When it's been a long week and the days have gone cold, your emotional pockets come up empty at last so you resort to finding your favorite comforts to help carry you through. Lately I swing from the spectrum of semi-happy-barely-lucid-pretty zombie to a walking nervous breakdown and I'm struggling to maintain the status-quo within my own skull, liquefied into butter by the never ending assault of blows to my soul. Outwardly I'm doing pretty well, I think.
Jacob feels much the same, only he's a little better at the bounce back. He's a little bit stretchier, and a lot more resilient. He has God to lean on in a much more resultive action. He's always been strong. Stronger. Mostly, anyhow. Except when he's not, when he gets pushed too far. He needs comfort too.
Late last night he ran a hot bath for me. He put in a bath bomb and then dimmed the lights and told me to relax and enjoy it. He came back ten minutes later to find me sitting in the clawfoot tub with my head on my knees, frozen in thought and exhaustion, practically asleep.
Are you alright, princess?
No, I want you to come in, too. And relax with me.
Instead of saying anything else he pushed off his jeans and peeled off his sweater and then the water rose precariously high as he slid into the tub behind me, extending his long legs around me, his arms pulling me back so I could lean against him. He turned the hot water back on with his toes and filled the tub as high as he dared and then turned it off again and pushed me back up. Then he washed my hair for me, weakening my resolve to be as strong as he can be. He makes it easy for me to step down and allow him to run things, to look after everything. It's hard knowing that if I'm too tired to move that he will move me. He washed my shoulders and knees gently and then we decided to switch to the shower. He took me into his arms and shielded the spray from my face and I put my head down to rest on his chest while he tried to get clean.He smiled down at me and I closed my eyes.
Bridget, we have to get a pumpkin.
I am a pumpkin, Jacob. I used to be a princess and then midnight came and I turned back into a pumpkin.
I don't see any pumpkins here in the shower, just my princess and she's starkers.
Look really hard. My skin has an orange tinge.
I always kind of liked that about you.
Then he wrapped towels around both of us and took my hand, leading me into the bedroom and he took the towel while I crawled into bed and in a minute he was back. He turned out the lights and snuggled me into my place and then we lay there and whispered to each other for a few minutes. I'm sure I did fall asleep midsentence, but I think he was right behind me. Some nights are like that.
I felt a lot better this morning though. A girl should have a bath like that every night.
Saturday 14 October 2006
Friday 13 October 2006
Maximum Glide*.
(* a group word play challenge from blogger Odd Muse via Outburst, in which you have to weave a story using a selection of key words.)
It was inevitable, living here.
Winter has officially arrived, skidding into the lineup fresh off a long vacation, still sipping a margarita and attempting to hastily cover her suntanned flesh via distraction, unfolding her wings to unleash a hundred mile an hour prairie gale that wound through the trees last night and tore exactly half of the shingles off the garage, right down to the bare wood.
I suppose I should suck it up and be nice, after all, if I fight it it's only worse for me. For winter is a fickle bitch in that she simply doesn't care to win any popularity contests. She just shows up and parties for the next six months while we attempt to shield ourselves from her elements and enjoy life in between the continuity of never ending assaults, in the form of white-outs and blizzards.
In any event, the reintroduction of the plunging temperatures and fluffy white stuff can mean only one thing to those of us who have learned to harness the power of the icy cold north for good.
It's time to wax the snowboards.
It was inevitable, living here.
Winter has officially arrived, skidding into the lineup fresh off a long vacation, still sipping a margarita and attempting to hastily cover her suntanned flesh via distraction, unfolding her wings to unleash a hundred mile an hour prairie gale that wound through the trees last night and tore exactly half of the shingles off the garage, right down to the bare wood.
I suppose I should suck it up and be nice, after all, if I fight it it's only worse for me. For winter is a fickle bitch in that she simply doesn't care to win any popularity contests. She just shows up and parties for the next six months while we attempt to shield ourselves from her elements and enjoy life in between the continuity of never ending assaults, in the form of white-outs and blizzards.
In any event, the reintroduction of the plunging temperatures and fluffy white stuff can mean only one thing to those of us who have learned to harness the power of the icy cold north for good.
It's time to wax the snowboards.
Thursday 12 October 2006
Resolve.
I hate the way you look at me
As if I was broken
And the perfection of my frailty
Has been questioned and broken
Here's the part where I cook up a crow and eat the whole thing, and then stand on my life's stage and clear my throat rather hesitantly before speaking to the crowd. The part where I make all apologies. Not to myself or to you, but to Jacob, who puts up with so much of my bullshit I think the next version of him will come with a shovel included.
I fell apart completely in our therapy this afternoon. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't keep myself together at all. I had a total and utter meltdown in the therapists office to the point where Jacob and the doctor began discussing what would happen next if I didn't come up for air.
He had pointed out my contradictions in saying I would never leave him and then my wondering out loud if I should leave him. He told me I needed to stay. He explained that the meals were because I don't eat. The weight checks are again, because I don't eat. The pills, because we had all previously agreed that I only take them when Jake gives them to me. The clothes and bedtimes, because I've been so sick, and I just had surgery, I'm supposed to rest more. I need to stay warmer, I'm too thin to be warm. The email, because it was for a nursery Christmas party that I had helped with last year and he figured all the babies might upset me. I hear half of everything he tells me and I won't wear the hearing aids because they remind of a day in which I didn't think I could get any happier, and he wants me to wear them and hear everything so that this doesn't happen. The Christmas trip? The same one he's been talking about since June. The one that I forgot about. On the inside I had lost it completely. All this was to help me. On the outside? Nothing. Why does he still love me anyways?
Two hours into it he just stopped, not knowing what to do next. He sat on his knees in front of my chair and held my hands and implored me to say something, anything and I opened my mouth and no sound came out. But then the tears started and I was so angry at myself this time that I tried again, just as he stood up and shook his head at our counselor, who probably had the hospital on standby at this point, ready to come and get me and shoot me with a needle in the arm full of something wonderful and let me sleep.
This time the sound was there.
I'm sorry, Jake.
Dammit, I didn't want to whisper it so I said it again, louder.
I'm sorry, Jake.
He heard me this time. He turned around and grabbed me right up out of the chair. Aside from holding hands as we rushed through the wind on the icy, snowy sidewalks to get to our appointment, it's probably been 24 hours since we touched each other. Far too long in our universe. He held me fiercely. Like if he let go of me that would be it.
I'm sorry too.
Don't be, you did nothing wrong. I jumped the gun. I'm stupid.
No, you're not. You just finally let the stress out.
I don't want to do this with you. This is too frightening.
Tell me about it.
We can't keep fighting like this.
I'd rather fight with you then get along with anyone else.
Jacob, that's a line from a movie.
An effective one, though, right?
Definitely.
So are we okay?
I don't know, are we? Do you hate me?
Bridget, I love you the most when you need me the most, when you try really hard not to be loved at all. I don't know why, I just do.
What movie is that from?
It's not. It's just the way things are.
Oh. Jacob?
What, beautiful?
I love you. I think we'll be okay.
I love you too. Can the next time we argue be just about leaving the toilet seat up or down, please?
You got it.
But we're both wondering if we'll ever learn to get along really well. For soulmates we spend a heck of a lot of time arguing with each other. Never over the little things though. Maybe that means something.
As if I was broken
And the perfection of my frailty
Has been questioned and broken
Here's the part where I cook up a crow and eat the whole thing, and then stand on my life's stage and clear my throat rather hesitantly before speaking to the crowd. The part where I make all apologies. Not to myself or to you, but to Jacob, who puts up with so much of my bullshit I think the next version of him will come with a shovel included.
I fell apart completely in our therapy this afternoon. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't keep myself together at all. I had a total and utter meltdown in the therapists office to the point where Jacob and the doctor began discussing what would happen next if I didn't come up for air.
He had pointed out my contradictions in saying I would never leave him and then my wondering out loud if I should leave him. He told me I needed to stay. He explained that the meals were because I don't eat. The weight checks are again, because I don't eat. The pills, because we had all previously agreed that I only take them when Jake gives them to me. The clothes and bedtimes, because I've been so sick, and I just had surgery, I'm supposed to rest more. I need to stay warmer, I'm too thin to be warm. The email, because it was for a nursery Christmas party that I had helped with last year and he figured all the babies might upset me. I hear half of everything he tells me and I won't wear the hearing aids because they remind of a day in which I didn't think I could get any happier, and he wants me to wear them and hear everything so that this doesn't happen. The Christmas trip? The same one he's been talking about since June. The one that I forgot about. On the inside I had lost it completely. All this was to help me. On the outside? Nothing. Why does he still love me anyways?
Two hours into it he just stopped, not knowing what to do next. He sat on his knees in front of my chair and held my hands and implored me to say something, anything and I opened my mouth and no sound came out. But then the tears started and I was so angry at myself this time that I tried again, just as he stood up and shook his head at our counselor, who probably had the hospital on standby at this point, ready to come and get me and shoot me with a needle in the arm full of something wonderful and let me sleep.
This time the sound was there.
I'm sorry, Jake.
Dammit, I didn't want to whisper it so I said it again, louder.
I'm sorry, Jake.
He heard me this time. He turned around and grabbed me right up out of the chair. Aside from holding hands as we rushed through the wind on the icy, snowy sidewalks to get to our appointment, it's probably been 24 hours since we touched each other. Far too long in our universe. He held me fiercely. Like if he let go of me that would be it.
I'm sorry too.
Don't be, you did nothing wrong. I jumped the gun. I'm stupid.
No, you're not. You just finally let the stress out.
I don't want to do this with you. This is too frightening.
Tell me about it.
We can't keep fighting like this.
I'd rather fight with you then get along with anyone else.
Jacob, that's a line from a movie.
An effective one, though, right?
Definitely.
So are we okay?
I don't know, are we? Do you hate me?
Bridget, I love you the most when you need me the most, when you try really hard not to be loved at all. I don't know why, I just do.
What movie is that from?
It's not. It's just the way things are.
Oh. Jacob?
What, beautiful?
I love you. I think we'll be okay.
I love you too. Can the next time we argue be just about leaving the toilet seat up or down, please?
You got it.
But we're both wondering if we'll ever learn to get along really well. For soulmates we spend a heck of a lot of time arguing with each other. Never over the little things though. Maybe that means something.
Too big for his Bridget.
I'm angry. And it's just going to fly right out. Because I can't keep it in.
Based on Ben's penchant for continuing to comment on my journal, Jacob asked if I would just turn off the comments, because he doesn't like it. So I did.
Then he asked me to stop publishing my journal online. Which I briefly considered for a whole minute too much before wondering why in the hell I was considering his request at all.
I make no demands of him. None at all, except that he be kind.
And yet, the deluge has begun. He's been asking me to change my clothes, or telling me we should go to bed early (and not in the fun way, in the sleep way. Fun is still not allowed as per doctor's orders), and making me food I didn't ask for. Not cake, actual meals. He polices my moods, my weight, my pills and my words. He's been nitpicking my journal after telling me he wasn't checking it much because it makes him sad when I pour on the feelings to a hard-edged machine instead of to him. He's been pressuring me to return to couples therapy. He's been talking about taking us away for Christmas, in spite of my hard and fast rules about airports and major holidays. He's taking control. Only I didn't ask him to do that.
His ego has landed and he's forgetting that marriage is a partnership, not his kingdom to rule. But most importantly he's been forgetting that I just fell out of a marriage in which not only did I get to make no decisions but I was told what to do and how to do it, much like a child, which is sick and fucked up and I'm not doing that again. He put himself in charge because I have to be protected. What the fuck ever.
He had the nerve to reply to an email I received asking if I wanted to help organize a Christmas thing. He responded as me, and then didn't tell me. Jacob's savvy enough to delete emails but apparently not clever enough to empty the trash folder. I found them yesterday by accident. That was my final straw.
And I started a war. A spectacular leveling of my composure that he won't forget any time soon.
I lost it all over him. I left him stunned, speechless, and angry too.
The smallest people in the world have the biggest, hardest to rouse tempers you haven't seen the worst of. He got all of it, all at once. I told him if he wanted to take Cole's place then he was forgetting the most effective part of control. To rape your wife each night, to hurt her in every way that can't be seen because she can't turn to anyone after that kind of love. And that he was precious few actions away from being just like Cole. How dare he level all this unreasonableness at me now? What in hell prompted him to drop all these bombs at once and why would I ever consider living life by rewinding every bad thing I ever went through with Cole and doing it again? Didn't he remember how precariously I existed before? Didn't he remember how living under someone's control crushed my spirit and ruined my life? What in the hell could change overnight for him like that to make him behave so much like everything he told me he stood against?
He had very little in the way of answers for me. His nightmares, the ones of me leaving him. After all this, like I would walk away from him. He says my only answer when he asked was that I said I guess it wasn't what I really wanted after all. I changed my mind in his dream and he's terrified. So afraid that he isn't thinking straight.
How can you be held accountable for something you say in a nightmare you didn't even have?
The same way you can be held accountable for taking men you love so much and somehow turning them into stone.
I don't even know how I do it. But I do it and it's done and I don't know what to do with him now. And he doesn't believe that I love him, not nearly as much as I ever loved Cole, without seeing the whole love/hate thing anymore that I can't be held responsible for. It wasn't right, it wasn't healthy and it wasn't anything I had any control over. Why can't he see that all of the sudden? What in the hell is he thinking? Why is he doing this? How could he think that I don't love him. That alone puts me to the floor.
Doubts for me are like loaded guns for everyone else. Dangerous. They go off and people get hurt and right now the fact that Jake, of all people is messing with my head scares the fuck out of me in the worst way. Because I'm not in a good place anymore in my head. And when this place is all I see I run. I self-destruct.
I keep having thoughts that I should be packing. That I can just give him this house and take the kids and get away from him. That he's not helping right now and I can't deal with that. That maybe Ben and Loch were right and I'm no better off even though Jacob maybe just has a less violent, more charismatic method of propelling my life. That he wanted to control me just as much as Cole did, that it was a competition that had nothing to do with me, it was a contest to see who was the stronger man, and I was simply the trophy. What is the prize? Why, sex with Bridget. Supposedly the best thing you'll ever experience in your entire life. Whatever.
Only I didn't think Jacob was that shallow. That sick. He doesn't play with my emotions. But he does. And he isn't perfect and yet he waited so long to show his true self to me I don't even recognize him today. And his reply to that?
Bridget, don't be crazy.
Not the smartest thing to say to a heavily medicated, grieving, freaked out fucking suicidal fragile shred of humanity, is it? I didn't think it was either. But you know what? He can fucking read about it and we'll wait out our afternoon appointment with the therapist in dead fucking silence.
Oh, I'll defer to you, Jacob, I'll go back to being that submissive girl who can't find her own voice. I can be that girl for you if that's what you want. I promise you won't like it very much though. You want me to look pretty and rock your world every night and not speak in public, oh, I can do that, baby.
I had no idea it would hurt so fucking much to fight with him. It hurts. I can't even describe how badly.
And Jake can read his very first public emasculation because he pissed off the wrong girl. I'm not who I was six months ago. But he didn't know that until now. Neither did I.
Based on Ben's penchant for continuing to comment on my journal, Jacob asked if I would just turn off the comments, because he doesn't like it. So I did.
Then he asked me to stop publishing my journal online. Which I briefly considered for a whole minute too much before wondering why in the hell I was considering his request at all.
I make no demands of him. None at all, except that he be kind.
And yet, the deluge has begun. He's been asking me to change my clothes, or telling me we should go to bed early (and not in the fun way, in the sleep way. Fun is still not allowed as per doctor's orders), and making me food I didn't ask for. Not cake, actual meals. He polices my moods, my weight, my pills and my words. He's been nitpicking my journal after telling me he wasn't checking it much because it makes him sad when I pour on the feelings to a hard-edged machine instead of to him. He's been pressuring me to return to couples therapy. He's been talking about taking us away for Christmas, in spite of my hard and fast rules about airports and major holidays. He's taking control. Only I didn't ask him to do that.
His ego has landed and he's forgetting that marriage is a partnership, not his kingdom to rule. But most importantly he's been forgetting that I just fell out of a marriage in which not only did I get to make no decisions but I was told what to do and how to do it, much like a child, which is sick and fucked up and I'm not doing that again. He put himself in charge because I have to be protected. What the fuck ever.
He had the nerve to reply to an email I received asking if I wanted to help organize a Christmas thing. He responded as me, and then didn't tell me. Jacob's savvy enough to delete emails but apparently not clever enough to empty the trash folder. I found them yesterday by accident. That was my final straw.
And I started a war. A spectacular leveling of my composure that he won't forget any time soon.
I lost it all over him. I left him stunned, speechless, and angry too.
The smallest people in the world have the biggest, hardest to rouse tempers you haven't seen the worst of. He got all of it, all at once. I told him if he wanted to take Cole's place then he was forgetting the most effective part of control. To rape your wife each night, to hurt her in every way that can't be seen because she can't turn to anyone after that kind of love. And that he was precious few actions away from being just like Cole. How dare he level all this unreasonableness at me now? What in hell prompted him to drop all these bombs at once and why would I ever consider living life by rewinding every bad thing I ever went through with Cole and doing it again? Didn't he remember how precariously I existed before? Didn't he remember how living under someone's control crushed my spirit and ruined my life? What in the hell could change overnight for him like that to make him behave so much like everything he told me he stood against?
He had very little in the way of answers for me. His nightmares, the ones of me leaving him. After all this, like I would walk away from him. He says my only answer when he asked was that I said I guess it wasn't what I really wanted after all. I changed my mind in his dream and he's terrified. So afraid that he isn't thinking straight.
How can you be held accountable for something you say in a nightmare you didn't even have?
The same way you can be held accountable for taking men you love so much and somehow turning them into stone.
I don't even know how I do it. But I do it and it's done and I don't know what to do with him now. And he doesn't believe that I love him, not nearly as much as I ever loved Cole, without seeing the whole love/hate thing anymore that I can't be held responsible for. It wasn't right, it wasn't healthy and it wasn't anything I had any control over. Why can't he see that all of the sudden? What in the hell is he thinking? Why is he doing this? How could he think that I don't love him. That alone puts me to the floor.
