Samhain snow.

    Hold me down
    Better in the end

Jacob left because Bridget is evil. Don't tell me to meditate, doctor. Your deep breaths won't help me. And thanks for the literature on not killing myself. I've read it all, been reading it since you were in high school. I found a better way to temporarily relieve the pain and I told you I cut my thigh and rendered you silent because you wanted to ask me to prove it. I'm better at this than you are and soon enough you'll transfer me on down the line because I make you uncomfortable.

Fuck you. He left because of me. Because he wanted cement and I am sand. He tried to mix and mix and his arms got too tired and I blew all over the place. Jacob is tired. Tired of gathering me up only to have me scatter again. I have a wager that says he'll move to Quebec, get his vasectomy reversed and remarry Sophie because she's concrete. Then he can be the flighty enigmatic hippie in her circles and work his magic and not have to compete on charm or cuteness like he did with me in our circles. Big always wins. They can have a few kids, he'll be a wonderful father and life will be awesome for Jacob. Jacob deserves awesome. Don't you think? Gosh, their kids will be so tall.

Moving on, equally awesome is my news.

Last night after I hummed and hawed on the phone one minute too long, Ben had the Land Rover I was looking at sent over for me.

Because honestly? Judging by how slowly I can move sometimes I probably never would have just gone and bought the thing, even though I was in love with this vehicle before my hand touched the door handle. And then I drove it and loved it more but quietly deferred because I don't want to make any hasty financial decisions. It's not a new one or anything spendy, this one is four years old. I love it.

Ben asked me if I was going to get the black one and I said yes, if I did decide to get it and poof. They drove up to my front door in the middle of dinner and rang the bell.

Wow.

In case you think Ben is trying to somehow win me over with expensive gifts he gave me the bill so I can transfer the money into his account sometime in the next few days. He did say he's give me a price break in exchange for sexual favors and I laughed until I cried.

And then I asked by how much?

He offered to pay me and we laughed some more.

Because this is ludicrous. Because he is crazy and because I am pathetic. But I'm pathetic on wheels now. It's a very cool truck. I won't get stuck in the snow with it, it's safe for the kids. It's all mine.

The only other giant expenditure I'm going to make is to have the house painted in the spring. I have chosen a dark charcoal black for the wood siding and pure white for the gingerbread, porch and trim. Then the outside will match the majesty of the inside of this big old gothic Victorian. I'm also considering a taller wrought iron fence for the front, but judging by the prices these fences must be filled with gold. Then I'll probably sell it. I don't know. The only thing I see in it is abject beauty, and stability for the kids. I'm giving Ruth the big summer bedroom with the 'bug lights' and I'm going to take her bedroom on the front of the house.

Christian is taking the kids trick or treating tonight on the three streets on this side of the church and I'll give out treats and then I promised him we could order a pizza late and watch scary movies from under a warm blanket. I asked him if he'd stay in the guest room overnight and he twitched before he said yes.

It's a old habit I can't fault him for. Cole's girl and all. Don't fucking touch her or bad things could happen to you. Maybe Jake got out just in time. Or maybe I'm just rambling.

Have a safe night.

I wonder if 'Abandoned' will be my next tattoo?

Life has been divided into two camps here. Those who are angry and unwilling to think too hard past their clenched fists, and those who are mired in disbelief. Most of my friends fall into the angry camp while Jacob's closest and dearest are in the disbelief camp.

For the record, I have a foot in each camp and had no idea I could do the splits. Well, I did but I don't like to advertise it and I know, sad humor isn't it?

Sam is up to his eyeballs in shock and has phoned me no less than twenty three times in five days pointing out EVERY SINGLE TIME that God doesn't ask that His servants abandon their young families to show some sort of allegiance to Him. God doesn't not want to be put first at the expense of loved ones.

Sam is telling me things I already know. Life is so black and white for everyone and so many millions of shades of grey for Jacob right now I can't begin to try to reassure Sam that Jacob hasn't lost his mind because I'm nowhere near convinced that he didn't have some sort of mental break from reality based on all this stress. He's always been a strange one in that you think things have gotten better and he tries to process it as history and gets overwhelmed and takes the fuck off.

The difference here is that he gave up the kids. He wouldn't have done that on a temporary freak out. Even if he was going for three months he wouldn't have done that. That was the part that keeps me in this anger and it's the best place I could ever be because once I lose my grip on rage and slide down into hopelessness things will get worse and right now I just need to get through each day one foot in front of the other and as long as I can do that then everything's going to be okay.

It isn't but humor me again, please.

And if Sam says the word 'abandon' to my face one more time I'm going to make him regret it.

Run like hell.

I can't reply to emails yet, my heart is spread dangerously thin. I'm the thinnest ice at the edge of the lake in spring, the translucent kind that cracks if you walk on it, the kind that will drown you so please, just stay away from the edge.

I'm still alive. The second hand moves, time goes on, Bridget can exist forever in shock. As long as I stay here, I won't fall through the ice.

Jacob had asked me to meet him at church late last Wednesday evening, to get PJ to come over to the house to be there since the kids were sleeping and that it would be only for an hour or two. Sometimes he liked to talk there. Big long talks about life.

What's on your mind, Jake?

Self-preservation, Princess.

And then he told he was leaving me, leaving us, leaving everything behind.

That I was stronger than he was. That he had engineered just about every fall I took, organizing my setbacks and that Cole and Caleb's behavior fell into step perfectly. That he took me away from everything that was familiar on purpose. That he resented me for consuming his every breath for ten years.

That he was obsessed with me, that I was not God and I was not supposed to come first.

That I was killing him. Because he loved me too much. Because it made him sick to touch me knowing how badly I've been hurt before and he wanted to kill people who hurt me and that scared him. Because I'm too fragile for him to ever treat any differently. Because he couldn't stem his jealousy and he knew I could never choose between him and my friends and he worked so hard to try and make me completely dependent on him and he had failed and in the end he became completely dependent on me.

And now he had to go. Because I messed him up. Because he cannot breathe without me in his arms and I always felt the same way and I told him it didn't matter, that when you're in love you don't breathe normal air and he looked at me and shook his head and told me that I wasn't understanding him, that I was killing him, I was destroying him, because he loved me too much. Me. And because I do better when he isn't around. I function, I don't lean. I'm healthier.

How do you love someone too much?

He gave me a card that had a time written on it, an appointment already made with our lawyer and he told me not to miss it, that it was incredibly important that I go.

He said he would be gone the next day and oh, how he loved me, how he loved us and he always would but it was time for him to run now and he won't be coming back.

He wept. He put his arms around me and held me so tight and he wept for failing to succeed at the one thing he ever wanted because he told me he was a coward and a weakling and a failure.

Yeah. You fucking are. and I still love you. So, so much.

I walked out on him. I came back to the house and PJ asked me what was wrong and I lied to him and he went home and I sat in the corner all night, eyes wide open, letting panic wash over me like cold saltwater. I looked at my wedding ring and I realized that there would be no changing Jacob's mind because he was running from me for good, no do-overs and no chance to work this one out. That he had fooled me and ruined me too and that we would never see each other again. Right at that moment my heart stopped beating for good, I think. I won't ever live again like the way I did when I thought that Jacob loved me the way you're supposed to love the one you're with.

