I live to disappoint you (Part I).

Last night was a doozy, holy. 

I made my way over to Batman's. August's eyes boring a hole in my back as I went. He offered. I'm sure Batman could see right through me to watch this too, as it was the walk of bears and pre-shame, or so they thought, but I refused to have company on the walk as I was busy gathering courage as I went, like fallen leaves. In reality I regretted this decision from the very first step as the path was exceedingly slippery but I wasn't going to give August nor Batman the amusing schadenfreude of seeing me slip because that's going to be metaphorical only today, thank you very much. 

Only none of them know it and that's the part that I'm irritated about. Like, pay attention here. This isn't hard and while I'm sober I'll shine bright enough to scare off the bears and the wolves alike. 

Bridget, Batman says when I arrive, an affectionate kiss ready to plant against my temple (I wrote temper there first. Lord. The MOOD.) I wasn't sure you'd come. 

Here, I resist my sophomoric urge to laugh. (Because I'm never sure. It's likely but you just never know.) He takes the gifts from me. There is wine with a big bow and fresh flowers. He loves flowers. 

I'm not staying. I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea. 

With that my phone goes off. I look at it. It's Caleb. I need you for one quick moment.

JUST A MINUTE. I reply, smashing buttons. Shouldn't have looked it. But if I don't, it's either Ruth with a question or someone will keep texting til I reply. No one has chill. We are feverish instead. 

I see you've received a better offer. 

No. I brought you a nice wine to drink and some pretty flowers for your table and we both know that right now is not a good time and so we're adults and we're reasonably intelligent and so we can be mature about this. 

If I were the one bringing you flowers when you hoped for more?

I would have more respect for you. Not less. I say it quietly and he softens, relaxing his whole body, slumping against the doorframe. 

Well, there's something that can keep me warm, he says. He sticks his face in the flowers and takes a deep breath. Go find your Devil, Bridget. I'll watch from here. 

I hurry away before he says anything else. Down the treacherous path, into the trees. Home.

OMG this fucking RAIN.

Before the storm.

 Up early again. I like to have a couple of hours to just move slowly and have coffee and toast and frozen summer grapes today for my fruit, and read or watch something or write or draw. My ipad is charging. All of my supplies are out in the stables studio. I'm seriously considering turning the whole thing into a potting shed but it's a huge output and I am not as ambitious as I would like to be, perhaps. I'm going to make some mugs and see if I like where it goes and then decide. Or maybe I won't. I don't know. 

I just know unless I am heavily drugged I don't sleep anymore. At all. I hate it. I went to sleep at eleven thirty after Lochlan yelling at me to put my book down (I have a tiny clip-on book light. He hates it. Not much has changed in forty years. I would sleep with the lights on if I could. I would probably just read all night, if I could. To wait out the night.

At two-thirty I got up to pee. That's normal. 

At five I got up to take aspirins, pee again and take off my earrings. 

At seven I gave up, showered, dressed and came downstairs to make coffee. Ben is deeply asleep and doesn't stir. Lochlan is comatose, helpless and exhausted and mutters something about not going outside. 

PJ lurks the halls. Pretty sure Loch texted him in a haze of sleep and effort. I'm not going outside. It's raining again.

Yay but also booo but also yay.

Every final weekend of November starts the same way now. I defied Black Friday (online and in person, mostly) and went to mail the packages heading East and South, and overseas. I like to go before the packages hit the mailstream from people shopping online. My stuff always arrives in lots of time for Christmas this way. 

I was the first in line at the post office (which is at the back of the drugstore) and on the way out I picked up snacks for the upcoming rainy weekend. We gassed up the Jeep (well, thirty litres since we're rationing gas here due to the floods) and that got me a little less than half a tank which is pretty nice. I feel rich.

Home again, listening to music (random Youtube) and drinking hot chocolate so heavily spiked it's almost illegal and I'm singing at the top of my lungs and chugging along in my Christmas machine like a little maniac. I have all of Ruth's gifts wrapped and ready for her home. Everything else (at least forty percent of the wrapping is done) stays here on the point. I have to pull out the ornaments next as we do our trees and figure out which ones belong to her. It's pretty easy-we (...I?) gave the children matching ornaments every year for a long time so if there's two of something, one goes to her. 

It was weird trying to address cards and gift tags and not putting her name as I sign things from the family, proper. Nuclear. Immediate. I don't even know so I didn't. I signed it all from Us. With a heart. Just Us. Everyone knows who is who and who buys the gifts and who wraps them and who makes things and who does the extra touches. 

 It was even weirder slowly stopping to watch the Ghost video from Justin Beiber. I know why they didn't let me see it but well done (even though it's pop superlight and it reminded me of the Charlie Puth song See You Again, oh, wait it's Wiz Khalifa, a LOT), save for the easy-pop top on the urn at the beach. They weld those things shut so you can't just WHOOPS open it up, sprinkle a little beautifully, Diane-Keaton style and then close it up and come home. 

Ask me how I know this. 

Maybe don't. *covers eyes*

Maybe it's different in America. But he's Canadian. I don't even know anymore, but Happy Thanksgiving. My work here is done.

Vampires and empires.

What if God's not real
And everything we are
Is just a moment here
Where we're only growing older
What if God is real
And everything I've done
Pushed me down this path
And it's only growing colder?

Batman is standing in the back hall when I come down this morning. A hulking shadow, an unfamiliar sillhouette in the early morning darkness, an uninvited guest with an open-door invitation clasped in hand, written in my own blood by my own design. 

I've heard enough over the past few days that I thought it was time I paid you a visit. As you haven't been to see me. I thought I would see you after Asher left. And with that his reluctant, almost sour wave of loneliness washes over me and I turn away to go make coffee, throwing an offer of a cup over my shoulder, not watching to see his response and so having no idea if he's going to follow me or not. 

He does follow, so I pull a second mug from the cupboard. He sits at the island, eyes boring holes through my head, like I need more. The opal marbles I collected and stuffed inside spill out, bouncing all over the floor as I turn to chose flavours among the drawer of k-cups, grateful for the mindless domestic distractions, aware that I am now flushed of face and trembling just a little bit as I fit a cup into the holder and pull the handle down. 

He's amused. He's not blind to match my deafness. He's actually hyper aware of my moods and well-versed in my endless, obvious efforts to appear cool even as I lose my shit. 