Doubts for me are like loaded guns for everyone else. Dangerous. They go off and people get hurt and right now the fact that Jake, of all people is messing with my head scares the fuck out of me in the worst way. Because I'm not in a good place anymore in my head. And when this place is all I see I run. I self-destruct.
I keep having thoughts that I should be packing. That I can just give him this house and take the kids and get away from him. That he's not helping right now and I can't deal with that. That maybe Ben and Loch were right and I'm no better off even though Jacob maybe just has a less violent, more charismatic method of propelling my life. That he wanted to control me just as much as Cole did, that it was a competition that had nothing to do with me, it was a contest to see who was the stronger man, and I was simply the trophy. What is the prize? Why, sex with Bridget. Supposedly the best thing you'll ever experience in your entire life. Whatever.
Only I didn't think Jacob was that shallow. That sick. He doesn't play with my emotions. But he does. And he isn't perfect and yet he waited so long to show his true self to me I don't even recognize him today. And his reply to that?
Bridget, don't be crazy.
Not the smartest thing to say to a heavily medicated, grieving, freaked out fucking suicidal fragile shred of humanity, is it? I didn't think it was either. But you know what? He can fucking read about it and we'll wait out our afternoon appointment with the therapist in dead fucking silence.
Oh, I'll defer to you, Jacob, I'll go back to being that submissive girl who can't find her own voice. I can be that girl for you if that's what you want. I promise you won't like it very much though. You want me to look pretty and rock your world every night and not speak in public, oh, I can do that, baby.
I had no idea it would hurt so fucking much to fight with him. It hurts. I can't even describe how badly.
And Jake can read his very first public emasculation because he pissed off the wrong girl. I'm not who I was six months ago. But he didn't know that until now. Neither did I.
Wednesday 11 October 2006
Lochlan.
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
I knew this day was coming for a while. He tried to make it a soft landing, a near impossibility under the circumstances.
Loch is moving away.
He's only been here for almost three years, Cole hired him to come out and help oversee a big project and Loch did the bulk of the traveling within Canada, doing such a great job he went and got a better one, in Toronto. He leaves on November 9. He'll only be coming back out this way for personal travel which means we probably won't see him more than a few times a year from now on, if that. I won't count on it.
My god, I'm going to miss him so. He's amazing. Steadfast and caring and still highly opinionated. Everyone listens to Loch. He's a lot like Jake.
Which makes sense, because Loch was my first real boyfriend. Not as weird as it seems, believe me. We dated when I was possibly too young. He took me to the drive-in one September before it closed for the season and took my virginity in the backseat of his father's truck. He made it good, so good. That actually isn't when it happened, that's just what we tell people who ask. We couldn't make things work vertically though. It's more complicated than what I can say, actually.
He told me I was difficult to read and impossible to satisfy, excuses that I wasn't sophisticated enough at the time to even comprehend, so I chose to simply believe them, not seeing that he didn't mean a word of it. I told him there was only room for one beauty queen in a relationship and besides, he wanted to party and I got in the way, age-wise. He was nineteen to my barely fifteen. I think he just wanted to sleep with as many girls as he possibly could during his senior year. I didn't like that much, so I retaliated and slept with the captain of the rugby team, a forgettable night that I'd take back if I could. Loch disapproved mightily and stepped back into my love life in a different light, fixing me up with Cole, one of his best friends. He'd serve to regret that forever and felt responsible for a lot of what happened, even though I assured him none of it was ever his fault. He just never felt comfortable stepping in closer than he already had after Cole and I got married. Jacob went on ahead and waded right in when he met me, with Loch's blessing.
Which was why Loch was one of my biggest cheerleaders when Jacob and I got together at last. He wanted me out from under Cole's thumb once and for all and he and Jacob have always seen eye to eye, a matched moral compass which allowed them to become friends and also cleared the path for Ben to have room to step in as Cole's new best friend.
Everyone picked their corners early on.
Loch has also at once encouraged us to move on with our lives and tried to caution us objectively on our plans. Jacob found a reluctant comfort in knowing that Loch had 'been there, done Bridget' so he never looked at me quite the way some of my other friends did.
Loch's girlfriend is thrilled they are moving. She never liked me. And even though I can't fault her for that, I didn't understand it either. He said he was lucky, he got to experience me with a clean slate. Jacob gets me with the twenty years of Cole's baggage weighing me down. But Loch has told him when the spell is broken it's going to be a beautiful thing and surprisingly Jacob actually didn't punch him in the head. He opted to take it as a backhanded compliment. What else are you supposed to do with that sort of knowledge, from one of your best friends in the whole world?
Life is a funny thing. Especially mine.
I can't explain why Loch and I made such a miserable couple but could be such easy friends. Maybe it's the lack of expectations, the take it or leave it promises, the absence of pressure to go to the next stage. It was the reverse of my relationship with Jacob, going from nothing, zero pressure to all the crushing weight of the world, every expectation upon us to make it through the adjustment period intact, and mark the days that pass as milestones on a new path together. Jake and I are fighting to be together which is always better than fighting to be apart.
Maybe it was the way life was supposed to happen. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am, however, hesitant to let go of any more friends. They're becoming like rare flowers in the garden of Eden, and I'm trying to propagate the few that remain. The remarkable ones are so fleeting and I'm loathe to think too hard about that inevitable conclusion or I might falter and miss them too much to be open to the new ones.
I'm going to miss him. He keeps making me empty promises and I know what he's doing. But it's okay. I'm a big girl now, and I'll be fine. Loch made me make him one promise. To put him on speed dial and call him if anything ever goes wrong. If I ever need him. To not keep secrets when it comes to my happiness or my safety. That's one promise I can keep for him this time.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
I knew this day was coming for a while. He tried to make it a soft landing, a near impossibility under the circumstances.
Loch is moving away.
He's only been here for almost three years, Cole hired him to come out and help oversee a big project and Loch did the bulk of the traveling within Canada, doing such a great job he went and got a better one, in Toronto. He leaves on November 9. He'll only be coming back out this way for personal travel which means we probably won't see him more than a few times a year from now on, if that. I won't count on it.
My god, I'm going to miss him so. He's amazing. Steadfast and caring and still highly opinionated. Everyone listens to Loch. He's a lot like Jake.
Which makes sense, because Loch was my first real boyfriend. Not as weird as it seems, believe me. We dated when I was possibly too young. He took me to the drive-in one September before it closed for the season and took my virginity in the backseat of his father's truck. He made it good, so good. That actually isn't when it happened, that's just what we tell people who ask. We couldn't make things work vertically though. It's more complicated than what I can say, actually.
He told me I was difficult to read and impossible to satisfy, excuses that I wasn't sophisticated enough at the time to even comprehend, so I chose to simply believe them, not seeing that he didn't mean a word of it. I told him there was only room for one beauty queen in a relationship and besides, he wanted to party and I got in the way, age-wise. He was nineteen to my barely fifteen. I think he just wanted to sleep with as many girls as he possibly could during his senior year. I didn't like that much, so I retaliated and slept with the captain of the rugby team, a forgettable night that I'd take back if I could. Loch disapproved mightily and stepped back into my love life in a different light, fixing me up with Cole, one of his best friends. He'd serve to regret that forever and felt responsible for a lot of what happened, even though I assured him none of it was ever his fault. He just never felt comfortable stepping in closer than he already had after Cole and I got married. Jacob went on ahead and waded right in when he met me, with Loch's blessing.
Which was why Loch was one of my biggest cheerleaders when Jacob and I got together at last. He wanted me out from under Cole's thumb once and for all and he and Jacob have always seen eye to eye, a matched moral compass which allowed them to become friends and also cleared the path for Ben to have room to step in as Cole's new best friend.
Everyone picked their corners early on.
Loch has also at once encouraged us to move on with our lives and tried to caution us objectively on our plans. Jacob found a reluctant comfort in knowing that Loch had 'been there, done Bridget' so he never looked at me quite the way some of my other friends did.
Loch's girlfriend is thrilled they are moving. She never liked me. And even though I can't fault her for that, I didn't understand it either. He said he was lucky, he got to experience me with a clean slate. Jacob gets me with the twenty years of Cole's baggage weighing me down. But Loch has told him when the spell is broken it's going to be a beautiful thing and surprisingly Jacob actually didn't punch him in the head. He opted to take it as a backhanded compliment. What else are you supposed to do with that sort of knowledge, from one of your best friends in the whole world?
Life is a funny thing. Especially mine.
I can't explain why Loch and I made such a miserable couple but could be such easy friends. Maybe it's the lack of expectations, the take it or leave it promises, the absence of pressure to go to the next stage. It was the reverse of my relationship with Jacob, going from nothing, zero pressure to all the crushing weight of the world, every expectation upon us to make it through the adjustment period intact, and mark the days that pass as milestones on a new path together. Jake and I are fighting to be together which is always better than fighting to be apart.
Maybe it was the way life was supposed to happen. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am, however, hesitant to let go of any more friends. They're becoming like rare flowers in the garden of Eden, and I'm trying to propagate the few that remain. The remarkable ones are so fleeting and I'm loathe to think too hard about that inevitable conclusion or I might falter and miss them too much to be open to the new ones.
I'm going to miss him. He keeps making me empty promises and I know what he's doing. But it's okay. I'm a big girl now, and I'll be fine. Loch made me make him one promise. To put him on speed dial and call him if anything ever goes wrong. If I ever need him. To not keep secrets when it comes to my happiness or my safety. That's one promise I can keep for him this time.
Tuesday 10 October 2006
Drive-by movie chitchat.
Any man who sells his soul for love has the power to change the world.
That line gives me the shivers.
Critics be damned. I'll hype it myself. Why? Two words. Nick Cage. February 16th is a heck of a long wait though. There's a laundry list of amazing movies coming between now and then, noteably, The Reaping, The Fountain and Babel. I'm a movie nut, I love them all, even the really awful ones (and I mean very very weird) have something to offer, even it's just an unexpected laugh or a couple hours' worth of escape time, I couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening, an afternoon and even sometimes a morning.
Ghost Rider looks cool, okay? Stop laughing.
That line gives me the shivers.
Critics be damned. I'll hype it myself. Why? Two words. Nick Cage. February 16th is a heck of a long wait though. There's a laundry list of amazing movies coming between now and then, noteably, The Reaping, The Fountain and Babel. I'm a movie nut, I love them all, even the really awful ones (and I mean very very weird) have something to offer, even it's just an unexpected laugh or a couple hours' worth of escape time, I couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening, an afternoon and even sometimes a morning.
Ghost Rider looks cool, okay? Stop laughing.
Rare mommyblogging.
My son has a way of brightening an otherwise mundane conversation because like me, he misappropriates words that will forever be used in a new context in our family. Unlike me, his hearing has been tested and it's fine. He just shares Cole's attention span issues as well as Jacob's joie de vivre. He misses details. He's five.
So a smattering of our favorite Henryisms seems like a comforting post for a cold early Tuesday morn.
1) When our plane landed Henry asked the flight attendant if we had finally reached "the promise" of Nova Scotia. It took me forever to figure out that he meant province. Promise indeed.
2) The Harry Nilsson song Coconut starts out "she put the lime in the coconuts". Henry likes his version better: "Lying in the coconuts".
3) When I play a scary or funny movie trailer off the Apple website for his benefit, Henry always asks me if I can make it "full-scream". (Get it? Full screen?)
4) Whenever he falls, or bumps himself or hurts himself somehow, he'll yell out "I'm Okay!" to whoever is nearby. Thanks for the reassurance, little man.
5) Those cool weapons in Star Wars? Knife-savers.
Sometimes you just want them to stay little forever. Today is like that.
I'm left alone on the bus with my
head on the ground,
In hopes that I'm found by you
this time around
The sun will rise soon and tackle the moon
Chasing it still in the sky
All that I've got is tonight
Excuses and reasons, and now it is the season
For all that I never got right
All that I've got is tonight
So a smattering of our favorite Henryisms seems like a comforting post for a cold early Tuesday morn.
1) When our plane landed Henry asked the flight attendant if we had finally reached "the promise" of Nova Scotia. It took me forever to figure out that he meant province. Promise indeed.
2) The Harry Nilsson song Coconut starts out "she put the lime in the coconuts". Henry likes his version better: "Lying in the coconuts".
3) When I play a scary or funny movie trailer off the Apple website for his benefit, Henry always asks me if I can make it "full-scream". (Get it? Full screen?)
4) Whenever he falls, or bumps himself or hurts himself somehow, he'll yell out "I'm Okay!" to whoever is nearby. Thanks for the reassurance, little man.
5) Those cool weapons in Star Wars? Knife-savers.
Sometimes you just want them to stay little forever. Today is like that.
I'm left alone on the bus with my
head on the ground,
In hopes that I'm found by you
this time around
The sun will rise soon and tackle the moon
Chasing it still in the sky
All that I've got is tonight
Excuses and reasons, and now it is the season
For all that I never got right
All that I've got is tonight
Monday 9 October 2006
Dish dish revolution.
I'm having issues. My router won't play nice with my modem and therefore I've been dropping all day and can't stay online long enough to do much of anything. A good day to kick it oldschool with Open Office for writing instead. In other words, I got a lot of work done.
It's Thanksgiving here too, which means everyone gets to sit around and lament their bellies growing from the big supper I fed them. Me? I didn't get to sit around. Instead I put on my MP3 player and started the dishes, grooving out to my tunes and shaking my ass at the kitchen sink. Unbeknownst to me, Jacob watched me for a long time, and when I was done and I turned off the music he said we are so buying Dance Dance Revolution.
Snort.
It's Thanksgiving here too, which means everyone gets to sit around and lament their bellies growing from the big supper I fed them. Me? I didn't get to sit around. Instead I put on my MP3 player and started the dishes, grooving out to my tunes and shaking my ass at the kitchen sink. Unbeknownst to me, Jacob watched me for a long time, and when I was done and I turned off the music he said we are so buying Dance Dance Revolution.
Snort.
Sunday 8 October 2006
In between dreams.
Did I mention we're sleeping at last?
I had the weirdest dream ever last night. I'm going to blame the new pills and the X-men movie marathon.
In my dream the wind was blowing so hard I could barely stand up. The sky was ominous. Jacob had this bucket and he kept shoving it toward me and yelling at me.
Fill the bucket, Bridget! Put all your hopes inside and then it can't blow away! I'll help!
I kept pushing the bucket away. I was trying to explain that my hopes weren't something I could place in a bucket. You can't see them...you can only think about them. If wishes were stones I wouldn't be able to lift my feet from the ground.
But he couldn't hear me. He wouldn't listen to me anyway. He was so adamant. He just kept pleading with me to do it, desperation soaking his voice, his eyes glassed over in terror.
I woke up in a cold sweat. I woke him up and I looked at him and I wanted him to see it too, I had to make him understand it. Why I will never know.
Just because you can't see it doesn't mean I don't have it, Jacob.
And he knew what I was talking about.
Bridget, hopes are what move us forward. Faith is what we subsist on, and hope is the promise of better things to come. I know you have both or you wouldn't be here with me. Now go back to sleep, beautiful.
He snuggled me into his arms, and yet I was awake for the rest of the night.
How did he know what I meant?
I had the weirdest dream ever last night. I'm going to blame the new pills and the X-men movie marathon.
In my dream the wind was blowing so hard I could barely stand up. The sky was ominous. Jacob had this bucket and he kept shoving it toward me and yelling at me.
Fill the bucket, Bridget! Put all your hopes inside and then it can't blow away! I'll help!
I kept pushing the bucket away. I was trying to explain that my hopes weren't something I could place in a bucket. You can't see them...you can only think about them. If wishes were stones I wouldn't be able to lift my feet from the ground.
But he couldn't hear me. He wouldn't listen to me anyway. He was so adamant. He just kept pleading with me to do it, desperation soaking his voice, his eyes glassed over in terror.
I woke up in a cold sweat. I woke him up and I looked at him and I wanted him to see it too, I had to make him understand it. Why I will never know.
Just because you can't see it doesn't mean I don't have it, Jacob.
And he knew what I was talking about.
Bridget, hopes are what move us forward. Faith is what we subsist on, and hope is the promise of better things to come. I know you have both or you wouldn't be here with me. Now go back to sleep, beautiful.
He snuggled me into his arms, and yet I was awake for the rest of the night.
How did he know what I meant?
Saturday 7 October 2006
Heal over.
A song that Ms.D pointed me to made me come up for air. She knows me like a kindred spirit would. Thank you for being my friend.
And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain's built to last
Everybody sails alone
But we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds
Come over here lady
This has been a long week. Bailey left, friends faded gracefully into the background and the kids went to bed earlier than usual, exhausted from school and the remnants of the cold we shared and all the extra people keeping them busier than they're used to.
Jacob and I finally had a chance to address our grief. Quietly, privately and with determination. We've been talking late into the nights when everyone is asleep. It's good. I was scared that he wouldn't want to talk about the baby or talk about the future even but he's opened up and is healing alongside me. It really took the wind out of his sails. Everything happened so fast he didn't get a chance to keep up and so he put it in a box.
That is something I would do. Only this time I took my cues from his usual reactions and I kept it open, I didn't fight it and I seemed to come out in a better place, emotionally. He says I held us up this time.
Tiny, fragile miss Bridget might be stronger than she thinks she is, after all this time.
Yay me.
So we're going to not close the door, even with the dismal numbers facing us. We're going to talk about it a year from now and see what we think, what we feel and decide then if we want to take the leap of faith again or not. If we do or if we don't it's okay.
And I got a weird little thrill running down my spine when I wrote that just now. A year from now. I can't imagine what life will be like a year from now. We're just at the very start, after all.
And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain's built to last
Everybody sails alone
But we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds
Come over here lady
This has been a long week. Bailey left, friends faded gracefully into the background and the kids went to bed earlier than usual, exhausted from school and the remnants of the cold we shared and all the extra people keeping them busier than they're used to.
