HBD, JT.

Fifty-four. 

Happy birthday, Preacher. 

PJ and Lochlan pour their drinks off the cliff and turn to go back inside. Who drinks these days? We need the few wits we have left. I wish for theirs while I gulp my own, wind howling so loud now all I hear are my drowned sobs, choked back before they can be detected, and the strains of Dire Straits' Sultans of Swing, a song I don't think I know a single word to, and I'm okay with that. The music has been playing softly over the speakers-in the kitchen and patio and the rest of the house is Choose Your Own Adventure, due to screens or books or rest. 

I finish my drink in four gulps (Lochlan always overpours me on November days) and fire the cut crystal glass off the cliff. I'll either cut myself on it in the spring or find the most beautiful pieces of sea glass, worn smooth from former sharp edges. 

Ha, like me. 

I can feel the fire from my throat travelling down into my stomach. My ears are red from the cold. Dire Straits have been replaced by Robert Plant and I sing under my breath. 

Shall I rest for a while at the side?

God. Every song is an IED blowing up years of my life faster than I can make it to safety but I run anyway. I get halfway back to the house and Ben scoops me up and carries me the rest of the way like a little kid. I'd laugh but I don't have any feelings left any more that I can trust.

Bullshit.

Pigalet-

I hold up one shaky finger. A warning. Don't-

I just wanted to see how you-

How I'm doing? How do I look like I'm doing. I'm the only person in the world who can still move while being completely paralyzed-

Bridge-

Please. Just don't. Don't show your face. Don't have that accent. Don't come back around like you miss me when you really...just.. don't. 

But I do. 

Then you shouldn't have jumped. 

Maybe I didn't. Maybe it was metaphorical. 

Then my whole life is a joke. 

It's not, and that's not funny. 

Right. I didn't get it either. But if it was metaphorical then everyone's head is going to roll, starting with mine. 

I never liked those out-loud intrusive thoughts of yours. 

I never liked the ghost of Jacobs Past showing up to fuck up what should be such a venerable, sombre week in the first place. It never rained right through November until you ruined your life, and mine, and all of theirs, too. I turn and stare at the house. I can see Lochlan behind the glass of the patio doors staring at me. I wish he could see Jake. I wish he could save me now. 

I stepped aside-

Right off a ledge. 

Does it matter anymore?

I turn back to stare at Jacob and the wind whips around me, stinging my eyes. Yeah. Yeah it matters. It will ALWAYS matter because I'm the one who has to deal with it and I still can't figure out how.

Nuts.

I think I have the week by the teeth. A good grip, as it were as long as nobody asks me how I'm feeling or what's up or even what's for dinner. 

We stopped at a Dairy Queen for dinner on the way home and I had an ice cream sundae. Not for dessert but just for dinner itself. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I maintain that sometimes we don't need a whole dinner but we definitely need a treat and after a week of rain and bullshit and tears and bullshit and another incoming storm the ice cream won. Easily. 

It's late and so I will be back tomorrow. I promise.

The least favourite countdown.

Is it wrong to sometimes want to disappear and sleep or just travel invisibily for days or maybe weeks on end and then somehow figure out how to crawl out of my own head and rejoin society? Did I want to do that? Should I bother? Or maybe just pick and choose my timeline so I don't have to have mental lists and mental hurdles and mental...moments. I would like to be ignorant, oblivious and dismissive. I would like to dissolve into a pool of coffee and glitter. I want to shake things up but also I want to keep the status quo just fine. I want to appreciate the finer things and the fun moments and the excitement and joy of life but at the same time I want to skip fast-forward through the hard parts. 

Thursday is Halloween. Next Thursday will be Jacob's birthday. I only showed up here because some people asked. 

Maybe it'll all be okay this time. Sometimes it is. Sometimes if I have something difficult to do I promise myself a little reward on the other side like a big Cobb cinnamon bun or a drive to a pumpkin patch or a new pair of jeans from Old Navy. I rarely fulfill the reward part but it helps for some reason. Maybe it will help this time too.

 

 

 

I watched Lonely Planet so you don't have to.

(Disclaimer: This is a big spoiler. Also the only role I've ever liked Laura Dern in was as the lawyer in A Marriage Story so that may cloud this a little or maybe a bunch.)

Okay so. 

I've been a fan of the books forever. I virtually travelled for YEARS thanks to the library before I could travel in real life and the Lonely Planet books were always very informative, fascinating, unpretentious guides to places I could only dream of. I heard they were making a movie loosely-based on the phenomenon a bit ago. Then I forgot about it. 