Bridget, you need to come see me and check in. Or did someone else get my dance card? 

I see not only Lochlan was pissed at the full weekend I spent with Caleb for no reason other than I wanted a yes-man for two fucking days, just for a break from the constant weight to do better, be better, be more, fix everything and somehow hold up the fucking sun and the moon at the same time. 

I was busy. I shrug and hold a mug out to him. Starbies Jesus blend. Perfect for his casual sanctimony, timely in that no one's tried this flavour yet. We stocked up on holiday coffee since it seems to keep us going and so we just bought whatever and it turns out the maple/herbal whateverness is pretty good, though it's not really helping me find the holy spirit of Christmas. And neither is this man. 

Maybe we can watch a Christmas movie together. 

Maybe, I remain doubtful, pressed against the dishwasher, I guess Frigidaire has my back this morning, since none of my army is anywhere to be found. Don't think they don't get bonuses in their accounts to to throw a race or even just steer off to the side for a few minutes, giving him a chance to overtake the leader and try to win. 

He's never won and he's kept my respect all these years with a decided lack of pressure and desperation and so I think when he's ready to go I will turn and add some whiskey to my coffee otherwise I might walk around for the rest of the day with my eyebrows on the roof, getting washed down in this unending deluge of destructive mountain rain and the surprise of these raw emotions. Batman's a washout, he's a natural disaster this morning holding a cup of grocery-store coffee and all of his hopes in the same hand. 

How about Sunday? I say abruptly as he returns the cup to me. He's not a sipper (or a slurper, like me), he drinks coffee like a construction worker with only a two-minute breather and freezing cold hands. 

This Sunday? Are you free? We can do a Hallmark dice roll and make some pizza. 

Yeah. That would be good. Did you decorate?

I had the house decorated, yes. 

Of course. Good. That will help with the spirit. 

Anything else I can do in advance? 

I shake my head, slurping my coffee. Prepare to wage war with my army, the one getting tired of my efforts to destroy myself by become stretched so thin I break and then the veil will be gone and the ghosts of Christmas past will crowd in even closer?

It's not going to happen. Just make sure you're home by midnight, Lochlan thinks inside my head. I turn but he's not there. Maybe it is the self-regulating. Maybe it's wishful-thinking. Maybe it's a hard rule that I'm faster than. We shall see.

You.

PJ brought me up a water bottle with an immunity booster tablet in it and I get to wear my pajamas all day today. I have a dent in the side of my head that is bruised but otherwise I'm fine. A little sore but nothing I can't manage. I have five kinds of coffee and one kind of hot chocolate and I'm making stuffed green peppers with ground beef, tomatoes and rice tonight for dinner because it's finally my turn again, though I bet now they won't even let me help much at all, if I even get to go in the kitchen at all.

In the meantime I'm spending the rest of today wrapping and addressing packages, as our mailings should go out early next week if not the end of this week. It's supposed to rain more. It's supposed to rain a metric ton but I don't think I care too much. 

I just want to sleep. Lochlan woke me up repeatedly last night just to make sure I didn't have any issues and we are hyper-aware of the kind of damage repeated head injuries or knocks can do, and I have had my fair share over the years. 

But I'm fine. I'm just tired now.The young doctor was by today just to be sure. He didn't do any tests Lochlan didn't already do and he thought observation and rest were the best prescription. He also checked George and George is fine too, I'm wearing my brace as long as I'm awake now. Trying to slow down and looking everywhere for the Christmas spirit. I haven't found it yet but I'm sure it's close. 

Thanks for the kind emails. I'm fine.

Glitter scavengers.

We had a bit of a fight last evening and Lochlan didn't come up last night. It might have been about my ear or about a second night with Caleb so he disappeared and Ben took over babysitting duties and I fell asleep curled around Lochlan's pillow, not sleeping at all after an hour or so because the bed was cold and Ben was out-cold and non responsive and I wish I could sleep like he does. I really do. 

I eventually fell asleep after leaving him twenty messages that he read and did not reply to. I don't remember falling asleep, I remember texting at four or maybe it was five in the morning and then when I woke up there was a little wooden box on the bedside table on top of my phone. 

(When I was little Lochlan used to make these all the time for me out of things he would find. Little treasures along the way. He said it was an offering to the magpie in me. The girl who loves soft things and things that shine.)

Inside was a dried tiny rosebud. Some shells. Sea glass. Chips of tiny gemstones. A tiny pinecone and a tiny acorn. A perfectly round white opal marble. A dried starfish baby. A garden quartz point wrapped in a bit of sterling wire. Some bleached bird bones. A pretty pink glass bead and an iron skeleton key. A small bit of green velvet ribbon and a carved wooden heart that he made (he's always making pocket hearts), stained with a turquoise-blue diluted milk paint. Glitter. 

(Always glitter.)

I was so enamored with my tiny fairy treasure haul that I carried it around all morning, marvelling at all of the little things he found and included. I even brought it outside with my coffee to have under the glass pergola in the rain this morning, staring intently at the way the change in light made different pieces glow.

And did not notice the patio heater base sitting directly in front of me and wiped out.

The coffee flew, splatting on the stamped cement floor of the patio, running dry into the design in rivers of wasted caffeine and shattered ceramic. The box flew and smashed against the hard cement too, stones flying everywhere. 

I fell and banged my head really hard. Stars and birds in a rainbow aura flew up immediately and I shook my head, feeling instant throbbing. 

Duncan (great) runs out. Hey! Shit. Sorry. I should have moved that. He is picking me up, pulling me to my feet. I am dizzy and uncentered and really upset about the little box. The coffee mug was bespoke too but I can probably commission a replacement. 

Lochlan comes out, worried and yelling (because that's how you know he's concerned, he becomes almost aggressive, unchecked panic and in charge all at the same time). I am in tears and I tell him the box broke and everything is everywhere. Duncan has the pieces of the cup, and Lochlan tells me just to sit on the floor while he finds the pieces. 

How will you know that you've found everything? 

There were fifty things in the box. It's always fifty. And I can grab another box. I have a crate full of them in the closet in the downstairs hall. I'm just glad you're not hurt. 

I have another concussion. I made sure to fall whole-body and not try to catch myself. I'm so talented it worked and my back and shoulder hurt along with my head. I crashed into the wrong iron bench and table. And the four chairs stacked behind the bench. Ha. Go big or go home, I guess. I should have gone big because I am home.

