The only reason I came here is actually to tell you my husband bought me sweatpants and a sweatshirt and they don't even match and I'm so comfy right now it's SICK.

Stay out of the pool and hot tub, the doctor warns me, as if I feel like visiting either. And same when you get home, until at least Halloween, but better if you waited until Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is before Halloween..so which?

Oh, right. Canada. Okay, at least twelve weeks for your ears to heal. Otherwise you could cause further damage.

I just smiled at him, for I didn't know what to say. Damaged doesn't begin to cover me, and twelve weeks puts us firmly into space just on the other side of Jacob's birthday and I don't even want to think of that time of year, when the mornings and afternoons are equally dim while the night is black, just like my heart brain soul.

Sure thing. Lochlan speaks for me, holding out his hand to shake the doctor's. Great. Yeah thanks. Thanks a bunch.

I don't feel better yet but I can breathe today. I can't hear anything at all. We're heading out tomorrow on a flight home (decongestants are ready, but am I?) and I remain terribly disappointed in myself.

Leave it all there. Leave all that behind, Peanut. 

I take a huge hitching breath and nod. Trying. 

That's my girl. 

Only five of us are going home. The rest returned for the end. God bless them for coming out with us and God protect as they go back.

The world's most disorganized parade (I mean us, not Burning Man).

(Here it is, the final time I will talk about this event.)

Greetings from...Lake Tahoe this time.

I wish I could plan a real trip here. It always seems like an afterthought. A safe haven. A woodsy mountain daydream through filtered sunlight and cool early autumn breezes.

I lasted four days at Burning Man.

Four. Geez.

In those four days I've ridden in/on two planes, one helicopter, two jeeps, an SUV limo, one art car, a rickshaw, a motorcycle, three bicycles (one of which I think I stole), my rollerblades (not a great idea) and piggybacking on Ben.

(And a stretcher but shhhhhhh.)

I would like to stop moving but I can't stay here. This is just a well-appointed pit stop on the way home. I mean, until I'm cleared to fly. If that doesn't happen soon we're driving.

I'm okay. Everyone is okay. No one stayed behind at Burning Man or was all that disappointed, frankly. I was not prepared for the conditions (in spite of all of my efforts) and had a four-day nosebleed which has morphed into a double-ear and sinus infection and I'm having some really great frightening shortness of breath moments on top of it all now. It's lovely.

Panic attacks. Caleb corrects me with his theories, of which there are more. He thinks I orchestrated this so I could leave. Yay. Yes, please. If I can spontaneously bleed then I'm the second-fucking-coming and you'd better get on your knees right the fuck now.

(We're not speaking. He is concerned, however.)

The theory that works here is that everyone is beautiful when you're fucked up, but so is everything, and that holds true for life and for Burning Man. If you're straight then not so much, I'm afraid. It was interesting in a people-watching sort of way, which I did a lot of the first couple of days. I then tried to take it easy when the stigmata started and I called Sam with my nose stuffed full of cotton and made some jokes about converting to Catholicism because if I thought I was popular before just wait until they get a load of this and he was also concerned.

It was the most giant make-work project of my life. I'm only glad I didn't deal with the stocking of the RV and cooking like previous years when I didn't even get to go but now that I've seen it with my own eyes I can check it off my list.

And honestly, no, it's absolutely nothing like the circus. Nothing at all. No, the people aren't the same. No, the whole vibe wasn't even good. Just no.

If you love it and it's your reason for living, then it's yours. Take it. Here, I freed up some space. We gave everything away that we brought, including my rollerblades. We got a lot of hugs. A lot of people were genuinely concerned for me.

I didn't see anyone I knew. I didn't see the same person twice. We got invited to a lot of private parties which aren't supposed to be a thing but I tested that theory too and it's all true.

I'll be happy to get home. Take your I-told-you-so's and stuff 'em. My body couldn't handle the conditions, the dust, the dryness or the heat. Everyone is kicking themselves because my track record for split fingers and nosebleeds all winter long when it's dry is near-legendary at this point so they all think they should have somehow been able to connect the dots.

I don't even care at this point. I'm just looking forward to my own bed, and a big joint birthday party at home that was rescheduled and now doesn't have to be.

Hateful eight.

Guess who isn't at Burning Man right now? Right. Apparently there were some logistical issues so the RV is being set up onsite now, finally and we're flying in tonight, so in the meantime I get to lie upside down on a huge bed in a clean 5-star hotel room in Vegas (not even Reno) and indulge in their gold-plated wifi.

I was a little horrified, as I didn't bring clothes for Vegas but Caleb smiled just a little and told me I didn't need any and he's already riling up everyone by taking over everything even though this is Batman's operation.

Right.

They're both here.

We have a block of rooms in the hotel and because they all technically hate each other but we're creatures of habit we figured out how to unlock the doors between the rooms so it's like being at home save for the fact that here a man in a morning coat shows up to pour me champagne four or five times a day, call me Mrs. C____, draw me a bath and turn the bed down, leaving chocolates and flowers on the pillows.

Which Ben eats all of. Yes, the flowers too.

Not sure I really need to go anywhere else but also I feel like I might already be missing things at Burning Man.

To pass the time August has suggested we figure out our playa names. His is...August.

Oh, I get it. Mine is...wait for it. Bridget. 

No, it has to be something anonymous. 

Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly. He'd rather I not bond with August over this. We have enough that we've bonded over and he's trying to make this event all his.

Too long. Hard to say. August rolls his eyes.

You have to choose one too, Diabhal. 

How about asshole? August is poking the bunny now. Jesus, boys. Keep it together. Don't you dare wreck this for me.

I hear that's taken. Caleb winks at me. I need to borrow you. 

More champagne?

No, some clothes. 

