Bring me home in a blinding dream,Long before I finally asked him to revert back to his habitual self so that my lobotomy could still be successfully reversed, Lochlan dropped through a hole into a place he doesn't belong. The nightmares were back, the rabbit hole wide open, the mind behind a familiar face unrecognizable.
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again
I don't care if you get it, I get it. He isn't like that with me. He can't be. He's just not wired this way so his attempts to make a strategic move only served to illuminate his completely selfish plan to edge Ben right off the playing field. It served to prove that the dark magician is still in there and oh, Jesus, no. Anything but that. You don't understand.
As if we don't know Lochlan has been plotting this all along, right up until he gets everything all lined up in front of him and he's home free and then he gets scared, turns and disappears, like magic.
Like magic. I think I'll stick with the coins behind my ears and the fire routines because we can't survive anything greater than that.
So it's better if he just continues to be himself and not let himself go to places neither one of us are comfortable together. It's better if he does things his way and I will exist around him, doing what I need to do, and Ben will do whatever it takes to stay clean and sober and alert and present because he knows that's what he needs to do. Never mind the fact that I've tied an imaginary chain around his neck and am forcing him to be present because I refuse to commit to his absence any more. I refuse to watch him drink and self-destruct and I refuse to give up.
Yes, you heard me right.
And to that end Ben has planned a getaway (when the going gets tough the tough book planes) and as usual I'm not packing, I'm writing. I've got my hearing aids and my string bikini (one will not be worn with the other) and my big holey sweater, jeans and a windbreaker, my SPF25000 sunscreen and new sunglasses and we're taking our magician and going to Massachusetts, where it isn't warm enough for a string bikini, nor is it bright enough yet for that SPF when a 60 will do just fine.
We're going to have a bonfire and talk things out and figure out our future plans and apologize to each others' faces instead of ripping them off and spend a little time, which is easier to do without things like opinionated friends, overbearing millionaires and wi-fi, though there's a bookstore in town that hooks me up for the price of a cup of tea so you might see me yet.
Otherwise you'll have to wait until the weekend and I will catch you up. Cross you fingers for us. As usual we seem to need prayers even though we are heathens and hopeless and bereft.