But then again, no.

Daniel and I spent the morning laying in his bed singing our lungs out to the Forbidden Playlist (plot twist: it's Elton John's Greatest Hits) as a litmus test.

Which one? The one where he confirms he's still gay or was it the one where we see how many songs it takes now for Bridget to begin to sing less and cry the words more? Does it matter? I mean, DOES IT?

It doesn't, if you don't mind spoilers. 

He sings a mean Madman Across The Water, though and I sort of always want to throw away everything and everyone else when I am here. Always the safest space, as dangerous as it has been over the years. Over a lifetime. There isn't anyone who can escape those thoughts when it comes to Daniel, though so no one minds, and we all fight for the space beside him. Few are permitted here, however, in Schuyler's inner sanctum, as it were. Three of us, mostly, but mostly me. 

Daniel still has the longer hipster hair. Still the mile-wide grin. A few more greys on his head but all his hair. A few more lines on his face, mostly around his eyes and mouth. His hands are still softer than air, his words chosen carefully so as not to leave dents or scrapes on my fragile heart.

He wouldn't though, so I'm safe. 

He needs to shave. My skin is so sensitive to stubble and his chin has been resting against the top of my head for so long I feel as if I am wearing a cactus hat, and one that's so warm. He loves that my hair is growing again. I've got a chin length bob and my bangs are just below my bottom eyelashes. He said the colour is like a clear icy lake on a winter's day. He marvels at it. There's only a tiny bit of actual-blonde left, a few strawberry pale strands that clash with the colder white. I told him I'm growing it back out to my knees, as I miss my braid. I miss the extra pair of hands that a braid can be when you put things in it, hang things from it, use it as a comfort object, a scarf, a hat, a belt. Plus I really want to see this crazy colour on longer hair, in all its glory. 

They are cheering me on, horrifying as it's going to be. 

I can't wait. 

***

Daniel is tasked with withdrawal from winter into spring. Once Groundhog Day hits I will become super impatient with winter and cold damp and darkness and wet leaves and bullshit and wish ahead, the one thing I'm not supposed to do, which is rush through the seasons with my grass-is-greener approach, slowing only into a languid autumn as it is my absolute favourite, but right now I can feel myself getting so antsy and I don't know if it's the drugs or simply the time of year. I think there's an Olympics this year? No, dammit, it's two years away. Sometimes I miss cable TV but then I poke around and find something to see. We watched Cocaine Bear and HOWLED last night and then I started The Watcher alone and I want to move back to Bucharest if only for the beautiful culture shock that it is. 

Don't worry, if that happens in the latest round of upends I will let you know. Also they might reinstate my internet permanently this week. I will keep you posted. Or rather, I will keep posting if they do. It's been rough.

Snowstorm!

 So we've gotten more snow in the past fifteen hours than we have ever had before. The good news is we're basically shovelled out if you count the number of 4x4s that live in the driveway. And the few who don't have one can certainly take one but why? Nothing is open, the tiny universe here is shut down it seems and that's fine. The house is so bright. The WORLD is so bright outside. It's crazy. The snow stopped an hour ago. Thank God. Hahaha. 

I hurt my shoulder/neck/back whatever that stupid muscle is that runs down the right side of my neck that fucks up every time I try to reach too far or lift too much. I was trying to keep up with PJ and Duncan, who were shovelling the backyard with me. We do the steps, the patio (covered but snow got around the perimeter underneath) and a huge figure eight for the dog to walk and also a path to next door, swinging by the sauna and pool area. The front had Dalton, Ben and Lochan along with Sam and Matt to do the driveway and front walk area. Caleb doesn't participate (heart) and August didn't either (sick) and Henry was working from home so I volunteered because more hands make light work and now my ear has a stabbing pain and if I move the wrong way my whole upper right side seizes with an unholy agony the likes of which I would rather not suffer so I cannot move now. 

Ben will make dinner. Chili and biscuits. 

Lochlan will finish my chores. 

I will sit here hugged by a magic bag until I feel as if I can have sufficient mobility again. I have to remember I'm not twenty anymore. I have to remember it's cold. I have to remember to pace myself. What's the rush? We went and got our groceries yesterday and did everything we needed to do, not to mention it's supposed to be warm and rainy for the remainder of the week so the snow, all this fucking snow isn't even going to stick around long enough for us to sled down the wall into the sea. Well, that sucks. 

No mail delivery. No dog walk up through the hood. No swimming and probably no sauna today either because I can't handle the thought of putting my icy wet boots back on to go outside. 

Plus ice is better than heat for this sort of injury, says everyone. 

But ice is how I got it, so no, thank you.

 

Myrrhhhhhhhhhhh Rum Pum Pum Pum..On my drum..