Lochlan hands me back the two halves of the box, filled with my treasures. George grabs it eagerly. George is so happy I put him first and he laughs with delight that our fairy treasures are intact. I'm just happy he is intact.

Rift.

I didn't want to face the world, the weather, the week or the news and so I stayed where I was, maybe for the first time ever, and for that I was rewarded with a bite mark right through the top of my ear. I don't know if he could help himself, I just know that he did, but I am small and all gristle, no meat, according to Caleb and so eventually I was thrown back and Lochlan was so impressed. SO. Impressed. He decided it didn't need stitches or professional medical care but he cleaned it really well and dipped my whole ear in iodine and then put antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in a big bandaid, folded over and now my balance is off. 

Good, he said. Serves you right.

I didn't bite my own ear, I remind him. 

Oh, I know.

Jesus, George.

I didn't bother recanting my entry from yesterday as this is my diary, not theirs and I won't be doing this one either, because of reasons and instead of editing I ended up saving my night from within the arms of the Devil even as we rolled over into Sunday morning. I saw every hour marked. My anxiety was bad in the night but he kept me pressed hard against him, in his lap, my arms around his neck, knees raw by the bitter end as I need a little leverage as he's...umm..on the big side of life, and no, I'm not going to let loose and let him drive as much as I can hold him back or I'd get my lobotomy all right but they're not supposed to conducted from the neck to the top of the head, like a stick through an apple at the fair. 

Which is truthfully how I feel to him, most times. Like he's Bridget with her violently-executed sweet tooth and I'm that fresh glossy candy apple waiting to be bought for only a dollar (midway staff price) and that's why they were my fruit servings every damn day of the fair. 

Oddly, I don't hate them now. Bring me one and I will drop everything, devouring it on the spot. Sort of like Caleb did to me, but luckily I only have one barest imprint of his unique bite, and he had enough mind to not fuck up his own Christmas plans by sampling the princess, especially when the desperation and insanity makes her extra-sweet, no sir. 

I think he may have moved George though. George doesn't feel so hot right now.

He's still there breathing down your neck, except he has to do it through his nose, because I took his mouth away.

Jacob's standing on the patio, right at the edge by the waist-high wall that now keeps the bottom garden delineated from the patio itself. It used to just end and become grass but Emmett and Ransom helped transform it into some sort of palace gardens and now you have practically walk a labyrinth to get anywhere. 

Or parkour. 

(There's a vision.)

We unintentionally chose matching coffee cups AND black clouds this morning as I woke up with a rager of a headache, crawling down the centre of the bed in order to let Lochlan and Ben sleep in. I need coffee, an aspirin and a super-hot shower. I need a lobotomy. I need to have not woken up today considering how yeah, we're in the fifteenth year of this and I think I have it under control but then I see you and I don't. 

I don't. 

I thought I did but I don't and you don't deserve this. No you don't. You don't deserve to take any more of my life when you wouldn't let me keep yours in return. 

You're selfish, Jake. 

He turns to gaze at me, amused smile behind his cup as he takes a sip. Am I now?

Yes. You won't go and let me get on with my life. 

There's room for me. Just like there's room for Ben. And Caleb. And August. I'll keep going, Pigalet, if you want. 

 I didn't know ghosts could be jealous. 

Then you missed the last dozen-something years of Cole screeching in my ear. Sitting on my back. Making me carry him everywhere in spite. 

Where is he now? 

I have no idea where you hide him, Princess, but I hope I don't end up there too.

(Like pieces into place).

Please when it comes time for someone to steal my life story make their movie (MY movie) make sure you get Taylor Swift to direct. Because Jesus. 

She just destroyed Lochlan in ten minutes flat, though it started after about three minutes in and the glassy-eyed stare, stubborn jaw set and vocalized irritation at being forced to watch Taylor Swift videos at six in the morning because apparently the one we watched the other day, with the fun wedding and Miles Teller (I bet you think about me) wasn't the right one. 

This one is called All Too Well.

By ten minutes in the glass had broken and the tears were starting a slow path and by twelve minutes Lochlan was RUINED. 

And he is the hard ass, usually. It's tough to get him to cry. The bar is high for music (unless it's particularly nostalgic. Anything newer doesn't rock him) and stupidly high for videos but there he goes and he's still shaken and it's been an hour now. I don't know. It's still dark. I have an ulcer I think that might be new and the coffee went bitter from the sombre mood here now as we wait for some life and some light and someone to realize that could have been us but maybe those stars that we watch finally aligned just a little bit and I'm almost regretful that we are older and worn-smooth, eroded in that sort of twenties-passion that looks so beautiful on celluloid and hurts so bad in reality but at the same time I love to watch a story be told and that's the best part here. 

I know, he says. Maybe you should direct your own film.

Some many folks asking: My favourite tiktokkers (? is that the word) are MaiaKnight, Jrizsea, chantyb97, and Yurilamasbella. Oh and Stalgia! And no you can't have my username. Ha.

Oh God, I'm ordering champagne and some assorted necessary supplies for a party here, just before Christmas and maybe all through and after it too, possibly spilling into 2022 because we deserve a clean slate with nothing already written on it, crossed out, hastily erased and covered with scratch marks. 

Glossy, shiny and new. 

We are throwing a joint party this year for Ben's birthday and Andrew and Christian's anniversary. Ben will be fifty-three, Andy and Chris? Married three years. Makes it easy to keep track, if you ask me and no, none of them are having champagne. That's for me because I find it physically painful and somewhat exhausting to plan parties. 

It was Ben's idea, Ben who never liked to be written about and no longer wants to be the centre of attention, having turned from a brash ego-driven bull in a china shop into a humble, exceedingly thoughtful young man who can dial in a room with a word, for it will be so softly spoken. Who might never take the stage again but will send you a recording for your song (and thank you for thinking of him). Who wants to celebrate love all the time and puts no hierarchy on us anymore, even as we try and hold it up for ourselves. 

Who went with me all over town today, while I tackled my big list of errands, things I needed to get but never bothered to tackle but yet another state of emergency has weirded me out so I gassed up the jeeps, got the pets caught up on food supplies and stopped to see Ruth. I did some banking and bought my mother's Christmas gift and some art prints from a local artist here in the neighborhood and then we brought home a surprise lunch for everyone. He helped me check the attic and put out the bird feeders (I got sad looking at the birds in everyone else's yard.) and we sorted recycling and then he painted my nails while I showed him tiktoks. 