Jacob and I finally had a chance to address our grief. Quietly, privately and with determination. We've been talking late into the nights when everyone is asleep. It's good. I was scared that he wouldn't want to talk about the baby or talk about the future even but he's opened up and is healing alongside me. It really took the wind out of his sails. Everything happened so fast he didn't get a chance to keep up and so he put it in a box.
That is something I would do. Only this time I took my cues from his usual reactions and I kept it open, I didn't fight it and I seemed to come out in a better place, emotionally. He says I held us up this time.
Tiny, fragile miss Bridget might be stronger than she thinks she is, after all this time.
Yay me.
So we're going to not close the door, even with the dismal numbers facing us. We're going to talk about it a year from now and see what we think, what we feel and decide then if we want to take the leap of faith again or not. If we do or if we don't it's okay.
And I got a weird little thrill running down my spine when I wrote that just now. A year from now. I can't imagine what life will be like a year from now. We're just at the very start, after all.
Friday 6 October 2006
Therapy landmines.
Progress! Wow!
I'm getting somewhere, folks. For the very first time this afternoon in therapy, I didn't make excuses for Cole's sick brand of love. I said it out loud. It was a huge breakthrough. I've been blaming me for him for everything and something snapped today.
So I'll say it out loud again. Then I'm going to rip it into tiny pieces and maybe eat it.
Cole was a sexual sadist.
There. I said it twice. I can own it now. This is huge. Say it out loud, baby.
Now maybe I can work past it. At last. I'm so happy. Jacob is...completely heartbroken again. He knows what those words mean. I didn't before today. I didn't know it had a name.
I'm getting somewhere, folks. For the very first time this afternoon in therapy, I didn't make excuses for Cole's sick brand of love. I said it out loud. It was a huge breakthrough. I've been blaming me for him for everything and something snapped today.
So I'll say it out loud again. Then I'm going to rip it into tiny pieces and maybe eat it.
Cole was a sexual sadist.
There. I said it twice. I can own it now. This is huge. Say it out loud, baby.
Now maybe I can work past it. At last. I'm so happy. Jacob is...completely heartbroken again. He knows what those words mean. I didn't before today. I didn't know it had a name.
Third time's the charm.
Excuse me while the space cowgirl puts some memories out there. Just to make some room inside her head for something new and good.
Constant overstimulation numbs me
But I wouldnt want you
Any other way.
Just, not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I said, I dont want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.
Bridget, there are two directions you can go with this. One will make things better and one will make things worse.
This in response to nothing more than my eyes traveling above Jacob's head while he was speaking this morning and coming to rest on a 1/4 bottle of Appleton rum sitting on the top of the cupboard in the kitchen mocking me like a schoolyard bully. Because someone left it there. Maybe as a test.
I went for a chair and climbed it. He took me off the chair and put it back.
I got the chair again and he shook his head and crossed his arms. A bad sign.
I reached the bottle while he frustratingly yelled at me to get off the damn chair.
And I opened it.
I poured it down the drain.
And put the bottle with the recycling. And I smiled like the brat that I am.
When I looked at him again he was grinning from ear to ear. While I briefly noted in sadness that his relief was written all over his face. Trust is so hard to come by with certain subjects. But Jacob is all gung-ho to use our losses now as a jumping off point, an emotional trampoline to a higher level of spiritual grace. It could be worse, at least he isn't plotting to run away again.
I had an email question that intrigued me greatly the other day that made me think of running. The last time Jacob ran off he was gone for six weeks, just after Christmas last year. That was the turning point for me. It was when I realized that I missed him far too much and that I couldn't keep this up forever. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be with Cole anymore. Even if Jake never wanted to be with me, he showed me how miserable and toxic my marriage was, he had shown me without words how unbelievably abusive Cole was. It was also when I recognized Jacob's proclivity to run when things became difficult.
(The email question was asking when I finally changed my mind and stopped trying to save my marriage. Where the proverbial turning point lay. Not the easiest question I've ever had. I get a lot of questions, which I try to quietly work into the entries without being so blunt. Sometimes it's harder than it looks. And my mind is really fucked up right now, so bear with me.)
My feelings were confirmed when Loch called to tell me that he had heard from Jake and that Jake was making his way home at last. He had been climbing Kangtega (Hello! Adrenaline junkie). I was so excited he was coming home I couldn't contain myself, never having reacted like this before, and he's been on a lot of long exotic faraway trips. That night at dinner, Cole even brought it up, in the smug fashion he used whenever he talked to me about Jacob.
Chris told me Jake would be back on Friday.
I know, Loch called me.
Well, that's good news for you, Bridget.
I hope he had a good time.
Why was I playing it cool again? Oh yes. To save myself. The rest of the week passed in a flurry, it snowed a lot, Cole worked a lot and I got regular updates via Chris and Loch on Jacob's progress out of Nepal.
Early Friday morning Jacob called. He was waiting for his connecting flight home, was I going to be here all day because he was going to get in mid afternoon? Of course I would be.
Friday afternoon the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there he was.
Jake. Covered with snow. A sugar-frosted treat for my eyes. Looking much the worse for wear. Long beard, longer hair. Wild eyes. Grinning from ear to ear. He smelled like a wet dog, and he was carrying two backpacks. He threw them down and grabbed me right off my feet, squeezing me hard in his arms.
Oh my god, princess, I missed you.
I was crying. I couldn't speak. He pulled back and put his freezing cold hands on my ears and looked at me, laughing.
So this means you missed me?
I nodded.
He laughed out loud and picked me up to twirl me around again. It gave me time to pull myself together.
I'm so glad you're back, Jake.
Honestly?
Yes.
Awesome. I'm going home to shower and unpack. I have a ton of laundry and I've got presents for you guys. When's a good time to come back?
Come for dinner.
Want to check with Cole?
No, just come.
Check, Bridge.
Okay. Second.
I went and phoned Cole at work. He laughed and told me he was working late but to go ahead. He said he'd make up for lost time with me tonight. Nice. I know what that meant. Go play with your boyfriend, Bridget, you can pay the price for it later on. I ignored the dread he left me with.
He's not coming, so it's just us four.
Okay. What can I bring?
You, and not the wet dog smell.
What? Oh, okay. Wait til I tell you. Fourteen hours on a bus. FOURTEEN! With goats. Or maybe I was hallucinating. Wait until you see the pictures I took for you.
Go and clean up.
He kissed my cheek.
Okay. I love you, Bridge.
I love you too. See you soon.
Then I closed the door and thought WTF? DID I JUST TELL HIM I LOVED HIM like it was something I do every day? My friend...who's married. But I'm married. Hell, we don't have any shame anymore. We have said it before. Just not out of the blue like that.
Oh wow. What am I doing? But damn, I have to make dinner now. He must be starving.
When he came back two hours later he was cleanshaven and smelled really good. He had presents for us. He was so happy and full of stories to tell. The kids climbed all over him.
Thankfully I didn't have to think about what to say to him over dinner. He stuck his face in his plate and pretty much shovelled until the food was gone. Then I got up and made him up a second plate and he ate that too. He never took his eyes off me.
Then he pushed back from the table and took a sip of his wine.
I meant it, Bridget.
I gasped, and then I jumped in with both feet.
So did I, Jake.
So why are we doing this?
Jacob, you just got here. You've been gone for weeks.
And I thought about you every minute of every day. Are you okay?
Does it matter? You weren't here.
He sat up and leaned across the table. He wasn't smiling anymore.
Did he hurt you while I was gone? Because I will kill him.
Don't talk like that Jacob.
Fine, I won't kill him, but I'll get you guys away from him.
Stop it.
I'll stop when you come with me.
I thought you might come back with a fresh outlook.
Yeah, the outlook was realizing that you should be with me.
He grinned, enjoying crossing lines as usual.
I couldn't...even if I wanted to. Besides, you're married.
He frowned.
Bridget, I did come back with a fresh outlook. I want you to leave him and I'm going to do everything in my power to see that you do. Because you and the kids need to be safe. You're not safe here.
I was safe enough for you to leave for weeks on end.
Of course you're safe when I leave town.
So now you're claiming responsibility for Cole's behavior?
That's not what I meant. What I mean is when I'm not around things level out for you guys.
Right. So it's my fault.
No. Maybe. I don't know. But I look at you and you're not happy with him.
No, I'm not.
Tell me why not.
Because I married the wrong man.
So let's fix it.
I'm afraid.
Of what? Change?
I'm afraid of Cole.
He cornered me by the kitchen sink and held my face, pulling it right into his. He stopped when his lips touched mine and he didn't move, he didn't kiss me. He just stared at me. I finally pushed him away and turned my head to one side so he wouldn't see me cry but it was too late.
Dear god, Bridget, bring the kids and just come with me. I'll buy a bigger house. Please.
I whispered. I can't.
I want to know what he does to you that makes you so afraid.
Oh no. No, you don't.
I need you to tell me so I can help you, Bridget, please!
I didn't tell him. I still haven't told him. Cole is lucky he's dead.
But something had changed in Jake. He didn't let it go this time. I think ten years of having the same conversation over and over again had left him weary, drained, fed-up. Unwilling to dance around it any more.
Bridget, all I did on this trip was think. And I'm going to give you until Easter. When Easter comes, I'm going to ask you one last time to come with me. I'm going to go sort things out with (ex-wife). So you have until then to sort out your feelings or raise up your courage or figure out how to tell me to fuck off. Until then, I'll be around if you need me but princess, I can't do this anymore. It's time to decide whether you want to be happy or whether you're just going to wait for him to destroy you. I can't stay around and watch that happen. It's killing me too.
If he had told me he had already asked his wife for a divorce I might have gone with him that same night but for some reason he didn't tell me. Oddly he didn't want to add to the pressure he had put on me to do something. Anything, as long as I didn't continue down this slippery slope with Cole. But he didn't tell me. Instead Jacob went home that night after giving me a long hug and not saying any more than he already had.
And me? I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. All I did was watch him when we were together and bide my time with Cole until that day in April. Three days after Easter Sunday when Jacob came over and asked me to go with him, and I did.
He says that campaign number three was a success. Because now I'm his. He swears it was the wet dog smell that won me over. I beg to differ.
Constant overstimulation numbs me
But I wouldnt want you
Any other way.
Just, not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I said, I dont want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.
Bridget, there are two directions you can go with this. One will make things better and one will make things worse.
This in response to nothing more than my eyes traveling above Jacob's head while he was speaking this morning and coming to rest on a 1/4 bottle of Appleton rum sitting on the top of the cupboard in the kitchen mocking me like a schoolyard bully. Because someone left it there. Maybe as a test.
I went for a chair and climbed it. He took me off the chair and put it back.
I got the chair again and he shook his head and crossed his arms. A bad sign.
I reached the bottle while he frustratingly yelled at me to get off the damn chair.
And I opened it.
I poured it down the drain.
And put the bottle with the recycling. And I smiled like the brat that I am.
When I looked at him again he was grinning from ear to ear. While I briefly noted in sadness that his relief was written all over his face. Trust is so hard to come by with certain subjects. But Jacob is all gung-ho to use our losses now as a jumping off point, an emotional trampoline to a higher level of spiritual grace. It could be worse, at least he isn't plotting to run away again.
I had an email question that intrigued me greatly the other day that made me think of running. The last time Jacob ran off he was gone for six weeks, just after Christmas last year. That was the turning point for me. It was when I realized that I missed him far too much and that I couldn't keep this up forever. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be with Cole anymore. Even if Jake never wanted to be with me, he showed me how miserable and toxic my marriage was, he had shown me without words how unbelievably abusive Cole was. It was also when I recognized Jacob's proclivity to run when things became difficult.
(The email question was asking when I finally changed my mind and stopped trying to save my marriage. Where the proverbial turning point lay. Not the easiest question I've ever had. I get a lot of questions, which I try to quietly work into the entries without being so blunt. Sometimes it's harder than it looks. And my mind is really fucked up right now, so bear with me.)
My feelings were confirmed when Loch called to tell me that he had heard from Jake and that Jake was making his way home at last. He had been climbing Kangtega (Hello! Adrenaline junkie). I was so excited he was coming home I couldn't contain myself, never having reacted like this before, and he's been on a lot of long exotic faraway trips. That night at dinner, Cole even brought it up, in the smug fashion he used whenever he talked to me about Jacob.
Chris told me Jake would be back on Friday.
I know, Loch called me.
Well, that's good news for you, Bridget.
I hope he had a good time.
Why was I playing it cool again? Oh yes. To save myself. The rest of the week passed in a flurry, it snowed a lot, Cole worked a lot and I got regular updates via Chris and Loch on Jacob's progress out of Nepal.
Early Friday morning Jacob called. He was waiting for his connecting flight home, was I going to be here all day because he was going to get in mid afternoon? Of course I would be.
Friday afternoon the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there he was.
Jake. Covered with snow. A sugar-frosted treat for my eyes. Looking much the worse for wear. Long beard, longer hair. Wild eyes. Grinning from ear to ear. He smelled like a wet dog, and he was carrying two backpacks. He threw them down and grabbed me right off my feet, squeezing me hard in his arms.
Oh my god, princess, I missed you.
I was crying. I couldn't speak. He pulled back and put his freezing cold hands on my ears and looked at me, laughing.
So this means you missed me?
I nodded.
He laughed out loud and picked me up to twirl me around again. It gave me time to pull myself together.
I'm so glad you're back, Jake.
Honestly?
Yes.
Awesome. I'm going home to shower and unpack. I have a ton of laundry and I've got presents for you guys. When's a good time to come back?
Come for dinner.
Want to check with Cole?
No, just come.
Check, Bridge.
Okay. Second.
I went and phoned Cole at work. He laughed and told me he was working late but to go ahead. He said he'd make up for lost time with me tonight. Nice. I know what that meant. Go play with your boyfriend, Bridget, you can pay the price for it later on. I ignored the dread he left me with.
He's not coming, so it's just us four.
Okay. What can I bring?
You, and not the wet dog smell.
What? Oh, okay. Wait til I tell you. Fourteen hours on a bus. FOURTEEN! With goats. Or maybe I was hallucinating. Wait until you see the pictures I took for you.
Go and clean up.
He kissed my cheek.
Okay. I love you, Bridge.
I love you too. See you soon.
Then I closed the door and thought WTF? DID I JUST TELL HIM I LOVED HIM like it was something I do every day? My friend...who's married. But I'm married. Hell, we don't have any shame anymore. We have said it before. Just not out of the blue like that.
Oh wow. What am I doing? But damn, I have to make dinner now. He must be starving.
When he came back two hours later he was cleanshaven and smelled really good. He had presents for us. He was so happy and full of stories to tell. The kids climbed all over him.
Thankfully I didn't have to think about what to say to him over dinner. He stuck his face in his plate and pretty much shovelled until the food was gone. Then I got up and made him up a second plate and he ate that too. He never took his eyes off me.
Then he pushed back from the table and took a sip of his wine.
I meant it, Bridget.
I gasped, and then I jumped in with both feet.
So did I, Jake.
So why are we doing this?
Jacob, you just got here. You've been gone for weeks.
And I thought about you every minute of every day. Are you okay?
Does it matter? You weren't here.
He sat up and leaned across the table. He wasn't smiling anymore.
Did he hurt you while I was gone? Because I will kill him.
Don't talk like that Jacob.
Fine, I won't kill him, but I'll get you guys away from him.
Stop it.
I'll stop when you come with me.
I thought you might come back with a fresh outlook.
Yeah, the outlook was realizing that you should be with me.
He grinned, enjoying crossing lines as usual.
I couldn't...even if I wanted to. Besides, you're married.
He frowned.
Bridget, I did come back with a fresh outlook. I want you to leave him and I'm going to do everything in my power to see that you do. Because you and the kids need to be safe. You're not safe here.
I was safe enough for you to leave for weeks on end.
Of course you're safe when I leave town.
So now you're claiming responsibility for Cole's behavior?
That's not what I meant. What I mean is when I'm not around things level out for you guys.
Right. So it's my fault.
No. Maybe. I don't know. But I look at you and you're not happy with him.
No, I'm not.
Tell me why not.
Because I married the wrong man.
So let's fix it.
I'm afraid.
Of what? Change?
I'm afraid of Cole.
He cornered me by the kitchen sink and held my face, pulling it right into his. He stopped when his lips touched mine and he didn't move, he didn't kiss me. He just stared at me. I finally pushed him away and turned my head to one side so he wouldn't see me cry but it was too late.
Dear god, Bridget, bring the kids and just come with me. I'll buy a bigger house. Please.
I whispered. I can't.
I want to know what he does to you that makes you so afraid.
Oh no. No, you don't.
I need you to tell me so I can help you, Bridget, please!
I didn't tell him. I still haven't told him. Cole is lucky he's dead.
But something had changed in Jake. He didn't let it go this time. I think ten years of having the same conversation over and over again had left him weary, drained, fed-up. Unwilling to dance around it any more.
Bridget, all I did on this trip was think. And I'm going to give you until Easter. When Easter comes, I'm going to ask you one last time to come with me. I'm going to go sort things out with (ex-wife). So you have until then to sort out your feelings or raise up your courage or figure out how to tell me to fuck off. Until then, I'll be around if you need me but princess, I can't do this anymore. It's time to decide whether you want to be happy or whether you're just going to wait for him to destroy you. I can't stay around and watch that happen. It's killing me too.
If he had told me he had already asked his wife for a divorce I might have gone with him that same night but for some reason he didn't tell me. Oddly he didn't want to add to the pressure he had put on me to do something. Anything, as long as I didn't continue down this slippery slope with Cole. But he didn't tell me. Instead Jacob went home that night after giving me a long hug and not saying any more than he already had.
And me? I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. All I did was watch him when we were together and bide my time with Cole until that day in April. Three days after Easter Sunday when Jacob came over and asked me to go with him, and I did.
He says that campaign number three was a success. Because now I'm his. He swears it was the wet dog smell that won me over. I beg to differ.
Thursday 5 October 2006
This is my...space.
Just wanted to take a brief opportunity to point out that I don't have accounts at myspace, friendster, or any other place on the web. I post here ONLY, I use saltwaterprincess for my gmail account and there are a whole twenty blogs out there that I visit regularly and try to comment every now and again so that's me. Otherwise I'm not 'on' the web. No flickr, no photobucket, no forums, bulletin boards or other websites contain my words or images, that I endorse.
