch me turn it now. That he's never wanted to marry anyone before in his entire life and when the thought of only being with one girl would have given him hives before, now it makes him happy, it gives him something to look forward to while he's out there pretending to be someone he'll never be.
That all he wants is what's in front of him and that now he has to leave again and for fuck's sakes we're going to get this right.
He asked me to keep the ring and the chip and that when he returns things are going to be a lot different. No, before he comes back. Starting now. Starting with trust, getting it, keeping it, invoking it and not needing to worry about it at all. And then he said Happy Valentine's Day and I burst into tears.
He flew out this morning. Here's hoping for that quiet spring I wished for.
Sunday 17 February 2008
Isolated flurries.
This morning outside my window here at Nolan's the woods were deep, quiet, buffered with a layer of white cold, muted in their sunrise song. Few birds, a wild bunny or two and three big guys clomping around outside, headed for an early ride to check the creek and see if it was running yet in the warmer winter day.
I opted to stay snuggled in flannel and that old grey sweater and keep my memories close and my children closer, ignoring their oatmeal and fruit while they do mazes in the activity books we brought.
John and Duncan are here, they spend most weekends and Nolan loves the company, missing his own sons, who are up North making their fortunes.
And Ben, Ben is here too. He quit.
Then he went back.
Long story. I'll tell it in a day or two. Right now I just want to enjoy this, it...him.
I opted to stay snuggled in flannel and that old grey sweater and keep my memories close and my children closer, ignoring their oatmeal and fruit while they do mazes in the activity books we brought.
John and Duncan are here, they spend most weekends and Nolan loves the company, missing his own sons, who are up North making their fortunes.
And Ben, Ben is here too. He quit.
Then he went back.
Long story. I'll tell it in a day or two. Right now I just want to enjoy this, it...him.
Friday 15 February 2008
I have plans now anyway.
I'm going to spend the weekend at Nolan's with the kids. If you need me you know how to reach me.
If you know how to reach me but don't need me then that's fine too. As soon as this call is done and I can pick up the kids from school I'm out of this city.
If you know how to reach me but don't need me then that's fine too. As soon as this call is done and I can pick up the kids from school I'm out of this city.
The drowning pool.
Yesterday was a softly-cushioned fall from an artificial high. I wasn't really up, so I didn't really fall down. It was just...well, one of those times where I expected the stars to align and life to go exactly as I expected it now should and it didn't. I get snobbish and insular and the whole world revolves around me, weren't you aware?
The coldness creeps back in and now the ever-present abandonment gets to join the party for one, because he isn't coming back and I played all my cards and I'm out. He said before he left, don't cry, I'll be back soon enough and then soon we'll be at our circled date and everything is going to be fine because you're doing great and you don't need me for that.
Oh, God. Please don't suffocate me with logic. I'm still standing here with the phone jammed against my ear, huge tears threatening to drown me in a self-made puddle and finding incredible outrage and unfairness all around me, in words meant to be delivered gently, but instead all I hear is a message telling me the person I'm trying to call is unavailable.
Ben had ticked through the litany of reasons I shouldn't care about the time he will be away and don't need to take it personally but I should maybe see if PJ wants to take you and the kids to see Spiderwick, anything, please just don't fall into the pool and for heaven's sake just don't drown because there, you see?
I won't let you.
In this position, so close to the edge, without a gate or a fence or hell, even a warning sign it's so very hard not to fall in. It's almost as if I'm pushed. I don't understand the difference between obligation and rejection, I can't differentiate love from addiction, I don't have thick skin or a thick line drawn between passion and loathing and I'm not even going to pretend that I'm clear-headed enough to weather the kinds of storms borne out of hope.
I'm not.
Fine.
Call it a tantrum, call it immaturity, call it unfair. Or just call it mental illness and moods most completely unstabilized and we'll hide behind a fucking label for once. Because everyone else gets away with it, I may as well just sit down and join the growing crowd.
I've been asked by Ben's highest-up boss to join several people in a conference call at 2 pm local time today. I can't wait to hear what he has to say. I don't even know why he would be involved. It should be interesting, then.
The coldness creeps back in and now the ever-present abandonment gets to join the party for one, because he isn't coming back and I played all my cards and I'm out. He said before he left, don't cry, I'll be back soon enough and then soon we'll be at our circled date and everything is going to be fine because you're doing great and you don't need me for that.
Oh, God. Please don't suffocate me with logic. I'm still standing here with the phone jammed against my ear, huge tears threatening to drown me in a self-made puddle and finding incredible outrage and unfairness all around me, in words meant to be delivered gently, but instead all I hear is a message telling me the person I'm trying to call is unavailable.
Ben had ticked through the litany of reasons I shouldn't care about the time he will be away and don't need to take it personally but I should maybe see if PJ wants to take you and the kids to see Spiderwick, anything, please just don't fall into the pool and for heaven's sake just don't drown because there, you see?