Early the next morning Jacob called and asked me with a broken voice just to leave long enough for him to get his things. That he couldn't see me. That he loved me. I didn't go back to the house at all that day. I took the kids and told PJ what happened and we stayed at PJ's mom's house overnight and then I went back to the house the next day alone after taking the kids to school and almost everything of Jacob's was gone except for a few books and clothing, his ring and a letter for me. He took the truck.

He went to Sam and told him he was quitting, and he disappeared from our lives in one day.

He didn't say goodbye.

I kept the appointment and went to see the lawyers who gravely asked me to sit down and then began to pass papers across the table that spelled out the finality of my love and the destruction of dreams Jacob had painted for me. Some of the papers I had to sign. The adoptions have been revoked, our separation underway, the house is in my name alone suddenly, and all of the money transferred back to me. I went underwater while the voices droned on and on in a soothing hum, ending with a no worries tone that made me want to smash the pretty glass doors on that office until they understood that I don't care about the money. Fuck the money, I want my Jacob.

There is no waking up from this.

There will be no mending of this heart. There is no consoling of the children. At first I told them he had to take a long trip but he would be back. I lied to them because it seemed like the safest thing to do because they were asking questions and I couldn't wait for the counselor to return my calls. I waited until weekend family therapy and with help I told them what he had really done.

I wish he would just come home, but I know this time it's vastly different. He isn't coming back. This isn't fixable. I know how he gets when the world crowds in and he runs. Maybe we were doomed from the start. We both said we were, everyone else said we were and it was a marriage masquerading as a ticking time bomb, a spoiled carton of milk with an expiry date long passed and I thought I remembered asking for the kind that keeps forever.

How in the fuck can you love someone too much? He loved me, of that I've never been more sure. The one thing he left me with is the knowledge that I have experienced life on a higher level and lived a love deeper than I ever thought possible.

Chris told me to treat him like he's dead. They're all scared to death that I'm going to sit here and just wait out the rest of my life for Jacob to return. Bless their hearts, they have stepped in, kept the kids busy and been here, but I haven't broken down, I haven't done much of anything except sleep on borrowed medicine and hope that I'd wake up to find Jacob here where he belongs.

I would still take him back. I don't care if everyone hates him, I don't care if none of it works or if I struggle for the rest of my life, I wanted him in it. I fell in love with his heart first and then the rest of him, against the best advice and the biggest obstacles.

And he gave up on me because it got too hard. Because he had guilt. Because when it came down to choosing between Bridget and God, God must win. Don't you see that? If he picks Bridget he gives up everything he stands for and everything he is and he can't figure out how to exist peacefully loving both of us. Because God is not as tough a customer as Bridget. He rarely talks back and he's predictable and benign and all-forgiving.

And easier. God is easier. No one ever becomes obsessed with God, but everyone seems to be obsessed with Bridget. I am my own religion. The cult people run screaming from.

I'm doing okay. I find myself double-booked for therapy for the coming week, PJ is playing dispenser and has taken every last pill, all the climbing ropes and everything but the smallest paring knife out of the house and everyone is wonderful. Ben had to fly out tonight but he'll be home for good in a couple more weeks, and really as long as the shock holds out I can function, maybe because it still feels unreal. Kind of like when Cole died only this time I know Jacob's out there somewhere and just doesn't want to be with me. It's harder than death.

Nights are the worst but I've got my phone and I've got my boys who are a call away and I've got sleep that is broken but sometimes full of wonderful dreams and in each and everyone one of them Jacob is still here and that's what keeps me going. It's all I have left.

The leafs won.

Joel was gone by 8:45 pm, just before the Rangers pulled their goalie in a fruitless effort to come back.

And God has forsaken me.

I've written volumes since Wednesday.

I've posted nothing.

I'm still thinking. I'm still veering wildly between shock and rage. This is a good thing, trust me. I don't know what comes after this and I don't want to. I'm so not ready to talk about Jacob breaking promises that he should have kept. I will never be ready to be alone like this.

Luckily tonight I don't have to be alone. I just put the kids to bed (shesstillfunctioningwow) and put the Leafs game on TV and Joel is bringing over Portuguese deli and Jack Daniels. We're going to stuff our faces and watch the game and split the bottle and lament the effort people foolishly invest in love. With any luck I'll be asleep drunk by nine.

Oh, but we're not bitter.

(I think he might be bitter, I don't know what I am yet, it's entirely too soon.)

I wonder how many people get to share an evening like this with their former psychoanalyst.

There's a key under the ivy pot.

When I woke up this morning Ben was lying on my bed, fully clothed, watching me sleep.

I started to tell him to leave, that I didn't need him being here and instead I started sobbing. He pulled me into his arms and just hung on, so I wouldn't blow away in the storm I was making. So that I wouldn't slip any deeper into my rabbit hole. So that I wouldn't have to be in the dark alone.

He said nothing. He didn't point out he knew how this would unfold. He didn't tell me that I was better off, he just told me he was here for the day.

He waited me out until I decided I was done crying and then I apologized and he cut me off, telling me to get my morning stuff done, he'd go down and make some coffee. I got the kids up and off to school and when I came home he had made potato omelets for us for breakfast.

I pointed out I am poor company right now and Ben told me that wasn't important, that I've always been vaguely shitty company but since he is not complaining I should shut the fuck up and drink my coffee and then we'll go car shopping.

Because I don't have a car.

Numb.

Remember, princess, his first nickname wasn't Preacher, it was Freebird.

He had stopped doing that.

You never expected him to stay.

I thought he had changed. You don't get this deeply involved and then just walk away.

Yeah, some people do.

Well, then they should be crucified.

No, but you knew somehow. Deep down.

If I knew I wouldn't be this medicated now would I?

Go back to sleep. I'll get the kids off to school.

PJ?

Yeah, Bridge?

I don't blame him.

Well, you'll be alone with that statement.

Don't leave me alone, PJ.

I had no intentions of it, princess.

Make him come back.

I would if I could.

Melt.

Crazier seemed to be a temporary affliction today. I, okay, we lived through it with no less than a concentrated heroic effort on my part to let him in. Because I don't. Because I can be rather cold and more than a little uptight. Because I can pretend until those cows arrive and then pretend a little more.

Instead I did what I have learned to do, I asked him for help long before everything went too far gone to rescue me and I put aside my coldness and I told Jacob I was really unhappy and out of sorts and not at all well today or this week even and I didn't like it and what do I do?

He talked me out of it, talked me down, gently reassured me and soon I felt like me again, a little tired but not as bad as usual.

He's a shaman. He bent a spoon while he told me stories from when he and August shared a house in California. All three weeks of it before Jacob realized he couldn't stand another moment of it. He said none of it was real. He had a beer one day at a restaurant and Clint Eastwood was eating at the next table. He said it was weird and unnatural and contrived, all of it. August had soaked it up but agreed it was weird and he was going to embrace the weirdness of it.