And he laughed a pure Ben-laugh every time. 

He let me paint his nails to match and we did our household chores together. 

It was a really good day. I think the party will be pretty low key. My only thought is to fill the hot tub with melted brie and get a breadstick as tall as I am and eat my way through the new year. 

Ben thinks this is a fine idea.

TGWLTG, redux. Forever, maybe.

Hey, Bridgie, stay there okay. I'm coming to you. 

He's unnaturally loud and strict suddenly and I turn very slowly. It's dark. I'm wearing my glasses which are actually shit for distance but I persist. But I know by the sound of his voice what's up.

Where is it?

Between us, coming down along the garage. Look at the door. 

I look at the door. It's white and brick and then it's half gone, the light sucked into the velvet darkness of a black bear's fur. 

He's only a baby. Aw. I exclaim out loud. I'll make no effort to blend in and the bear comes toward me for a breath before veering off toward the upper woods of the front yard. Had he made a left at the studio to go through the orchard I might be dinner. Lochlan is circling it on the outside, trying to shush it along but also making sure it moves to the right and goes up away from me. Honestly he missed his calling as he could have wrangled the big animals at the circus. Sadly by the time we got there the big animals were being phased out.

Bye, bear. I say it softly. He made no noise. I would have walked right into him on my way to the back door, following Lochlan back to the light of the house from where we had ventured up into the legacy gardens where the darkness is already thick to see the stars. It's nice not to have to wait until ten at night to see them but seeing a bear instead means Lochlan will leave the floodlights on around the clock now until at least Christmas, when he forgets the thrill of being so close to nature and returns to the thrill of WANTING to be close to nature..

This is exactly what it looks like. PJ cockblocked Duncan and so he got shut down.

I made a move to get up last night from where I was jammed in the corner of the couch between PJ and Lochlan. Duncan wanted to show me something and PJ actually barred me from getting up.

Tomorrow. PJ tells Duncan. It's late. 

Lochlan keeps reading and didn't say a word. 

I see. Duncan's face twists into a sly smile. Got your ride or die back, eh Bridge?

I'm busy staring at PJ, who has somehow claimed the night with confidence and it takes me a minute to reply. No, he's right. I'm on my way to dreamland in a minute anyway, if it's okay if it waits til tomorrow?

Of course. He leans in, is careful not to jostle Loch, elbows PJ hard in the ribs and kisses my cheek. 

Oh, sorry, Padraig. Didn't see you there. So close. PJ laughs and rubs his side.

I talk quickly. Goodnight Dunk. Love you. I'll come down and wake you in the morning. 

Holding you to that. He backs away, pointing to me. Don't be too late. 

It's Wednesday tomorrow. I'm up before the moon disappears. 

Love you too. He winks and is gone and I turn back.

PJ what was that?

I need some space to find my bearings again. 

You don't have to shut Duncan down. 

Maybe I do. 

Not your job. 

Lochlan looks up, sideways at me, then at PJ. Should I get out of the way so you too can fight to the death?

No, you can be the voice of reason though. 

Lochlan sighs. Padraig. Leave her be. She's got her own mind. 

I know. PJ sighs. It's just been a while since things have been normal. 

Both Lochlan and I burst out laughing. Normal? Us? Here? PJ's face falls and I apologize quickly. We're not laughing at you, just the idea that we have any normalcy here at all. 

You know what I mean. 

Yeah. On that note. Goodnight, Padraig. I kiss his cheek and climb out from behind him on the couch. Tomorrow is an early day. 

Lochlan snorts and kisses PJ's cheek too. She's right. And it's normal for you to go to bed alone. He mock-glares at PJ and PJ puts his hands up. 

I tried. 

You gave it your best. 

Jesus, Bridge. Don't agree with me. It makes it worse. 

Jesus H. Rainclouds.

Blue skies finally and the sun goes down in around an hour. During the warmth at the end of the storm we did the Christmas lights around the front of the house (only the eaves and high lines of the houses have the lights left up all year round. Doors and porches and railing no because they get abused and it's better to clean it all up for the spring/summer/fall. Except today it all went back out and Lochlan didn't even seem that nervous to have me up a ladder (albeit a stepladder not the big one) and attaching lights to the porch rafters. 

Until the wind came up stronger than ever and then suddenly he said he had things to do and we could finish it later on, that all we had left was the door and so that's good until the weekend, we got the bulk of the lights done. This was neat because he usually freaks out and tells me to get down, that the wind is too high, that he knows it was a bad idea, that he isn't okay with me being up high or helping him and he shouldn't have listened to me when I talked him into it. The king of doubts, always, second-guessing as an art-form here. 

The rain is coming back so I will put a fresh towel under the leaky studio door (South-facing, all the exposure, should have fixed it but we didn't get to it this year and now we have to wait for it to dry out) and then go get yelled at by Caleb, who is even less impressed than the rest that I am up a ladder doing lights without a brace on my hand or a net, for that matter and yes, it figures. Leave Lochlan in charge and look what happens. 

So now there'll be a fight, but honestly I'm not letting Lochlan take the blame for this. It's mine. He tries his best.

And everything, it changed overnight.

(No church this morning! Sam called it in due to the Pineapple Express. We can't even see through the rain and no one on earth is going outside today so he published some writings yesterday and has gone viral in the church because at least thirty people have viewed them so far. We are very proud and also happy he didn't make us go outside in this freaking deluge to see Jesus, who probably slept in too. Actually I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Matt, naked, asleep, under the rain pouring against those glorious skylights in the boathouse. If you know, you know and you don't leave until you absolutely MUST.)

I am better this morning. I woke up and went downstairs for coffee, Ben's faded Ucluelet sweatshirt down to my knees, covering my hello kitty pajamas because it's cold in the mornings on the skin and I'm not a robe-person, I'm a boyfriend-sweater-stealer. 

PJ has the kitchen the way I like it this morning. My tiny fairy lights are plugged in, my iTunes Christmas playlist is on low, Matthew Thiessen's voice easily lulling through In Like a Lion (Always Winter) and I can shift gears here, finally. Coffee is ready and waiting, all I have to do is press a button, and PJ himself is in and out. His cup and his phone are on the table. A plate is beside the sink and I hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back down the hall a minute later and grins when he sees me. 