I won't let you.
In this position, so close to the edge, without a gate or a fence or hell, even a warning sign it's so very hard not to fall in. It's almost as if I'm pushed. I don't understand the difference between obligation and rejection, I can't differentiate love from addiction, I don't have thick skin or a thick line drawn between passion and loathing and I'm not even going to pretend that I'm clear-headed enough to weather the kinds of storms borne out of hope.
I'm not.
Fine.
Call it a tantrum, call it immaturity, call it unfair. Or just call it mental illness and moods most completely unstabilized and we'll hide behind a fucking label for once. Because everyone else gets away with it, I may as well just sit down and join the growing crowd.
I've been asked by Ben's highest-up boss to join several people in a conference call at 2 pm local time today. I can't wait to hear what he has to say. I don't even know why he would be involved. It should be interesting, then.
Thursday 14 February 2008
It can just be Thursday for me.
Valentine's Day is for children.
The kids went off excited, balancing envelopes stuffed with paper valentines for their classmates and wrapped plates of brownies for their afternoon parties. They both wore red and said the day was about love.
Ironically it should be, shouldn't it? While every day should be a vested interest in celebrating your love for someone, it is nice to have a day dedicated to it entirely.
It would be so much nicer if people embraced that instead of choosing this day to make a huge mistake. But it's okay, I spent the first part of this day blocking all kinds of numbers, including very familiar ones known by heart because I'm not interested in half-assed efforts, I need to make my own efforts with everything I've got.
I'm not interested in trophies and markers and being used.
I'm not interested in being used, I said. I'm not your curiosity or your conquest. Maybe that's why today's Valentine will be one that is completely different. Maybe because I had no sleep after five fucked up phone calls in the middle of the night and then however many I didn't get because I started blocking numbers, if any were even made at all after that. I doubt it.
Inside the tiny box sitting on my kitchen table was a red medallion with "5 Months" written on it.
Ben's anniversary milestone from Alcoholics Anonymous, small but significant because he repeatedly fell off and was run over by the wagon.
He gave it to me. I'll give it back to him but just the simple fact that he was acknowledging it in my presence is very important to me. It isn't something we've really talked about much. He was messed up. He drank a lot, he took a lot of drugs. He was losing it.
The biggest motivator for him getting help was the night he attacked me (I'm not linking, it's there) and finally understood what sort of dangerous drunk he was. It took him the rest of the summer to figure out for himself that even one drink put him back on that path to destruction and he was incredibly proactive with his sobriety, a difficult road to hold in his field, with these friends.
He takes a mild antidepressant even. He was scared to death of the hit being sober would land on his lucid liquid creativity. He has few outlets other than talk and distractions to deal with his fears but he was doing it anyway.
Five months was huge. This is a guy that couldn't skip a day at one point and I was scared for him, as much as I was scared of him at one point. Both of those feelings are gone, thankfully, as he was doing really well and I had hoped he would continue to do so.
Except thanks to last night I don't think it's even valid any more. You see, Ben is different from everyone and so much like Cole in one regard. If you put something in front of his face he picks it up. He has no ability to walk away. He has no self-restraint. One of his people called early last night to give me a hard time, telling me his head wasn't where it needed to be, that he wasn't going to be popping in and out of town this time, that he needed to stay focused and be present. That I wasn't good for him.
Four hours later some completely wasted girl called me to tell me she was going through his phone and calling every girl's name to let them know he was now off the market, because they were hooking up and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep him so back off bitch.
Yes. Happy Valentine's Day to you too, motherfucker.
And now you know why I won't marry the guy. He couldn't be serious if he tried. But no worries. I'm okay. I expected that. It's actually happened before but it was funnier the last time because I didn't love him like this that. This time it just stung so badly my only recourse is to block the damned number and distract myself. Thankfully I am able to do both and my dance card is full. I asked Joel if he still wanted to have dinner after all (crow, maybe) and I made a lunch date with Nolan and PJ will be here tonight to hang out and do babysitting duty so we'll have a little time together and I'll just push everything else out of my head.
I replaced the medal in the box along with his beautiful ring. And to those who called earlier who didn't hear about this it was because I was embarrassed so just do me a favor and just don't try to fix it. Don't call him, don't put a price on his head and don't mention it to me. I'm begging you.
I'll be fine, really, I will. I walked into this with my eyes wide open, knowing who I was falling for and the risk involved and so that helps. A little, anyway.
The fucking vultures will love this, I'm sure. Don't email me with your glee. Not today. Today I'm going to go have fun with my brownies and paper valentines strung on a line to remind me that we're children too.
The kids went off excited, balancing envelopes stuffed with paper valentines for their classmates and wrapped plates of brownies for their afternoon parties. They both wore red and said the day was about love.