It's Epiphany and I celebrated (because I'm not Catholic) by dismantling one of the dryers and cleaning it out. Then I did the second one. And the vent going all the way to the outside. Glutton for punishment? No. Frustrated by procrastinators? You bet. It was taking an extra half hour to dry a regular load and who has time for that? I grabbed Youtube, a flashlight and a screwdriver. Then I went back up for batteries for the flashlight, an extension cord for the shop vac, and a cursed whine to someone to find me the box of the nutty-things for doing screws with 3D hexagon heads. Found the case, found the 1/4 inch thingie that I needed, discovered the lantern was out of batteries too so held the flashlight between my teeth, and yelled at the boys to get out of the room so I could do what I wanted to do. 

Glad I did. The blower motor and the hose leading to the wall were CAKED in lint. CAKED. 

So it should be faster by a lot tomorrow. I also even tested it to make sure it still worked. Go me! 

If you don't know, Epiphany isn't also just a Catholic thing. It's the twelfth day of Christmas, and your true love is supposed to bring a dozen drummers drumming to round out the absolute batshit madness of all the other stuff they've brought you on the previous eleven days of Christmas. Some people say it's the day Jesus was baptized. It's also the day Melancholy, Bathmat and Casper the Friendly Ghost bring a bunch of useless items to gift to the baby messiah when a breast pump, Roomba and a wipe-warmer would have been far more practical. Even as a luddite, I can tell you a new broom and hemp fleece wipes, even if room-temperature would have been preferable. The pump stays. It's a necessity. 

(Those are not their names but it's the only way I can remember their actual names which are Melchior, Bathalzar and Caspar. Par Rum Pum Pum Pum!)

Am I drunk? No, Not when fixing heavy machinery. Drunk on capability, perhaps. It's a high I don't often get to indulge.

I lost my internet for Christmas because I refused to join Caleb for a night. I got a whole smooth sympathy plea over way too much champagne over how quiet things have been lately and how lonely and disconnected he feels and how he's missing affection and missing being part of my days (? He's right here) and how it's the only thing he wants in the way of a gift, that he has everything a man could ask for except the only thing he actually wants. I took my glass, picked up the bottle and sloshed my way down the hall away from his wing, with as much false liquid courage I could find but my knees were shaking, my hands were flapping and my eyes were watering to go with my spinning head. I didn't trust myself not to cave, didn't trust him not to hurt me in his lust for control and didn't want to make Lochlan (or Benjamin for that matter) sad that I was missing. 

I locked the bedroom door, poured the rest of the bottle down the bathtub sink and fell asleep face-down, fully-clothed on the bed, waking up with the worst hangover but the doors were open to the balcony for fresh cold air, there was a tray on the table with juice, tea and toast and some banana slices and Lochlan was sitting in the big wing chair in the corner, where Ben usually puts his jeans overnight. 

Morning, Neamhchiontach. 

I rolled over and gave him my most-wistful noncommittal expression. Until I know how he feels I'll stand my ground. 

I see you followed directions and stayed out of trouble for the first time in your life. 

Maybe. He took away my internet though. 

Why trade your soul for connectivity when I've got what you need? 

He smiled his wicked ringmaster-grin, the one that always sent a little chill of a thrill down the back of my neck and I nodded. 

Acoustic, I told him in a whisper. Old-school. Hands-on.

Yeah, whatever. He laughed uproariously. It's a good day to be me.

More tomorrow, I promise.

Lost my internet over Christmas. Whoops. Thank you for all of the emails. I wish each and every one of you a wonderful season of Epiphany and beyond and hope that 2024 treats us all better because 2023 was a slog. 

Today my shirt has a down and out Alien on it. He's holding a coffee cup out and a sign that says I NEED TO GET HOME. Not sure who's shirt this is but if it winds up in my laundry pile I wear it until someone points out the error and asks for it back. We can't be expected to know who owns what funny t-shirt and I have far too many mens XL band shirts that you would think it would be obvious to just go by size. 

Fashion? What's that? Alien shirts and jeans for the win. And socks. Smart wool, homemade wool, I'm not picky as long as they aren't synthetic. 

Christmas was quiet and lovely and completely devoid of spirit. We did our best. We made new traditions. We broke old traditions. We were common sense about it and tomorrow it's over. Then Candlemas comes. But first snow and cold, forecast for next week, which is perfect. Seriously. I hate snow now. I want to live in perpetual autumn, after the heat, after the leaves just begin to turn but before it gets dark so fucking early. I don't want hot or cold, just tepid, medium life. Bring me the fringe, margin seasons or bring me death. 

I wonder if they can find a shirt that says that. 

The internet thing is a long story but Caleb took it away and Lochlan doesn't care all that much and I could ask Google to look things up if I needed answers but otherwise huh, maybe he gave me the luddite Christmas of my dreams or maybe he's still the Diabhalest ever.