He's had a few outfits delivered, shoes included. God. He probably should have been a stylist. Everything's perfect. Nothing is scratchy. Everything's flowery-fall and cute. Except the shoes. He insists on stilettos. I insist I'm not wearing them ever again so I opt for barefoot shenanigans and he relents finally and my boots (still clean so far to my dismay) make the outfits more Tank Girl, less Pretty Woman.

Fine by me.

We're going to go for a very early dinner and then the plane is leaving. If I post again this week please kill me. He says we'll have wifi but I don't think I want it. He says he'll make sure I want for nothing but I don't want that either.

Burner chicks and disco sticks.

Rainier Fog has indeed turned out to be a masterpiece of an album and I promptly tossed all my other music out the window of my suitcase because I think I'll just listen to this for the next ten days or a thousand or however long it takes to learn the words without being able to read the lyrics.

I was told to leave my hearing aids at home, so I'm going to be operating from a place of wind and muted sound. I don't know if I can post from the road but or from Black Rock City for that matter, since I didn't ask if we would have wifi. I know I'll have music because I pack it first but if I can't look up the words and I can't hear them well I'll have to brute-force it. Even if my phone is unable to reach much of anything there's so much more it can do, right? Mostly play music to soothe the feral beast that is my brain, unpacked only far enough to reach ever, and not a moment further.

Does this make sense? It might not, and I refuse to edit, as someone (I don't even know who) dropped a sleeping pill into my head last night and I didn't know until I opened my mouth to say goodnight to Lochlan and couldn't figure out how, sounding drunk but also SO relaxed and then the next thing I knew it was seven this morning and we were up and at 'em because plans. Because BUSY suddenly though I hate to be busy and would rather be slow. Someone helped me out by splitting the difference so currently I am busy but also slow and a little glad I don't have to drive.

I wouldn't have let you, Lochlan says.

Did you drug me?

Actually, no. So don't thank me. And he laughs because he authorized it so what's the difference?

We're packed and about to get on a plane and it will be the second longest I've ever been away from my children but also it's open-ended so if I hate Burning Man I don't have to stick it out but something tells me they're going to have to drag me home. I don't know. Wish me luck. I'm so excited. If you don't hear from me until September 4th, it's because we didn't have wifi and if it turns out we do, well, you may not hear from me until then anyway.

See you on the other side!

On what would have been Layne Staley's birthday, no less.

So worn out. According the air quality index I've been smoking on average nine cigarettes a day so I sound like Tom Waits right now. The smoke is clearing finally and it might be safe to breathe by tomorrow. I'm done like dinner.

But!

We went to see Alice In Chains last night! What a show. What amazing sound and what a gracious, humble bunch, as we were the warm-up inaugural show of the second leg of their tour for Rainier Fog, the new album that comes! out! tonight!

I seem to be the outlier in that I love the new stuff (post-Layne) more than the old stuff, which the boys tell me is sacrilegious. They don't play ballads live (this was the second time we've seen them, first time being with Deftones and Mastodon), though every song is a slow drudge-chug into the oblivion of our brains, so I don't mind THAT much though they played Heaven Beside You on the first leg of the tour, but of course, not last night.

It was really really good though. The best songs to me were the live debuts of both So Far Under (dear God, it was incredible) and Never Fade.

The opener, The Starbenders, were a strange choice but a weirdly good band. I could picture them playing a coffee house on a cold winter day somehow. They were quirky but totally fierce and their drummer was unbelievable. The genres of the night didn't match, however so that made it weirder still but the set was short and sweet so we didn't have to wait long.

Next up, Foo Fighters!

If I come back alive, that is.

You're just salty because I'm about to go 10 days without posting.

I wasn't going to bore you all with Burning Man posts but the questions/comments keep coming and I'd like to address them. Mostly because I don't take criticism all that well and also because the more the merrier, so if something clears up your curiosity and it means you go next year then..awesome?

1. The "1%" comments, due to an RV that sleeps 8 (I know, I didn't believe it either until I watched a video walk through where someone who was 6'3" laid down in every bunk. It has to be big enough for Ben and then it will be big enough for all of us, was my caveat) and the fact that we're not so much self-reliant as we are glamping. Let me just..well, I've been wanting to go for over twenty years. I finally have my chance. I don't care how I go, frankly and this is the group that's taking me. They've done tarps, tents and sexual favours for sleeping accommodations at Burning Man to the point that if they were to go back, it must now be effortless and so here we are. I can't blame them. I've heard the stories, I've seen the condition they return in so honestly if we do Burning Man as 1%'ers then we're still there so haters please, go on and hate from your armchairs. I'm just excited as fuck!

2. The orgy dome/camp/tents. Will I? Won't I? I don't know. Probably not as I am close to mythic status in my dislike of being touched by someone outside the collective but I will also watch anything and I'm also known for being impulsive and unabashed and sexually free so I'll tell those stories upon return. I also am an unchecked, unrepentant sex addict. Did I mention the RV sleeps 8? Yes, I did. Will there be 7 boys with me? Of course!

2(b). Will I bring home additions to the collective? Not with Caleb going. He wouldn't allow it. And I have no interest, barely keeping up with my boys as it is. Unless someone really, really deeply clicks with us because we've said no before only to cave in and have rarely been wrong but as it stands now no. The Collective is complete the way it is, and as I said they have code words to swoop in if I meet any kindred spirits. I can't see doing it on that level. Lochlan is pretty much the sun in my universe. And he's freaky but he's also a lot more possessive than he even was a couple years ago.

3. Nudity and children. I don't undress in front of my kids, except that they've seen me in a swimsuit. We don't expose them to things that will mean years of therapy, they're actually raised somewhat strictly, with religion and values and integrity because it's important to me to do so. They aren't exposed to any of this. They know mom has a couple boyfriends and that we're poly and they support it and they don't get any outside flack for it. They haven't seen and most-likely won't see my outfits. I also wouldn't take them to something like this, honestly. Even at their ages (currently 18 and 17). I don't believe they would enjoy it and they have zero interest in attending at this time. You know me, I don't like to talk about my children because this journal is not about them. Their privacy is paramount.