Then it debuted on Netflix and I thought I gotta see this. 

Ninety-six minutes later, and I can't remember why I thought I had to see this. 

Honestly, with the premise, it had the potential to land somewhere between The English Patient and Eat Pray Love and instead it wound up a hallmark Christmas trope. Struggling boy meets girl. Girl pays attention to him so therefore he loves her. Everyone is hypocritical and magic fixes it all and poof, ends with a kiss. 

Oh my God. Of course. 

Christ on a pancake. Zero character development. Laura Dern breezily pointing out Liam (The Lesser Hemsworth as we call him, even though he's a good actor) has a girlfriend who maybe is becoming full of herself because some people don't handle fame well and huh, sometimes it happens. Laura doesn't think Liam's girlfriend has her shit together and oh well, maybe she should swoop in and steal Liam because he is put out, ignored and unable to commit to following the girlfriend around like a puppy. Why should he? He has his own subplot! The girlfriend is PISSED about it though and sneers at him through the entire movie.

Meanwhile, Laura doesn't have her shit together either and CLEARLY handles success poorly and keeps ducking into closets whining about trying to 'work' and sneaking around being super anti-social until she senses a dick in her vicinity. Then she acts all weird and coy. It works and she gets laid.

And POOF! All brain cells vanish, she has her bag stolen, has a meltdown like a four-year-old, leaving North Africa and Liam too. Because ShE iS a WrItEr. And didn't back up her work. In spite of planning to travel a very long distance, bringing her laptop and being on the cusp of finishing her Best. Book. Ever.

Riiiiiight. This is a bestselling author. What a liar.

But back to poor Liam. Aw. He just had someone actually paying attention to him. Or to his dick, I mean. And now she's gone. Everyone's gone. Girlfriend's gone. He kept some of his morals though. Just enough to keep him from becoming successful as a cutthroat venture capitalist or something. 

Sigh.

I will say the blink-or-you-miss-them location shots of Morocco (FFS Netflix!) and some of the music was pretty neat. Some of it was also pretty bad (end credits) and they travelled for no reason at all, frankly, heading down avenues in the story that didn't need to be there while they bonded without actually bonding. Also I fear there were some important people who were far deeper than our main characters relegated to nothing at all. The brothers who had to fix the car and brought them home for dinner? The woman who ran the whole retreat in the first place? Why such build up and then nothing? Oh wait. It was to set up the story and then to indicate Bonding with a capital B.

But then sexy times ensued! We JUST met. No condoms. No testing. Whatever happens in Africa stays in Africa, I guess. Laura Dern's heavy breathing was loud enough to kill any STDs, perhaps. Liam was not breathing at all which is why he is the lesser Hemsworth to me. He might be dead and that's why he acts so straight-laced in EVERYTHING. Like The Hunger Games.

(Come on, Gale. I believed in you) 

In any case, the neat-as-a-bow ending and ridiculously untenable relationship blooming and hideously-bratty-but-also-not girlfriend left me wondering why they left out all the good parts and left in all the dodgy moments. It's like they let AI make a movie (I despise it when people reference AI but really it was THAT bad) and this movie is what was spit out. 

I'm giving it a solid 2/10 but only for the option to play a drinking game while watching it-take a drink every time there is a tagine pot in the frame.

You'll be shitfaced in seconds. You're going to love this movie.

Maybe I can start a new genre: 'Woman being chased by apex predators'.

Nothing in the world could fail me now.

We did have a belated Thanksgiving with a handful of people rolling up to the kitchen table. I didn't set the dining room table because no one would commit. It's dark before dinner and the rain and the lack of excitement from me was palpable or maybe we all just weren't in the mood. Maybe it was because if I don't make a big deal and begin preparations no one will. I'm not sure if everyone is regularly depressed, seasonally depressed or just oblivious but it's concerning regardless. 

It meant leftovers. Henry and PJ managed to divide them without any fights (or tears) over the next couple of days.

I think the whole continent is sort of holding it's collective breath for the next two or three weeks but also I hate that subject altogether so let's talk about my treadmill videos instead. Did I tell you? We got a new treadmill. It's more me-sized than them-sized because no one wants me outside getting my fresh air fix by walking as far up the mountain as I can go and when I get tired, bored of an inkling of anything at all I turn and walk all the way back down to the ocean. It's been a thing forever and I don't care if it's eight at night. I don't care if it's seven in the morning. Sometimes it's four pm sharp. So the treadmill arrived and I jumped on, fired up a walking video because I can't just stare at the wall and I can't just listen to music so I found a hilarious-to-me genre on Youtube called treadmill walks. 