I'm not as twenty-first century as most people.
I have little time for the Internet. I don't do celebrity gossip, I don't read the headlines much, and I rarely shop anymore even, preferring instead to read the latest entries of a select world-class league of bloggers that I found by accident or design and the rest? I leave it.
Okay there's the addiction to iTunes. Who can blame me?
I noticed that when people were doing searches for saltwater princess they were being taken to some strange places. And I just didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Or see a picture and think it was me, or Jake. Or one of my kids. I don't put our pictures up and neither will anyone else. I put one up once and promptly took it down. I'm a very private person in real life, contrary to the openness with which I write my entries. I do realize that the Internet is not so private in the end. People have words stolen, ideas pilfered and identities assumed and I hope never to be a victim but really all I can do is keep writing, in my little corner, never venturing too far.
Because I like it this way. It's a simple blog with a simple premise. Words, thoughts and feelings from me. No more but no less either. An easy promise for me to keep, and all you have to do is come and read. And I thank you for that.
I'm not as twenty-first century as most people.
I have little time for the Internet. I don't do celebrity gossip, I don't read the headlines much, and I rarely shop anymore even, preferring instead to read the latest entries of a select world-class league of bloggers that I found by accident or design and the rest? I leave it.
Okay there's the addiction to iTunes. Who can blame me?
I noticed that when people were doing searches for saltwater princess they were being taken to some strange places. And I just didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Or see a picture and think it was me, or Jake. Or one of my kids. I don't put our pictures up and neither will anyone else. I put one up once and promptly took it down. I'm a very private person in real life, contrary to the openness with which I write my entries. I do realize that the Internet is not so private in the end. People have words stolen, ideas pilfered and identities assumed and I hope never to be a victim but really all I can do is keep writing, in my little corner, never venturing too far.
Because I like it this way. It's a simple blog with a simple premise. Words, thoughts and feelings from me. No more but no less either. An easy promise for me to keep, and all you have to do is come and read. And I thank you for that.
Songs from Jacob.
Cold dark mornings sometimes bring rather melancholy singing from the karaoke man. Jacob goes down to the kitchen first to start the coffee and feed the cat while I find clothes and rouse the children. When I arrived into the now brightly lit and yummy smelling room he was softly clinking plates and singing a song by Creed. Because it's one of those days.
The day reminds me of you
The night hides your truth
The earth is a voice
Speaking to you
Take all this pride
And leave it behind
Because one day it ends
One day we die
Believe what you will
That is your right
But I choose to win
So I choose to fight
To fight
Not a particularly good or bad day, just somewhere in between.
The day reminds me of you
The night hides your truth
The earth is a voice
Speaking to you
Take all this pride
And leave it behind
Because one day it ends
One day we die
Believe what you will
That is your right
But I choose to win
So I choose to fight
To fight
Not a particularly good or bad day, just somewhere in between.
Wednesday 4 October 2006
Chapstick and cheap dreams.
When I was seven years old my mother did something completely reckless and insane. She handed me the Avon Christmas catalogue and told me to pick something out.
So! Beautiful! They should...have sent...a poet!
I picked out a white plastic Frosty the snowman ring. When you clicked it open the head swung away on a hinge to reveal cherry-flavored chapstick. I loved that thing, I wound up scraping out the last of the chapstick with my fingernail and my mom showed me how to smoosh the contents of another chapstick tube into the empty hole. Oooh! Refillable. I wore it so proudly you would have thought it was from Tiffany & Co.
It was the start of a twenty-eight year love affair with chapstick, and catalogues too. Go figure.
I gave up the snowman ring for the infinitely cooler Maybelline kissing potion in the glass tube with the rollerball applicator within a few years, and the Sears Wishbook and Speigel catalogue held my interest far longer than Avon ever could. Now as an adult I have settled on Labello chapsticks and eleventy hundred different shiny lip glosses but will spend a large portion of each day looking for a tube, or applying the stuff liberally. A full-fledged addict, without shame.
On Sunday evening I asked Jake if he had a tube on him, or if he could go and buy some for me, or remember to even bring some from home.
No, Bridget.
What? Why not?
You have a problem.
It's chapstick, Jake.
Exactly. I've eaten so much of it I'm soon to be know as the Wax Preacher.
So don't eat it.
But then I can't kiss you.
Oh. Point taken.
So you'll cut out the chapstick?
Sure, I can do that. (she says hesitantly.)
But then that sort of blows the whole dream I have had for years of tucking my chapstick and my cellphone in my pocket, jumping into my 1971 VW camper bus and hitting the highway.
Because now I have no chapstick, but more importantly, I don't own a 1971 VW camper bus. It's just one of those silly dreams. An escape, like having a tropical destination poster on the wall in your office. You look at it or think about it and your brain takes a mini-vacation. Or at least it's something to shoot for.
Something a little more exciting than driving to the drugstore in your 1971 VW camper bus and buying a dozen of your favorite chapsticks and going somewhere in disguise to apply them. Over and over again.
Because that, well, that's a really dumb dream.
So! Beautiful! They should...have sent...a poet!
I picked out a white plastic Frosty the snowman ring. When you clicked it open the head swung away on a hinge to reveal cherry-flavored chapstick. I loved that thing, I wound up scraping out the last of the chapstick with my fingernail and my mom showed me how to smoosh the contents of another chapstick tube into the empty hole. Oooh! Refillable. I wore it so proudly you would have thought it was from Tiffany & Co.
It was the start of a twenty-eight year love affair with chapstick, and catalogues too. Go figure.
I gave up the snowman ring for the infinitely cooler Maybelline kissing potion in the glass tube with the rollerball applicator within a few years, and the Sears Wishbook and Speigel catalogue held my interest far longer than Avon ever could. Now as an adult I have settled on Labello chapsticks and eleventy hundred different shiny lip glosses but will spend a large portion of each day looking for a tube, or applying the stuff liberally. A full-fledged addict, without shame.
On Sunday evening I asked Jake if he had a tube on him, or if he could go and buy some for me, or remember to even bring some from home.
No, Bridget.
What? Why not?
You have a problem.
It's chapstick, Jake.
Exactly. I've eaten so much of it I'm soon to be know as the Wax Preacher.
So don't eat it.
But then I can't kiss you.
Oh. Point taken.
So you'll cut out the chapstick?
Sure, I can do that. (she says hesitantly.)
But then that sort of blows the whole dream I have had for years of tucking my chapstick and my cellphone in my pocket, jumping into my 1971 VW camper bus and hitting the highway.
Because now I have no chapstick, but more importantly, I don't own a 1971 VW camper bus. It's just one of those silly dreams. An escape, like having a tropical destination poster on the wall in your office. You look at it or think about it and your brain takes a mini-vacation. Or at least it's something to shoot for.
Something a little more exciting than driving to the drugstore in your 1971 VW camper bus and buying a dozen of your favorite chapsticks and going somewhere in disguise to apply them. Over and over again.
Because that, well, that's a really dumb dream.
Good things like Bailey.
My older sister Bailey is here. She flew in on Sunday and took over from PJ, who was drowning in the responsibilities that we had heaped on him.
Bailey is the oldest girl, and I am the youngest. Growing up we hated each other. I hated her because she got to do everything first, and she had independence. She hated me because I got the most attention. When she was supposed to babysit me she'd lock me in the closet and go out with her friends.
When we grew into adults and had our own children something changed and we found a common thread together. She has three teenagers who have just newly reached the independent stage and she's reveling in her own freedom once again. She jumped at the chance to fly out here and take care of us. And boy do I appreciate her doing it.
Last night she asked me if I needed anything. We had just finished dinner and I was helping as much as she would let me.
No, I'm okay, thanks, Bay.
You should really have some tea and sit down, Bridget.
I'm fine. I feel pretty good.
You should listen to me. You may be a grown up and all but you're still small enough to lock in the closet.
I could hear Jacob trying, but he failed miserably and broke out in a sob of laughter and it was the best sound in the whole world.
Bailey is the oldest girl, and I am the youngest. Growing up we hated each other. I hated her because she got to do everything first, and she had independence. She hated me because I got the most attention. When she was supposed to babysit me she'd lock me in the closet and go out with her friends.
When we grew into adults and had our own children something changed and we found a common thread together. She has three teenagers who have just newly reached the independent stage and she's reveling in her own freedom once again. She jumped at the chance to fly out here and take care of us. And boy do I appreciate her doing it.
Last night she asked me if I needed anything. We had just finished dinner and I was helping as much as she would let me.
No, I'm okay, thanks, Bay.
You should really have some tea and sit down, Bridget.
I'm fine. I feel pretty good.
You should listen to me. You may be a grown up and all but you're still small enough to lock in the closet.
I could hear Jacob trying, but he failed miserably and broke out in a sob of laughter and it was the best sound in the whole world.
Tuesday 3 October 2006
Now there's an old song I loved.
Bridget, you're in recovery. I need you to wake up for me now. Bridget? Come, on honey. Wake up. Please wake up now for us.
No...just go away. Please. Go away. God, just leave me the fuck alone.
The literal sweetheart. All 95 pounds of her. They don't listen to her anyways.
Where have I been? Who cares.
Saturday lunchtime I discovered pain that I think I would have traded for death. I don't have an actual normal pain threshold so it has to be exquisite before it even registers. I thought I had pulled something in my upper back from all the throwing up, I was crampy and miserable, the coughing was so incessant. But I wasn't worried. Overall, I was feeling better for once. Then I almost hit the kitchen floor at fifty miles an hour while getting the milk out of the fridge, taking a terrifyingly moment before fainting to register the confusion and fear on Jacob's face when he caught me on the way down and we realized this wasn't good. Our dream? Subsequently destroyed.
We were pregnant but we're not anymore. It was ectopic. Which explains why my levels weren't going up the way they were supposed to. The pain was from the tube rupturing, which nearly killed me. I had surgery on Saturday afternoon. We were given a 25% chance of successfully conceiving after this. Oh yay. Bring it on, God. Just bring it. The gloves are off now.
Twenty five percent. Because four previous surgeries and my 'advanced maternal' age (My age. Last time I checked thirty-five wasn't all that old.) are putting me in a club I don't want to be in.
I didn't want to listen to my doctor's mellow voice on Sunday speaking in such a cold light. And so I ripped out the hearing aids and threw them at the wall. The doctor flinched. Jacob didn't say a word, he just put them in his pocket. They're still there.
I didn't want to wake up and see Claus sitting there on Monday reading his notes, because he knows, oh, he knows, Bridget is going down now. I wouldn't speak to him at all. So he just kept me company, every day for around an hour and a half. I watched him read, feeling slightly like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. I was waiting to flip upside down and smash into the ceiling. I wished I could have. Just to make him leave.
I didn't want to open my eyes today and see Jacob sitting in the damn chair, with his hands tearing at his hair, only to have him look up at me in surprise and see the anguish written on his face, drawn in a grief stricken finality. I thought I had seen every emotion he had inside, but I missed the one labelled "rock bottom".
He brought me home. He's taking some time off. Time he can't afford to be off. His workload triples. He hasn't smiled. He hasn't raised his eyes to meet anyone else's, only mine, Ruth's, Henry's. He speaks in one word answers to everyone but us. Jacob has shut down. This was over before we had a chance to appreciate it and somehow that should make it easier but it doesn't. Or maybe I jinxed myself with my legendary superstition by writing about it here. I said I wasn't happy. I said I was scared.
What I wouldn't give to take it all back.
He said maybe he had asked for too much. My heart is broken again. I want to give Jacob everything and what came so easily before suddenly seems to be an insurmountable task. I tried to console him, the deaf leading the blind, I don't know what I'm doing. I tried to talk to him about the future and maybe later on, in a year or two or whenever he was ready we could try again and he cut me off.
No, we're done trying, Bridget.
Twenty-five is still hopeful, Jacob. Where's your famous hope? Where's your faith?
Don't talk to me about faith today. Not today. I can only see what's in front of me and that's you, Bridge, and I'm so thankful just for you.
We don't have to accept this. We'll get another opinion.
He stood in front of me and held my shoulders, digging his fingers in until it hurt and he spoke to me with red eyes, teeth gritted, the face of someone in the grasp of an unimaginable sadness, and an understandable rage.
No, we won't. Do you know how close I came to losing you? I can't go through that ever again. I had forgotten how sick you used to be, and I can't do this ever again. You weren't strong enough and I pressured you. We didn't get enough sleep. And then you almost died right in front of my eyes. I can't lose you, Bridget. I just found you.
Oh God. His voice. It broke again and it's the worst sound in the world. Hoarse. Out of control.
You know something? I don't think we can talk about this right now, Jacob.
I had to shut off. I'm too drained, too shellshocked, and now scared because his hands hurt where they embedded into my skin. He shook me then, hard enough to make tears come out.
Bridge, we can't talk about it anymore ever! I have everything in the world and it's more than enough and I wouldn't give it up now for a baby. Let's focus on the four of us, and just getting you better, and living life. Okay? Please? Because I can't live without you.
He let go. And that was that. No talking, no negotiating, no nothing. We knew the risks and we took them and we lost and now I'm angry that I was reckless, thumbing my nose at the odds in the first place. I'm not the person to look toward when you want a miracle and yet we did it anyways and once again we've been pushed back into our place by fate or bad luck or whatever position we were meant to hold by a redundant hand. I'm sure somewhere in there God picked up on my hesitation to have another baby and called me on it.
Slow down, Bridget. You've cashed in enough miracles for now.
Damn everything all to hell.
Jacob becomes emotionally scarred, his heart stitched back together by my shaking hand because he wanted this so badly. And the chances have disappeared in a frightening chain of events that again leave us surrounded by experts and that sickly antiseptic smell that only hospitals have, left consoling each other and wishing we were somewhere else. Unwelcome fixtures in our lives now, these places.
I become physically scarred, the angry red line low on my abdomen right where he used to like to place his left thumb when he was pulling me close to him, now traced by his shaking fingers as a taunting memento because once again he was forced to stand by helplessly while everything went wrong all around him, his only consolation being in the comfort of catching me halfway down while the milk splashed everywhere but he kept my head from hitting the tiles. It's not good enough for him. Once again he wished so ferverently for a happy ending. There's been so few of those. The consolation he finds in me is also where he finds the fault now. And still he loves me unconditionally. He was there for the first time at the right time and he couldn't fix this and now I think he understands his limits as a human being and he resents the hell out of it.
He stayed overnights with me in the hospital (sleeping in a chair). Last night he got up at 3 am and gathered me up in his arms and just held on and within minutes the sobs wracked his entire body and flooded me with a fresh pain. He doesn't think I'm strong enough for this. He's too scared to try again and too angry to talk anymore. He just quietly resigns himself to the blessings he has, leaning heavily on his faith in God now to carry him through this part even though he denies it for some reason known only to him and I don't get it. Again, I'm looking for the absolutes. He's calling it a test.
I don't want any more damn tests! I failed. I fucking failed. Let me be.
And where is the other damn door, the one people always talk about?
Because this door is now closed. Locked. And no one even volunteered a key. And just to make certain, they've started to brick it over. It's a door that we're going to have to walk away from now.
Jacob insists there are other doors that will open, I don't hear him. He's gone back to his whispering. And he doesn't explain. We've found a reluctant comfort in dark times with each other. Sort of like finding yourself adrift in an ocean and being rescued by what turns out to be a ghost ship, you find you weren't really saved after all but you find someone else in a boat that is oddly the same one you were in. So you keep drifting, together. And hoping. Holding on for dear life. I to him, and him to me. Haunted.
Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go have a nervous breakdown. But I can't because they're medicating me again. Lucidity comes hard today.
Fine by me.
No...just go away. Please. Go away. God, just leave me the fuck alone.
The literal sweetheart. All 95 pounds of her. They don't listen to her anyways.
Where have I been? Who cares.
Saturday lunchtime I discovered pain that I think I would have traded for death. I don't have an actual normal pain threshold so it has to be exquisite before it even registers. I thought I had pulled something in my upper back from all the throwing up, I was crampy and miserable, the coughing was so incessant. But I wasn't worried. Overall, I was feeling better for once. Then I almost hit the kitchen floor at fifty miles an hour while getting the milk out of the fridge, taking a terrifyingly moment before fainting to register the confusion and fear on Jacob's face when he caught me on the way down and we realized this wasn't good. Our dream? Subsequently destroyed.
We were pregnant but we're not anymore. It was ectopic. Which explains why my levels weren't going up the way they were supposed to. The pain was from the tube rupturing, which nearly killed me. I had surgery on Saturday afternoon. We were given a 25% chance of successfully conceiving after this. Oh yay. Bring it on, God. Just bring it. The gloves are off now.
Twenty five percent. Because four previous surgeries and my 'advanced maternal' age (My age. Last time I checked thirty-five wasn't all that old.) are putting me in a club I don't want to be in.
I didn't want to listen to my doctor's mellow voice on Sunday speaking in such a cold light. And so I ripped out the hearing aids and threw them at the wall. The doctor flinched. Jacob didn't say a word, he just put them in his pocket. They're still there.
I didn't want to wake up and see Claus sitting there on Monday reading his notes, because he knows, oh, he knows, Bridget is going down now. I wouldn't speak to him at all. So he just kept me company, every day for around an hour and a half. I watched him read, feeling slightly like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. I was waiting to flip upside down and smash into the ceiling. I wished I could have. Just to make him leave.
I didn't want to open my eyes today and see Jacob sitting in the damn chair, with his hands tearing at his hair, only to have him look up at me in surprise and see the anguish written on his face, drawn in a grief stricken finality. I thought I had seen every emotion he had inside, but I missed the one labelled "rock bottom".
He brought me home. He's taking some time off. Time he can't afford to be off. His workload triples. He hasn't smiled. He hasn't raised his eyes to meet anyone else's, only mine, Ruth's, Henry's. He speaks in one word answers to everyone but us. Jacob has shut down. This was over before we had a chance to appreciate it and somehow that should make it easier but it doesn't. Or maybe I jinxed myself with my legendary superstition by writing about it here. I said I wasn't happy. I said I was scared.