4. How we got tickets. I have no idea. Ask August. He gets them. He knows everyone. He goes every year and then comes home and swears he'll never go again. Then he goes again. He's hilarious. He is the logistics guy this time.

5. What I plan to accomplish by attending: gold star for this question. It's objective and thoughtful, thank you. Sadly I can't return the favour. I'm going to satisfy my curiosity. That's it. Sorry. No grand plans to schmooze with other one-percenters or piss off my lovers with new lovers or learn to be self-sufficient or anything. I've already learned at too young of an age that I can charm just about anyone out of anything so who needs to be self-sufficient. I'm still at an age where I can pull it off, and I don't want to restock my boy supply or anything. I just want to see the freaks, be the freaks, see the fire, make the fire, dance my face off and hopefully not die inhaling playa dust or starve or freeze to death.

That's the plan. Again, sorry. It isn't lofty. It's just an environment I'm comfortable in so I need to go live it for a few days when I can, if I can. And finally I can. You can take the girl out of the circus but you can't take the circus out of the girl.

I promise I won't say another word about it until I'm home and when I do I'll keep it to one entry.

Give me an audience, I'll give you a show.

Caleb showed me pictures of the RV on his phone. We meet up with it on Saturday just outside of Reno, transfer our luggage and drive to Black Rock City. The food and drinks will be loaded before we arrive. I already signed off on the list and he had it stocked.

So today he asked me to model my outfits for him and I refused. It's a surprise, I grin. A big, nervous goofy grin because I'm the outlier here. I've never been to Burning Man, I've never travelled with this group to something like this event and it's intimidating but at the same time I grew up in the circus so this seems like just the place for me. Maybe just with more performers.

They have bets placed on how badly I'll hate it. They have bets placed on when I will ask to leave and bets placed on how quickly I will make friends.

They have rules, plans and code words for that moment. None of which they have shared with me but I'm sure of it because that's what they do.

I modeled my outfits for August instead. He's the seasoned burner, he knows what works and what won't. He knows what will be incredible and what's going to hurt. He knows me well enough to know what I can actually manage and what's a dream.

Oh my God, he laughed when I came out in the first outfit. That's perfect. Let me look. He twirls me around, my hand high up to reach his. Tiny Dancer, indeed. He nods. You've done your research. 

(Every single outfit features tall platform sealed boots and thigh-high socks. And a filter mask. But they're decorated to match. Every outfit also features LED lights and pompoms because I plan to go big, then go home and burn everything anyway.)

So, they're good? 

They're great. I think we need to up ours now. 

Add pom-poms! 

Okay, he laughs. Then he stops. Caleb see these? 

No, I told him he has to wait. 

He's going to die when he sees you. 

This was his idea. 

I recall you gave him an ultimatum. 

Okay, it was my idea. 

Right. See? 

We go over our packing lists. August forgot his beloved tea and I have to add more baby wipes, because he said I'll go through thousands of them.

Do you think I'll make it to the end?

I hope you do. It's the best part.

That's my plan. 

If you don't, it's okay too. 

I'm pretty sure this is a once in a lifetime thing, so I'd like to finish it proper. 

I'll do everything I can to see that you do that, Bridge. You've worked hard to get ready and I know how badly you want this. Knowing what I know of your early adult years I imagine you'll fit in so well. 

Hope you're right. 

I don't think I could be wrong about this. You're exactly the type of person who makes Burning Man what it is. 

I don't have the self-reliance part down, at all. We're going in the nicest RV I've ever seen. 

You've got the nudity down though. 

Well, yeah. You should always overcompensate any way you can, right? 

Should have nicknamed him Nitzotzot.

I knew he had it.

Lochlan came in, looking disheveled, bloodied knuckles, rip on his shirt, grass stains on his clothes and more grass in his hair, sparks flying from his eyes and his fingertips too as he struggled to extinguish his ire while it continued to flare around him, barely checked.

Sam's right. 

It's not his call to make. 

Right. It's MINE, Bridgie. MINE. If you're scared you come to me. ME. Not him. Not Sam. ME. 

Is...Caleb...alright?

Of course he is. But I asked him nicely to let go of it and he didn't. So I made him. He throws me my soul, underhand, just as gently as the way I gave it away and I fumble, grazing it with my thumb. It falls to the floor and rolls under the dishwasher door, opened to load. Breakfast was an hour ago. No one cleaned up their dishes. Maybe they couldn't see them for the smoke, I don't know but I tidied up the kitchen on my own.

He slams the door and picks it up again and pushes it right through me where it comes up against scar tissue and character and holds fast.

Leave it. Or I'll eat it. 

The visual on that is incredibly tempting. 

Bridget, you can't drag Sam down with you. 

Who's dragging who? It's a challenge. After all, I wasn't the one who pinned Sam up against his desk yesterday, hiking up his dress, was I?

He stares at me. Here comes the grimness, only his is trimmed in sparks. They're like fairy lights, a halo around him that elevates him high above everyone else here. He makes me crazy. He makes me want to run away for the intensity. For if I give in, he'll probably die. He catches my unspoken thought in a flame, as if by, no, definitely by magic.

But you did, and I didn't. 

You only think I did. 

Prove it. Prove you haven't. 

I did that yesterday. 

And? Did it work?

Of course not.
 

Angels and demons.

[Redacted over half the post for reasons. Sometimes I forget I'm under guardianship and just try to be a normal poly human. Sometimes I blow the lid off and everyone goes off like fireworks. My apologies. You didn't miss anything, I promise. Sam brought me to work, I fucked it up for him. It's fixed. It's explained, I mean and let's just leave it at that.]

