Live sickblogging.

Because you love me. Or maybe you hate me. Come on. You hate to love me but you do anyway. Everyone feels that way.

Either way, you're back. Hi! Welcome.

I'm going to live-sickblog today, because I'm mostly home. And miserable. Wavering like a inebriated college boy after a birthday power hour.

Jacob put me in the shower, the big meanie. So I'm clean, dressed, wet hair. I took the kids to school and tried not to breathe on their little heads. Then I walked home fast in case I blacked out. I didn't think I was that sick but I am. The problem is if I take any cold medicine I will fall asleep and I can't do that today. Too much work. Jacob had to go to work too, he has meetings or sessions pretty much right through supper, though he has been phoning me every hour to tell me he wishes he could be home taking over.

Hell, really, it's one of those days where your skills honed as a mom kick into high gear. Moms don't get a lot of actual days off, they get a few quiet moments here and there.

I'll be okay. Hopefully this will be the worst day.

I'm acutally thinking if I wear myself to pieces today I'll achieve some sort of hallucinatory feverish state. Which could be fun, right?

Wish me luck.

    In dreams I see myself flying
    closer to the sun, and I'm climbing
    tried to touch the sun
    but the brightness burned my eyes
    unconscious, or am I conscious?
    fell from the sky like a star
    sometimes I feel as though I'm frozen in heaven
   

Piper down, buried with cheese.

Nothing says morning like being brought hot coffee, a cinnamon bun and your laptop while you're still in bed. My feet haven't touched the floor today, but I know I'll have to pee soon so the decadent illusion Jacob created for me will be ruined.

I'm so sick today. My nose is stuffy, my throat feels like daggers are sticking into it and my head is reeling. I'm flush, feverish and cranky. Ruth and Henry were both suffering from colds through the end of last week so it was inevitable. Something tells me we're going to be sick all year.

So instead of a journal entry, I will regale you with Jacob's shower karaoke this morning. Because he must have forgotten that I can hear him.

He was singing All for Love, from The Three Musketeers because the other night we were talking about great movies and I rattled off my ever honorary list of great medieval movies because come on...Bridget's a romantic from her head to the tips of her toes. And nothing says romance like castles and princesses and brave knights and swordfights. Right?

I'll give you the first two verses, because a good friend told me that printing the entire lyrics to a song is against copyright and I'm too tired to verify that so I'm rolling with it.

    When it's love you give
    (I'll be a man of good faith.)
    Then in love you live.
    (I'll make a stand. I won't break.)
    I'll be the rock you can build on,
    Be there when you're old,
    To have and to hold.

    When there's love inside
    (I swear I'll always be strong.)
    Then there's a reason why.
    (I'll prove to you we belong.)
    I'll be the wall that protects you
    From the wind and the rain,
    From the hurt and pain.


I'm feeling better already.

Failure to emulsify.

You know something?

I don't really want to talk about it.

Jacob wanted to talk. A lot. He has spent the past few days talking about nothing but that. And I held up as long as I possibly could. Then I just couldn't do it anymore. He pushed too hard. He does that sometimes. We get along so well that when we don't see eye to eye it's deeply frustrating and painful for both of us and we start bickering, though we usually save it for politics and matters that fall into the ethical gray area in life. We call it our failure to emulsify on a subject.

I don't want to talk about it anymore.

I can take you over to the station now if you're ready.

I'm not ready.

Well, then when do you want to go? Or I can call Mike and he can send someone here, if you'd rather.

No, Jacob.

Bridget, just tell me when.

Never. I'm done.

What?

I said-

I heard you but I really don't understand.

I'm not doing anything.

You have to. He sexually assaulted you. My God, baby, please.

Stop talking about it, Jake. I can't talk about it.

He has to be punished. Are you going to let him get away with this?

Yes. I am. His punishment is that he's gone from my life and this time there are no second chances.

I don't believe you. How can you not do this?

Because if I drag this out I'll lose my mind.

Drag it out? Jesus, Bridget, HE HURT YOU.

He didn't hurt me, Jake. He couldn't help himself. He was drunk.

He almost raped you. And I only just barely didn't kill him. I wish I had.

What did you do to him, Jacob?

Bridge, don't worry about me or him, I only care about you. I need answers.

Well then we're even aren't we?
He stormed out of the room. He's incredulous. Everyone is. Except for me and most likely Ben. Ben probably knows the last thing I would ever want is to go round two of courts and lawyers and doctors and police. He probably thought Jacob would steer me to do it all anyways but Jacob doesn't override my actions. He doesn't want to have to live like that and I don't either.

But I can't do it.

