August got positively..uh..cockblocked by Sam, who decided tea & porching was the theme of the evening and kind of peeled my skin off, leaving the organs of the former Bridget MacIntosh there to try and find some sort of container to maybe put her back together, or at least keep her together in. Eventually they found the skin, now shredded and transparent and all but useless, but good enough, as always, for that's how I roll.
I don't know if Lochlan is all that impressed with Sam today, if only for the condition he left me in, which isn't something you want to do in the name of helping someone, and there may have been a good shoving match in the kitchen while I sat outside eating toast in the clouds. I have the day off, don't fuck it up for me, guys, but then I heard the toaster oven hit the floor. Now we have a dent in the hardwood. Now we need a new toaster. I don't have time to buy one so someone else can do it, or we can go back to toasting things in the oven like we do when we rent a cottage that is supposedly furnished but they don't actually expect people to cook so there's no toaster.
Right.
That's dumb, isn't it? Who doesn't like toast?
Comfort food. Like comfort boys only I didn't get any August and I'm pretty sure Sam planned it that way. They have different methods of caring for the inside of my skull, which has a whole different set of instructions from the rest of me, but Sam decided I was doing GREAT and working was a wonderful way to distract and forget all about Jake. I told him I didn't plan on doing that and maybe Jake would have a word or two for Sam as well, because he's disloyal and damaging to even suggest that to me these days, and Sam implored that he knows better, that he's older and has weathered more of life than Jake ever will and I thought about it for a minute and then I went out to the orchard in the dark (don't worry, the electric fence is on, I'm free to roam) and asked Jake how old he was and he said thirty-six without hesitating and I turned and ran back to the house and I forgot a few things about the trip back and landed on my face a couple of times but I went right past Sam and inside to Lochlan with my usual snot-nosed holy-fuck face that I get when I can't believe everything has been a lie and boy, Lochlan's in a tough place trying to balance my needs with his own pragmatism and Sam's weird loyalty and August's surprise requests and Caleb's endless pressure so that started a fight and you know where that leaves us?
Yeah. A Thursday spent playing eighties ballads and indulging in the world's longest run-on sentences. The words just won't stop. If it gets any worse I'll have to stem the flow by throwing myself into the sea. That dilutes them back down to floating jumbles of letters and then I don't have to sort them out. It's a relief. I need all my energy to hold my skin together here anyway.
I don't know if Lochlan is all that impressed with Sam today, if only for the condition he left me in, which isn't something you want to do in the name of helping someone, and there may have been a good shoving match in the kitchen while I sat outside eating toast in the clouds. I have the day off, don't fuck it up for me, guys, but then I heard the toaster oven hit the floor. Now we have a dent in the hardwood. Now we need a new toaster. I don't have time to buy one so someone else can do it, or we can go back to toasting things in the oven like we do when we rent a cottage that is supposedly furnished but they don't actually expect people to cook so there's no toaster.
Right.
That's dumb, isn't it? Who doesn't like toast?
Comfort food. Like comfort boys only I didn't get any August and I'm pretty sure Sam planned it that way. They have different methods of caring for the inside of my skull, which has a whole different set of instructions from the rest of me, but Sam decided I was doing GREAT and working was a wonderful way to distract and forget all about Jake. I told him I didn't plan on doing that and maybe Jake would have a word or two for Sam as well, because he's disloyal and damaging to even suggest that to me these days, and Sam implored that he knows better, that he's older and has weathered more of life than Jake ever will and I thought about it for a minute and then I went out to the orchard in the dark (don't worry, the electric fence is on, I'm free to roam) and asked Jake how old he was and he said thirty-six without hesitating and I turned and ran back to the house and I forgot a few things about the trip back and landed on my face a couple of times but I went right past Sam and inside to Lochlan with my usual snot-nosed holy-fuck face that I get when I can't believe everything has been a lie and boy, Lochlan's in a tough place trying to balance my needs with his own pragmatism and Sam's weird loyalty and August's surprise requests and Caleb's endless pressure so that started a fight and you know where that leaves us?
Yeah. A Thursday spent playing eighties ballads and indulging in the world's longest run-on sentences. The words just won't stop. If it gets any worse I'll have to stem the flow by throwing myself into the sea. That dilutes them back down to floating jumbles of letters and then I don't have to sort them out. It's a relief. I need all my energy to hold my skin together here anyway.