The bird's early again. 

Have to give the cats their meds. 

I can do that. 

No one says you have to get up early. 

I'm programmed. It's going to be decades before I can sleep in naturally again. 

I know the feeling. 

Ali & Theo spool up. My alltime favourite (Where are you Christmas?) and then I remember after that is another Relient K that I love, I Celebrate the Day. The boys are pretty cool with morning Christmas music from the middle of November right through until New Years Day and I love them for it. 

We got nachos for nine last night at the new Mexican place down the road (so. good.) and watched a movie on Netflix (Red Notice. A good ride, though Ryan Reynolds plays himself, the Rock plays himself, and honestly Free Guy was too recent for me to be ready for another. I want Ryan to play a psychopath so badly.)

Oh. Another Ali & Theo. Let it Fall. I can't wait to see if they record another Christmas song for this year. I hope so though every year so far is a gift. Theo Tams is a gift. A much unappreciated gift but his tendency in music is not what I would have expected. I wish he would skew Folk, honestly I do. 

Where was I? 

Does it matter? I am still medicated up to my eyebrows so maybe it doesn't. No credibility here. Thank God I have a team since I can't legally sign for anything right now or enter into any contracts. Maybe it's nice. I'm only responsible for seeing that Henry eats some fruit here and there and I book his haircuts at his favourite barber for him. He gives the best hugs and he also doesn't mind the Christmas music. 

Oh. Eisley's Walking in the Air. It's been on this playlist for a whole decade and I still get goosebumps from it, but thankfully today my tattoos are not raised anymore. That's my sign to zone out, relax, calm down and distract. That's my sign that I have pushed too far.

Did I tell you I finally got into my newest Stephen King book? It's called Billy Summers and it's an incredible mashup between the early beautiful pages of Doctor Sleep and...Joyland, of all things for style (curiously both are from 2013) and I freaking love it. I didn't love the series on Bill Hodges, and I was afraid it would be closer to that but it's not, it's legit. 

(Did I ever talk about A Little Life? No, and my apologies because I promised to, but honestly that was roundly squashed early on, as I sped through it (it's a big, painfully difficult read and it's so so beautiful) and the boys watched me while they bit their nails. Caleb threatened actual, permanent violence if I did a deep dive review so I did not so whatever I've said so far will have to stand. He knows I discuss my childhood here, my teenage years, my early-adult years and everything up to Henry's birth and then Caleb's eventual return. He does not want to see a dissected list of his crimes transgressions, as there's no statute and he still has wiggle room for a defence? Explanations? Proof that since he's still here with us so how bad could it have been? 

I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore. It's Christmas.

You know when you wake up and the outlines on all of your tattoos are raised and you can't breathe and you have a headache and your nerves are shot, anxiety is through the roof and you clench your teeth so hard you fear they'll break earlier than later? 

And Lochlan (well, not for you probably) takes your head in both his hands, keeps you tight against him and whispers in your ear to take deep breaths and talks about taking a walk on the fairgrounds late at night as the cleanup is finished but before they turn off the coloured lights in favour of the security flood lights? Once everyone leaves and it's quiet. Once the day is finished and the time is our own again, the long walk back to the lot where our camper is, and we can have a late dinner and a long sleep. 

And I won't wake up feeling like this.

Flight tracker open and watching.

Unpinning poppies as I find them this morning, coats hung on hangers and hooks and draped over benches in various stages of organization. We've been up for hours and hours to see Asher off on his travels. Batman came too and Asher has promised to visit in the late spring. He's taking a vacation before Christmas and then will go back and spend time with his family and has a bit of a breather before he needs to figure out his next step but it will probably be one taken as an executive assistant for some famous, as Batman has reached out to some of his people and good EAs (make that trustworthy EAs) are always sought-after. 

I am fine. It seems like there is a hole here but at the same time I feel like you do when you have a long-term houseguest leave. Like everything can get back to normal now. The boys are watchful for any stress I might exhibit once his absence truly sinks in as to me he was a bit of an echo-chamber and a...a...manservant, if you will and so it seems fitting that the cast is gone and now I have less of a need for a dedicated minder. 

The weekend is supposed to be insanely rainy (as always) but again I will take that over a heat dome any moment. We've got a good supply of junk food and movies to watch and Christmas decorating to do and I feel like I can breathe. Everything feels normal right this second and for that I am so grateful.

Like a brother.

I know it's early but I am busy negotiating the largest Christmas bonus of my young life (you don't even want to GUESS).

No, not for me. For Asher. Who leaves tomorrow. He isn't coming back. Well, I mean he might come and visit us as he visits Batman every couple of years, but I suppose that depends on if he actually gets out of here unscathed. The night is still young and the upheaval is like a roiling sea. Just when you think it's going to grow calm the tide comes in and it just ends up deeper still, and I want to make sure this seafarer finds his next port with his pockets already lined with gold. 

It was a good six months and Asher did an incredible, thoughtful and intuitive job. He gets glowing references and a fistful of networking leads and he always and forever has Batman as his doting Godfather so honestly he won't twist in the wind for too long, unless he wants to.

But PJ wanted the job. Here we thought we were doing PJ a favour, giving him a break from the heavy lifting after twenty-odd years of being the closest thing to a mother Ruth and Henry had after me. He was Dad, maybe. Backup but in-charge. On it. He worked his ass off looking after them and with Ruth moved out and on her own now and Henry with a few months of university left we really thought he would like living on his own terms. 

Lo and behold, he did not. In fact, he hated it but Padraig has always been a giant nurturer, a huge teddy bear, a solid gold (t)hug. The original Hunkle. He needs to look after people. He needs to be needed. And he's been resentful and angry ever since the rest of them steamrolled him with this new (not new, he's been around for a decade) purpose-driven man when PJ could handle it (me) all along. 

PJ found unlikely allies in Caleb and Duncan who both moved in and became a living, breathing, bearded bulldozer to gently push Asher out. We had a family meeting and after I was for some reason congratulated for not losing too much of my shit this year (drinking) and bouncing back so fast (drugs) everyone graciously agreed that after a good trial period Asher can be freed up for greener, less incestuous pastures and PJ can breathe a sigh of relief and take back control of the house. 