Ironically it should be, shouldn't it? While every day should be a vested interest in celebrating your love for someone, it is nice to have a day dedicated to it entirely.
It would be so much nicer if people embraced that instead of choosing this day to make a huge mistake. But it's okay, I spent the first part of this day blocking all kinds of numbers, including very familiar ones known by heart because I'm not interested in half-assed efforts, I need to make my own efforts with everything I've got.
I'm not interested in trophies and markers and being used.
I'm not interested in being used, I said. I'm not your curiosity or your conquest. Maybe that's why today's Valentine will be one that is completely different. Maybe because I had no sleep after five fucked up phone calls in the middle of the night and then however many I didn't get because I started blocking numbers, if any were even made at all after that. I doubt it.
Inside the tiny box sitting on my kitchen table was a red medallion with "5 Months" written on it.
Ben's anniversary milestone from Alcoholics Anonymous, small but significant because he repeatedly fell off and was run over by the wagon.
He gave it to me. I'll give it back to him but just the simple fact that he was acknowledging it in my presence is very important to me. It isn't something we've really talked about much. He was messed up. He drank a lot, he took a lot of drugs. He was losing it.
The biggest motivator for him getting help was the night he attacked me (I'm not linking, it's there) and finally understood what sort of dangerous drunk he was. It took him the rest of the summer to figure out for himself that even one drink put him back on that path to destruction and he was incredibly proactive with his sobriety, a difficult road to hold in his field, with these friends.
He takes a mild antidepressant even. He was scared to death of the hit being sober would land on his lucid liquid creativity. He has few outlets other than talk and distractions to deal with his fears but he was doing it anyway.
Five months was huge. This is a guy that couldn't skip a day at one point and I was scared for him, as much as I was scared of him at one point. Both of those feelings are gone, thankfully, as he was doing really well and I had hoped he would continue to do so.
Except thanks to last night I don't think it's even valid any more. You see, Ben is different from everyone and so much like Cole in one regard. If you put something in front of his face he picks it up. He has no ability to walk away. He has no self-restraint. One of his people called early last night to give me a hard time, telling me his head wasn't where it needed to be, that he wasn't going to be popping in and out of town this time, that he needed to stay focused and be present. That I wasn't good for him.
Four hours later some completely wasted girl called me to tell me she was going through his phone and calling every girl's name to let them know he was now off the market, because they were hooking up and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep him so back off bitch.
Yes. Happy Valentine's Day to you too, motherfucker.
And now you know why I won't marry the guy. He couldn't be serious if he tried. But no worries. I'm okay. I expected that. It's actually happened before but it was funnier the last time because I didn't love him like this that. This time it just stung so badly my only recourse is to block the damned number and distract myself. Thankfully I am able to do both and my dance card is full. I asked Joel if he still wanted to have dinner after all (crow, maybe) and I made a lunch date with Nolan and PJ will be here tonight to hang out and do babysitting duty so we'll have a little time together and I'll just push everything else out of my head.
I replaced the medal in the box along with his beautiful ring. And to those who called earlier who didn't hear about this it was because I was embarrassed so just do me a favor and just don't try to fix it. Don't call him, don't put a price on his head and don't mention it to me. I'm begging you.
I'll be fine, really, I will. I walked into this with my eyes wide open, knowing who I was falling for and the risk involved and so that helps. A little, anyway.
The fucking vultures will love this, I'm sure. Don't email me with your glee. Not today. Today I'm going to go have fun with my brownies and paper valentines strung on a line to remind me that we're children too.
Wednesday 13 February 2008
We choose our destiny.
Not only did PJ opt to let me keep my SD card in my phone for music but he helpfully pointed out he missed the shelf right above the stereo, on which rests my entire collections of Deep Purple, Molly Hatchet and the Allman Brothers.
I will rock the seventies for a bit, then. Who's coming with?
Henry, that's who. He is home today fighting off a cough and fever once again and it may be that the penicillin was no match for this strep or it might be a whole new germ, in any case unless there's a huge improvement we go back to the doctor this weekend.
We're making brownies and he's learning the lyrics to Flirtin' with Disaster so when he feels better he can take over singing duties from Mommy when we play Rock Band. He's air-strumming along with his lucky guitar pick from Ben, flush from being sick, happy to be home and the center of attention.
I think the feeling is mutual.
I will rock the seventies for a bit, then. Who's coming with?
Henry, that's who. He is home today fighting off a cough and fever once again and it may be that the penicillin was no match for this strep or it might be a whole new germ, in any case unless there's a huge improvement we go back to the doctor this weekend.
We're making brownies and he's learning the lyrics to Flirtin' with Disaster so when he feels better he can take over singing duties from Mommy when we play Rock Band. He's air-strumming along with his lucky guitar pick from Ben, flush from being sick, happy to be home and the center of attention.
I think the feeling is mutual.
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