What I wouldn't give to take it all back.
He said maybe he had asked for too much. My heart is broken again. I want to give Jacob everything and what came so easily before suddenly seems to be an insurmountable task. I tried to console him, the deaf leading the blind, I don't know what I'm doing. I tried to talk to him about the future and maybe later on, in a year or two or whenever he was ready we could try again and he cut me off.
No, we're done trying, Bridget.
Twenty-five is still hopeful, Jacob. Where's your famous hope? Where's your faith?
Don't talk to me about faith today. Not today. I can only see what's in front of me and that's you, Bridge, and I'm so thankful just for you.
We don't have to accept this. We'll get another opinion.
He stood in front of me and held my shoulders, digging his fingers in until it hurt and he spoke to me with red eyes, teeth gritted, the face of someone in the grasp of an unimaginable sadness, and an understandable rage.
No, we won't. Do you know how close I came to losing you? I can't go through that ever again. I had forgotten how sick you used to be, and I can't do this ever again. You weren't strong enough and I pressured you. We didn't get enough sleep. And then you almost died right in front of my eyes. I can't lose you, Bridget. I just found you.
Oh God. His voice. It broke again and it's the worst sound in the world. Hoarse. Out of control.
You know something? I don't think we can talk about this right now, Jacob.
I had to shut off. I'm too drained, too shellshocked, and now scared because his hands hurt where they embedded into my skin. He shook me then, hard enough to make tears come out.
Bridge, we can't talk about it anymore ever! I have everything in the world and it's more than enough and I wouldn't give it up now for a baby. Let's focus on the four of us, and just getting you better, and living life. Okay? Please? Because I can't live without you.
He let go. And that was that. No talking, no negotiating, no nothing. We knew the risks and we took them and we lost and now I'm angry that I was reckless, thumbing my nose at the odds in the first place. I'm not the person to look toward when you want a miracle and yet we did it anyways and once again we've been pushed back into our place by fate or bad luck or whatever position we were meant to hold by a redundant hand. I'm sure somewhere in there God picked up on my hesitation to have another baby and called me on it.
Slow down, Bridget. You've cashed in enough miracles for now.
Damn everything all to hell.
Jacob becomes emotionally scarred, his heart stitched back together by my shaking hand because he wanted this so badly. And the chances have disappeared in a frightening chain of events that again leave us surrounded by experts and that sickly antiseptic smell that only hospitals have, left consoling each other and wishing we were somewhere else. Unwelcome fixtures in our lives now, these places.
I become physically scarred, the angry red line low on my abdomen right where he used to like to place his left thumb when he was pulling me close to him, now traced by his shaking fingers as a taunting memento because once again he was forced to stand by helplessly while everything went wrong all around him, his only consolation being in the comfort of catching me halfway down while the milk splashed everywhere but he kept my head from hitting the tiles. It's not good enough for him. Once again he wished so ferverently for a happy ending. There's been so few of those. The consolation he finds in me is also where he finds the fault now. And still he loves me unconditionally. He was there for the first time at the right time and he couldn't fix this and now I think he understands his limits as a human being and he resents the hell out of it.
He stayed overnights with me in the hospital (sleeping in a chair). Last night he got up at 3 am and gathered me up in his arms and just held on and within minutes the sobs wracked his entire body and flooded me with a fresh pain. He doesn't think I'm strong enough for this. He's too scared to try again and too angry to talk anymore. He just quietly resigns himself to the blessings he has, leaning heavily on his faith in God now to carry him through this part even though he denies it for some reason known only to him and I don't get it. Again, I'm looking for the absolutes. He's calling it a test.
I don't want any more damn tests! I failed. I fucking failed. Let me be.
And where is the other damn door, the one people always talk about?
Because this door is now closed. Locked. And no one even volunteered a key. And just to make certain, they've started to brick it over. It's a door that we're going to have to walk away from now.
Jacob insists there are other doors that will open, I don't hear him. He's gone back to his whispering. And he doesn't explain. We've found a reluctant comfort in dark times with each other. Sort of like finding yourself adrift in an ocean and being rescued by what turns out to be a ghost ship, you find you weren't really saved after all but you find someone else in a boat that is oddly the same one you were in. So you keep drifting, together. And hoping. Holding on for dear life. I to him, and him to me. Haunted.
Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go have a nervous breakdown. But I can't because they're medicating me again. Lucidity comes hard today.
Fine by me.
Saturday 30 September 2006
Permanent markers revisited.
Holy shit.
Jacob came home last night with a tattoo.
Just below the neckline where a t-shirt would fall on the centre of his back.
Angel wings. Symmetrical wings and if you look hard, scrolled within and difficult to discern are all of our initals. Baby included. JTF, BR, RB, HJ and OC. You have to know they are there, that's how well they were incorporated into the design. Mind-blowing.
I'm stunned. He's managed to eschew all forms of body modification all these years. Never had pierced ears. Never a need for anything and now this. Holy wow. It's beautiful.
I have tons of tattoos and am down to five piercings from seven and he's always told me if I had remained plain vanilla I would have been just as beautiful. But I didn't get any of it to be beautiful, I did it to mark days. To remember things, to be different. I did it to prove that I might be sweet and proper but I never forget who lies within. The expressive one. The freak. I think body art is beautiful.
Oh, fuck me, emoting all over the place today I am.
He got it because he is complete now, he said. I can't think of a better reason than that.
Jacob came home last night with a tattoo.
Just below the neckline where a t-shirt would fall on the centre of his back.
Angel wings. Symmetrical wings and if you look hard, scrolled within and difficult to discern are all of our initals. Baby included. JTF, BR, RB, HJ and OC. You have to know they are there, that's how well they were incorporated into the design. Mind-blowing.
I'm stunned. He's managed to eschew all forms of body modification all these years. Never had pierced ears. Never a need for anything and now this. Holy wow. It's beautiful.
I have tons of tattoos and am down to five piercings from seven and he's always told me if I had remained plain vanilla I would have been just as beautiful. But I didn't get any of it to be beautiful, I did it to mark days. To remember things, to be different. I did it to prove that I might be sweet and proper but I never forget who lies within. The expressive one. The freak. I think body art is beautiful.
Oh, fuck me, emoting all over the place today I am.
He got it because he is complete now, he said. I can't think of a better reason than that.
Friday 29 September 2006
5:17 AM
5:17 am on July 13 was when Cole died. They let me in to be with him. I watched him slip through my fingers for the final time and I wanted it so badly I thought God was going to come out of the sky and push me right on through the ground into hell for those thoughts.
And I talked to him. Jittery, random sentences that flew out of my mouth. Everything I ever wanted to say that I didn't get to say because our twenty years together didn't end so well. I asked questions I will never have answers to, again. He wins.
I'm sorry.
You treated me like dirt. What did you expect me to love you with, when I had nothing left?
He's good to me. To the kids. He looks after us.
Why didn't you just let me go?
Why did you have to hurt me?
I hate you.
And I cried. The tears just rolled down my face with great big fat blubbery sobs following and I sat there and watched the clock and I didn't look at him until 5:17. That's when I looked at him and said:
I love you.
And that was the moment he died.
And now every day I wake up at 5:17 am. And I'm one hundred percent convinced that he's haunting me using time as his weapon. Because Cole would do that.
And I talked to him. Jittery, random sentences that flew out of my mouth. Everything I ever wanted to say that I didn't get to say because our twenty years together didn't end so well. I asked questions I will never have answers to, again. He wins.
I'm sorry.
You treated me like dirt. What did you expect me to love you with, when I had nothing left?
He's good to me. To the kids. He looks after us.
Why didn't you just let me go?
Why did you have to hurt me?
I hate you.
And I cried. The tears just rolled down my face with great big fat blubbery sobs following and I sat there and watched the clock and I didn't look at him until 5:17. That's when I looked at him and said:
I love you.
And that was the moment he died.
And now every day I wake up at 5:17 am. And I'm one hundred percent convinced that he's haunting me using time as his weapon. Because Cole would do that.
*Ghostwriter.
Hi internet,
This is Jacob. Bridget is still sleeping but she left the window open so I thought I would write for her. Last night I took my wife on a surprise date. First we stopped at the drugstore and bought a ton of cough drops. Then I took her to see Jackass Number Two to cheer her up. She laughed so hard and didn't cough too much. When we came home we had some cake. Bridget loves cake. She was in bed before 9 and is still sleeping now at 7 am so I'm hoping she feels much better today.
Yours truly,
Jacob.
*(What I found when I woke up. I think I'll just leave it as today's entry. TGIF.)
This is Jacob. Bridget is still sleeping but she left the window open so I thought I would write for her. Last night I took my wife on a surprise date. First we stopped at the drugstore and bought a ton of cough drops. Then I took her to see Jackass Number Two to cheer her up. She laughed so hard and didn't cough too much. When we came home we had some cake. Bridget loves cake. She was in bed before 9 and is still sleeping now at 7 am so I'm hoping she feels much better today.
Yours truly,
Jacob.
*(What I found when I woke up. I think I'll just leave it as today's entry. TGIF.)
Thursday 28 September 2006
The gauge, it reads empty.
Hell, I can't even cop to being beautiful on the outside at this point, the usual safety net I keep in place because I'm normally a freaking mess on the inside and yet you'd never ever know it.
I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.
Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.
Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.
Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.
The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.
So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.
Drama queen indeed.
I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.
Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.
Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.
Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.
The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.
So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.
Drama queen indeed.
Radiant Bridget.
No lapdances this post, folks.
Not so much glowing with pregnancy as I am glowing with the heat of a thousand suns. Last night I ran the mother of all fevers, to the point where Jacob woke me out of a sound sleep with medicine to bring it down because he said the bed was so hot he woke up. He made me drink gatorade, stripped off my camisole and pajama pants and sat up with me for hours.
This after he had to do everything anyways, coming home from work with groceries and finding me halfway across our bed, having been sick with the shakes and chills all afternoon. Bless his heart, he got me the rest of the way into bed and got dinner and bedtimes achieved with a flair that only Jacob has. He brought me flowers.
And my mother calls from home and tells me she's on penicillin for the same cold/flu and maybe I should go back to the doctor. I point out I see the doctor once a week.
And the kids are still coughing so much I'm keeping them home again. Well, that and the fact that I'm too sick to walk to school four times today (8k total) so we're in, we're down and we're going to get better or die trying.
Not so much glowing with pregnancy as I am glowing with the heat of a thousand suns. Last night I ran the mother of all fevers, to the point where Jacob woke me out of a sound sleep with medicine to bring it down because he said the bed was so hot he woke up. He made me drink gatorade, stripped off my camisole and pajama pants and sat up with me for hours.
This after he had to do everything anyways, coming home from work with groceries and finding me halfway across our bed, having been sick with the shakes and chills all afternoon. Bless his heart, he got me the rest of the way into bed and got dinner and bedtimes achieved with a flair that only Jacob has. He brought me flowers.
And my mother calls from home and tells me she's on penicillin for the same cold/flu and maybe I should go back to the doctor. I point out I see the doctor once a week.
And the kids are still coughing so much I'm keeping them home again. Well, that and the fact that I'm too sick to walk to school four times today (8k total) so we're in, we're down and we're going to get better or die trying.
Wednesday 27 September 2006
Unbreakable.
(Uh-oh, the second half of this became the requisite porn post. I'm not sorry. Very sweetly I will make no apologies.)
Someone is losing his mind.
Jacob has been mostly around for all of two difficult pregnancies and he's forgetting all the rules, which usually begin with:
1) bring deep fried food and orange juice. Cake is a plus, but then again, when is cake not a plus?
2) hold the hair! Who cares how much I'm sick, just don't let it get in my hair.
I'm not a doll (ha), and I don't need to be treated with kid gloves but when I feel really great and I want to do things, I have to talk him into everything, because he thinks I should lounge around swaddled in blankets and have people bring me things all day like a princess would (so where is all the deep fried food I requested? Hello!). He absolutely forbade me to wear my high heels outside anymore (Notice I said outside because oh, he doesn't mind if I wear them indoors). In case I slip or something.
Remember he's stepped in to be there during such very private times you wouldn't believe it. You have to have faith in someone when I felt so comfortable with him from the moment I first met him and he put his arm around me on that hammock and kept me safe through that entire night when I was out of it. It was definitely something bigger than both of us.
God was busy playing matchmaker, and we were slow.
And then through being pregnant with Ruth when he would bring me smoothies and the very first time he stopped by and I didn't answer the door, he came in anyway and sat down on the bathroom floor behind me and pulled my hair back so that I could just keep throwing up even though I tried to wave him away and fight off his arms and when I lay down on the floor because I was too fucking sick to crawl he picked me up and carried me to my bed and kissed my forehead and he sat on a chair in the corner and worked on his university papers, writing with his pen, papers and books balanced on his knees, while I slept and woke up only to be sick, and he would drop everything on the floor.
He got nothing of me then, except my worthless company, and still he took what I had to give him and I loved him for it. The best parts were given to Cole, who would come home from work and get to hold me and make love to me and take what he wanted and still expect me to pour his coffee in between dry heaves. Brutal. Do you know Cole never even called during the day to see how I was? Bitter one, indeed. Broken and fucking bitter.
The second time, with Henry, Jacob signed up for pretty much the same deal as Best Friend, only things were so far downhill from life the first time he was resigned to believe I had signed up to be tortured, that I truly was a masochist, and that my life wasn't turning out at all how it was supposed to. That part was true. This time Jacob had his hands full. He kept a one year old Ruth entertained almost every afternoon, and tried in vain to get her to nap by singing power ballads and Christmas carols to her and in between that he would come in and rub my back while I lay on the tiles, so much sicker the second time around that I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. The drugs barely helped.
And yet I survived, he helped me keep at least a little of my smile, my sweet disposition. And now, this third time around so far it seems a little easier because he's here all the time now. But I'm not always so sweet. Which I continue now to throw in his face daily. For I do not want to be sweet sometimes. I don't want to have any of that. I want to be fucking depraved. You only think I was kidding when I said I would be his whore.
Are you really as tough as you think
you blink and you're over the brink
you bleed but the blood runs pink
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
You're not quite as tough as you thought
you bought the American rod
the very seed that you thought you shot
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
So you should have seen his face last night when I pitched a glorious all-out petulant tantrum because he really wasn't willing to pull out the strobe light (which! he bought! for me!) and crank the stereo up to twelve so we could have a little fun because I was finally feeling right at the right time, a critically choreographed chain of events that might possibly not happen again any time soon. The hell? And I'm so rusty after having spent most of August perfecting a lap dance so mind-blowing he forgot what to say when he answered the phone a full two hours later when I nailed it.
(Psst, Jake. When you pick up the phone, say 'Hello'.)
So now!
Honey! I feel terrific, and I'm so horny right now the balusters are looking promising. I know you'll be sorry if I start ripping apart the banister to get a little action around here.
I could barely get him in the mood for all my trying. And I'm usually frighteningly good at it. I have a way of kissing him that makes him too hard to stand up comfortably and he won't have it much, these days. I've been a mom for a long time but of course it's different this time, this is his baby and he's going to have a hard time reconciling his sex kitten wife with the mother of his children, I can see it. He wants to go the tender route, I want to remain mildly depraved. I like depraved.
Up until we got a positive test he was completely satisfied, albeit a little surprised that he could get a lap dance just by looking at me the right way. Bringing home a strobe light (!) and a better stereo for our bedroom sort of cemented his whole lottery-winner attitude. Possibly the funniest wedding present I've ever seen. He was finally. into. it. Yes.
Freaky is my middle name as much as Rebekah. He knows it and now he's been denying me something I want the past few days and that's..well, that's just not acceptable. He's going to have to get over that right now. Yesterday. Please?
The good news is, I think I've figured him out...almost. He just takes a lot longer to get into it, and it takes him an extra hour or two to start the hair-pulling, desperate, slow, unbearably languid, complete sex that I crave from him. Fine, it just adds a couple more hours to the fun. We have lost entire nights of sleep together over the past few months. It feels so good to be touched by him I can't even believe it. Maybe he's one of those touch-healers by default. I wish it worked on the dry heaves. They interfere with everything that's good.
And I don't think either of us really mind the extra time it takes to visit heaven. I know I don't. There's things to remember about being pregnant. Like if you're able to grow a human being for nine months then you're probably able to handle some serious sex with a capital S. And I really like the part of the night when he forgets to treat me like I will break and has a little fun. A little thorough, hard-edged fun. Yes. More. Please.
Please, Jake.
And he sure enjoys the hell out of his nightly lap dance. I wore out a CD. My favorite one, ten thousand days. I'm hoping I don't wear out iTunes now.
And finally with his consent, after much petulance and sighing took place, I got my wish. Last night I think I reached some sort of limber zenith. He was fucking stunned.
I wore his cowboy hat, pulled very low, I let my hair down, falling in waves to my elbows, coaxed my eyelashes to extreme lengths and after adding a cute new pair of pink boyshort undies that he bought for me and entirely too much candy-pink lipgloss, I wound out on his lap in his office chair with everything I had. I played a song for him, nice and loud, three times. He almost made it through the final chorus on the third go round, before I found myself stark naked, wearing nothing but that cowboy hat and a big smile, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, fingers tangled thoroughly in his beautiful blonde hair, discovering his talents. On the receiving end of his generous gifts, only for me. I thought we were going to break the chair. Reluctant my ass. I started out in control and I wound up so not in control. Just the way I like it.
He tries so hard to resist me but it's insurmountable.
I, however, am not.
Someone is losing his mind.
Jacob has been mostly around for all of two difficult pregnancies and he's forgetting all the rules, which usually begin with:
1) bring deep fried food and orange juice. Cake is a plus, but then again, when is cake not a plus?
2) hold the hair! Who cares how much I'm sick, just don't let it get in my hair.
I'm not a doll (ha), and I don't need to be treated with kid gloves but when I feel really great and I want to do things, I have to talk him into everything, because he thinks I should lounge around swaddled in blankets and have people bring me things all day like a princess would (so where is all the deep fried food I requested? Hello!). He absolutely forbade me to wear my high heels outside anymore (Notice I said outside because oh, he doesn't mind if I wear them indoors). In case I slip or something.