Oh boy. Where to even begin. You probably knew about these ages ago but I didn't and I told Lochlan without context that I was going to walk the Appalachian trail. 

You mean the Pacific Coast Trail and no, you're not. 

No I mean the Appalachian Trail. I showed him the video and he laughed (with relief I bet) and we dug into what else there was. 

Ultimately the first video I ended up putting on was a walk around the city of Venice in Italy which was somewhat disconcerting because somehow the cameraman found the most perfect, dry, sunny and virtually empty city to film and the whole time I'm thinking Venice never looks like that. 

It made me laugh. I have been a few times now and it always seems to hit the same week the rain hits and the mild flooding and the crowds and the rats and the mold and I'm sure I've written about it before but it's so beautifully tragic it's become a gorgeous memory of choosing terrible vacation plans because that can be a sport, you know. 

(One I can win Olympic gold in.)

Go into everything with low to no expectations and you will be gobsmacked. Sometimes disappointed anyway (look at my efforts with Burning Man) and sometimes you'll even try AGAIN because you're a baby masochist or stupid or both but rats. 

Rats. 

Not a huge fan. I'm not going to jump on tables screaming or anything but I had nightmares they were chewing my hair. I never got warm there. I never really felt safe there. 

So the next video will definitely be the Appalachian Trail one. Unless someone can find me some horror-themed treadmill walks. I must look. That would be amazing.

In other news a total stranger complimented my hair colour yesterday. Not Lochlan's but MINE. We were both surprised but then after he says I told you. It's so unusual. Huh. Yeah. Aren't we all. I pretty much shy away from attention in public anymore. My tattoo suit does a good job of keeping most people away and the few who approach somehow want to be cool by association and will start a conversation, which I indulge and will always find an easy compliment for them because they're usually way cooler than me to begin with. Having tattoos isn't cool, it just means you have money and like to lie on tables in pain while artists leave their beautiful works on you. Sometimes you pick the art, sometimes you let them pick it or tell them an idea and let them run with it.

That's what life is, running with ideas. Let's move. Let's get married. Let's try this restaurant. Let's buy this tiny treadmill so you don't get eaten by a bear. Let's not do the Appalachian Trail in real life but let someone else do it and we'll give them a click like a tip for a job well done. 

Risk your life to maybe be eaten by a bear (or a skinwalker in that region I mean who are we kidding?) and someday Youtube will send you a plaque that says you had a bunch of people watch the thing you filmed. Cool. 

You're cool. I am not cool. I couldn't even do Thanksgiving on the right day or fully utilize the giant treadmill we already own. I can't seem to see Venice on a sunny day and yet I have had far too many conversations with bears to make anyone comfortable and that's how I'm going to keep you.

Light a candle, throw the world away.

I can't sleep. I got up at six and stole PJ's chore list for the day since it was quiet things like laundry and sweeping and I'm cursing myself for being this ridiculous bu also as soon as the final load of sheets goes into the dryers I'm going to go up and run a hot bath and then I'll feel better. The littlest of cats was hogging my tiny island of bed all night and she wouldn't move and I figured she would stretch out and snooze when I left but instead she came with me and now perches at the top of the landing and looks annoyed that I woke her up. 

On the upside it's eight and everything's done for the day. We're not hosting a dinner. I still have an endless headache and I left everyone to the wind. There are ingredients. I don't know what to do but I also don't care. Thanksgiving is my throw away holiday. I either go to McDonalds or I make a huge dinner and go all out but I'm not feeling it at all this year.

I can still be thankful, grateful and beyond blessed. I can also be profoundly irritated and in need of a long winter's nap. A lot of people are wondering why I didn't write, why I haven't caught you up to speed on things, what Caleb is up to (no good, as always but in a wearier way) and why I haven't been more present in the moment. It's like a cycle. I don't know how to explain it. I am feeling defeated a lot lately. I lost my dog in the spring and I can't get past it easily and why should I? He was my companion for sixteen years. I feel like everyone is mean and selfish and unhinged lately and I need a long cry and a longer hug, maybe. Maybe some chocolate and a long drive. Maybe that lobotomy I keep thinking I have gotten and it turns out to be false prophets. Maybe I'm haunting myself. Maybe I'm feeling up for nothing and everything and maybe the perspective is hard to keep in mind. It's okay. I'm human. I'm allowed. 

All I know is it rained a tiny bit and it's going to rain a lot more and I can make life cozy and wait out the feelings until they change again. Like I said, it's a cycle.