He unbent the spoon by hand, because he promised me he wouldn't permanently alter the cutlery anymore and he held me forever. Letting me cop out on life for a little while until I felt stronger, letting me try and match his heartbeat with my own, allowing me the comforts that keep me warm so I don't grow cold and distant and uncomfortable with only myself to talk to.

It's one of the things I love most about Jacob. He has as much time as is needed for me to feel better. He has answers for questions that mystify me. He has time. He has built-in nurturing that he pulls off effortlessly. He keeps me close. He worries about me, telling me as long as I stay warm to him he can rest easy. It sounds so simply but I work at it tirelessly just to squeak through.

Tonight he's working from home for a bit but has a church meeting in an hour, I just brought him a cup of hot tea and he smiled and put down his pen and asked me if I wanted to come down to the church after his meeting for a bit to keep him company, and he would call PJ to come over to keep house since the kids are already in bed.

I might just do that.

    Hold your light, Eleven.
    Lead me through each gentle step by step
    By inch, by loaded memory
    'till one and one are one, eleven,
    So glow, child, glow.

Catch her on your tongue.

Every snowflake is different, so sayeth the experts on useless projects like seeing if any snowflakes out there are alike.

So, if we're living by default, people would be the same way. Everyone different, and you can typecast and pigeonhole and stereotype until the cows come home and you can only shove a person so far into a box/type/category and then there they exist for you, rather painfully, with an arm bent down at an unnatural angle, maybe their feet stick out the bottom. Maybe they can't breathe, or maybe they don't like small places. Maybe they don't like being marked as a specific kind of human. Maybe they'd like to burst your bubble but you won't give them a chance. Maybe you don't see it because you would do anything to fit in, blend in, and then rise above. Maybe because instead of living by default you are living in anticipation of the snow to fall.

Winter has arrived and that means little Bridget is a little crazier than usual.

Popsicle mom.

I woke up with a new song in my head, convinced it was Sunday, and sure it was spring. Getting out of bed proved it wasn't a new song, asking Jacob confirmed it was indeed Tuesday and the wind outside proved that fall is soon to abruptly abandon us when winter comes calling.

Despite the light wind, I agreed to go with Jacob to take the motorcycle to Nolan, who generously offered up heated garage space for the bikes this winter. This is Jacob's first winter storing his own bike and he's loathe to let it go, that's why he waited so long. Sam and Ben have already taken their bikes down.

Right. Let's go! Fun awaits!

It was freezing. Not just cold, but ohmygodinheavenwhyarewehere? cold. So cold my body was frozen stiff. Adding to the cold was the insane wind that picked up a few minutes outside of the city and threatened to blow us off the road. Jacob told me not to worry but I still stuck my head directly behind his back, locked my arms around his waist and shut my eyes and prayed the whole way there. Hard. All I could envision was everyone shaking their heads in disapproval when they met for my wake and talked about how goddamned wild I was, jumping on Jake's bike and taking off, when I should have been home baking cookies for my children.

However, we lived.

I didn't come home and bake cookies, though. We came home and Jacob ran right past me up the stairs, stripped off his clothes along the way and by the time I reached the top, stopping to pick up everything he dropped, he had a steaming hot shower waiting for me. Cute naked guy included.

It was a really kind of wonderful offer in the middle of a Tuesday, so I took it. Now I have four sweaters on and longjohns and lined jeans and I still can't get warm but we had fun and we'll see the bike in April, if Jake can hold out that long.

I'll bake cookies after dinner, I think. And sit on the top of the stove to stay warm while they bake.

Ha, Jacob just came through the kitchen to get coffee and saw me sitting here wrapped in all these sweaters and asked if I was that cold. I asked him why he wasn't and he said he was so afraid we were going to be blown off the highway, raw fear kept him warm.

Lovely.

This wolf won't bite.

Today was a muddling-through day, a day when all the leaves have exhausted their grip on icy tree branches and a morning that saw me leaving footprints in the grass as I ran through sunrise in the freezing-cold swearworthy frost-covered day. I cut my run short, that's how cold I was. And I run in -40 weather.

Therapy kind of sucked. Mostly because I went alone today. Mostly because they didn't like it that I didn't want to talk about me. Lunch was nice, Ben took me to a little Italian place and we ate minestrone and bread until we were stuffed. His approach is so totally casual sometimes but I had to admit I failed to let down my guard with him despite his assurances that he doesn't run in Caleb's circles anymore. A little too fast for him, I think, but I'm still not playing a full hand until I can trust him again. Well, as far as I could ever trust Ben, who insists he doesn't read my "diary" and then tells me it isn't fair that I called him a wolf a few days ago. Ben will never change. He mostly was happy to lather me up with compliments and then throw cold water on my concerns that Jacob is starting to show serious signs of wear.

Preacher is fine. He just had a big job issue, plus he's coming down off crisis-mode. Give him a break, Bee.

I realize all of that but I also know Jacob better than anyone else. He's seriously showing signs of depression. I know it's contagious. I know how prone he is to losing it just when I catch up. He can only go so far before his wings collapse around us, his halo shines full of scratches and his easy-going demeanor gets replaced by short and clipped and no-time-for-this-foolishness retorts.

I wish I had Ben's let 'er fly attitude some days.

We wrapped up lunch, Ben paid (!) and he walked me back to the truck, giving me a quick hug and telling me once again that everything would be fine, to keep moving ahead and that he was headed to the bench to say hello to Cole and then he was going to go check in with PJ and Chris tonight and then get all of his laundry done in preparations to go back out on the road on Thursday. In a month he'll be home for good, back to his cube-farm on the twelfth floor of an indiscriminate building downtown and probably comfortable enough to return to the dirty jokes and suggestive comments that make Ben who he is.

A wolf in stage clothing.

In the woods.

   Come back home
    Come back for you
    Burn up the road

This morning my head is a quiet hot mess. Sort it out for yourself.

Mr. Intensity ratcheted life up seven or twelve notches. He keeps staring at me. As in, every time I move or catch his eye he is staring right into my soul. Even when he was making love to me he didn't take his eyes off mine. It was thrilling and disconcerting all at once. It's like he's trying to read me that deeply lately. I asked him what the heck he was doing and he said he just didn't want to miss a detail. Which is fine, except that I have a cold and I'm not that skilled at blowing my nose like a lady. Not that I was trying to blow my nose while he fucked me, because wow, would that ever be rude.

I need to learn to stop hitting people when I shove my arms into the sleeves of my coat. I almost clocked some poor woman yesterday.

I need to work through not taking it personally when Jacob has a bad day or is in a mood. I will shoulder it without questioning it. Submissive slides right into the front seat and drives it from bad to worse. Why? I don't know. I know it's the worry about all this stuff going on and I can't even talk about it but he isn't himself.

I need to find a way to work Ben into therapy without obsessing over how to be friends when I know and he knows and everyone knows he's no less...attached. It was easy with Jacob. I just fed it and fed off it and made no apologies or efforts to change it. But Ben isn't Jacob. Ben needs to figure it out and I resent him already for putting all of us in this position but he's gone again by Thursday and maybe just the simple fact of us being friends instead of not will fix it. Maybe time will fix it. That's a sarcastic observation, time seems to fix so little. But I wanted him in my life.