Sam swooped in like an angel on earth the moment he realized my soul was missing.

It isn't missing. I know exactly where it is. 

Yeah, so do I. He gets that grim set to his mouth that they all get when they're disappointed but trying to cover it up. Why, Bridget. It's not a question. It's resignation.

A show of good faith. 

A show of good-what the fuck. That isn't what it means! 

Sure it does. 

You've made a mistake. 

I can get it back whenever I want. 

Last time it took the entire army, both living and dead to get it-

That was from Cole. 

Same blood, Bridget. 

But it's different. I know it is. This time it's not a theft, it's a loan.

ARGH.

OhmyGod, raggggggggggggggge.

I just found out about Rock Ambleside twenty minutes ago. Nothing important, just a three day Classic Rock music festival. You know, down the street, going on right now. Rik Emmett. Nazareth. Little River Band. Aye, fuck my life.

(Who was in charge of this thing? I follow Rik Emmett on every social media thing there is (well, PJ does on my behalf), and I follow every ticket website, every venue, everything music related here. Everything. I get twenty emails a day about upcoming shows/bands/festivals. We listen to 99.3. The classic rock station. And not one of us heard A THING.

Also, no I'm not buying tickets for next year until I hear what the lineup is. Who does that?)

FIX YOUR SHIT, AMBLESIDE.

Collateral ("Hell is empty and all the devils are here." -William Shakespeare).

But here you are to set a brand new path
To show me all that love means
When I hold you, I need you
I said forever, I mean forever

The sky continues to be uncooperative and I remain thoroughly thankful that the only thing I have to complain about with regards to a province struggling with hundreds of forest fires is a darkened, particulate-laden sky and less than ideal air quality, though we continue to soak the exterior grounds in the off chance that our fortunes changes. I wouldn't want to see the homes of my beloved Collective go up in flames, nor would I wish to start again, especially after all of the beautiful changes we've just made.

We also checked with our insurers and our lawyers too and if everything burns to the ground we'll be okay. Caleb admonished me repeatedly for 'wasting' busy people's time with my demands for reassurance until I whirled around and roared at him that I pay their salaries.

He roared back that I needed to check myself, since HE pays their salaries. And as a further reminder, we're fine. In the event that we start over we can rebuild bigger and better no matter what the cost.

Who pays? I asked him quietly.

You or I can, ten times over, Neamhchiontach. 

I don't believe you. (We're fighting over assessed value here, now, to be clear. Not original purchase price.) I breathe the challenge. Then I start coughing and his whole face changes from posture to concern.

Come here. He pulls out his phone, holds his thumb against an app and then points at the screen. This is me. He scrolls down down down. This is you. He points again.

Oh, wow. It keeps growing. (I haven't checked any of it all summer, to be honest.)

And that's without risk. Imagine-

I'm good. It's just doing well. 

Indeed. So stop worrying. 

Hard not to. Something always threatens to end this utopia and it would be ironic if it were a natural disaster. 

Nothing's going to end this. 

Promise. I hold out my little finger. I want proof.

God, Bridget. I'm not going to give you Lochlan's stupid guarantees. You know these odds. You know how far we'll go for this. For you. I don't know of anyone who worries constantly that her world is going to fall apart with such a cohesive team in place to make sure that it doesn't. 

Because my world's already fallen apart three times, Diabhal, and I can't sit idly by and assume that it won't again. 

The difference is, this time, Neamhchiontach, I'm taking care of you. And I won't let anything bad happen to you or anyone else here. We're staying together. All of us. 

Then he broke his own rule and held out his pinkie for me to hook mine around, a promise made to a small child. One you shouldn't ever break. Then he let go and turned to leave but before he made it to the door, I said his name softly. When he turned around, I tossed him my soul, underhand. Gently. He caught it just as gently, turning it over. Admiring it like one admires a precious jewel. If he keeps this promise he can have it.

Bother.

We went to see Christopher Robin. I might have cried harder during the Dumbo trailer than during the Pooh movie, thank heavens but thanks to a decided lack of lingering Poohisms (the sweet endlessly long quotes I've shared here so often. They used mostly the same three multiple times.) I didn't hurt too badly. Oh my God, Eeyore was so fucking funny. Pooh was a little weird, but isn't he always? Kanga and Roo and Owl were exactly as they should have been and Piglet, well...that was me in a nutshell.

Through and through, Pigalet. I heard it though Lochlan swears he said Peanut.

Red hot Canadian summer.

Watching Lochlan swim this morning as we have been quarantined to the house from lunchtime on and it's like watching someone extinguish a spark underwater only to see it spring back to life upon surfacing. He goes in golden-orange and comes out rustened, darker only to fade back to golden once he's dry. He's got a crazy tan this summer so far, just from using the pool and looks like a maniac. A really adorable maniac, though.

Our East Coast lobster day is being postponed and the quarantine is because the air quality here is less than garbage. I've already lost my voice. I sound like Tinkerbell after a few bottles of whiskey and so the boys pulled the plug on being outside. PJ quoted the newspaper as saying being outside was the equivalent of smoking three cigarettes a day under the current air quality measures and I am fine to head indoors, frankly.

The fans are gently spinning and the house is cool. Thankfully the smog has beat back the heat index just a little. We're plotting to make tortellini from scratch, bolognese from scratch and garlic bread from scratch for dinner and then we'll watch a movie or finish a series and I'll sleep through the shows and then be wide awake all night after.

Gild that lily.