***

What's interesting here is that we were all so concerned with PJ's swallowed feelings that no one thought to ask me what I wanted, as I actually tend to defer to the boys on damn near everything so it's not like we forgot, it's just something we don't do when it comes to their strong opinions.

And I suddenly had the realization that I just gave up some of the control I got back when Asher arrived, even if it was only on paper and not even true. A little false-independence gets reeled back in. The world gets a little more smaller and a lot more regimented and I had a moment where I was almost mildly disappointed, if I can even call it that.  

I'm not explaining it properly.

I don't think that I can call it disappointment. I love PJ to absolute bits but I still feel like it's a step backwards for me. He gets his role, his command, his status back. His ego. His satisfaction. His occasional night back. His place as that fucking pain in the ass but he makes her happy so leave it designation. His rules. His plans and his routine. His rule.

He has a third of my guardianship so it makes sense and it's also a huge conflict of interest but then again everything around here is. That's part and parcel of who we are. 

We already had an argument. It remains unresolved.

This is actually great. He's very lucky I love him so much or I think I'd send him out to sea.

Ways of acceptance.

I went over to collect Ben, or at least visit him. He was there for a few days, a sort of sleepover in the end. He and Daniel do it a few times a year where they binge on take-out and several film or television series and doze and talk and just spend some time together alone, as brothers should.

I think that's great except by about three days in I start to worry that he might fall for Schuyler again and never come home. 

Which is really paranoid on my part. And that's what everyone worries about when it comes to me. Let's just say if anyone spends a good amount of time with Schuyler he is prone to pull them right in and it's frightening how easy it is for everyone to crush on him, and hard. Not just the fleeting appreciation of good looks like we do with Duncan or the earnest love everyone has for Sam or the dutiful adoring subordination Lochlan commands with a flick of a red curl. 

No, this is like a quicksand-molasses kind of hole and it's warm and nice and it's true, you never want to leave. 

I don't have that problem. Caleb laughs bitterly. He does nothing for me. 

You're the only straight man here. 

That's not true. 

I just stare at him until he concedes, in his head. If you two agreed on things more often you would totally get sucked in. 

Maybe. But I do see how Ben was confident you had navigated things and was free to relax. I wish the same for Lochlan now and would love to have you join me this weekend. 

Are we having a movie marathon?

We can do whatever your heart desires. 

Let's have a seance and we can formally introduce George to Cole and Jake. So he's in the loop-

Jesus Christ, Neamhchiontach.

I mean, if he wants to come. You can ask.

Shut up.

He refills my champagne, but only a quarter of the way this time. 

It's early, he explains, with a shy smile for him. Shy is not the way you would describe Caleb, but he is always trying on new and different personalities to try to appeal to my heart. My heart will never respond in the way he hopes. It might have early on but he made sure to take on the villain/monster role the moment my crush on him went through puberty. 

And that was that. Goldilocks in the woods. The wolf. The shadowy bad man you're warned about if you go out at night. The monster you know. Always a friend. Always a near-relative or someone close. Always with his eyes on me. Always trying to wedge himself in. 

And I still let him. The crush is long gone but the payback lives forever. 

And I still love him, too, but I can't explain that at all. I will forever appreciate his efforts, violent as they were, his work ethic and the fact that he has never changed his story, not even once and has never tried to deflect blame or minimize our tragedy. I appreciate his presence and his familiarity. 

I appreciate his whispers as he makes it so I can still hear him in spite of his efforts to be quiet thanks to Lochlan still sleeping (but probably not sleeping) on my other side. 

(Ben is at Daniel's having a movie marathon. We had a free moment and Caleb asked if we wanted the bottle to celebrate getting my cast off (ha) so we took the bottle and the offerer, too.)

Update on George.

(You'll be pleased to know I pay for the two-tier medical system in order not to take up space for those who need it more considering ninety percent of our medical issues are self- or other- inflicted. We also have a doctor-team on retainer that we only need to give two days notice and they come to the house for anything we need. It's exceedingly expensive but if you've been reading here for a while you'll know that Caleb pays for everything and so I don't care what it costs.)

(which also means he gets to go to these visits so there's that.)

George was very happy to be set free on Saturday. My cast came off in the water because it was in rags anyway and I didn't look after it. I'll admit that. I swam back with one hand (no I didn't, I just let Henry pull me to shore) and PJ went out with the jetski to retrieve the cast that was floating around and I didn't want to leave it because litter. 

So I called the office and pointed out my cast has...uh...fallen off and they asked me on the phone if I cut it off and I was offended and said of course not, it came off when we were cliff-jumping and I was expecting to be fired as a patient but instead they were incredibly apologetic because it was supposed to come off THREE WEEKS AGO and the office is behind because Covid so no one followed up as of yet. 

(This is comforting. Isn't it?)

So they fit me in this morning. Was again irradiated and will proceed to glow in the dark through Remembrance Day, and George is doing great (fucker) and I was upgraded to a splint that I need to wear overnight, when cliff-jumping or when doing anything sus that might fuck up my wrist again. 

I looked at George, he looked at me and we both laughed inappropriately because you all know it's going in a drawer and it's never-

Except Lochlan exists (to foil my wonderful plans of comfort and freedom) and he over-laughed my laugh and said that I'd be wearing it more than not. I scowled at him and he winked and the doctor looked from me to him and back again and I finally conceded that I will wear it but only for a month. Then I get another round of Pictures of Bridget's Tiny Bones and then I start trying to use my stupid hand, but gently. Great. 

Then the doctor looked at my semi-black eyes and probably-broken nose and asked if he should take a look. 

So the good news is my nose is not badly broken and they don't need to do anything to it. The bad news is Caleb has a probably-fractured cheekbone but they're not going to do anything about it either as it isn't moving and his eye seems fine with all sensation and no numbness. It's bloodshot as fuck from when I put my arms up at the last minute to try and deflect and I think I nailed him in the face with the cast that then bounced right into my own nose as we went down. 

 If you ask me I think that secretly George doesn't even LIKE Caleb. I told Lochlan that on the way home and he laughed that desperate, frightened laugh that he does and said nothing. Caleb just looked at me in the rearview mirror and swore.

One breath apart.