I have forgotten the sound of Cole's voice. I'm completely stunned by that. It's brought about a bit of an undercurrent of panic. What else will I lose of his? What would I miss? What do I need to keep or how do I retain good and lose bad? I didn't want to lose good first. This isn't right.

I'm doubtful today, riddled with insecurity and falling flat on my face when I thought I was off and running. They say it's clear progress, headway against my obstacles, learning how to cope and deal and circumnavigate, when in fact I think I'm really great at fooling people, distracting them with cute or sweet so that they don't see that it was only the princess riding a brief high which she will now promptly fall off of with a resounding thud.

Even Jacob doubts that this is what is happening but I'm not going to set myself up to be disappointed. I'm not out of the woods just yet.

The lazy beekeepers.

This morning brings a changed appointment time for family therapy, one whiny dog, one very cranky husband, two newly-sniffling children who can't be getting colds again, and an empty honey jar, which means I have to go grocery shopping. That's fine, there's only one loaf of bread left in the freezer and I don't have enough energy to bake so the less of two evils is the grocery store today.

I hate having to go buy honey. You'd think coming from a family of apiculturists and Christmas tree farmers, someone could send me some supply to keep up with the demand. Okay, so having a tree sent out would be a little much, but honey travels nicely.

I think this afternoon we'll grab a showing of Arthur and the Invisibles on TV and eat popcorn until we explode while Jacob goes and does a funeral (which sort of explains his mood) and then later on I'll make some chili because it's crockpot weather. Ben called to invite me out for lunch after therapy on Monday. Boy, is he brave. And I'm leaving now to go and have some more ink done. Non-visible tattoos are my favorite and it's time to add more lyrics.

This time It's a little more esoteric. You'll recall I had my all-time favorite lyrics inked on my leg two summers ago. So it isn't my first lyric tattoo and it certainly won't be my last. I just need to keep these words. It's hard to explain. Just like it's hard to explain why they only send honey quarterly. Some things are better left as mysteries.

Took the high-dive into your brain.

Giving police reports and listening as they tick off their list of in-the-interim and for your safety, Mrs. Reilly measures is becoming an unwelcome part of my day. It would be nice to run alone. It would be nice to do anything alone. I'm not used to liking being by myself at all and suddenly I find myself coveting and relishing the few minutes I am gifted to myself each day now.And still I'm trying to pretend it's just the way life is, eventually whoever is bothering us will get bored and stop or leave or be caught or whatever.

For those of you wanting to know what was written on the door, forget it-I've been asked not to publicize it in case, well, in case they actually catch the person. For those of you playing internet detective and thinking it's Ben harassing me, forget it too, he has hundreds of witnesses as to his whereabouts at any given time and he's been away for almost all of this.

I don't want any more emails about Ben and your guesses. Please. Instead, let's all focus our positive energies on good things like cinnamon bread (baking in the oven right now) and great metal videos on the internet. Loud ones.

Sigh. I have a soft spot for drummers. Cole's drum kit is still down in the music room, intact. Jacob wanted to break it down and pack it away for when Henry is older and I can't do it. Not yet. Besides, Henry is old enough and loves to play.

To remind you of summer, Piglet.

For two evenings he would disappear down into the workshop, door closed, radio on, with express instructions to me not to come in. I thought maybe he was finally going to get started on the big dollhouse he has told me he'd like to make Ruthie for Christmas this year.

Finally after spending two evenings knitting and listening to music and talking on the phone and becoming bored out of my skull, Jacob raced past me up the stairs three times each time yelling,

Don't look! Shut your eyes!

Then he came waltzing down the steps with a satisfied grin and told me to come up and see his surprise for me.

He said it was in our bedroom. The old summer bedroom with windows on three sides that is nestled in the trees at the very top of our old Victorian house, a room accessible only by passing through the bathroom that has the sink and the clawfoot tub but no toilet, that's in the water closet room at the top of the stairs. Once you cross the bathroom you duck down, if you're Jacob, and pass through a 3/4 sized door in the wall and hunch down the tiny hallway that opens up in what can only be described as a conservatory for all the branches framing the windows and all the sunlight that room receives in a day.

For the record, I don't have to duck or hunch getting into our room, it's perfectly sized for 5-feet-tall me.

All the lights were off upstairs. I went through the bathroom and opened our door and stepped into a...midnight garden.

Along the windows were hanging mason jars with fireflies in them. Not real fireflies, he made 18 of these beautiful pretend-firefly lights after seeing them in the new Signals catalog. He strung them in front of the windows and they look magical. It really completes what is a very simple airy room with the trees outside and the white painted furniture and pale green walls.

It made me happy. I have a long standing love affair with strings of tiny lights inside and outside the house and these are so pretty. I tried and tried to get decent pictures but they just don't work sufficiently. Suffice it to say it was a wonderful and effortful surprise.

Another surprise was that he convinced Sam to seek approval for another minister, a return to the former community minister set-up Jacob had before in Carolyn, who has moved on to different pastures. Jacob doesn't want to risk getting spread thin again and has opted not to take on hospice (or even the separate chaplaincy gig) this time around. I doubt the church will go for yet another salary dip into the coffers for a third minister but Jacob is adamant about not doing it. Which is weird but logical. I find it weird anyway. He usually jumps in with both feet. Before looking. I guess I can just chalk it up to him having a balance at last.

Oh and I won't mention the vandalism! Consisting of awful words scrawled with a key or an icepick or something! On my side of the truck! Cannot shake my happy mood! Ruining Jacob's father's awesome paint job! Fuck!

I'm trying so hard here, give me credit.

I think my luck is changing.

This morning was epic.

Just epic.

And I don't mean porn-epic, I mean therapy-epic. As in, all kinds of things fell into place and I was given confirmation that I did learn something after all and I'm using it unconsciously and it's working and damned if I'm not finally feeling like I'm getting somewhere.

I felt so good when I left today that by the time Butterfield and I ran down to the river to meet Joel for a run he laughed when he saw me, showing up all teeth and crinkled eyes in a huge smile. Had it been summer I would have had bugs in my teeth from all the wide grins. He laughed and congratulated me and said it's nice to see the corner turned and he's not cautious-these were huge advances, huge revelations, giant steps forward for this little bee. Things I hoped for but didn't expect I could pull off on my own.

I called Jake at work to tell him and I could hear his emotion through the phone. As if finally, goddammit, we're getting somewhere and not just dreaming that we are. Having that confirmation means the world to me today.

It's not a lightbulb moment though, I've just tried really hard to make headway without talking about it here. Sometimes good news needs to be shared and this morning my tears in the truck as I drove home alone were happy ones. Relief-ones.

Hopeful ones.

Hero worship.

Good morning Internet. I'm having my first cup of coffee and it's almost eleven. I've been running back and forth all morning fetching tools for Jacob, who is putting up the frames for the outdoor skating rink down on the field with the guys. It's a testosterone-fest as they all insist they can raise this section or carry this part by themselves. It's hilarious to watch them outdo each other and a little reminiscent of putting together anything from Ikea, only on a football field-sized scale.