Today was SUCH a Vancouver day. We waited in a line to buy Uncle Tetsu cheesecakes. We went to Uniqlo and stocked up on not-even-winter jackets that weigh NOTHING. And then we toured all of IKEA. I got a new catalogue and a sudden hate-on for every stick of furniture in our house that isn't IKEA, and then we sat in shitty traffic the whole way home because in Vancouver rush hour starts at nine in the morning or something and doesn't seem to stop until ten at night, and we followed a bright red forest-fire sunset all evening long and admired it even as they declare a state of emergency here because that's what Vancouverites do.

Or something something mountains and craft beer.

*Roll eyes*

The verdict? The cheesecakes are better ice-cold but still not as good as mine. Thankfully when we arrived the lineup was only 5 people. When we last looked it was over thirty or so deep. I don't get it. Hype? Something. Fast food cheesecakes? I can't make one for thirteen bucks so maybe that's the thrill.

Uniqlo is my new favourite place though. It seems their prices are cheaper than when they first popped up around the Lower Mainland. The coats weigh NOTHING. Seriously. All clothing should be this light but as a Canadian child who grew up on the East Coast where a good winter outerwear set weighed twenty pounds or more, this is incredible. Granted it doesn't get 'cold' here so we will see. But I'm going back there with bags of cash.

IKEA just..I don't know. I love it there but I hate putting furniture together and someone always suggests that I 'help'. And if I try to go it alone my brain explodes from determination and effort so it's better I just make phone calls and furniture...arrives and is placed just so. Without me having to do it.

God. This place is starting to get to me. Or turn me into a West Coast version of the Bridget everyone knows and loves and she's just horrible and picky as fuck.

Tomorrow I would like an East Coast Day! A Halifax day. We need lobster and darker sand for that though. Colder seawater. Blueberry buckle (because nobody eats cheesecake back home).

And friendlier strangers.

Caleb made good on his word, and when I woke up this morning the deep freezer in the garage (I caved, ok? I hate deep freezers but this works really well) was full of ice cream, there was a huge box of cones in the pantry and on the couch in my room was a dress box.

Inside it was Valentino number three, or rather My First Casual Valentino, which isn't casual at all, but it's a far cry from my original green velvet or from the red floor-length number that I wear at Christmas. This one is bright grass-green with stripes and tiger faces all over it which sounds just fucking weird but it looks amazing and it's exactly something I would wear. He had it altered somehow overnight because it was three sizes too big by the tag and it fits like a dream.

Lochlan might have tried it on as well, alas it was a little tight for him but the colors worked well and he said I could keep it.

He also said the ice cream is his, though and I would have to ask for some.

What if I beg instead? 

The thought of knowing that you're begging me for access to something Diabhal bought for you is too much to pass up, Peanut. 

I love this dress. 

What does it mean though? 

I relayed to him the whole stupid ice cream thing and he laughed and agreed that it's a perfectly normal Caleb-response.

I win this Tuesday. For once everyone is amicable. For once, everyone is generous. For once, there is enough ice cream for everyone. For a month. Maybe more.

For once, I can wear a Valentino dress to the grocery store and not look out of place at all.

They only have one or two scoops, and I can't pick just one.

He made sure to spoil me, made sure to covering all of my usual nit-pickings, made sure to clear it with the other alphas and then there we were, on the way up Highway 99 in search of overpriced ice cream.

Whistler is packed this time of year but it's a lovely drive all the same. He lets shotgun pick the music and he never complains much anymore as I cycle through my favorite songs of this summer.

He smiles, sunglasses in place, hair in place and enjoys my company, buying me a double-scoop, chocolate and coffee in a sugar cone, and we stroll around enjoying the village, enjoying the ice cream. He got butter pecan, also a sugar cone. We enjoy each other, but just a little, as absence makes the heart grow fonder or in Caleb's case, more desperate and he delights in telling me of his most recent cardiology workup, everything coming back perfect, or better than expected. He works hard at fixing his heart, as if he can, by remaining strong and exercising, eating right and living by the book. He is stronger than anyone I know and I am thrilled with his good news, and the fact that I get to hear it first. My joyfulness at his good news is contagious and he laughs, almost shy suddenly as he finishes his ice cream and takes my hand.

Or rather, a hand full of ice-cream-sticky napkins that I am using to negotiate my way, as the other hand is holding the cone itself, ice cream melting almost faster than I can finish it. There's a few drops on my shoes. Some on my dress. There is a smear of ice cream on my nose and yet, I'm loving every single lick of it. It's just maybe too big and my track record for being able to finish one is almost as amazing as my ability to finish a can of pop: nonexistent.

He swears and leans in to take a big bite, stealing my treat and earning a huge brain freeze at the same time. I turn away, spraying him with melted ice cream in the process.

Bridget! He cries out. Jesus! You've weaponized ice cream! 

Sorry! sorry! My bad. I turn back, spraying some random couple walking up the opposite side of the road and they laugh (thank God) and Caleb wades back in, taking the ice cream from my hand, tossing it into a nearby garbage can and taking my sticky hand. We find the washrooms under the shops and both head to our separate ones to wash up. I think my outfit is beyond help and settle for washing my hands and wiping the visible ice cream off my face (and ear) and when I come out he offers to take me shopping tomorrow to replace my clothing.

My washing machine will work just fine. 

True but it would be fun to spend another day. 

Well, you do owe me. 

How is that again? He is bemused, curious.

You threw out my ice cream and it wasn't even finished. 

Next one will be a kids' cone. 

Thought I had graduated to man-sized ice cream. 

Yeah, I thought you had too. Guess we were both wrong.

Tiniest of snapshots for a rainy Sunday.

Tahlequah (J35) finally let go of her calf. It's been heartbreaking distraction to watch her progress for three weeks straight but now she's chasing fish with her pod and is healthy and vigorous. Scarlet (J50) received her antibitoics a couple of days ago and is being watched closely. She has a depression in her head and has lost weight, they say.

I know how she feels.