Remember he's stepped in to be there during such very private times you wouldn't believe it. You have to have faith in someone when I felt so comfortable with him from the moment I first met him and he put his arm around me on that hammock and kept me safe through that entire night when I was out of it. It was definitely something bigger than both of us.
God was busy playing matchmaker, and we were slow.
And then through being pregnant with Ruth when he would bring me smoothies and the very first time he stopped by and I didn't answer the door, he came in anyway and sat down on the bathroom floor behind me and pulled my hair back so that I could just keep throwing up even though I tried to wave him away and fight off his arms and when I lay down on the floor because I was too fucking sick to crawl he picked me up and carried me to my bed and kissed my forehead and he sat on a chair in the corner and worked on his university papers, writing with his pen, papers and books balanced on his knees, while I slept and woke up only to be sick, and he would drop everything on the floor.
He got nothing of me then, except my worthless company, and still he took what I had to give him and I loved him for it. The best parts were given to Cole, who would come home from work and get to hold me and make love to me and take what he wanted and still expect me to pour his coffee in between dry heaves. Brutal. Do you know Cole never even called during the day to see how I was? Bitter one, indeed. Broken and fucking bitter.
The second time, with Henry, Jacob signed up for pretty much the same deal as Best Friend, only things were so far downhill from life the first time he was resigned to believe I had signed up to be tortured, that I truly was a masochist, and that my life wasn't turning out at all how it was supposed to. That part was true. This time Jacob had his hands full. He kept a one year old Ruth entertained almost every afternoon, and tried in vain to get her to nap by singing power ballads and Christmas carols to her and in between that he would come in and rub my back while I lay on the tiles, so much sicker the second time around that I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. The drugs barely helped.
And yet I survived, he helped me keep at least a little of my smile, my sweet disposition. And now, this third time around so far it seems a little easier because he's here all the time now. But I'm not always so sweet. Which I continue now to throw in his face daily. For I do not want to be sweet sometimes. I don't want to have any of that. I want to be fucking depraved. You only think I was kidding when I said I would be his whore.
Are you really as tough as you think
you blink and you're over the brink
you bleed but the blood runs pink
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
You're not quite as tough as you thought
you bought the American rod
the very seed that you thought you shot
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
So you should have seen his face last night when I pitched a glorious all-out petulant tantrum because he really wasn't willing to pull out the strobe light (which! he bought! for me!) and crank the stereo up to twelve so we could have a little fun because I was finally feeling right at the right time, a critically choreographed chain of events that might possibly not happen again any time soon. The hell? And I'm so rusty after having spent most of August perfecting a lap dance so mind-blowing he forgot what to say when he answered the phone a full two hours later when I nailed it.
(Psst, Jake. When you pick up the phone, say 'Hello'.)
So now!
Honey! I feel terrific, and I'm so horny right now the balusters are looking promising. I know you'll be sorry if I start ripping apart the banister to get a little action around here.
I could barely get him in the mood for all my trying. And I'm usually frighteningly good at it. I have a way of kissing him that makes him too hard to stand up comfortably and he won't have it much, these days. I've been a mom for a long time but of course it's different this time, this is his baby and he's going to have a hard time reconciling his sex kitten wife with the mother of his children, I can see it. He wants to go the tender route, I want to remain mildly depraved. I like depraved.
Up until we got a positive test he was completely satisfied, albeit a little surprised that he could get a lap dance just by looking at me the right way. Bringing home a strobe light (!) and a better stereo for our bedroom sort of cemented his whole lottery-winner attitude. Possibly the funniest wedding present I've ever seen. He was finally. into. it. Yes.
Freaky is my middle name as much as Rebekah. He knows it and now he's been denying me something I want the past few days and that's..well, that's just not acceptable. He's going to have to get over that right now. Yesterday. Please?
The good news is, I think I've figured him out...almost. He just takes a lot longer to get into it, and it takes him an extra hour or two to start the hair-pulling, desperate, slow, unbearably languid, complete sex that I crave from him. Fine, it just adds a couple more hours to the fun. We have lost entire nights of sleep together over the past few months. It feels so good to be touched by him I can't even believe it. Maybe he's one of those touch-healers by default. I wish it worked on the dry heaves. They interfere with everything that's good.
And I don't think either of us really mind the extra time it takes to visit heaven. I know I don't. There's things to remember about being pregnant. Like if you're able to grow a human being for nine months then you're probably able to handle some serious sex with a capital S. And I really like the part of the night when he forgets to treat me like I will break and has a little fun. A little thorough, hard-edged fun. Yes. More. Please.
Please, Jake.
And he sure enjoys the hell out of his nightly lap dance. I wore out a CD. My favorite one, ten thousand days. I'm hoping I don't wear out iTunes now.
And finally with his consent, after much petulance and sighing took place, I got my wish. Last night I think I reached some sort of limber zenith. He was fucking stunned.
I wore his cowboy hat, pulled very low, I let my hair down, falling in waves to my elbows, coaxed my eyelashes to extreme lengths and after adding a cute new pair of pink boyshort undies that he bought for me and entirely too much candy-pink lipgloss, I wound out on his lap in his office chair with everything I had. I played a song for him, nice and loud, three times. He almost made it through the final chorus on the third go round, before I found myself stark naked, wearing nothing but that cowboy hat and a big smile, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, fingers tangled thoroughly in his beautiful blonde hair, discovering his talents. On the receiving end of his generous gifts, only for me. I thought we were going to break the chair. Reluctant my ass. I started out in control and I wound up so not in control. Just the way I like it.
He tries so hard to resist me but it's insurmountable.
I, however, am not.
Tuesday 26 September 2006
30-second update theatre.
Kind of like 30-second bunny theatre, which we adore.
Because I don't want the last few entries up there but I hate the delete button. I really do. So here, have some drive-by updates, if you want more info on any of the following just leave a comment and I'll address it shortly:
-Me working- Not going to happen.
-Jake's firefighting side gig -still on. Nice. Impressed? Not so much.
-Baby name -oh, but you must guess. Carved in stone within seconds. And surprisingly conceived on our. wedding. day. Wow. Due mere days before my birthday. Double wow.
-Canadian iTunes-so not happy with. How hard is it to make the damn music available internationally? FUCK!
-Strobe light-I have one. You know you want to hear more. <---poooooorn.
-The cold from hell -rages on. Woe.
-House -not winterized, see above.
-Tool CD-wore it out. Must buy a new one. See strobe light note, above. (shhh!)
More later. Including porn.
Because I don't want the last few entries up there but I hate the delete button. I really do. So here, have some drive-by updates, if you want more info on any of the following just leave a comment and I'll address it shortly:
-Me working- Not going to happen.
-Jake's firefighting side gig -still on. Nice. Impressed? Not so much.
-Baby name -oh, but you must guess. Carved in stone within seconds. And surprisingly conceived on our. wedding. day. Wow. Due mere days before my birthday. Double wow.
-Canadian iTunes-so not happy with. How hard is it to make the damn music available internationally? FUCK!
-Strobe light-I have one. You know you want to hear more. <---poooooorn.
-The cold from hell -rages on. Woe.
-House -not winterized, see above.
-Tool CD-wore it out. Must buy a new one. See strobe light note, above. (shhh!)
More later. Including porn.
Haste and a mgnifying glass.
Let me get this out of the way.
I have some friends for sale.
Mostly all of them, okay all of them wonderful, loving, caring, slightly undomesticated males who can't manage to clean a dish or a shirt but have the art of barbecuing and women down to a science, save for one.
Me.
I love them, I really do. But I don't like to be second-guessed. Especially now.
All of them anxious for caution, for hesitancy. All of them also dealing with not knowing how bad things were for me at home. They kick themselves for not stepping in, for not doing something. For tearing Jake down instead of backing him up when he pressured me to leave Cole. Romantic rival, indeed. Don't think it isn't lost on them now that he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't help me, but maybe if they had backed him up it would have been easier.
And now Jake falls under their microscope. Jacob, the good guy. The minister, for heaven's sake. The one guy who could rip up a block of concrete with his bare hands but doesn't and won't, earning him the Friendly Giant/Preacher Boy nicknames. He would never ever hurt me. But still they're skittish. If we argue now they crowd in and attempt to do damage control, offering time away, space, moral support. Poor Jake. More eyes are on him then ever before and it's Cole's fault. Because they refuse to ever let things get so quietly out of control ever again. And now, of course telling them all that we're growing our family leads to judgments and comments and flack that I don't appreciate because it PUTS DOUBTS IN MY HEAD. The speed at which we've tried to find a routine, a normal family life after a monster of a miserable season leaves them gasping for air and I can't help that. I have to do what I want to do. For the first time it gives me a little control back and I like that. I don't frankly care how many heads are left spinning in our tiny, rippling wake. Don't fucking question me now. I'm only beginning to find happiness I should have had before and they're hellbent on wrecking it all.
Jacob is thrilled with the scrutiny. He's an open book, ready to share his own life, his philosophies, his loves with anyone who asks or ventures an enquiry. He doesn't mind the guys pressuring him to stay the straight and narrow because he will, he does. He only finds it ironic in this new day's light. He wants me to be surrounded by good people that I can count on. He believes that if people are accountable for their actions then they do better and he loves the fact that even good people always have room for improvement, himself included.
What he doesn't like, is the queue of guys standing in a line behind him ready to step in to his shoes should he (and he won't) fall. Oh no. Haven't we been through this already? Two separate occasions recently found me on the wrong end of deep conversations, ones that ended with lofty goals, promises I didn't ask to be made. Feelings I never wanted to know existed.
Bridge...if things don't work out with Jake...well, you don't have to be alone.
Oh my God. How noble, honorable, and really above and beyond the call of duty. Assurances from me that I won't be alone, and I won't be - I have my friends. My family, my kids. I wouldn't touch another friend if my life depended on it. I love these guys like brothers. I loved Jacob like nothing else. Can't they see the difference? And if they think it's easy to fall in love with and try to make a new life with a friend who knows every moment of your history then they are sorely mistaken, it's so much harder than we expected.
We didn't understand how much time we would spend re-examining old wounds, fighting old fights and forgetting that we're supposed to be lovers now, saying things you can say to friends, but should never say to people you have to go to bed with. And Jacob, standing in Cole's shoes, now knowing exactly how people view me. Seeing how people think about his wife, what sort of things they imagine and ways they try to get close to me and it's harder than he thought it would be, but still a place he would trade with no one, ever again.
I'm apparently a blessing, an ego trip and a curse all at once.
It's really fucking hard. And made harder, unintentionally by well-meaning friends who wind up with the harsh lights on them, too.
What the fuck? Were you my friend or are you just here because you want to get into my pants too? There's no fucking lineup! Go away! And take your fucking opinions with you.
I feel disillusioned, chaotic, betrayed in a totally different way. Then everyone steps back but it's too fucking late for that. It's out there and you can't stuff this one back in. Oh no. You let it out and it grew and now it's too big to hide it anywhere but in plain sight and I can never look at them the same way ever again and that hurts very badly.
It does.
I am not flattered.
What appeared to be such a proper, normal average life out here in cowboyland has become nothing more than a sordid, deceitful soap opera and it features me, the reluctant starlet. The lights are so hot. I'm shaken by what all these revelations have meant to my life as it stands now. Honest, pure love, personal safety, security and the price is that I'm brutally restrained into an insular environment in which I am always safe because I'm never out of reach and the numbers of people I have access to are now limited, a small number, because of the damn trust.
This is a price I can pay because I've lived both sides now and I would choose this in a heartbeat over the way things were before. The funny part is I expected it to feel claustrophobic and it doesn't. It doesn't at all.
When my friends learn how to deal with their feelings, I'll welcome them back into my world but until they do, I can't handle it. Jacob thinks I'm being harsh, surprisingly. No, I'm just exercising some long-overdue self-preservation. The icing on the cake, only this time I didn't ask for dessert. So I have to push away the beloved plate of cake and politely refuse, for now.
Have you ever needed someone so bad,
Have you ever wanted someone
You just couldn't have
Did you ever try so hard
That your world just fell apart
Have you ever needed someone so bad
And you're the girl I gotta have
I have some friends for sale.
Mostly all of them, okay all of them wonderful, loving, caring, slightly undomesticated males who can't manage to clean a dish or a shirt but have the art of barbecuing and women down to a science, save for one.
Me.
I love them, I really do. But I don't like to be second-guessed. Especially now.
All of them anxious for caution, for hesitancy. All of them also dealing with not knowing how bad things were for me at home. They kick themselves for not stepping in, for not doing something. For tearing Jake down instead of backing him up when he pressured me to leave Cole. Romantic rival, indeed. Don't think it isn't lost on them now that he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't help me, but maybe if they had backed him up it would have been easier.
And now Jake falls under their microscope. Jacob, the good guy. The minister, for heaven's sake. The one guy who could rip up a block of concrete with his bare hands but doesn't and won't, earning him the Friendly Giant/Preacher Boy nicknames. He would never ever hurt me. But still they're skittish. If we argue now they crowd in and attempt to do damage control, offering time away, space, moral support. Poor Jake. More eyes are on him then ever before and it's Cole's fault. Because they refuse to ever let things get so quietly out of control ever again. And now, of course telling them all that we're growing our family leads to judgments and comments and flack that I don't appreciate because it PUTS DOUBTS IN MY HEAD. The speed at which we've tried to find a routine, a normal family life after a monster of a miserable season leaves them gasping for air and I can't help that. I have to do what I want to do. For the first time it gives me a little control back and I like that. I don't frankly care how many heads are left spinning in our tiny, rippling wake. Don't fucking question me now. I'm only beginning to find happiness I should have had before and they're hellbent on wrecking it all.
Jacob is thrilled with the scrutiny. He's an open book, ready to share his own life, his philosophies, his loves with anyone who asks or ventures an enquiry. He doesn't mind the guys pressuring him to stay the straight and narrow because he will, he does. He only finds it ironic in this new day's light. He wants me to be surrounded by good people that I can count on. He believes that if people are accountable for their actions then they do better and he loves the fact that even good people always have room for improvement, himself included.
What he doesn't like, is the queue of guys standing in a line behind him ready to step in to his shoes should he (and he won't) fall. Oh no. Haven't we been through this already? Two separate occasions recently found me on the wrong end of deep conversations, ones that ended with lofty goals, promises I didn't ask to be made. Feelings I never wanted to know existed.
Bridge...if things don't work out with Jake...well, you don't have to be alone.
Oh my God. How noble, honorable, and really above and beyond the call of duty. Assurances from me that I won't be alone, and I won't be - I have my friends. My family, my kids. I wouldn't touch another friend if my life depended on it. I love these guys like brothers. I loved Jacob like nothing else. Can't they see the difference? And if they think it's easy to fall in love with and try to make a new life with a friend who knows every moment of your history then they are sorely mistaken, it's so much harder than we expected.
We didn't understand how much time we would spend re-examining old wounds, fighting old fights and forgetting that we're supposed to be lovers now, saying things you can say to friends, but should never say to people you have to go to bed with. And Jacob, standing in Cole's shoes, now knowing exactly how people view me. Seeing how people think about his wife, what sort of things they imagine and ways they try to get close to me and it's harder than he thought it would be, but still a place he would trade with no one, ever again.
I'm apparently a blessing, an ego trip and a curse all at once.
It's really fucking hard. And made harder, unintentionally by well-meaning friends who wind up with the harsh lights on them, too.
What the fuck? Were you my friend or are you just here because you want to get into my pants too? There's no fucking lineup! Go away! And take your fucking opinions with you.
I feel disillusioned, chaotic, betrayed in a totally different way. Then everyone steps back but it's too fucking late for that. It's out there and you can't stuff this one back in. Oh no. You let it out and it grew and now it's too big to hide it anywhere but in plain sight and I can never look at them the same way ever again and that hurts very badly.
It does.
I am not flattered.
What appeared to be such a proper, normal average life out here in cowboyland has become nothing more than a sordid, deceitful soap opera and it features me, the reluctant starlet. The lights are so hot. I'm shaken by what all these revelations have meant to my life as it stands now. Honest, pure love, personal safety, security and the price is that I'm brutally restrained into an insular environment in which I am always safe because I'm never out of reach and the numbers of people I have access to are now limited, a small number, because of the damn trust.
This is a price I can pay because I've lived both sides now and I would choose this in a heartbeat over the way things were before. The funny part is I expected it to feel claustrophobic and it doesn't. It doesn't at all.
When my friends learn how to deal with their feelings, I'll welcome them back into my world but until they do, I can't handle it. Jacob thinks I'm being harsh, surprisingly. No, I'm just exercising some long-overdue self-preservation. The icing on the cake, only this time I didn't ask for dessert. So I have to push away the beloved plate of cake and politely refuse, for now.
Have you ever needed someone so bad,
Have you ever wanted someone
You just couldn't have
Did you ever try so hard
That your world just fell apart
Have you ever needed someone so bad
And you're the girl I gotta have
Monday 25 September 2006
Me, too.
Apparently I don't have enough to do today.
I wasn't entirely honest one post down. Hell, I'm not really honest with myself, why would I be honest with my journal? It's one peg down from the way I feel I should respond, and so again, I have talked myself into it.
I'm not sure I'm happy or excited about this baby.
In reality, its different. In reality I'm pretty fucking terrified.
And that isn't fair to Jake.
I wasn't entirely honest one post down. Hell, I'm not really honest with myself, why would I be honest with my journal? It's one peg down from the way I feel I should respond, and so again, I have talked myself into it.
I'm not sure I'm happy or excited about this baby.
In reality, its different. In reality I'm pretty fucking terrified.
And that isn't fair to Jake.
Me.
A lot of people have pointed out that I haven't talked about how I feel.
Gee, that's all I do in here. It's my place to put all the dark things so only light surrounds me in the real world. Those dark things have a place they can fester here and I can go off and be happy.
But how do I feel about the baby, you ask?