The best way to handle both scenarios (building Ikea furniture and full-sized rink surfaces) is to profess your confidence that the men will have no problems, that they can build anything and go and get a coffee at Starbucks. Don't forget to bring back a couple of trayfuls for those strong and competent men, too and tell them they worked really hard.

Shhh. It works very well.

Ben did come over for dinner last night. I had to laugh. Ben made a crack about Zero the Hero finally granting him access to the princess and Jacob lobbed it right back by asking Ben what he wanted for a drink. Fearing a fistfight in my beautiful dining room I asked quietly for civility.

Oh, cool. I have their attention at last.

I asked Jacob to clarify for Ben why Ben was here. I pointed out to Ben that I had my reservations about dinner, about him being here, because I had wanted him out of my life for inflicting one round of pain too many and I wasn't going to put up with that from anybody. That he didn't have my best interests at heart. That he didn't want me to be happy, he wanted to be selfish. Ben's eyes went all glassy and then he got mad, pointing out that Jacob was just as selfish, that Jake was in this for Jake and not for me and then he just stopped.

Jacob probably kicked him under the table to shut him up.

Jacob cleared his throat and told us both that he knew I was miserable, foundering without my friends around me, drowning in life's new unfamiliarity and all the hard work that goes along with getting better. Ben rolled his eyes and Jacob pointed out that he was here under Jacob's good graces alone and to stuff it. Again, Ben listened to him.

This almost never happens.

Jacob continued. He wants all of us to put everything in the past away now. To continue to be friends without strings attached, to support each other and work with me to get me better.

Oh, I get it. He's using Ben.

To fix Bridget.

I didn't say a damned word. I just sat there trying to wrap my brain around it and I thought about how hard Cole would laugh right now to hear Jacob pontificating on the virtues of friendship and family. We all know Ben won't change any more than Jacob would ever change only Jacob's flaws are so much more virtuous and Ben is Tucker Max and here we go, back down that road.

I love Ben, I really do and I know he loves me (oh, don't I know exactly how much Ben loves me and he doesn't even bother to hide it anymore, reminding me of someone else.) but the difference is by being this way Ben still isn't being my friend. Try telling him that. I don't know if him being around in this capacity will help at all. Sure I miss him. I miss the way things used to be when I had no idea what deep roots his crush has formed.

Still, I was polite and more than accommodating. I took his apologies and his sincerity and his gratefulness at being with me and I swallowed all of it and waited to see what Jacob would say next.

But Jacob never said anything else, preferring to make light conversation about the upcoming hockey season and about what good pasta I make and how the kids are doing in school and by ten Ben made his way out with a promise to get together at least once more before he heads back out on the road next week.

Having won once again, Jacob shared cleanup duties with me and then took me to bed, where he indulged in the spoils of his one-man war. Me. He held his ego in one hand, heavy with pride and in the other hand he held me out generously, offering my fucked up friends one and only one final chance to get it right. Dangling me like a piece of meat over a pack of hungry wolves, if you ask me.

Let's hope this time everyone gets it right.

Since I don't like cliffhangers either, I'll just leave it at this. Jacob decided not to throw any fists and instead he threw a dinner invitation and I have about thirty minutes to decide whether or not I'm okay with that. I should cancel. Shouldn't I cancel? I don't want to cancel, oddly.

Throwing chairs.

I'm wondering right now how long I can hide out in here. Jacob asked me to come out and help him while he puts up the Christmas lights (not to turn on for a while but it's nice to get them up before it's too cold to do it properly) and when I looked out the window as I pulled my coat on I could see him standing on the sidewalk talking to Ben, who is here for a week before heading back out on the road again (I was pre-warned he was home). I really loathe the idea of going out there but they look amicable enough. Maybe Ben trying to crash Thanksgiving softened Jacob a little.

Then again, his hackles look raised. Kind of like when Butterfield spots a squirrel.

Should I liveblog the inevitable fistfight or do you think Jacob will be able to check his temper here on church property?

Let's wait and see.

I have three minutes to post.

I'm playing church secretary this afternoon, slacking off on the job, because really, typing and filing takes little time, I even called someone to fix the front gate that you have to be herculean to close (only Jacob can do it, naturally) and now I'm eating a pear and stealing some laptop time until the mail shows up.

Jacob is down the hall humming a happy tune in his office. Sam is sick today along with the usual secretary (Who is new, I call her Miss Moneypenny because of her unrequited adoration for my husband, despite her being almost old enough to be his grandmother), it's a quiet day here. This morning therapy sucked and you wouldn't know Jacob and I aren't really speaking but he has all the confidence in the world that we'll sort it out later and for now he's simply happy I am close by while he gets some work done. I keep sending him pornographic links and he keeps telling me to knock it off.

Best of both worlds, if you don't count the hairbrush I threw at him earlier. But that's how it goes, and here comes the postman. Which means I have invoices and distractions! Always good. Bye!

Bows and arrows.

    I think it's time you walked this lonely road
    All on your own
    It's your cold day in the sun
    Looks like your bleeding heart has already won
    I wish I could take it away
    And save you from yourself
    You get so lost inside your head
    Like no one else
    Are you looking for someone to blame?
    Did you blame me all along?

In the interest of being honest, of not sugarcoating life, Jacob ran. Let's call a spade a spade.

It'll be alright, baby girl.

Once I got past the shattering surprise and then the rage, complete with a mental plan to burn down his truck in the garage (no worries, I didn't, but I thought about it.) I realized it was going to be okay. He needs time sometimes. Living with me isn't easy, the grass isn't greener over here on Bridget's lawn. Plus it was a safe trip. Three nights, fully chaperoned thanks to Erin and Joel, who both attend the same conference and didn't leave Jacob alone for a second. No, Sophie wasn't there. And surprisingly Jacob cut it short, missing me, missing the kids, missing life as it is becoming a lot more stable and hoping he didn't fuck it up by going.

He didn't, but I did get an extra therapy session out of my abandonment issues and I had some trust issues with Jacob's timing. He wasn't planning to go, and hell, he held my hand for ten hours straight so tightly I woke up repeatedly the night he found out a whole new round of mindblowing Coleisms that I had somehow suppressed. So when he abruptly decided to attend and was packing the next morning I admit I was stung by it.

I shouldn't have been. He's legendary for just picking up and going and somehow still he managed to corral PJ and Andrew and August to trade off babysitting/support duties without telling me. Some would say he needs therapy to stay put when the going gets tough, even though his therapy is prayer and isolation and travel. A new latitude to see things in a new light. I knew this going into the marriage. And please remember the going is always tough here. There is no break from dealing with what we deal with. What I deal with. The progress is visible but sometimes bad times are simply that: bad times.

He came through the door in a whirlwind of blonde and navy blue backpack and his satchel full of books and notebooks and dumped it all on the kitchen floor and dropped to his knees with his arms out wide for me on Sunday afternoon and I flew into those arms laughing with relief, because he came home.

For some reason, I really never expected him to.