I woke up with a start in the still-dark hours, time granting me one more hour of my own misery within which to drown, hands stretched out to help me pushed away by the sheer weight of the memories pressing in like waves, their cold tendrils of thoughts unfinished washing over my skin. 

Lochlan is standing in the doorway with a single cupcake, lit with a lone birthday candle. 

Wish the fucker a happy birthday and let's get on with our goddamned lives. 

He brings me the cake and I blow the candle out, carefully. Then he takes the candle out and we divide the cupcake in half, eating it for breakfast, leaving crumbs in our bed. He kisses me before I am finished and I laugh but it ends in a sob and suddenly I can't speak. 

Here's to the fifty-one you didn't get, Preacherman, Lochlan says spitefully, stretching out on his back to look at the ceiling while I finish my half. I nod to myself in the dark. Jacob's fifties would have been incredible as he finally got the respect he wanted so badly in his thirties but between his good lucks and unconventional ministering style it was hard for people to take him seriously, though once you knew him it was exceeding easy to balance him on a pedestal so high you could no longer see him for the reach, and then for the sun. 

I figured out why you're stuck, Peanut. I am finished my cake now, licking my fingers and thinking about ghosts who take up so much space in my life even filling it the way I have still leaves these wide open spaces and they're all holes, today. 

Why is that? My hands are beginning to shake. 

Because. Lochlan leans toward me, leaning on one elbow. He is the only man who ever fucked up your life and never came back to try and fix it.

I am surprised. He's not wrong. Lochlan came back, making sure he always had a hand in my life, that I've never been too far out of reach, Caleb came back to try and atone for his sins, and Ben changed every single face of his entire existence in order to be who I needed him to be.  

But Jacob just left. It's the biggest betrayal of all and I don't know what to do with it. 

Jacob leans in and whispers in my ear. He just wants to look good and make me look bad by default. 

And I laugh and choke on icing and tears as a shiver runs down my back. 

He's not wrong either. 

Too bad he doesn't get a say anymore.

My grief is a teenager now (Part I).

I'm unstoppable
I'm a princess with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today
Unstoppable today
I'm unstoppable to-

I was picking out notes and trying to sing. I think I'm so brave but then I can't finish it. I can't hear it anymore. I can't believe it's been fourteen years and even though I've promised everyone including Jacob that I won't mark it as an anniversary anymore my blood is electric in my veins. My head is pounding in time with my heart and I will go to my own grave in absolute awe that Jacob chose nothing over everything. That leaving his life unlived would be better than living it with us. That his decision was the best he could make for everyone involved and that I wasn't worth it. I know damn well Henry would have been worth it but we had such big doubts and it seemed so unlikely and-

I know. I promised. 

So did he though and look where I am now. 

I look around. The note has long since ended and I'm still holding the key down. I let go and turn to look at Ben, dozing in a chair, head in hand. Coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him. I abruptly jump up and run. Through the living room, down the steps, out the patio doors and across the lawn. 

I hear shouts and I try and speed up. Ben is no longer faster than me but the rest still are. The grass starts to dip now into the slight incline and I am twenty feet from the edge, ready for the rush of flying without dying and then I hear a new note in the din of voices. 

MOM! 

And I stop in my tracks and turn around just in time to see Henry running for me and just in time for Caleb (in the lead) to crash into me so hard we both go down in the grass. 

Fuck. You stopped so fast, Bridget. Oh my God. 

My teeth feel loose. My nose is bleeding and he's got me in a sudden vice grip as he pulls us both back up and Henry is there and suddenly I have to answer to this beautiful child who deserves more than he ever got from both of his parents. 

Mom. You can't do this. 

Swim with me. I need to. I just need the cold. I need to touch the clouds.

It's five degrees. 

Just come with me. Just once. Please.

He stares at me, Jacob's expressions in his face. The same annoyed surprise. The same impatience. The same kind and generous understanding. 

Only once, Mom. 

That's all I need, Henry Jacob. I wipe the back of my good hand across my nose, leaving a streak of red.

On three, then, and he took my hand, wiping off the blood, then gripping it tight and counting.

(I was an impossible case.)

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know

The name of the game

 

I am fielding a lot of early questions about the track listing on the new ABBA album. I don't know if I know any producers who usually strongarm an idea or a theme, do I? I do and I'm not naming names but HEY, did you know there's ALSO a new Slipknot song out today? Right! There is and it's a barnburner of a song so there you go. SO MUCH NEW MUSIC. Don't ask me any more questions. It doesn't matter who I know or who you know, the point is, we're all in this together. 

(My favorite ABBA song is not actually Gimme Gimme Gimme (A man after midnight). Sorry. It's the The Name of the Game. It's the closest kin to any Fleetwood Mac that I was literally weaned on. Angeleyes. Knowing me knowing you (God, That one HURTTTTTS so good.))

But yeah. Thanks for the comments. You're all great.Who doesn't love ABBA and want to bend over backwards to help bring them full circle here? 

***

Fun fact: Jacob's favourite ABBA song was She's My Kind of Girl. It's so Beatles. No one ever was surprised by that. Hardly anyone knows that song though.

***

Also I don't know but these drugs are just perfectly balanced and Bridget's on a cloud. A good cloud, not a black one. Not under it, on it. Not too cold, not too soft. Not too high. Goldie, Loch's. Ha. Okay, that one's debatable, but let's just say the hole is all the way across the room and I haven't fallen in it. Maybe they just needed to give Lochlan a little more credit and a little more time to prepare. By them I mean me, of course.

Over (size).

We are snuggled in the great room this morning in front of a roaring fire. I can't get warm, it seems, though we have the heavy blanket around us and hot tea. Coffee was over hours ago. It usually flows seamlessly into Lochlan's tea time though so don't worry.

We're reading gift idea lists for the people in your life. They are everywhere on the internet. Just everywhere. And they are so, so bad. It's like they were written by an AI that was tasked with learning about humans via adventure books from the early twentieth century.

For example, suggestions that appear near-constantly on every list for men between the ages of birth and oh, a hundred and fifty years are whiskey stones, an axe, a cheap pocket knife in a case with a handy belt loop and field notes, with a space pen. Sometimes drones, woolen scarves and a plasma lighter appear. A moka pot. A backgammon game, but for travel.

It seems the robots think men are huntsmen. Highly literate ones, at that.