I'm cautiously happy. I'm a superstitious soul, scared to say too much, or do too much. I haven't felt well enough for it to even sink in. Before, thinking about having a baby that was half of me and half of Jacob left me with warm fuzzy sunshine-infused glowy love feelings and not much has changed. I can hardly believe it. My whole heart jumps fifty feet out of my body when he walks into a room, the fact that we've ever even made love or kissed each other and not had to do it in the dark away from prying eyes makes it simply sweeter.
I don't even have to go into the fact that the whole blonde haired goodness multiplied is going to make the most beautiful baby ever.
Honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm going to promise that this journal won't become a baby clock or a permanent record of how many time Bridget throws up every day because, well, I wouldn't come here either if I did that.
So instead. I think...
Yeah...
I think maybe it will become..the porn blog.
Oh I'm kidding.
An all-porn diet here would be just as annoying. So perhaps a little bit of everything. And a lot of that man. Because damn. Jacob gets hotter every single day. Okay so yeah...pooooooorn.
Gee, that's all I do in here. It's my place to put all the dark things so only light surrounds me in the real world. Those dark things have a place they can fester here and I can go off and be happy.
But how do I feel about the baby, you ask?
I'm cautiously happy. I'm a superstitious soul, scared to say too much, or do too much. I haven't felt well enough for it to even sink in. Before, thinking about having a baby that was half of me and half of Jacob left me with warm fuzzy sunshine-infused glowy love feelings and not much has changed. I can hardly believe it. My whole heart jumps fifty feet out of my body when he walks into a room, the fact that we've ever even made love or kissed each other and not had to do it in the dark away from prying eyes makes it simply sweeter.
I don't even have to go into the fact that the whole blonde haired goodness multiplied is going to make the most beautiful baby ever.
Honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm going to promise that this journal won't become a baby clock or a permanent record of how many time Bridget throws up every day because, well, I wouldn't come here either if I did that.
So instead. I think...
Yeah...
I think maybe it will become..the porn blog.
Oh I'm kidding.
An all-porn diet here would be just as annoying. So perhaps a little bit of everything. And a lot of that man. Because damn. Jacob gets hotter every single day. Okay so yeah...pooooooorn.
5 things about...food.
1. If there's red licorice around, I will eat the entire bag. Even if I start to feel sick and sugar starts to pour out of my ears and nose, I'll keep eating it until it's gone. I don't even share.
2. There's something inherently wonderful about a cinnamon roll from Starbucks. Maybe it's the decadence of paying $3.99 for something I can buy six of for the same price at the grocery store. Because they warm it up and put it on a plate and I can eat it at a trendy little table where the beautiful people hang out. Yes, somehow that makes it taste better.
3. Food will always taste better if you eat it while watching Iron Chef. When they're creating something gross.
4. And where the hell is Jamie Oliver anyway? I used to watch him cook on TV and he's nowhere to be found.
5. As of today I have officially lost 10% of my body weight. Leaving me with 96 pounds to keep me anchored on the ground if a strong gale blows. It might not be enough.
2. There's something inherently wonderful about a cinnamon roll from Starbucks. Maybe it's the decadence of paying $3.99 for something I can buy six of for the same price at the grocery store. Because they warm it up and put it on a plate and I can eat it at a trendy little table where the beautiful people hang out. Yes, somehow that makes it taste better.
3. Food will always taste better if you eat it while watching Iron Chef. When they're creating something gross.
4. And where the hell is Jamie Oliver anyway? I used to watch him cook on TV and he's nowhere to be found.
5. As of today I have officially lost 10% of my body weight. Leaving me with 96 pounds to keep me anchored on the ground if a strong gale blows. It might not be enough.
Sunday 24 September 2006
Sleeping with the enemy.
Twisting and turning
Your feelings are burning
You're breaking the girl
She meant you no harm
Think you're so clever
But now you must sever
You're breaking the girl
He loves no one else
Maybe if I talk about him for the last fucking time, he'll move on. Writing it down now I can see it so much more clearly than before. Wishful thinking for a long rainy day. I'm really really tired, Ben. And you need to stop now. Please just leave me alone.
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Ben said that to me once, when he was one beer past fine. I remember Cole laughing and pulling me roughly into his lap while he took another sip of his rum, telling me I was a lucky girl to have so many admirers, that I was beautiful and he was proud of me. Jacob had left an hour earlier, uncomfortable with the general conversation as it was and the fact that Cole was sticking uncharacteristically close to me, when I was accustomed to him ignoring me completely except to grab me now and then when we'd pass each other. He usually left me to hang out with Jake. And later that night after the rest of our friends had left, Cole and Ben cornered me.
Did I want to have a threesome?
I almost bolted. I said with very wide eyes and shaking legs that I wanted to think about it, saying I was tired and maybe it wasn't such a good time. I'm happy it was a night when I had opted to stick to pineapple juice because had I not had my wits about me I might have slept with Ben. I was so scared they might make me do it anyways. I tried to play it cool and it worked and for some reason Ben saw how scared I was and he played along. He told Cole he wasn't sure it was the right night for that much fun.
I was just plain stunned that Cole even went there in the first place, with Ben. He usually only threatened to give me to Jacob or his own brother, Caleb. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he really understood the degree of my attraction to Jake or if he thought I was going to simply become everyone's barbie doll. I guess it depended on how drunk he was, because when he was sober he'd only talk of opening our marriage for Jake.
These are all things Jacob found out about this summer. We've talked a lot. Jacob has said if he has to keep this up he'll kill Ben and that scares him half to death. He would never have let Ben within eyesight of me had he been aware of all that history. Unspoken history indeed.
And Ben still isn't paying attention to the message.
He showed up uninvited last evening after dinner. Jake was out picking up some groceries and Ben must have seen him leave since the doorbell rang seconds after I watched the truck pull out of the driveway. I opened the door and went out on to the porch but I didn't unlock the screen door. Ben pulled at the handle and realized right away that I wasn't having any of it.
Bridge, what's this? Can you just let me in so we can talk?
No, Ben. Jake doesn't want you here anymore and I don't either. Just leave, please.
Jake's not home, princess.
Don't you fucking call me that.
I want to know what you want, not what Jake has told you to do.
I want you to leave because you're scaring me.
I wouldn't hurt you, Bridget.
Like you didn't hurt me when you crawled into my bed? It's sexual assault, Ben. People go to jail for that. And in case you've really lost your fucking mind, Cole said he'd never hurt me too. I stopped believing everyone a while ago, you're too late.
I was drunk. I'm sorry.
No excuses, Ben.
You're right. I'm sorry. You're so hard to resist.
Maybe you should try harder then. You don't grab every girl who catches your eye, Ben.
I can't...you're..you're just not any girl.
Just go away.
I really wish you'd forgive me.
You crossed the line for the second time and I can't forgive you anymore. I'm afraid of what would happen next.
What? You think I'd rape you?
Well, I can't trust you, Ben, and I can't protect myself. So I'm doing what I have to do. And if you don't go away I will get a restraining order against you.
Don't worry, your husband has made it clear.
What did he say?
That he would kill me and make sure no one ever finds my bones.
Then you should listen to him.
We used to be friends, Bridget.
I used to think you were kidding about wanting me, Ben.
I never kidded about that. And label me surprised, I didn't think you'd pick preacher boy over me.
Pick him? I didn't realize you had entered a popularity contest, Ben. I wanted Jake from the moment I met him and nothing about that ever changed until I left Cole. You knew what was going on as well as anyone else, maybe more. You weren't in the running. Why can't you see that?
Can you..can you tell me if you never met Jake would you have gone with me?
No, Ben. I wouldn't have. You've really got to move on.
Yeah, okay princess. I get it. My mistake.
That's a hell of a misunderstanding. What were you thinking?
Cole had said some things. Just..nevermind. Good luck, Bridge. With Jake, with the baby, and everything. I won't bother you anymore.
Just keep this promise, Ben, I've been through enough. Just let me be happy.
That's all I ever wanted for you, baby.
Then it's time to go.
Yes, it is.
Find a girl and fall in love, Ben.
I did. It just didn't work out quite the way I thought it would.
Goodbye, Ben.
Bye, Bridge.
I just left him there and I went back inside. From the living room window I watched him get in his car and drive away. I wasn't afraid, because I almost feel sorry for him. When Jacob came home he almost boiled over because he couldn't believe Ben had the balls to appear on our doorstep now. And he doesn't believe any promise Ben makes to me.
Somehow, I think Ben will keep this one.
Your feelings are burning
You're breaking the girl
She meant you no harm
Think you're so clever
But now you must sever
You're breaking the girl
He loves no one else
Maybe if I talk about him for the last fucking time, he'll move on. Writing it down now I can see it so much more clearly than before. Wishful thinking for a long rainy day. I'm really really tired, Ben. And you need to stop now. Please just leave me alone.
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Ben said that to me once, when he was one beer past fine. I remember Cole laughing and pulling me roughly into his lap while he took another sip of his rum, telling me I was a lucky girl to have so many admirers, that I was beautiful and he was proud of me. Jacob had left an hour earlier, uncomfortable with the general conversation as it was and the fact that Cole was sticking uncharacteristically close to me, when I was accustomed to him ignoring me completely except to grab me now and then when we'd pass each other. He usually left me to hang out with Jake. And later that night after the rest of our friends had left, Cole and Ben cornered me.
Did I want to have a threesome?
I almost bolted. I said with very wide eyes and shaking legs that I wanted to think about it, saying I was tired and maybe it wasn't such a good time. I'm happy it was a night when I had opted to stick to pineapple juice because had I not had my wits about me I might have slept with Ben. I was so scared they might make me do it anyways. I tried to play it cool and it worked and for some reason Ben saw how scared I was and he played along. He told Cole he wasn't sure it was the right night for that much fun.
I was just plain stunned that Cole even went there in the first place, with Ben. He usually only threatened to give me to Jacob or his own brother, Caleb. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he really understood the degree of my attraction to Jake or if he thought I was going to simply become everyone's barbie doll. I guess it depended on how drunk he was, because when he was sober he'd only talk of opening our marriage for Jake.
These are all things Jacob found out about this summer. We've talked a lot. Jacob has said if he has to keep this up he'll kill Ben and that scares him half to death. He would never have let Ben within eyesight of me had he been aware of all that history. Unspoken history indeed.
And Ben still isn't paying attention to the message.
He showed up uninvited last evening after dinner. Jake was out picking up some groceries and Ben must have seen him leave since the doorbell rang seconds after I watched the truck pull out of the driveway. I opened the door and went out on to the porch but I didn't unlock the screen door. Ben pulled at the handle and realized right away that I wasn't having any of it.
Bridge, what's this? Can you just let me in so we can talk?
No, Ben. Jake doesn't want you here anymore and I don't either. Just leave, please.
Jake's not home, princess.
Don't you fucking call me that.
I want to know what you want, not what Jake has told you to do.
I want you to leave because you're scaring me.
I wouldn't hurt you, Bridget.
Like you didn't hurt me when you crawled into my bed? It's sexual assault, Ben. People go to jail for that. And in case you've really lost your fucking mind, Cole said he'd never hurt me too. I stopped believing everyone a while ago, you're too late.
I was drunk. I'm sorry.
No excuses, Ben.
You're right. I'm sorry. You're so hard to resist.
Maybe you should try harder then. You don't grab every girl who catches your eye, Ben.
I can't...you're..you're just not any girl.
Just go away.
I really wish you'd forgive me.
You crossed the line for the second time and I can't forgive you anymore. I'm afraid of what would happen next.
What? You think I'd rape you?
Well, I can't trust you, Ben, and I can't protect myself. So I'm doing what I have to do. And if you don't go away I will get a restraining order against you.
Don't worry, your husband has made it clear.
What did he say?
That he would kill me and make sure no one ever finds my bones.
Then you should listen to him.
We used to be friends, Bridget.
I used to think you were kidding about wanting me, Ben.
I never kidded about that. And label me surprised, I didn't think you'd pick preacher boy over me.
Pick him? I didn't realize you had entered a popularity contest, Ben. I wanted Jake from the moment I met him and nothing about that ever changed until I left Cole. You knew what was going on as well as anyone else, maybe more. You weren't in the running. Why can't you see that?
Can you..can you tell me if you never met Jake would you have gone with me?
No, Ben. I wouldn't have. You've really got to move on.
Yeah, okay princess. I get it. My mistake.
That's a hell of a misunderstanding. What were you thinking?
Cole had said some things. Just..nevermind. Good luck, Bridge. With Jake, with the baby, and everything. I won't bother you anymore.
Just keep this promise, Ben, I've been through enough. Just let me be happy.
That's all I ever wanted for you, baby.
Then it's time to go.
Yes, it is.
Find a girl and fall in love, Ben.
I did. It just didn't work out quite the way I thought it would.
Goodbye, Ben.
Bye, Bridge.
I just left him there and I went back inside. From the living room window I watched him get in his car and drive away. I wasn't afraid, because I almost feel sorry for him. When Jacob came home he almost boiled over because he couldn't believe Ben had the balls to appear on our doorstep now. And he doesn't believe any promise Ben makes to me.
Somehow, I think Ben will keep this one.
Saturday 23 September 2006
I promised I would write about his reaction.
Oh so happy.
Jacob pretty much knew anyway. If there's one dead giveaway it's that I throw up a lot. Not just in the mornings, it's pretty much an all-day continuous event. Hence the fight beginning early to not wind up dehydrated and in the hospital. I can't afford to spare much of the 98 pounds that remain. Being pregnant is one of those struggles for me that winds up being a minute-by-minute battle and this cold on top of everything has left me completely drained.
I sat down at the table, got the kids arranged and when everyone was finally happy and settled and the server had taken our orders, our eyes met over the middle of the table (this was in between hovering over Henry to keep his perpetually running nose in check. I know, how romantic.)
So, Jacob, we need to talk about some things.
Like?
Like which room you'd like to turn into the nursery, for starters.
(This was the part where he almost dropped his water glass.)
Did you test?
I sure did.
The smile spread across his face in slow motion, it was the most amazing thing for me to watch. It started with the corners of his mouth turning up and widening and infecting his dimples, which deepened, creasing his cheeks into lines. Then it moved vertically, lighting up his eyes before they glassed over so thickly I thought he was going to lose it. Which he pretty much did. He jumped out of his chair and came around to my side of the table, putting his arms around me and kissing my cheeks, my hair, my lips. This was when he saw the hearing aid in my ear and that stopped him short.
What? When did you? Oh my god. I can't take all this in at once. It's too much. My God. Thank you God.
He's crouched beside my chair right in my face. I put my hands on his face and told him to sit down and we'll talk without the familiar echo of repeating every second phrase thanks to the surrounding din of clinking silverware and low conversation.
He stood up and apologized to our nearest audience, the next table who had stopped eating and were watching us have this crazy exchange.
We're having a baby! And....she can hear me!
They murmured their slightly confused congratulations, oblivious to the emotion in his voice, which I heard for the first time in public in a way that knocked me on my ass, because it was so prevalent I will never forget it.
Dinner was sort of a blur, after that. Besides, I didn't really feel well enough to enjoy it.
He sang in the truck, the whole way home. Softly, and I heard him, lyrics I didn't know, but I recognized Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, because we've danced to it a lot recently:
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby, you're the only light I ever saw
After the kids were snugly tucked in for the night, we retired to the den to talk and cuddle and he held me so sweetly and he whispered things, talking about how happy he was, and how thankful he was for me, for everything we have. It would have been the most romantic way to end the day. Except for one thing.
The very decidedly unromantic vomiting, which punctuates every part of the day now. Something that's become pretty much part of my routine again. I really hate that part.
He doesn't seem to mind at all.
Jacob pretty much knew anyway. If there's one dead giveaway it's that I throw up a lot. Not just in the mornings, it's pretty much an all-day continuous event. Hence the fight beginning early to not wind up dehydrated and in the hospital. I can't afford to spare much of the 98 pounds that remain. Being pregnant is one of those struggles for me that winds up being a minute-by-minute battle and this cold on top of everything has left me completely drained.
I sat down at the table, got the kids arranged and when everyone was finally happy and settled and the server had taken our orders, our eyes met over the middle of the table (this was in between hovering over Henry to keep his perpetually running nose in check. I know, how romantic.)
So, Jacob, we need to talk about some things.
Like?
Like which room you'd like to turn into the nursery, for starters.
(This was the part where he almost dropped his water glass.)
Did you test?
I sure did.
The smile spread across his face in slow motion, it was the most amazing thing for me to watch. It started with the corners of his mouth turning up and widening and infecting his dimples, which deepened, creasing his cheeks into lines. Then it moved vertically, lighting up his eyes before they glassed over so thickly I thought he was going to lose it. Which he pretty much did. He jumped out of his chair and came around to my side of the table, putting his arms around me and kissing my cheeks, my hair, my lips. This was when he saw the hearing aid in my ear and that stopped him short.
What? When did you? Oh my god. I can't take all this in at once. It's too much. My God. Thank you God.
He's crouched beside my chair right in my face. I put my hands on his face and told him to sit down and we'll talk without the familiar echo of repeating every second phrase thanks to the surrounding din of clinking silverware and low conversation.
He stood up and apologized to our nearest audience, the next table who had stopped eating and were watching us have this crazy exchange.
We're having a baby! And....she can hear me!
They murmured their slightly confused congratulations, oblivious to the emotion in his voice, which I heard for the first time in public in a way that knocked me on my ass, because it was so prevalent I will never forget it.
Dinner was sort of a blur, after that. Besides, I didn't really feel well enough to enjoy it.
He sang in the truck, the whole way home. Softly, and I heard him, lyrics I didn't know, but I recognized Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, because we've danced to it a lot recently:
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby, you're the only light I ever saw
After the kids were snugly tucked in for the night, we retired to the den to talk and cuddle and he held me so sweetly and he whispered things, talking about how happy he was, and how thankful he was for me, for everything we have. It would have been the most romantic way to end the day. Except for one thing.
The very decidedly unromantic vomiting, which punctuates every part of the day now. Something that's become pretty much part of my routine again. I really hate that part.
He doesn't seem to mind at all.
