(My 0 to 60 isn't measured in miles, it's in how quickly I can go from heartwarming to heartbreaking. August told me that once.)
I look like some sort of gentle torture victim today. I have a fine eczema rash almost all over my body at this point and four of ten fingers have cracked from the cold. I'm also covered in feathers, having drew the chore today of changing beds. That's eight king-sized beds, three hours of laundry and a lot of physical labor. You can't bounce pennies off flannel but I don't know a soul who doesn't appreciate climbing into fresh warm bedding at the end of the day. On PJ's day for beds he opens a door, fires a armload of clean sheets toward the bed and the sleeper must do his own hard labour putting it all back together again.
Maybe I do too much? I don't know. It's in my nature to spoil those I love but in the long run it's better to torture them. I should roll them in feathers too. These pillows leak something fierce. I can't find any holes in the outer casings though so maybe it's just a funny and annoying thing that very good pillows do. Ben bought these and then he bought some for everyone else too. I would roll him in feathers but he would just eat them.
Why are they sticking? PJ wants to know. He's been judging me all morning as I struggle from room to room with a big bundle of clean sheets for each bed. He's clucked and tsked and shook his head and he started to roll his eyes until I threatened to pluck them out of his face and replace them with dryer balls.
He found that funny. I guess he didn't think I was serious.
I put moisturizer all over. I guess it didn't finish absorbing yet.
You're tarred and feathered.
Yes thank you. I can see that.
It's a fitting punishment, I think.
I've never done anything wrong in my life. Recently, I mean.
Christ, Bridget. You asked Santa for the Devil. It probably doesn't get more wrong than that.
I'm sure there are things that are worse.
Like what?
Pulling bed-changing duty and not actually doing it. I throw his bundle of sheets at him and let him make his bed by himself. I'm itchy all over. I need to go find a bathtub full of oatmeal and painkillers. Or maybe just tranquilizers because all of these feathers are freaking me out and I keep expecting to turn a corner and find Jacob standing in this house, wings and all.