I can't go through all that again. I knew I wouldn't press charges about ten minutes after Jacob steered Ben out the back door. I just didn't say anything because no one listens to what I want when things are bad, they're all too busy doing damage control while I stand in the middle and try to preserve my equanimity. It's uncannily familiar territory. So in the interest of my need for normalcy and progress at last I have to drop it and walk away and if Jacob wants to swallow that bitter pill the hard way, well, I'll wait him out. Ben losing his entire circle of friends with his unforgivable actions is enough, trust me. He crossed a line he was barely toeing in the first place. And as always, and you're going to hate this comment, it could have been so much worse.

It can always be worse.

Save your energies for the people who have been hurt very badly, I have support and I'm okay. As usual I'll haul myself up on the shoulders of those around me and keep going, because I can.

Trust me, Ben is not even half as scary as Cole was. This part is easy.

And I'm done, I'm not talking about Ben anymore. When someone has been in my shoes then they can weigh in with opinions, and that's that. I'm doing what I need to do, and not worrying about the rest. I really have to allow life to move along.

So here's the post I really had ready for today. Thinking about this makes me smile, it makes me feel warm.

It involves part of a dream I had last night.

What if when you traveled or were on your own in a strange place there would be a way to get comfort on the run? I had a vision of a special room or area at the airport, with yellow lights above a stark white hallway and if you needed someone or wanted comfort you would go and stand under those lights and anyone who saw you there would approach you and invite you to have a meal with them, share a cab or simply give you a long hug. I realize it's an impossibility, a horribly invasive and assumptive series of events but at the same time if you have ever navigated an airport alone and felt as if what was inside your own skin brought the only familiarity in an alien sea of people then you'd probably agree that this would be a splendid invention.

Jacob's church is like that, you know.

Like a sea of yellow lights above us, and beneath it a group of amazing, cohesive people who love (meaning support) each other as much as you can love someone you don't know. And it's mind blowing. Like a warm hug in a cold airport, you can take solace from it when you need it and when you don't you give that comfort to others.

Maybe my dream is a less-familial version than the church but it would force people to think outside their universe.

I should know, I'm known for living in my own 'here and now' just a little too much. My world revolves around me and for once I'd like to walk past those lights instead of always being forced to stop and wait for the inevitable hugs from everyone who finds me there. Enough already.

A fistful of oxygen.

I was loaned a novel to read, it's called A Fistful of Rain by Greg Rucka. I think I stared at the cover for half an hour, looking at the title.

How clever.

Really clever.

I love it when words are spun, conveying an impossibility, finding a new angle from which to light an idea or thought that lends a new brilliance, previously unacknowledged.

The book was a well-meant luxury, an effort to convince me that while the kids are in school today I am to do something for me. Just me. Henry will spend his first entire morning at school today and we pick up them for lunch and then return Ruth to school for the second half while Henry is home in the afternoons.

Which gives me from shortly after nine until almost eleven-thirty kidless.

And it's Monday.

I know someone who has Mondays off.

He's very tall, very blonde and very sweet.

And we'll be home alone. Together.

Ha.

Something tells me A Fistful of Rain isn't going to find my attention today. I'll save it for the end of the week.

Digital sin.

I won a bet last night. Because I know who Axel Braun is.

Why do I know this stuff? I can't remember very important phone numbers and yet I have the entire biography of Axel Braun in my head taking up valuable space?

I don't think I have ever laughed so hard and it felt good.

Textbook.

My therapist has spoken with me at length about disassociating. It's when you fraction parts of your personality so that some parts can pretend or ignore the bad things that happen or emotions you really don't want to deal with. Good temporarily but very dangerous in the long run.

I don't know ANYONE who's doing that.

Do you?

In the meantime, I'm going to spend today wondering how long my self-anesthetizing will last this time. Because I still can't feel anything from Thursday except very mild bitterness at losing a friend (again) for good.

That isn't right.

Thirty-five days.

Last night was a departure from life's most recent betrayal, romance to the extreme, a sharp contrast designed by my husband to offset the misery of recent life. I did say that Jacob is proactive, fixing things as soon as they have to be fixed, well, you really have no idea. The timing of this night couldn't have been better.

He decided that being married to me for 35 whole days was something we needed to celebrate in fine style and that it was planned long before Ben crossed me so acutely.

I didn't see this coming.

After we put the kids to bed last night, PJ called and said he was on his way. Huh? Why? He chuckled and told me to ask Jacob. When I hung up I asked Jake and he smiled smugly and told me to go put on my best dress, because tonight was to be a black tie occasion.

So I did, with my swing coat too because nights are cold now.