Thursday 21 September 2006
Under the Bridget.
Hi.
I'm here. Somewhere in between this cold and (the probable) hyperemesis and this blissful post-John Frusciante hangover (who I swear to God I'm marrying next and Jacob's okay with it) I'm having a hard time typing, let alone staying upright. All energies are being poured into just keeping everyone alive.
But all is well, really well and I promise I'll write about it on Saturday. Going to just try and get through the next two days without getting so dehydrated.I was abruptly informed that I am indeed NOT allowed to marry John Frusciante. Jacob is putting his foot down. I suppose he agreed with me in some sort of musical hypnosis last night somewhere between all the unwelcome pot smoke around us and the thumping beat of the Chili Peppers driving the crowd wild and of course, now all that has worn off and reality returns.
It's okay. My consolation prize (Jake) is no slouch on the guitar. Now if I could just get him to fall to his knees and do a lead like John, well, then we'll have something to work with, now, won't we?
I'm here. Somewhere in between this cold and (the probable) hyperemesis and this blissful post-John Frusciante hangover (who I swear to God I'm marrying next and Jacob's okay with it) I'm having a hard time typing, let alone staying upright. All energies are being poured into just keeping everyone alive.
But all is well, really well and I promise I'll write about it on Saturday. Going to just try and get through the next two days without getting so dehydrated.I was abruptly informed that I am indeed NOT allowed to marry John Frusciante. Jacob is putting his foot down. I suppose he agreed with me in some sort of musical hypnosis last night somewhere between all the unwelcome pot smoke around us and the thumping beat of the Chili Peppers driving the crowd wild and of course, now all that has worn off and reality returns.
It's okay. My consolation prize (Jake) is no slouch on the guitar. Now if I could just get him to fall to his knees and do a lead like John, well, then we'll have something to work with, now, won't we?
Tuesday 19 September 2006
One last thing (I promise).
I'm ready to roll, but I really need a little help with one final thing. Please god, if you're in a commenting mood, help me out?
Is it cool or not cool to bring the pregnancy test to the restaurant? Because two lines tells me this would be a very very wonderful surprise but then a tiny voice is saying it's a little gross to put a stick that you peed on in your purse and take it to a place where people are trying to have dinner.
Not that I'm really interested in the replies.
Two.
Two.
One two.
Lines.
Oh my God.
Is it cool or not cool to bring the pregnancy test to the restaurant? Because two lines tells me this would be a very very wonderful surprise but then a tiny voice is saying it's a little gross to put a stick that you peed on in your purse and take it to a place where people are trying to have dinner.
Not that I'm really interested in the replies.
Two.
Two.
One two.
Lines.
Oh my God.
The angel of shredded wheat.
In the interest of not being difficult all the time and wanting to make life easier for my heartbreakingly beautiful husband and my children that I have come to appreciate more than you'd ever know, because I hardly ever see them anymore, I found a way to pay Jacob back for his romantic evening and honor 45 whole days married.
Oh yes I did.
I have an appointment today. To give the hearing aids a real chance. I made it weeks ago. I can keep secrets too, Reverend Firefighter man.
Some might say that this is for me. But it isn't. This is something Jacob has wanted me to do since the night he found out I couldn't hear him very well. It's something he brings up regularly and it's become a sticking point from which most arguments originate. I am so stubborn.
One of the reasons I changed my mind was because I was one hundred percent convinced that last month my daughter told me she wanted to be the Angel of Shredded Wheat for Halloween. It was the funniest thing ever. We laughed for almost an hour.
She, in fact, wanted to be an angel with shredded wings, because they had a huge pair at the costume store and she fell in love with them. (You'd have to see them to believe it, they're so cool looking.)
What else did I miss in my bullheadedness?
This is not small potatoes. These hearing aids cost thousands and I need two. They cost so much because they are supposed to help me differentiate between what I need to hear and the inconsequential but usually overwhelming background noise. Digital even. High-fucking-tech. I was warned I will be just as exhausted while I get used to them as I was without them, attempting to later dissect the words, tossed out in the cacophony of my environment like so much fluff blown from a dandelion. Chaos. Total chaos.
We all know how I love to sit and rearrange the words in my brain. To the point where I fail to pay attention to much else at all sometimes. Missing wings and shredded wheat.
My plan is to fib and tell him I'm helping in the afternoon today at the school. I made a reservation at a great restaurant for tonight and have sworn the kids to secrecy. I'm going to wear my new hearing aids to the restaurant and see how long it takes for him to notice. They're subtle but I might not be. I have a new red dress that would knock you flat. Just to throw him off.
But so help me, if he even once speaks to me without touching my chin, or holding my face in two hands, or fails to kiss his nose to my nose and look into my eyes when he's talking like he does now so I don't miss things, I swear I'll rip them out and drop them right in the dishwater.
Wish me luck!
Oh yes I did.
I have an appointment today. To give the hearing aids a real chance. I made it weeks ago. I can keep secrets too, Reverend Firefighter man.
Some might say that this is for me. But it isn't. This is something Jacob has wanted me to do since the night he found out I couldn't hear him very well. It's something he brings up regularly and it's become a sticking point from which most arguments originate. I am so stubborn.
One of the reasons I changed my mind was because I was one hundred percent convinced that last month my daughter told me she wanted to be the Angel of Shredded Wheat for Halloween. It was the funniest thing ever. We laughed for almost an hour.
She, in fact, wanted to be an angel with shredded wings, because they had a huge pair at the costume store and she fell in love with them. (You'd have to see them to believe it, they're so cool looking.)
What else did I miss in my bullheadedness?
This is not small potatoes. These hearing aids cost thousands and I need two. They cost so much because they are supposed to help me differentiate between what I need to hear and the inconsequential but usually overwhelming background noise. Digital even. High-fucking-tech. I was warned I will be just as exhausted while I get used to them as I was without them, attempting to later dissect the words, tossed out in the cacophony of my environment like so much fluff blown from a dandelion. Chaos. Total chaos.
We all know how I love to sit and rearrange the words in my brain. To the point where I fail to pay attention to much else at all sometimes. Missing wings and shredded wheat.
My plan is to fib and tell him I'm helping in the afternoon today at the school. I made a reservation at a great restaurant for tonight and have sworn the kids to secrecy. I'm going to wear my new hearing aids to the restaurant and see how long it takes for him to notice. They're subtle but I might not be. I have a new red dress that would knock you flat. Just to throw him off.
But so help me, if he even once speaks to me without touching my chin, or holding my face in two hands, or fails to kiss his nose to my nose and look into my eyes when he's talking like he does now so I don't miss things, I swear I'll rip them out and drop them right in the dishwater.
Wish me luck!
Monday 18 September 2006
Sleep for sale.
Control/Freak.
A text message from Ben last night before I finally banned him from my phone. Nice. And now I have more emotions flying out in a haze of confusion and I grab them and try to stuff them back inside, and I fail.
This is so fucking painful, arguing with Jacob, and yet when we're not up to our ears in the greatest romance of the century, we're waging the war of the roses, snapping at each other through gritted teeth, usually with me biting my lip and attempting not to let the tears spill out while he throws up his hands in frustration, shirtsleeves rolled up because I am the most complicated part of his life and he has to wade right in. You pay a price for everything, eventually. No happy mediums in Bridget's world.
I wouldn't have it any other way, you know.
Jake makes me so crazy.
But hey, aren't you happy to hear that we're normal? That it isn't a perfect fairytale? That we still have bickering moments and neverending arguments and outrageous, bitter, devastating verbal exchanges that leave me reeling, and wondering what the hell I'm doing here, and maybe he doesn't love me in the way that he's supposed to and maybe trying to turn my relationship with him into something more was a colossal error on all counts.
I bet you are.
Those thoughts are heartbreaking, you know. I don't linger there.
And those doubts are the darkest feelings I think I will ever have in this new life as the preacher's wife, let me tell you that for free.
But at the same time I'm permitted now to argue as loud and as excruciatingly as I can, secure in the knowledge that I wanted this life and I will hang onto it at all costs, because I love this man.
But we still don't argue loudly. Even though my lack of volume prevents being able to make my points clearly even if I could speak normally I'd remain within kissing distance and I don't raise my voice there and neither does he. It's our neutral airspace. And within that airspace he tells me things that bother him that make me want to scream and I bite my words into my cheek and don't say them, that's his rare insecurities speaking and they deserve as much attention as everything that's beautiful in the world.
He's afraid to let me out of his sight. He's afraid something will happen to me.
I remind him that we just came through a similar situation with sending the kids to public school. Everyone has got to let go sometime, right? He says he hasn't had enough time with me yet. All to himself. His. He doesn't have to let go because he doesn't want to.
I remind him, once again, that every time I have been hurt I have been in my own home, which is partially why I'm so fucking messed up. All that did was serve to twist the knife that sticks out of his soul, because he couldn't get to me in time. Shit. Stirring up the guilt he carries deep inside isn't going to serve any purpose right now.
Jake..I'm sorry.
Don't be. You're right.
So...?
So I'm still not supporting the idea.
Why the hell not?
Because I get a warm feeling when I think about coming home to you. You fit me perfectly and if you're not here when I get home I'll miss you. I hate that feeling, Bridget. More than anything.
That's never a bad thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.
If my heart grew any fonder it would simply absorb you.
Geez, you really know how to turn an argument into one of 'those' moments.
What moments?
Those ones that I will never forget.
Yeah, we make a lot of those ones.
Yes, we do.
So you'll stay home?
Nope.
Aw, Bridge, you make me so crazy.
Well, we have lots of those moments too, don't we.
Too many.
Still love me? Even though I'll be working?
Of course I do and no, you won't be.
Argh, I'm too sick to fight with you right now, Jacob.
Let's pick up later then.
Fine.
So why do I feel like no matter how long we spend on this, he's going to win?
Scream to no one
Take your time
Sing it louder
Twist and shout
Nothing to run from is worse than something
And all your fears of nothing
And they're swimming around again, again
And they're swimming around
The concrete girl
A text message from Ben last night before I finally banned him from my phone. Nice. And now I have more emotions flying out in a haze of confusion and I grab them and try to stuff them back inside, and I fail.
This is so fucking painful, arguing with Jacob, and yet when we're not up to our ears in the greatest romance of the century, we're waging the war of the roses, snapping at each other through gritted teeth, usually with me biting my lip and attempting not to let the tears spill out while he throws up his hands in frustration, shirtsleeves rolled up because I am the most complicated part of his life and he has to wade right in. You pay a price for everything, eventually. No happy mediums in Bridget's world.
I wouldn't have it any other way, you know.
Jake makes me so crazy.
But hey, aren't you happy to hear that we're normal? That it isn't a perfect fairytale? That we still have bickering moments and neverending arguments and outrageous, bitter, devastating verbal exchanges that leave me reeling, and wondering what the hell I'm doing here, and maybe he doesn't love me in the way that he's supposed to and maybe trying to turn my relationship with him into something more was a colossal error on all counts.
I bet you are.
Those thoughts are heartbreaking, you know. I don't linger there.
And those doubts are the darkest feelings I think I will ever have in this new life as the preacher's wife, let me tell you that for free.
But at the same time I'm permitted now to argue as loud and as excruciatingly as I can, secure in the knowledge that I wanted this life and I will hang onto it at all costs, because I love this man.
But we still don't argue loudly. Even though my lack of volume prevents being able to make my points clearly even if I could speak normally I'd remain within kissing distance and I don't raise my voice there and neither does he. It's our neutral airspace. And within that airspace he tells me things that bother him that make me want to scream and I bite my words into my cheek and don't say them, that's his rare insecurities speaking and they deserve as much attention as everything that's beautiful in the world.
He's afraid to let me out of his sight. He's afraid something will happen to me.
I remind him that we just came through a similar situation with sending the kids to public school. Everyone has got to let go sometime, right? He says he hasn't had enough time with me yet. All to himself. His. He doesn't have to let go because he doesn't want to.
I remind him, once again, that every time I have been hurt I have been in my own home, which is partially why I'm so fucking messed up. All that did was serve to twist the knife that sticks out of his soul, because he couldn't get to me in time. Shit. Stirring up the guilt he carries deep inside isn't going to serve any purpose right now.
Jake..I'm sorry.
Don't be. You're right.
So...?
So I'm still not supporting the idea.
Why the hell not?
Because I get a warm feeling when I think about coming home to you. You fit me perfectly and if you're not here when I get home I'll miss you. I hate that feeling, Bridget. More than anything.
That's never a bad thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.
If my heart grew any fonder it would simply absorb you.
Geez, you really know how to turn an argument into one of 'those' moments.
What moments?
Those ones that I will never forget.
Yeah, we make a lot of those ones.
Yes, we do.
So you'll stay home?
Nope.
Aw, Bridge, you make me so crazy.
Well, we have lots of those moments too, don't we.
Too many.
Still love me? Even though I'll be working?
Of course I do and no, you won't be.
Argh, I'm too sick to fight with you right now, Jacob.
Let's pick up later then.
Fine.
So why do I feel like no matter how long we spend on this, he's going to win?
Scream to no one
Take your time
Sing it louder
Twist and shout
Nothing to run from is worse than something
And all your fears of nothing
And they're swimming around again, again
And they're swimming around
The concrete girl
Sunday 17 September 2006
Fire with fire.
What a quiet, frustrating little way to have an argument. I remain voiceless. Silent and unable to make my points adequately. Which means he'll win by default. It's not fair.
Several weeks ago I dropped Jacob off downtown to have some tests. Standard, part of a physical, I assumed it was required because he had changed his health insurance to include us a while back. Paperwork, no big deal.
He lied to me. Well, not so much an outright lie as when I asked if that was what it was for he didn't correct me and that wasn't the reason. Lies by omission are just as deceitful.
It was a standard physical so that he can become a volunteer firefighter. A paid on-call one. Whatever. I'm not listening right now.
This became part of an argument wrapped in a second outrage because I'm not 'allowed' to get a job. I wanted to work a few nights a week or Saturdays at the bookstore near our house. It's a two level bookstore with a built-in coffee shop. Would that be heaven or what?
But no, Jacob thinks I do enough.
Plus if I'm working on the weekends what about church? Or his evening counseling? I didn't want a forty hour a week job, maybe two nights, maybe one shift a week. He doesn't want to give up any of our free time spent together but at the same time he signs up for something that requires him and his giant truck to be on call during our free time together. A potentially dangerous job. A job he wants to take without even discussing it with me first.
So last night we indulged in a rip-roaring, squeaky, phlegmy, razor-whispered drag-out verbal war because I don't want him to work more, I wanted to help out.
And it's so lovely that he wants me to continue to play the sweet little housewife role, always here, the center of my family's universe. It's also plainly obvious that he conveniently forgot about me being one half of his equation now and went and did something because he lived on his own a little too long and is used to just doing what he wants to or feels he needs to do.
I'll give him the admirable part that he'd even consider it. They need people. Very badly. He's overqualified, a wall of strength with the body of a twenty year old.
But I don't want them to have him. I don't want him going into burning buildings, and getting calls in the middle of the night to race off to dangerous situations. I wanted to work at a shop where I would bring home a pittance after taxes and get a discount on all the books we buy. I wanted to have a little of my own money, something I haven't had in years. The last thing I bought that I earned myself free and clear was a $150 watch that I'm still wearing. I bought it in 1990. I'd really love a new watch. Not a heroic husband. He's already a hero in my eyes, in the eyes of everyone. My job would cover the family health insurance and he wouldn't have to depend on a stipend. Why can't I take this weight, for once?
But he's as stubborn as I am and so the fight goes on. And he's winning, because my voice still hasn't returned. And when he holds my face and promises me that nothing will happen to him it's really hard to argue with him anyways.
Those blue eyes are just a little too phenomenal, it's difficult to look away.
Several weeks ago I dropped Jacob off downtown to have some tests. Standard, part of a physical, I assumed it was required because he had changed his health insurance to include us a while back. Paperwork, no big deal.
He lied to me. Well, not so much an outright lie as when I asked if that was what it was for he didn't correct me and that wasn't the reason. Lies by omission are just as deceitful.
It was a standard physical so that he can become a volunteer firefighter. A paid on-call one. Whatever. I'm not listening right now.
This became part of an argument wrapped in a second outrage because I'm not 'allowed' to get a job. I wanted to work a few nights a week or Saturdays at the bookstore near our house. It's a two level bookstore with a built-in coffee shop. Would that be heaven or what?
But no, Jacob thinks I do enough.
Plus if I'm working on the weekends what about church? Or his evening counseling? I didn't want a forty hour a week job, maybe two nights, maybe one shift a week. He doesn't want to give up any of our free time spent together but at the same time he signs up for something that requires him and his giant truck to be on call during our free time together. A potentially dangerous job. A job he wants to take without even discussing it with me first.
So last night we indulged in a rip-roaring, squeaky, phlegmy, razor-whispered drag-out verbal war because I don't want him to work more, I wanted to help out.
And it's so lovely that he wants me to continue to play the sweet little housewife role, always here, the center of my family's universe. It's also plainly obvious that he conveniently forgot about me being one half of his equation now and went and did something because he lived on his own a little too long and is used to just doing what he wants to or feels he needs to do.
I'll give him the admirable part that he'd even consider it. They need people. Very badly. He's overqualified, a wall of strength with the body of a twenty year old.
But I don't want them to have him. I don't want him going into burning buildings, and getting calls in the middle of the night to race off to dangerous situations. I wanted to work at a shop where I would bring home a pittance after taxes and get a discount on all the books we buy. I wanted to have a little of my own money, something I haven't had in years. The last thing I bought that I earned myself free and clear was a $150 watch that I'm still wearing. I bought it in 1990. I'd really love a new watch. Not a heroic husband. He's already a hero in my eyes, in the eyes of everyone. My job would cover the family health insurance and he wouldn't have to depend on a stipend. Why can't I take this weight, for once?
But he's as stubborn as I am and so the fight goes on. And he's winning, because my voice still hasn't returned. And when he holds my face and promises me that nothing will happen to him it's really hard to argue with him anyways.
Those blue eyes are just a little too phenomenal, it's difficult to look away.
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