The orcas are a wonderful miracle of an animal and the rain has reset the point at last. I'm wearing a sweater today with leggings and a t-shirt but I'm not hot at all. I know that will change again but for today I'm thrilled to step out on the patio and find everything soaked through. It means no sprinklers. It means no threat of fire jumping the highway and racing through my neighborhood to my house. It means clearer air, as the past couple of days it's been hard to breathe and I've stuck so close to home.

So it means I can visit my beach today. And pick beans. And help move the woodpile. And make a huge pot of rice for pork-fried rice tonight. And not go to church because I'm too tired for sitting up on a hard wooden surface, too tired to sit in an upholstered vehicle, too unwilling to do anything I don't want to do and this morning I'm taking my coffee out onto the front porch to listen to the rain and finish this goddamned book already and that's more than enough excitement for me.

Lochlan is sleeping in. He made me promise to wake up (I'm a human alarm clock but I always blame the dog) but I refuse to comply because he needs rest too. He'll thank me later.

Ben has him in a spoon so I suspect they'll sleep for days. Ben is the comfiest of large spoons that ever lived.

It's RAINING!

He's got his arms around me. I can't sleep. I keep getting up to look out the windows, somehow expecting the fire to be at our doorstep. Our woods are so dry. So, so dry and we soaked the front of the house, driveway, everything but we can't soak the woods.

Lochlan isn't worried. Fire is no stranger, Bridget. If it comes to us I can control it. 

Not this one. It's wild. It doesn't know you. 

We won't let it burn this down. I promise. Everyone's doing everything they can. It's not getting bigger. It would have to burn through everyone else to get to us and no one will let that happen. 

You promise? 

I said I did. You need to sleep, Peanut. And I did. The sleep of a ten-year-old believing lies as reassurance, the sleep of someone who doesn't know any better. We resort to easy roles when things are tough, but he's right. The fire isn't getting bigger. It's somewhat contained. Enough, anyway. And it would be catastrophic if it burned through the whole neighborhood and we're at the very bitter end, before the sea. No one's going to let that happen.

I woke up this morning and looked out across the smoky skies. I read the updates. I fretted a little and then Lochlan got up and reminded me of my work in not thinking about it. I said I would try but I also am praying for rain. I'm praying for silence from the constant drone of the helicopters and I'm praying for the safety of those involved in fighting fire, because fire is a formidable opponent. I used to relish it, but that was a long time ago. Things have changed.

#HorseshoeBay

Watching the smoke rise from an uncontained forest fire that started last night. It's burning through the trees. They've closed part of the highway just north of us. Supposedly it's human-caused by campers who don't seem to understand their actions have consequences. Nice. Now I'm stressed out and wondering how big it's going to get.

Magic hour.

My hair ruffles in the wind, soft curls sticking up away from my brow as I finish picking strawberries and pick up the bowl, turning to go back to the house.

PJ walks outside to the top of the patio, looks around, sees me and heads back in. A body check, just making sure I'm where I'm supposed to be as I have a tiny circle of independence only because it's a good time (right now) and I can be left.

(For five whole minutes at a time, if you have your stopwatch handy.)

This isn't about Duncan. He didn't take the bait. He's too cool for that. He looked me up and down and then kindly rejected me back to my handlers with an ease that still somehow left me feeling flattered and not outright denied. I don't know how he does it.

Because I'm not happy unless they're in love with me. To a fault. To a debilitating degree far beyond what could be considered healthy, let alone normal. That I've gotten greedy. That my attention is the fuel that fires this space and time, keeping it on idle, filling up the room with fumes that eventually will kill us, choking off the oxygen, dropping us where we stand.

It's an accusation as old as time at this point and yet every confirmation serves to make him a little more bitter, a little less nice. Lochlan will forever be a jealous teenager and I'll forever do so little to quiet his fears as we decided long ago we were going to love each other until death and probably drive each other there as quickly as we could.

That's almost a painful realization these days, on the other side of several decades together, knowing what we know now.

The wind dies down halfway back to the house and PJ comes out again, his concerned look shifting into the easy lie of surprise, covering his obvious path.

Oh, hey. I was looking for you. Want to help with dinner? 

I nod. I let him have it. I saw him. He saw me see him. Whatever. If I think coming clean is going to save us or even help us at all then I'm as delusional as they are in thinking I'm worth wasting a minute on in this lifetime.

They're not here for me, they're here for each other. It's a thought that warms me and at the same time leaves me in the past, running to catch up, desperate to be a part of their circle. It's something I can't seem to break into, no matter how hard I try. I should know, I've been trying since I was eight years old.

Logic is no match for magic and that's why we're in this mess, truth be told.

Too hot. In the pool all day. Japanese for lunch. Traffic-snarl roads drove us back early, back into the pool. So tired. So warm. I wanted to go down and talk to Duncan about a few things but he won't answer me. I haven't seen him since yesterday and he said nothing. I haven't talked to him. I need to see him so I left a couple of messages but he hasn't read them. I feel a little like a one-night-stand who was promised a second date and has arrived at the front door only to be met with silence or an empty room.

Duncan remains untouchable, too cool for me. Too awesome to reply, I guess, as my messages remain unread into the late afternoon and finally I go and knock on his door.

Took you long enough, Poem. You didn't think I was going to do this over text messages, did you?

Do what?

Let you down easy. 

Is that what you're doing? 

I think I should.

Why?

It's complicated. He laughs. I don't. I'm panicking so hard whooshing sounds of my blood pressure-heartbeat obscure his words. He takes my hands. You make it hard to keep my focus and I have to put Lochlan and the good of the Collective first. 

God. If one more man throws me over for Lochlan I'm going to get my own sex change-

I answer to him, not to you. Don't worry. I don't find him attractive. Well, I mean I do but I don't go that way. 