I was putting on a little makeup and he walks in to find his hairbrush and he's in his very best suit and tie. Drop dead gorgeous. I stopped mid-gloss, that's how handsome he is.

PJ arrives to babysit and we leave. We drove over past the waterfront market and Jake parked the truck and then we walked down to the lawns and docks that stretch out beside the river. We got to the top of the stone steps leading to the boardwalk and Jake asked me to close my eyes. Then he led me down the steps slowly (this was scary-dark night, high heels, and my eyes are closed, on hundred year old stone steps set into grass. You try it!) and when my shoes hit wood he told me I could open my eyes.

Wow.

A beautiful table set for two. On the boardwalk right beside the water. Candles, white table linens, a tiny vase with a single white rose. And all the way around the table, strung from the lampposts were tiny white lights, sparkling and twinkling. It was breathtaking. He walked me to the table and took the rose, passing it to me. He told me the past thirty five days with me as his wife have been the greatest days of his life. He said he couldn't wait until we were celebrating thirty five years inside of mere days, and that things were going to get better because we have everything together.

I didn't even realize I had started to cry. Jacob wiped the tears away with his hands on my face. And he smiled at me.

He pulled my chair out for me and then he sat down too and a server appeared from nowhere. We had a tiny champagne toast, then stuffed mushrooms. Then orange-glazed cornish hen. I'm not understanding how he pulls these things off. I wasn't a great dinner partner, practically stunned into silence by the decadence of this night. From the edges of my vision I could see couples walking on the boardwalk and stopping to watch and I had that ever-present feeling that always strikes me about life continuing all around me while mine stands perfectly still.

Then Jake stood up and came around the table and offered me his hand. More surprises. We walked up to the pavilion, where there were more tiny white lights everywhere and then I heard what he would have heard while we were still seated: the classical guitar player. Playing for us.

I think I died and went to heaven. We danced, under the lights, under the stars and the low no-longer-new moon. It was so cold. The music flowed from slow to slower, and then back a little and when I wasn't being twirled around I could rest my head on Jacob's chest. He held me against him with his hand on the small of my back, his other hand holding my hand firmly.

We didn't talk while we danced. We didn't have too. I'm learning to live in the moment. I can do this. Jacob already knows how to do this. I'm still learning, an eager student.

Just as the last strains drifted away he offered me his arm. We returned to our table, where Jacob cemented the proof that he knows me best. Warm chocolate cake and coffee. Because by now we were freezing and so we ate quickly.

We took the water route back, talking about nothing of importance to anyone outside of our reach. Promising each other that we were going to take all the sorrow and drive it back far behind us, and that we were going to reach out and seize the future and break off huge portions of it, to be consumed in our ravenous need to move ahead.

It's nice to write about a night where everything is good. It's even nicer to tell you that I am making arrangements to blow Jacob away. This night was for me, and now I want to plan one for him.

You fucking traitor.

Here's a story I'm not in the mood to share but hey, why not? And now with links for those who aren't up to speed.

The all-day bachelor party ended early, with some of the guys returning to the house around ten thirty. They were all positively wasted and so I sent two of them to the guest room, two to the living room and in between all that Jake crashed on the porch swing and I couldn't move him so I had to leave him there when I went to bed. Everyone was fast asleep when I locked up and shut off all the lights on my way upstairs. I think I fell asleep in seconds.

In my dream I was abruptly awakened.

I gasped when fingers were shoved inside me. Someone was kissing my neck, their weight making it hard to breathe. I tensed up my whole body because all I usually had to do was wait out Cole when he woke me up in the night seeking fulfillment.

As the fog of sleep cleared from my head I realized I was awake, for real. And that Cole is dead.

This was no dream. I couldn't even wrap my mind around what was happening.

It dawned on me that the man on top of me was clean-shaven, something I don't go for, neither Cole nor Jacob ever touch(ed) a razor unless it's a very special occasion.

I cried out and was surprised at a hand being cupped hard over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. His voice spoke into my ear, loud enough because he knows me.

You don't want to wake everyone up, do you, princess?
Ben's voice. Slurring heavily.

Oh fuck Oh fuck Oh fuck Oh fuck.

He took his hand away and started to unbuckle his jeans and I screamed as loud as I could. I really don't care who I woke up at this point. He jumped up, staggering, and flung the door open just in time to face a crazed-looking Jacob with Robin and Chris right behind him, still half-drunk, they had no idea what the hell was going on. Jacob saw Ben and he knew instantly. He had warned me before.

