Gah. The internet seems broken. The boys say it's only me but they're also not really online as much as me in a way and way more than me in another and so I don't know if they're playing straight with me, I just know that everything chugs and buffers and the webpages look weird and there's junk at the top and bottom but I can mostly find what I need and it only took me five tries to log in so either I forget how to blog or someone is messing with my Perfectly Ordered Routine. 

Probably the Devil but would that actually do him any good?

Cormac McCarthy died and I shed a tear for one of my favourite giants of literature. I got my speaking in Italics from him, when I write. I got Southern gothic from him, in my dreams and I still quote needing whiskey for The Road if we ever end up on it. A gun, bullets and whiskey. Other than food that seems to be all they needed. 

When I hit the road (AKA Highway 99) I have my tote with a lighter, a knife, pepper spray, a phone charger, and chapstick. Then in the back of the Jeep is a tire kit, fire extinguisher, food/water/blanket, jack, first aid kit, etc etc etc. 

Huh. Anyway, I am sad. Everyone dies.

Bruised fruit and great TV.

I'm a bubble in a bubble. Absent for days drifting on the wind above a dark blue sea. I'm slowly descending though as they realized that pain medication on the reg was going to fuck up the walking-coma thing I have going on and something had to give. Something was not the pain meds, that's for sure and now I can almost form a coherent sentence. Sometimes even out loud, if I must. 

Let me tell you some things. 

With one arm I helped do all the repairs on the gazebo because I can climb like a monkey. As long as it's only one level up no one worries. When we get to two or three they all panic but really would it be a bad thing if I snapped my neck and went away forever? 

That depends on who you ask. But who is going to shimmy up the side and be able to stand a roof panel that won't support a whole man? Me, that's who. 

I watched the whole first season of Yellowjackets. I'm starting season two. Ben is a great pillow. He loves to nap, I love to watch movies and shows and so we make a great team. If I move he goes off. Like an IED and so Lochlan is content to also nap or do what he needs to without worrying. Sometimes that's nice. I can say that from here, in the clouds because the chemical lobotomy has been the greatest thing ever, even trumping sliced bread.

I listened to the new Foo Fighters album and let me tell you. But Here We Are is a great song, Rescued is a great song but Beyond Me is a spectacular song made better by the whole-hearted eighties power ballad it seems to want to be. This is a Bridget/headphones 24/7 kind of song. This is so good it's criminal. I am hot or cold on the Foo albums. I have my favourite songs. Some whole albums leave me cold, but I keep coming back. I've seen them twice. Will I go again? Of course. They came back with grace from a tragedy that is unthinkable. Unrecoverable from. Like me.

Did I come back with grace? Of course not. Hahahaha.

I am still knitting sweaters over here but boy it's hard to do now. Luckily I was always a slow knitter so I am barely bothered. I do this while I watch things. While Ben sleeps. 

I've been coughing all week. Pretty sure my allergies have gone through the roof. There's a patch of ground in the garden that plants grow in just fine but it makes my skin burn. Explain that. I can wait. I mostly direct, now and PJ and Dalton do their best. August comes to play Rubik's Cube with my brain and Caleb continues to torture me with his..everything, who am I kidding and Ruth and Henry are so independent and capable I sleep like a damn baby when I do sleep at all. Sometimes I roam the halls like a ghost in Hello Kitty pajamas, gliding through the dark, checking cats and doors and windows and looking out at the cold dark sea. Sometimes I sit and watch the fire die and sometimes I go crawl with Duncan and it's like waking up on the festival grounds again. I have to think really hard to remember where I am. 

My beloved dragonfruits have reached sixteen dollars each and I'm switching to apples for the summer, I guess or until the price goes down. Hell I could put a little drop of apple juice on a cucumber slice if I need a craving satisfied but life has gotten weirdly comical and not in a funny way, in a sad way that is so horrifying you just laugh and laugh until you sob. People have no patience and no manners. I had to learn to tell people off nicely which isn't my strong suit. I have a whole new outlook because now they won't let me leave the house because every time someone pisses me off in public I start talking about the purge and waving my cast around. 

Even today at the drivethru, someone tried to go around me and he caught my eye and my eyebrows went up, cueing his car to reverse back to where he was and I was still amazed. Like, did you think I was in this lane because I want to go inside? No, I don't want to go inside. I just want an ice cream handed through a window and I can wave my card at a little black box and no one needs to make a fuss here. 

It was butterscotch ripple for one scoop and rum raisin for the other. So good. 

The cone was stale though. They're always stale. Like nacho chips, hard taco shells and the air between my ears. Makes my last outing alone bittersweet, that's for sure.

At least tonight I have a date with a boiling hot bubble bath and a kush bath bomb. I can't wait.