But you still put him first?

No, by aligning my loyalties with him, I put you first. That's all any of us want, Bridget. That this is a safe place for you. 

So we can't have any more fun?

We can. It's fine if it's only every few months or so. 

Honestly, that's what you prefer?

Of course not. I'm human. But it's for the greater good. 

My own good, you mean.

Yes. 

Great. You're all so earnest and sweet. It makes me sick-

Don't do that. Don't be angry-

Why not?

Because look at it from my point of view. 

I don't see any problems with it, Duncan.

Sure you do, you're just being stubborn. Stop it before I take you and teach you a lesson. 

Can't. I smile. I have to learn somehow. I shrug.

Jesus Christ. He smiles back and I think Gotcha, Poet. That wasn't hard at all.

On getting caught up in a moment that never ends.

Okay so we're home and we're up.

And dressed, coffeed and awake as ever and I think we've cemented the lineup for Burning Man as there is limited space and specific personality conflicts and this is the perfect, serendipitous group to go so...

I should probably pick other people or there will be nothing left of me.

The only thing left anyway is glitter in my bloodstream as my hands are shaking, my knees tremble when I try to walk quickly and I can't seem to pull my head out of the dream clouds. Suggest free love or love is love and suddenly we're all in, all hands on deck, all aboard the love train and it finally came in to the nearest stop and we had to get off or I might have been finished forever.

But in a really really good way.

The parade was long. Saw the Prime Minister (again). Saw a lot of men dressed like women, men who used to be women, women who used to be men and all variations of in-between. Saw a lot of love, is what I saw. All flags flying. All people welcome. All in, indeed.

Got overheated and very very tired. One day post antibiotics and maybe not really ready for a party of that magnitude. Not like last year. This year I stayed dressed and stayed with my group and at some point when I got very weak and very sweaty Lochlan pulled the plug and he and Caleb and Duncan and I came back to the house together. It was already dark so I didn't understand the full magnitude of trying to brush off all the glitter before coming home, or the fact that this morning the trail of glitter led from my bed back through the house, down the front walkway, down the steps to the driveway and ends in a large radius around Lochlan's truck. It's rather funny and I would laugh but I'm too tired as somehow we managed to navigate both freaks, the devil and the poet in one bed for one night and wow.

Just WOW.

Four is too many and somehow wasn't enough until the sun came back up and the glitter sparkled in the dawn and I think I reached my absolute limit and may have crawled down the hall to the bathroom pleading to be left alone while laughing because I couldn't believe it.

Still can't. Let's just say everyone was feeling the love and had the reminders not to be at war constantly and that was the best suggestion ever and I can never speak of this night again.

I'm not even going to describe it but let's just say my absolute favorite moment of the entire night was being lifted back into Lochlan's arms from between Caleb and Duncan. I might not forget that feeling any time soon but feeling safe with Caleb is something I always am jarred by because it's so sudden, so extraordinary. And the relief anyway when being returned to Lochlan was like a warm bath to my soul.

When I came down and everyone was in the kitchen/great room hanging out and PJ asked how our night went and where did we go and then burst out laughing and I shot a look at Duncan who shrugged without looking back I realized it wasn't as transparent as I thought but also not as obvious as it could have been as they both left very early, before the house was awake. Now Duncan is showered and in fresh flannel and cargo shorts and Caleb is outside digging out the leaf blower for the glitter and I need to go stop him. It's fine. Leave it.

I love it.

Best Pride weekend ever.

Going to go die of a slow shame now but it was worth it.

(Snort.)

(P.S. the shame is not for reveling in the pride week culminations but in managing to shoehorn both Duncan and Caleb into the same night. Greed is a sin, right? But love isn't so maybe one can cancel out the other and I'm good. Time will tell.)

Jesus rainbows.

Should I live blog? I should live blog but we're actually late, sitting on the bridge trying to cross to the west end to see the Pride Parade, a caravan of trucks and boys in glitter. We have a place reserved that is a great vantage point to watch and dance and have a blast but it's just a matter of getting there before it begins.

More later. Happy Pride!

The scraps you don't burn/Saturday, August 4, 2018.

All my words sucked straight into the void
Same black hole where my heart was destroyed

The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive
The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

Fresh hillside raspberries in a glass of chilled rosé and five men playing water polo, water pouring off their muscular arms, the droplets glinting in the late afternoon sun as they torment one another with gentle insults meant to distract, not crucify.

I'm in heaven.

Absolutely.

Lochlan sleeps easily beside me on the chaise, its sunshade pulled up against that cruel sun, keeping me cool and protected. My book long forgotten in favour of watching the boys play so nicely. Such a rare sight. Such a rare day overall, in which we woke up early, made love easily, hungrily even and then made breakfast, also hungrily, in order to get our errands run and chores done.

So we could do absolutely nothing.  Like right now.

John comes and sits on the edge of the pool. What's for dinner, Bridge?

What are you making?

Let's make tacos. 

Sounds good. We have tortillas and beef. 

Perfect. I'll go pick some tomatoes. He smiles contently. He looks like I feel.

Cool. I settle back against Lochlan, who throws his arm around my neck, waking up slow. I ask him Is this heaven?

The only thing missing is our Ferris wheel. 

Caleb offered to buy us one once. 

We'd never get a permit to build it. 

I like it to be hard to get to. It keeps the magic that way. 

True. It does. I raised you right. 

I think you did. 

You know what we need?

A wakeup like the one we had this morning?

That was stellar. I was thinking an evening like this morning is in order. Maybe some candles, incense, music. Sam can join us, if you're up for it. 

Ben is going to come up early. 

Better still. 

My relief is tempered by Caleb getting out of the pool. I'd watch him any day. Especially soaked. He towels off his face and hands, checks his phone and then comes around to us. Hope you don't mind, dinner is coming and will be here in fifteen if you want to get everyone organized and dressed. 