Jacob charged into the room, grabbing Ben by the throat. Robin took me downstairs after I checked the kids. I told them I had a bad dream and held them for a long time. I couldn't hear Jacob, he was talking to Ben in a hushed angry whisper. Soon Ben came downstairs followed by Jacob and he didn't even try to leave. He just stood there. Jacob came over to me and put his arms around me and asked me if Ben had touched me and what he had done. I told Jake and he shook his head and kissed my cheek. He pulled back and smoothed my hair back behind my ears. So fucking grim. He told me he would be home in a bit and he and Ben left. Ben started to try to apologize to me but Jacob stopped him cold.

Don't you even SPEAK to my wife.

I sent Chris after them and Robin stayed and made some tea. I was alright, I just couldn't stop shaking. I kept staring at Robin, wondering if all guys are secretly monsters when given to weakness or if I'm crazy. Ben had been alone with me more than anyone else in the days following Cole's assault, when I was completely incapacitated and heavily medicated. Unless I'm unaware of any inappropriate behavior, he was trusted. Not anymore.

Robin brought the tea over and I jumped out of my skin when he put it down. He retreated quickly to the front room, probably reading my mind.

Jacob came back an hour later and sent Robin home in a cab. The full cup of tea was still sitting there, untouched. Kind of like me.

Jake gathered me up off the chair and just held me. So tight. So good.

This was my fault. I felt short on friends and I asked Jake to forgive Ben and let him come hang out again, because he's not a sick bastard, he's just misunderstood. Every word I said about him came back on a plate disguised as crow for me to consume and yet Jake hasn't once said I told you so.

Instead he prayed out loud to be in the right place at the right time to help me when I need it most instead of always being one moment too late. He prayed for my protection and my ease in life and for a safe environment in which I could thrive uninhibited without worrying about being hurt ever again. If it were up to him I would live in a turret and he would have the only key.

God is attempting to pay me back because I fucked around on Cole so I'm going to be punished repeatedly and Jacob's sentence is to always not be present. So I get the horror and he gets the guilt and together we're just trying to make it through one goddamned month without everything going horribly wrong.

He fell asleep last night cradling me in his arms like he does every night, only I don't think he really slept, I think he faked it so that I might fall asleep. I didn't even close my eyes. This after both of us yanking all the sheets off the bed in painful silence, remaking it out of necessity. The scalding shower did nothing to erase Ben's touch. Nothing.

This morning I asked him what happened to Ben after they left. Jacob just looked at me wearily, he didn't answer. Instead he offered to pour me some more coffee and then he said he would work from home today. He walked with us to the school and brought his laptop to the kitchen for the day, he hasn't been more than six feet away since.

Ben even sent me a text message at lunchtime telling me he was going to go to AA. What the fuck? Great, Ben. You go fucking improve yourself. Thanks for nothing.

And I know that I should press charges, I know I should be filing a report, I know what it was, and I can't bring myself to do anything. The simple fact that Ben has been here cheering on my progress, feeding my kids and being my friend has left me in worse shock than when Cole came after me, and whether Ben was drunk out of his mind or not, he took away one of the few comforts that I had worked so damn hard to rebuild and now I'm starting from scratch, again, with trust. I feel completely violated and so does Jacob. He's my husband. Someone else touched me. Now he know how it feels only worse, adding a whole new dimension to this relationship. If this isn't stacking all the odds against us I don't know what is.

I have nothing to say to just about everyone today. I was betrayed by a close friend who I have extended just about every generosity to that I have and he took advantage of me. I'm pissed off and in no condition to write because it comes out too violent, even for me.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe later. I don't know.

Heydee.

If I wish very very hard, maybe all these leaves will blow right through our yard and into the neighbors. But it must be soon, for I have to mow. When I'm done running back and forth to the school that is, reveling in the whole elementary grade fuss that has taken our neighborhood into it's death grip, not to spit us out until the end of next June. This is a riot. I watch the clock constantly, waiting for the time when my shadow (Ruth) gets reattached, though shadowgirl has a miserable cold and was up all night long.

When I'm done mowing I'm going to drag the too-heavy recycling bin all the way to the end of the driveway, because I can't lift it.

Then I'll paint the steps, because I was supposed to do it in July and then Cole died and well, a lot of shit didn't get done.

This is why men were invented, folks, so that Bridget wouldn't have to flex her domestic muscles past folding laundry and cleaning floors.

But where are all the boys, you ask?

A bachelor party.

And what kind of bachelor party starts at lunch time on a Thursday?

One that is obviously going to be memorable. Or possibly dangerous. Not sure which but hey, they're having fun and that's something that there hasn't been a lot of this year.

Me? I have lots to keep me busy. I wasn't invited, despite offering to dance and everything. Hmmph.