1:36
If you're not watching CBC newsworld maybe you should be. What in the hell is wrong with people?
In 1989 Marc Lepine walked into a university in Montreal and shot 26 women, killing 14 after ordering the men to leave.
Four hours after that happened, I had to go write an exam. I was 18 years old and two months into my first year as a student at an all-female university. Anonymous, copycat threats had been phoned in and so police and security presences were high.
We were searched, had our IDs checked and boyfriends, brothers and male faculty were given a serious degree of scrutiny. I remember being almost too scared to focus on the stupid math exam. All I could think was that it only took one crazy man with a gun to change someone's life forever, or take away someone you love.
I scored a 37 and was granted a rewrite. Permanently scarred, I scored a 49 the second time. This just makes my skin crawl. No excuse. I don't care what the reasons, if any, turn out to be.
Wednesday, 13 September 2006
1:02
I still haven't passed out yet. Remarkable.
Jacob called three more times. I missed two of them thanks to playground noise. But at least he's bringing home Vietnamese take-out tonight so I can deal with one less chore. Ruth is at school, iTunes is chugging and Henry's washing the dishes so I can sit on my ass and feel sorry for myself.
Well, it works for me.
I'd feel better if someone would lend me a copy of Josie & The Pussycats to watch. Oh be quiet, it's a comfort flick. I could have said Three Extremes, also a comfort flick. Why? Because I'm twisted, that's why.
I need more coffee.
I still haven't passed out yet. Remarkable.
Jacob called three more times. I missed two of them thanks to playground noise. But at least he's bringing home Vietnamese take-out tonight so I can deal with one less chore. Ruth is at school, iTunes is chugging and Henry's washing the dishes so I can sit on my ass and feel sorry for myself.
Well, it works for me.
I'd feel better if someone would lend me a copy of Josie & The Pussycats to watch. Oh be quiet, it's a comfort flick. I could have said Three Extremes, also a comfort flick. Why? Because I'm twisted, that's why.
I need more coffee.
12:06 p.m.
Lunch. Yay. We're halfway through the day. Everything tastes like cardboard to me. Yum.
It doesn't matter, though. The past hour was awesome.
Finally got my nose to stop, Jacob called fourteen times because he knows I'm not so okay today and I finally put on some lipgloss and headed over to pick up the kids. There's a bit of a gap between when Kindergarten is let out and when the older kids are dismissed for lunch so we went to the activity room to hang out.
I met some moms.
Some real live moms. From this neighborhood, spilling out of the woodwork. Something I haven't really done yet is meet any moms my age and we moved to this neighborhood almost a year ago. And they're all around my age, with kids. With houses. On these streets. I didn't recognize anyone from church, but most of them have seen Jacob. They filled me in on what goes on in the room each weekday morning and welcomed me warmly.
Geez.
I haven't had girlfriends for years. I might have been even a little tiny bit shy for a couple of moments.
I think most of them are Catholic though. That's okay too.
I will promise not to swear so much, I don't really do that around the kids anyways.
Girlfriends, people. A place to hang out in the mornings if I so choose. With other women to talk to.
Yay Bridget.
Okay, back to dying now.
Lunch. Yay. We're halfway through the day. Everything tastes like cardboard to me. Yum.
It doesn't matter, though. The past hour was awesome.
Finally got my nose to stop, Jacob called fourteen times because he knows I'm not so okay today and I finally put on some lipgloss and headed over to pick up the kids. There's a bit of a gap between when Kindergarten is let out and when the older kids are dismissed for lunch so we went to the activity room to hang out.
I met some moms.
Some real live moms. From this neighborhood, spilling out of the woodwork. Something I haven't really done yet is meet any moms my age and we moved to this neighborhood almost a year ago. And they're all around my age, with kids. With houses. On these streets. I didn't recognize anyone from church, but most of them have seen Jacob. They filled me in on what goes on in the room each weekday morning and welcomed me warmly.
Geez.
I haven't had girlfriends for years. I might have been even a little tiny bit shy for a couple of moments.
I think most of them are Catholic though. That's okay too.
I will promise not to swear so much, I don't really do that around the kids anyways.
Girlfriends, people. A place to hang out in the mornings if I so choose. With other women to talk to.
Yay Bridget.
Okay, back to dying now.
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, 12 September 2006
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.
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.
Monday, 11 September 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, 10 September 2006
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.
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.
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