Yay! Jake is home a whole day early. Wicked. Awesomeness.

Actual posting to resume tomorrow.

August is here, taking good care of us and drawing pictures, that I then label for posterity. This makes me laugh.

Not the song to be singing while you pack, Jake.

    She can kill with a smile
    She can wound with her eyes
    She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
    And she only reveals what she wants you to see
    She hides like a child
    But she's always a woman to me

    She can lead you to live
    She can take you or leave you
    She can ask for the truth
    But she'll never believe you
    And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free
    She steals like a thief
    But she's always a woman to me

    Oh, she takes care of herself
    She can wait if she wants
    She's ahead of her time
    Oh, and she never gives out
    And she never gives in
    She just changes her mind

    She will promise you more
    Than the Garden of Eden
    Then she'll carelessly cut you
    And laugh while you're bleedin'
    But she'll bring out the best
    And the worst you can be
    Blame it all on yourself
    Cause she's always a woman to me

    She is frequently kind
    And she's suddenly cruel
    She can do as she pleases
    She's nobody's fool
    But she can't be convicted
    She's earned her degree
    And the most she will do
    Is throw shadows at you
    But she's always a woman to me

Best of the Web.

Hey. I'm not much in the mood tonight to regale the gleeful masses with my negative-brain space. You wouldn't want to see it. Suffice it to say I'm being easy to get along with! And chipper! And really fucking pulled-the-fuck together!

I think I'll get high this weekend and dance on tables and maybe pick up a boy..oh, wait, nevermind. I forgot I was talking about me here. Uptight, fragile little bee.

I'm going to read this weekend. Not work, just read, hang out with the kids and maybe order in pizza and when they go to bed I'll have hours to myself with all the books I'm planning to get later tomorrow at the library. I think it would be better if I didn't post here while Jacob is away.

Since I'm reading, you may as well read too. And don't just skim, fall into the words like a warm bath. They're better that way. Enjoy. You can search all the titles. I'm too tired to link.

Most popular post: Underwater Nyquil and porn. -This is hands-down the most visited entry I have ever written, probably because when people google "underwater porn" it comes up on the first page. The funny part is at least half the people who read it wind up coming back regularly.

Most painful post: It's a tie between The freefall and Two syllables and one saint. Both are incredibly private moments spelled out quite audibly. They stay up because this is part of my history just like the incredible and happy moments. The post in which I first talked about Cole's death doesn't count since it could be nothing but painful.

Most romantic post: I'm told it's Hollow, and I'll agree with you. That or it wins the award for revealing that kissing your best friend is one easy way to put yourself in labor.

Friends and family favorite: The Speed of Sound. This one is a look inside my head that clearly delighted people and I'm told it's well-organized, that it stands alone. The most praise I've ever received for an entry here. Thank you.

Most pornographic post: Mondays are special, it seems. I wanted to clearly and distinctly convey Jacob's sexual prowess with our size difference (his 6'4" to my 5') and I think I almost did it. I also think I need a cigarette after reading that again. And I don't smoke anymore.

Most link-filled post: No rain, just words, in which I list all the bloggers I read, proof that Bridget is not as narcissistic as she seems. I wish you'd all write more, every day would be nice but then again not everyone is wired like I am. That post gives you a good hand up to go and read some new faces or old favorites and have a nice weekend.

Don't worry about me, I'll be here somewhere. Eating pizza and reading Everything's Eventual.

See you early next week.

Not all bad.

Now that the sting of Jacob's trip plans has had a little time to soften, I wanted to point out I will be fine. I'm a big girl. I have a million resources at my fingertips, I just have to not think about the strongest of those being in Newfoundland while I am here. I have a million more resources here if anything else happens with rose petals, benches or flowerpots and I get the Suburban all to myself so I can drive all over town if I feel like it. I'll keep my appointments and take my pills and just try and stay super busy. I am fully aware it sounds like I'm trying to talk myself into making the most of it, probably because that's what normal people do.

Hot, cold. On, off. Hot, cold. Cold cold cold.

Sure, weirdest entry title ever. If you have to know, I hate putting titles on my thoughts. I could never categorize the jumble that comes out of my head, why should I name it?

Oh, and you can leave now, this one is private.

Jacob leaves on Friday morning for his annual conference. Yes, I know. Yes, that conference. He'll be back on Monday. Four days, three nights. I wouldn't have told me either.

Excuse me while I go scream or something.

No, on second thought, I'll be fine. Right?

I throw a mean dinner party but I have trouble with the giving thanks part.

And everything is good enough like it was.
    And everything is good enough like it was.
    And everything is good enough like it was.
    Like it was.

I'm sitting here, not drawing a blank but instead painting so many pictures I'm not sure what order I should present them in.

Bridget is the supreme adherent. I drank what I was given last night despite knowing I shouldn't, I returned to the table when I was ordered to when Ben showed up at our front door and I continue to slice and dice Jacob in marriage therapy as instructed.

It would have been better to skip the alcohol, sleep with Ben sometime over the past several years and ultimately protect Jacob from the pictures in his head now from having to listen to my brutally graphic and protracted descriptions of Cole's favorite things.

I was doing such a wonderful and admirable job of sugarcoating shit right up until today and I slipped and now I can't put it back in. The things I've already shared with him were so mild and I had hoped it was enough. It was not.

Dinner was lovely, by the way. The turkey was perfect, the kids cleaned their plates and everyone had a great time, since Jacob managed to throw Ben off the front lawn without any sort of fuss whatsoever.

Someone please remind me why I'm here? I'd ask Jake but everytime he looks my way he loses his composure all over the floor. And for that reason alone we're staying home for the rest of the day and I get to do some one-handed typing, because he won't let go of my other hand.

Loathe to infect my guests, I did indeed go to the clinic before lunch and it was predictably a ghost town so I was ushered in right away. My throat is healing, the cough and pain is residual in nature, as well as the lack of useable hearing in my ears. All of it should go away "in the next few weeks."

Weeks. Yippee. On with dinner plans!

On a completely unrelated note: Men who go out into the rain with cowboy hats on?

Incredibly freaking hot.

That is all. Happy turkey day to all.

Sick people have no business throwing parties.

    Lord, I'm foolish to be here in the first place,
    I know some man gonna walk in and take my place.
    Ain't no way in the world I'm going out that front door

The tie Jacob wore to church lasted until 11:26 am and then I watched as he untied it and snaked it off one side, balling it up and stuffing it deep into his suitjacket pocket. Then he saw me watching him and made a goofy face while pulling on the neck of his shirt with one finger to symbolize being strangled. I laughed out loud and Sam broke into a grin at us and kept talking from the pulpit. I was so embarrassed but that laugh flew out anyway and Jacob smiled for the rest of the morning.

He loves it when I can't stifle a laugh.

In the late afternoon we chose pumpkins at the pumpkin patch and then opted to come home, much to the dismay of Ruth and Henry, who were all corn maze! and hayrides! and ghost stories! but they're still coughing and have unpredictable sore throats and my throat still hurts all the time and I'm coughing a lot at night and in the mornings, so we came home to warm up and snuggle in for a bit before supper. Listening to music while I fussed with making chicken noodle soup and hot chicken sandwiches. Fielding more protests as I tucked the kids in before 7:30 pm so that they could have the benefits of sleep to heal.