The park bench murders.

The trees are turning red and gold and the hot chocolate and pierogie season is well underway now (but not together). We are winterizing the property in advance of cold weather and finished the final thing today. I didn't finish it before. It's supposed to rain for two solid weeks so it was time to get it done.

Now the only thing we leave out are the hoses until just after Halloween. Just in case. People here love to light fireworks in the nieghborhood and you never know when one is going to go rogue. I'll put the hoses away on November first. 

My little bottle of thieves oil smells like dragon's blood. I'm not all that impressed. It's not potent, doesn't do anything and while it smells nice enough, a blend of eucalyptus and cinnamon, there's no magic qualities or extra effort that it puts in that I can see and so I brought it upstairs to throw it in with the mop water next time I mop. Use it up, learn from it, and never buy it again. 

We voted today. They fed my voter's card into a big machine that looked like a zamboni crossed with a work printer. I watched in fascination, received my sticker and went on my merry way. Hoping for things to stay the same in this province so I have to do my part. I made the boys come, and Henry too, because we all have to do this. Henry was excited as always and said he hoped all his friends voted. Me too. They're the future. 

Lochlan and I split an order of chicken McNuggets for dinner and then he went off to have a quick nap and I settled in to make some little blankets with some old yarn. The new cats get cold and we can't have that. Plus I have old yarn and I can see no other purpose for it. I'm going to finish this one while I watch the new episodes of Unsolved Mysteries because no one's bugging me tonight for anything. Perfect.

Resurrection fern.

 Spending the morning being a selkie, as it was pouring rain and I walked up to the mailbox alone to get the mail, in a t-shirt and jeans, no less. I didn't think it was raining that hard but it was and now I am vaguely damp and cozy yet back in the house with the lights lit and Iron & Wine on the google thing in the kitchen. Pod? Screen? Tiny TV? I never know what to call it. It's not a nest, and it's not a home, so it's a screen on the counter and it shows dust in the sunlight and I may get Ben to build a little floating shelf for it so it can be up and away. I'm a big fan of clear counters. 

We've done a lot of work clearing clutter this summer and evaluating things that haven't moved in forever and we got a smaller kitchen table in a brighter wood hue. I'm a huge fan of blonde woods and light shades to offset the dark greens and navies and greys and sometimes you have to mix the two and then you can cover all your bases decorating-wise. What I mean is that-all white with pine is just lovely but not for the entire house. You need to break it up with some lush rich hues and texture. So trade off between the two and amazingly it works well. 

I'm fighting the urge to drive up to the store and buy some salt and vinegar chips. This week I have really minded being a highway away from everything. I used to walk so much more so it didn't matter. There were stores on every block as the kids grew up and then suddenly I chose the ocean over the ease. 

I'm still doing it. I just want some chips today. Also the finale of The Rings of Power is tonight! Thank god. It wasn't good but it was also amazing. How to explain that? No idea.

How can so many different size hands make the same size noodles, indeed, buddy.

Halfway through getting all our things done and I've been assured that I actually procrastinate far less than most people and my to-do list is shorter and less catastrophic. I'm not sure why people ignore the things they should be doing. I would perish. Maybe that's why I stress when things start to pile up-I'm not prone to enjoying having things hanging over my head. 

Huh. Who knew? 

I did have some hot chocolate yesterday afternoon. It was raining and lovely. I finished a couple of shows and a knitting project. I started more of both. I love late afternoons when it gets dark early. I walked up the hill and fetched a package Ruth was expecting. I breathed in the fresh air. I really enjoyed the moment. I have to remember it's just now October and there is no huge rush, though I did my first leaf raking already too. Ha. 

Lochlan is like Sit down. Jesus, Woman. And also go do what you want to do, then.

So I do. 

Also I need to talk about the new Chef's Table: Noodles. Like halfway through the first episode and I'm looking around thinking Seriously?? This guy is oblivious to everything and has mommy issues and also is downright masturbatory about his freaking pasta. I'm completely grossed out and snort-laughing through it at this point. Netflix, come on. I love you but stop with this series, it's just getting worse and worse. Like actual food porn, as if someone took that phrase and ran with it. I hate it but I'm hoping it gets better? I don't know how it could but it's making me laugh. Duncan said maybe if I acted that way I would also enjoy cooking but he is wrong. 

I will never enjoy cooking. I freaking hate it. I'm a grazer by nature and only want a whole meal once or twice a week. That's it. Give me a hard boiled egg standing up at the sink or a banana in the truck on the way to an appointment and I'm good. 

Probably malnourished but good.