What is it?

Mexican. 

That's amazing. We were just discussing making tacos. John's gone to pick tomatoes. 

We can have them sliced, along with the dishes I have coming. He grins. It is a perfect day.

Okay. I return the smile. Jesus. Pinch me. There will never be another day like this. Only one thing would make it even more perfect.

The quicksand tugs at my toes and I yank my foot away at the last second. Hey guys? Time to clean up for dinner. We always dress for dinner. It's just a thing.

A chorus of confirmation rises up and Lochlan pulls the shade all the way down so no one can see us before bending over me for a kiss the likes of which I dream about on a daily basis. Time to go, Mrs. MacIntosh. 

This girl is only gonna break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,

No, I wanna fall in love

When pressed to choose, I'll tell you that Keith Wallen's cover is by far the best one. Second runner up would be Lochlan, if you can believe it. I might be biased but he can hit the notes and buckle my knees all in one go. The only caveat is he won't (Absolutely not, Peanut) sing it sober and he's rare to be drunk enough to begin in the first place. Maybe tonight if he is angry enough by the time I get home with Sam he can sing it to me while he takes off all my clothes.

Or maybe he'll let Sam do that. I don't know. They can figure it out when the time comes.

My first order of vacation was to paint my nails with glitter. Then I promptly had to take it all off. It was starting to make my fingertips turn red and swell and it felt so heavy. I threw the bottle out and am giving up.

My second order was a long hot bath, in which I put conditioner in my hair, filled the tub to the top with bubbles and then got in only to realize it was too deep to read so I had to let half the water out. Then I dropped my David Sedaris book into the water. Now it's wavy and thick and won't close all the way. At least it's making me laugh out loud regularly, finally after over three hundred pages.

My third was a lemon poppyseed muffin out on the front porch, with a huge hot cup of coffee. I stole Gage's BB8 mug. It's gotta be ten ounces, minimum. I filled it all the way to the top, as I do at work, and easily carried it outside. Yeah, by myself. Without assistance.

(It's the little things that bring me so much triumph. You would be surprised. One attempt to soothe myself out of three worked perfectly so I'll call it a victory while you call it a mess.)

They tried to keep me from seeing the news, but I found out anyway. Rick Genest took his own life yesterday. He was thirty-three. Like Jacob, he did it just before his birthday, except it was a week instead of a day. Like Jacob he's gone now, never to find a way out of the dark. Never to realize how many people were there for him because he didn't wait to ask for help.

For fucks sake, tell someone. Then maybe you'll stay here.

With me.

I need to do something different today. The sadness is quicksand and I prefer to look out into the world from within it, nonetheless. Today I think I should be without that sadness. Dalton and Duncan are taking me golfing. I don't know what part of golfing is cheerful (or even fun for that matter) but I guess it's better than drowning in this hole.

Oh, Duncan just said it's mini golf. Or in your case, normal size, Poem.

Will you let me win?

Hell, no.

The things that make me different are the things that make me.

Joel just left. He came to see how I was feeling, talk preseason Leafs to me, and gossip about Trevor Linden's exit from the Canucks but on the way out he invited me to go and see Christopher Robin tomorrow night. Sam is already taking me.

I think they paid him to offer because they didn't want to have to do it, honestly and he's willing because he vividly remembers Jacob's Poohisms, his endless reflections from the books that broke my heart, and that was before everything else.

Sam says he's going to wear his Tactical Preacher Pants, stuffed with kleenex, sedatives and a bucket to wring me out in, as I haven't made it through the trailers yet without crying. I laughed because he means his cargo pants. They look especially great with his Argentina flag belt buckle. I can't take him anywhere. They're a faded salmon color. When he wears them PJ calls him Mr. Pink Pockets. 

So in a way, it's the perfect thing to wear to a movie about Winnie-The-Pooh.

Joel nods. Glad he's taking you. The aside to this is he's glad Lochlan isn't taking me. Lochlan doesn't have a lot of patience for anything related from the Hundred Acre Wood. I always found that amazing because Lochlan has infinite patience for glitter, sprinkles, sugar, magic and basically anything related to my childhood, but this is just too "Jacob" for him so he gave it a hard pass. They're going to get shitfaced and play pool at Schuyler's instead. He and PJ are, I mean. The rest will drink tea like civilized adults and they'll all be ready for bed by the time we get home from the theatre, I bet.

The other aside to this is that Joel, Sam and August are the father, son and holy ghost of Jacob's memory, as they were his best friends and there's a clear divide right down the centre of my life in that regard. As much as Sam has made the leap from Jacob's person to my person, Joel and August haven't. But that's not a detriment to their character, it's just a fact. August rarely opens up at all and no one's going to let Joel open up ever. But they somehow wound up keeping care of my brain and the rest can fight over my body, I guess.

A tiny little chit-chat, because I'm on my way out.

Oh well, surprise indeed. This morning they closed the beach at Whytecliff, which is the closest one to my house. Because of E.Coli levels.

I've been jumping off the cliff for days and days and like two weeks straight and then I got this 'flu' with some weird and awful stomach aches and the doctor came and left the biggest antibiotics I've ever seen and great. Just what I need.

Don't swallow water, Bridget. 

Kind of hard if I'm screaming all the way down. Because eight years here and it never gets old and I'm terrified of heights and I'm never ready to jump/be pushed/be thrown off that cliff, no sir.

But it will be a few weeks before we do it again.

Ben and I can be the E.Coli twins. Yay. He's on antibiotics too.

Also, guess what? I'm beginning my first vacation from work in almost twenty years. I don't go back until after (shhhhhhh) Burning Man.

I don't even know what to do first. Probably chores. Yeah. Chores. Fuck.