It was exhausting.

Choosing sleep as well around nine, I headed to bed while Jake sat at his desk in the den, reading glasses on, cognac at hand, with Eat a Peach playing on the stereo, almost indiscernible to me at such a low volume. He's already back into his groove, philosophy and faith writing being old familiar friends to him so I left him to enjoy his time.

He did and he woke me up at midnight with drunken pooh-bear talk and crashing into the humidifier and a solid refusal to let me stay asleep in favor of indulging his favorite obsession (that would be me). I would have protested but I was too preoccupied with his mouth and his hands (among other things) to fight for sleep.

This morning we're slowly coming to life, the kids are feeling better today and my throat is miserably raw again. I'm seriously considering a quick run over to the walk-in clinic to have my throat looked at for a third time but may just leave it for tomorrow, as I have a table for ten set (well, two tables) and a lot of cooking to start this afternoon.

And cake. Bridget's got cake. The hell with turkey, bring on dessert.

I'm sure Jacob said something similar last night but I couldn't hear him clearly enough.

I'm not late today.

Just for fun and to freak people out, Jacob's wearing a tie today with his rumpled plain white shirt and his newer corduroy jacket. Just for fun. He looks so handsome.

He couldn't tie it properly. He pointed that out repeatedly and finally I stood on the bed behind him and did it with my hands over his shoulders. He asked me how I knew how to do that and I pointed out it's just something girls seem to learn and so I learned it along with Lochlan and Cole as they moved from school and play clothes into formal wear, along with ironing and making braids. He told me that he was grateful for the ironing and soon his hair would be long enough for braiding again. We laughed. Ruth loves to braid his hair and she was more than a little perturbed when he came home with his short locks in the spring. Now that he is back to shaggy-long she's looking forward to adding beads and some rollers to her arsenal of hair accessories to use on Jake.

Today there's only one service, Sam has made some changes and is making some of the sparsely-attended holiday services sermon-light and community rich. Today was an open invite to help your neighbor rake leaves or take some food boxes down to the shelter and volunteer for an hour or two and then the standard second service will be at 11.

We didn't rake or make the trip downtown. Instead we slept in and I was gently awakened by Jacob smoothing his hands over my shoulders and then my legs and then he rocked me against him until I saw stars and could no longer breathe. And then he smiled and asked me if mine were as bright as his.

Stars are so much nicer than leaves anyway.

You know me better than I realized.

    Out of the ground I rise to grace
    Nobody knows it's just a phase
    Help me I'm out of breath again
    Nobody knows somewhere to make it go away

Upon waking this morning, I discover wonderfully dark gothic treats. Back into a groove we didn't have last year, as Halloween approaches we embrace autumn and longer, colder nights. Bloom where you are planted, so to speak.

This morning I found rose petals in the front porch. Not a packageful slipped through the mail slot but a handful shoved through. They were beautiful. Fresh, dark red turning to black around the edges. Jacob didn't put them there, he found them with me. He doesn't like them, finding it sinister, but I quite enjoy this one, whatever it means. Is that bad? I don't know but it's better than being afraid.

We hung paper garlands of fall leaves along all the porch windows. They'll come down toward the end of November and will help extend the color in the skies when the last of the real leaves fall from our elm trees this weekend or shortly after. There is a foot-high layer of leaves in the front yard that I need to tackle next week. Jacob says he'll do it but then he sneezes for days after.

We went to family therapy this morning and learned once again that kids are resilient and profound and aware and observant and the one thing they know for sure is how much everyone loves them. And how much we love each other. I was grateful for words such as those today. Then we went to an overpriced coffee shop a little ways from our favorite one, which was closed for the long weekend and had pastries that weren't quite as good, and coffee that wasn't as strong and servers that weren't quite as relaxed but it's okay, not every place can be the best one.

We stopped at the farmer's market on the way home and bought acorn squash and some baby pumpkins and some huge carrots and some indian corn too and Jacob bought this giant basket that someone was selling that their grandfather made and I can fit in it and he laughed and said it would look nice beside my spinning wheel because it might actually hold my fiber instead of only half and he was right and he gently teased me about making him a new sweater this winter and I probably will.

Joel showed up with non-alcoholic wine for Thanksgiving dinner, his acceptance of the invitation and a box containing a brand new pair of spendy headphones for me. Lowriders no less. I'll get mugged wearing them to run, they're too cool. Mostly because they have skulls. I like skulls.

Speaking of skulls, I just got another kiss on the top of mine, which means it's time to go. Errands to run before lunch. Hearing aid batteries, stuffing and Jacob's having his ahem...piercing changed to a bigger gauge, because he's so hardcore. My earrings are now 10g, and I think he feels left behind.

Snort.

On running with Joel.

    Cause I am my enemy
    The water's up to the knee
    I never wanted anything from you
    Yes I do, yes I do
    My engine's running on dry
    My head's so fucked up inside

Joel is a riot.

For all his importance that I tease him about, for all our issues in becoming...er...acquaintances, since we're still a few steps away from the friendship stage, he's a nice guy. He and Jacob have been friends forever and I respect that immensely.

My issues with him lie with his immediate heavy-handed approach in wanting to micromanage every aspect of my life when we approached him to help. My subsequent rebellion and amusing accusations did little to enhance his image of me but in vindication I have since heard that several clients jumped ship once he completed adopting Claus' practice because of his radically different approach. Claus has retired, of course. Joel has many irons in his professional fires, the least of which concerns therapy (thank god) because frankly...

He sucks at it, I think. And I should know. I have fired nine people now, in two years.

Okay, so maybe I'm not the best one to ask. But there are far too many counselors out there who are not as objective as they appear to be, and at risk for either getting sucked into you on a personal level, unable to maintain any distance, or they are so rigid they keep trying to shove you into a category and fail to notice you are a human being and when you don't comply they give up.

I seem to always get one or another, which is dumb. Which is why I wind up getting counseling on the fly from Jacob who does a magnificent job at being neither objective nor forgiving and well, it works about as well as you'd expect it to. But Jacob is still awesome despite having no business counseling his own wife.

In any event, I didn't sit down to talk about therapy (which sucks, did I mention that?), I wanted to talk about other things.

This morning was a barely concealed arrangement between Jacob and Joel that Joel would run with me today, since Jacob had early meetings (didn't I say the church would eat him alive again? He loves it, I swear) and is freaking busy all the time again, already (part-time, Sam, part-time. I think that means nothing.) so Joel said it was fine if we ran and didn't talk and so I brought my zen and he brought his iPod and we ran and ran and traded players every now and then (who the HELL listens to Sigur Ros when they run? Joel, that's who.) and we went down to the river and I held my breath until we rounded the corner and the bench was...upright. Not disturbed for the first time in eight days. Which is good. Maybe it was a fluke. Joel was pre-warned (thanks to Jake) and yet he said nothing and we kept going.