It's okay though. Every list for women in her....ah...middle ages includes a watering can and an electric milk frother. A shimmery scarf with butterflies and an icing-decorating set, but in timeless stainless steel.

It's all so.. tone deaf. And I can't tell you exactly how many whiskey stones we own, for a house that's fully half in recovery, but apparently also filled with generic huntsmen, but there are a lot. Like mountains of them.

***

(Want to know what men really want for Christmas?? 

No, Jesus H. Not that. I mean for gifts. That they can open. In mixed comp- FINE, in front of their grandparents. 

A blanket. The next year a snugglie. Then an Oodie the year after that. Something large, warm and very soft and comfortable. Something they can burrito in. 

These are what they love. I promise. And they must have several different kinds of warm and cozy for different activities so that's why this will serve you for years.)

In Lumine Luce.

Right across my throat, a beautiful necklace with tiny glowing golden letters set in enamel? Ceramic. Gold chain. An early, singular Christmas present, and I struggle with my latin. 

Shine with knowing? 

Shine in the light, Peanut. 

I knew I heard the phrase before. A kiss on the nose after he said it and I was in the spotlight, high up in the centre of the big top, as I swung across to my platform to wait for him to come to me and we would perform our aerial routine for eleven very long minutes (for us) and in a blink (for the audience). 

I smile. I remember the gut feeling just before and then when he said that suddenly the light made that feeling go away, and all I could feel was his warmth. And then for real as he grabbed my arms as I abandoned my trapeze and I never heard the gasps, never saw the wonder and disbelief even as we did the pretend miss and he would go to one hand. He would have held on to my bone, leaving marks in the smooth whiteness. I never once thought I was in danger. Now I see that I was naive. Now I know I can never perform again. It feels like my hand will never be strong again and that's a new sort of grief, even as I made my peace with my age, responsibilities, centre of gravity and life choices. I knew I could still do the routine, however, and suddenly I'm aware that I can't. 

I love it. I breathe. I can have this memory forever. It's not going to fade. It's not going to be forced from my brain for my own good. It's not going to be twisted or ruined by time. 

I love you, he says in return with the same urgency. Forever and ever, Peanut.

A movie of convenience.

Right this minute things are okay.

I finished my wine last night. PJ made it into a sangria for me since it no longer tasted good and was room temperature when I like my drinks icy-cold. I watched Hustlers, and am a little stunned by it today. How simulated sex and a few pasties got an R-rating. Maybe it was the drugs? Maybe the swearing? I don't know. I didn't think it deserved an R unless you're a kneejerk conservative but then why would you be watching a movie about strippers, drugs and crime? 

I was impressed by Jennifer Lopez though. She was FIERCE. I was gobsmacked by all the girls insistence on not relying on anyone else only to be ruined the minute the industry dried up as they had used their independence seemingly only to buy big apartments, canvas Gucci bags and Louboutins. 

Which had the sugar baby in me screaming at the screen, Jesus Christ. 

(I have those things. Louboutins are overrated and uncomfortable. Coated-canvas bags are crap and I know they're one-season bags and aren't supposed to last years but for the prices they fucking should. Big-city apartments aren't worth it, trust me and goddamn, women, if you want to be independent, invest.)

It was miserable. They also seemed to have people on tap to look after their children twenty-four-seven. Also, men aren't that stupid and bartenders aren't that blind. So the montage of drugging the drinks of the guys wouldn't have even been a thing, considering they went to the same bar over and over. 

Maybe they took liberties in the name of entertainment but honestly I guess I liked the slow-motion shots of J-Lo entering every room and not a lot else. I find it hard to believe that it's a true story because the only thing truthful about it was that men will pay a lot for company, in the end. For example right now, I am writing this and Caleb thinks I am writing him an email, with links, for my Christmas list. 

(Okay, maybe men are a little naive but not to the extent they were in that movie and before you say Bridget you wouldn't know, trust me. I danced. It was brief but I fucking know. Being a sugar baby is much preferred, though actually not a whole lot different in the end. You're still purchased company, but at least the faces are always the same.)

Liars and leaves.

There's around four hours left of sunshine in our universe until probably June and SAD has hit me in the face, knocking me to the ground, yelling stay down as I try and struggle back to my feet. I have finished Christmas shopping (BE JEALOUS) and put away all of the Halloween decorations. I won't get the Christmas decorations out until December first because otherwise I resent them long before the year turns over into a new one so I no longer plan it out for the minute Remembrance Day has been observed and tucked away. 

We finished the garden cleanups just after lunch, a task that would have been so much faster if not for Lochlan and Caleb attempting to gang up on PJ who was letting me do stuff too. I was digging out leaves from around the plants and cleaning up beds and pulling out dead canes and weeds as I went. He said it saved his back. It didn't save mine, and I was glad to stand up and stretch and he would move in with the rake. The big garden now has a fresh cover of leaves for winter and the rest is fine. We wrapped the delicate lime and olive trees. We don't worry about anything else. 

When they started shouting PJ waited until they were finished and then pointed out She sleeps better when she's been outside DOING THINGS and they didn't know what to say to that. 

My cast is rigid. I can do stuff. It's like having a flat shovel on one side with my fingers poking out the top and my thumb in it's resting bitch place in a separate hole. Kind of stupid if you ask me but the design mimics a hand at rest. 

(It'll be EIGHT WEEKS TOMORROW PLEASE SOMEONE COME TAKE THIS OFF)

So he, of many broken bones in the past, knows exactly what I can and what I can't do and when he figured I was completely worn out, jacket off, sweaty t-shirt, red-faced and filthy he declared we were finished. We even did the front up by the gate and everything. There's only a few leaves left to come down and we'll let them and I came in, stripped by the back door and went upstairs for fresh clothes, choosing a fleece one-piece number with bear-ears that I somewhat live in now that it's cold. Ben said it made my ass look cute. Lochlan laughed and said what ass? but then tried to make up for it as he is right, I have nothing back there, and I remarked that he needed a matching one and then I could tease him as they aren't supposed to be flattering. It's literally a bear costume. 

And then Netflix sent me an email and asked me if I wanted to see a movie I searched for a couple of months ago. Hustlers with Jennifer Lopez. I do, actually, thanks Netflix. That can be my rainy afternoon rest. I earned it! I earned the martini that's going to go with it! THREE OLIVES THIS TIME, PADRAIG.