And then my headphones died an abrupt death. So Joel put away his iPod and we ran and talked, only we didn't talk about Bridget, we talked about Joel and it was nice to hear about someone normal without many issues and without a world of hurt and baggage dictating his every move. He survived a messy divorce quite admirably and is vaguely lonely but has some friends here and counts us among them, I think he meant Jake more than me but I'm sure he'll correct me after reading this. I hope we do become friends eventually but we had a very rough start. Hell, the day I met him was...a painful day and I'm colored by that forever. I come with a neon sign over my head that blinks constantly and flickers and gives people headaches and it says "insane" I think. I can't see it but trust me, it's there. How do you become trusting friends with someone who you first met as they held you down while you screamed in order to give you a sedative?

I didn't think so. God, what a horrible memory.

After my shower I dug out my old nomad player and stole the headphones from it. Of course they still work. Figures.

I invited Joel for Thanksgiving. I wonder if he'll come.

Blow me a kiss and explode into stars.

No worries, I'm not allowed to quit therapy because I took myself out of charge. I went today and I'll be going until things are better and then I'll be going some more.

I agreed with that, because it makes sense. I just wish sometimes it was less difficult, less invasive, less exhausting but Jacob keeps gently telling me it's very hard work.

Oh, and that I'm doing great.

He says that over and over again as we sit in a hot bubblebath, his chin on my head, his arms around me, his thoughts on nothing but the future and promises I am trying to keep to him that he knows I'll keep even when I have my doubts.

When life is said and done would someone saint him, please?

If our roles were reversed I would have stuck a firecracker down his throat and blown him a kiss into outer space by now and what he gives me is a wall. A human wall of strength, upholstered in flannel that I can bounce off of and push against and sometimes stand with my back up against it so I can see the monsters coming and sometimes I can climb right up it and be completely safe.

He said/she said.

Mr. Open isn't being so open today. Which means his head is preoccupied. In therapy today the subject of sexual progress was gingerly broached and I pointed out what had happened yesterday morning and Jacob denied it.

Because, really, who are they going to believe? Who is anyone going to believe? I point out my need for my own friends and not just Jacob's friends who are all on his side and quick to condemn my actions. I point out his complete and utter ignorance of Oct. 1, which was an incredibly painful anniversary in our lives and he bitterly pointed out that we fixed that and we're not marking any more dark days and just like that he decided that all was well and he wasn't going to dwell on any of it.

Or even admit half of it.

Like he won't admit that every morning we run down to the park by the river to Cole's bench to kill two birds with one stone and every morning the bench is upside down. Not just tipped over but turned end over teakettle and moved back so it's exactly on the spot it usually sits. Every other bench is fine and every single morning Jacob puts it back, which is no small feat since it is cast iron.

See, he's removed all the obstacles and once again is faced with the glaring part.

Bridget isn't well.

She should be by now, shouldn't she? I took away everything she knows, and everything that was in my way. Why isn't she better now?

Gee, honey. Maybe because you're not listening. Because you know better. Because no one's going to believe her anyways. She, after all, manipulates you.
Whatever.

I'm done with therapy. All it does is pit us against each other and that isn't what I want.

And WHY in the hell does everyone keep calling me baby? That isn't yours to use.

(I don't recall saying anything I haven't said before.)

Hey.

Hey.

What gives, Bridge?

Did I call you? Nope.

Maybe you should have.

For?

Help, maybe? Maybe because if you'd talk to me I could help you? I don't understand you, why don't you just ask for help when you need it? What are you afraid of?

Nothing, I don't need help, Ben.

I think you do.

Then stop listening to the wrong people.

I read it straight from the whore's mouth, sweetheart.

Nice, creep.

Sticks and bones, baby. I miss the give and take. I miss you.

Is there something you need?

Reassurance that you're okay or I fly back and kick his ass.

Ben, you need to stay where you are and worry about you.

I can take care of myself. You can't say the same.

Ha. Then you don't know me, and you never did.

I know you and I know how you deal with these things and I know how passive you become.

That's 'submissive', Benjamin.

Fuck, Bridge, could you just stop wrapping it up like a present? Didn't I tell you before? It isn't any different.

Sometimes, no, it isn't.

Oh, Christ. Oh my God.

Not your concern, either, Tucker.

You're my concern, Bridget. So stop putting it back on me.

No, you stop. This doesn't help.

Are you asking for help, then?

No.

Fuck, Bridget, I can't deal with you.

Then don't. I was under the impression we weren't friends anymore.

Then you don't know me very well either, baby.

Less imflammatory than it appears to be.

    Nothing more to give
    I can finally come alive
    Your life into me
    I can finally breathe
    Come alive

    I lay there in the dark
    Open my eyes
    You saved me the day that you came alive

There's a trigger in here somewhere in the perfect. Waking up in the dark after being in the light so long. And he tried to fix it, taking a page from a history book, maybe not the right approach. He tried to turn the black around, he folded me against him and tried to bend me to respond to him by forcing me to do things that were so familiar I think I briefly forgot who he was and what has happened since.

We pulled it out of the fire later on, pretending to be each other and I had ammunition saved from sunrise and it showed him precisely that even when I'm out of it and messed up and not able to save myself I know exactly what's going on and what's happening to me. The shame of that revelation quickly forgotten since he's above it all. Who is going question him? Who will stand up to him now? Everyone is gone. His only concerns are my whims and where they lead me and sometimes, though I only catch the barest glimpse of the real one beneath the public face and the so-called openness, I know that I have met my match. I like that, and that is my biggest weakness. That ensures I'll be hurt, and I like that too.

Fuck.

Bear with me, here, the day's only halfway through. The rescue is underway but not complete.

No one's lit the halos, baby.

No one's even close.

Sunday night was pretty good too.

Christian heard the truck before I did (naturally) and gathered up his things, meeting Jacob on the back step after kissing my cheek and telling me bye for tonight. He and Jacob talked for a minute on the path and then Christian went home and I opened the door wide as Jake came bounding up the steps and in, staggering back slightly and throwing his satchel to the ground in triumph.

Princess, I'm home. Literally and figuratively.

I know. I'm amazed at your energy.

It was magic.

Good, that's the way you should feel.

Amazing.

Awesome, Jake.

More than awesome, little bee.
I grinned at him and he grinned back and charged across the hallway, wrapping his arms around me and walking me backwards, my head bent back so I was facing the ceiling as he kissed me all over the place. He got to the stairs and stopped and looked at them and put his nose to mine.

You know, it's been a while, Bridget.

Oh, no way. It's cold, I'm still under the weather and those stairs hurt.

Okay, plan b for you, piglet.
He took my hand and led me into the living room right down onto the floor in front of the fire.

This is how evenings should end forever I think.

His hands fumbled with the hooks on my dress and he growled in frustration. I laughed and pulled the dress over my head and he kissed me hard and I tasted cognac. Pooh bear.

Oh I see you've celebrated?

Only one toast to my return, with Sam and then I knew I had to get home, because here is where I want to celebrate my love for you, my God.

You mean your love for God and I?

Whatever, Jesus, get out of this dress.

Welcome back, Reverend Reilly.