Bows and arrows.

    I think it's time you walked this lonely road
    All on your own
    It's your cold day in the sun
    Looks like your bleeding heart has already won
    I wish I could take it away
    And save you from yourself
    You get so lost inside your head
    Like no one else
    Are you looking for someone to blame?
    Did you blame me all along?

In the interest of being honest, of not sugarcoating life, Jacob ran. Let's call a spade a spade.

It'll be alright, baby girl.

Once I got past the shattering surprise and then the rage, complete with a mental plan to burn down his truck in the garage (no worries, I didn't, but I thought about it.) I realized it was going to be okay. He needs time sometimes. Living with me isn't easy, the grass isn't greener over here on Bridget's lawn. Plus it was a safe trip. Three nights, fully chaperoned thanks to Erin and Joel, who both attend the same conference and didn't leave Jacob alone for a second. No, Sophie wasn't there. And surprisingly Jacob cut it short, missing me, missing the kids, missing life as it is becoming a lot more stable and hoping he didn't fuck it up by going.

He didn't, but I did get an extra therapy session out of my abandonment issues and I had some trust issues with Jacob's timing. He wasn't planning to go, and hell, he held my hand for ten hours straight so tightly I woke up repeatedly the night he found out a whole new round of mindblowing Coleisms that I had somehow suppressed. So when he abruptly decided to attend and was packing the next morning I admit I was stung by it.

I shouldn't have been. He's legendary for just picking up and going and somehow still he managed to corral PJ and Andrew and August to trade off babysitting/support duties without telling me. Some would say he needs therapy to stay put when the going gets tough, even though his therapy is prayer and isolation and travel. A new latitude to see things in a new light. I knew this going into the marriage. And please remember the going is always tough here. There is no break from dealing with what we deal with. What I deal with. The progress is visible but sometimes bad times are simply that: bad times.

He came through the door in a whirlwind of blonde and navy blue backpack and his satchel full of books and notebooks and dumped it all on the kitchen floor and dropped to his knees with his arms out wide for me on Sunday afternoon and I flew into those arms laughing with relief, because he came home.

For some reason, I really never expected him to.

Yay! Jake is home a whole day early. Wicked. Awesomeness.

Actual posting to resume tomorrow.

August is here, taking good care of us and drawing pictures, that I then label for posterity. This makes me laugh.

Not the song to be singing while you pack, Jake.

    She can kill with a smile
    She can wound with her eyes
    She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
    And she only reveals what she wants you to see
    She hides like a child
    But she's always a woman to me

    She can lead you to live
    She can take you or leave you
    She can ask for the truth
    But she'll never believe you
    And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free
    She steals like a thief
    But she's always a woman to me

    Oh, she takes care of herself
    She can wait if she wants
    She's ahead of her time
    Oh, and she never gives out
    And she never gives in
    She just changes her mind

    She will promise you more
    Than the Garden of Eden
    Then she'll carelessly cut you
    And laugh while you're bleedin'
    But she'll bring out the best
    And the worst you can be
    Blame it all on yourself
    Cause she's always a woman to me

    She is frequently kind
    And she's suddenly cruel
    She can do as she pleases
    She's nobody's fool
    But she can't be convicted
    She's earned her degree
    And the most she will do
    Is throw shadows at you
    But she's always a woman to me

Best of the Web.

Hey. I'm not much in the mood tonight to regale the gleeful masses with my negative-brain space. You wouldn't want to see it. Suffice it to say I'm being easy to get along with! And chipper! And really fucking pulled-the-fuck together!

I think I'll get high this weekend and dance on tables and maybe pick up a boy..oh, wait, nevermind. I forgot I was talking about me here. Uptight, fragile little bee.

I'm going to read this weekend. Not work, just read, hang out with the kids and maybe order in pizza and when they go to bed I'll have hours to myself with all the books I'm planning to get later tomorrow at the library. I think it would be better if I didn't post here while Jacob is away.

Since I'm reading, you may as well read too. And don't just skim, fall into the words like a warm bath. They're better that way. Enjoy. You can search all the titles. I'm too tired to link.

Most popular post: Underwater Nyquil and porn. -This is hands-down the most visited entry I have ever written, probably because when people google "underwater porn" it comes up on the first page. The funny part is at least half the people who read it wind up coming back regularly.

Most painful post: It's a tie between The freefall and Two syllables and one saint. Both are incredibly private moments spelled out quite audibly. They stay up because this is part of my history just like the incredible and happy moments. The post in which I first talked about Cole's death doesn't count since it could be nothing but painful.

Most romantic post: I'm told it's Hollow, and I'll agree with you. That or it wins the award for revealing that kissing your best friend is one easy way to put yourself in labor.

Friends and family favorite: The Speed of Sound. This one is a look inside my head that clearly delighted people and I'm told it's well-organized, that it stands alone. The most praise I've ever received for an entry here. Thank you.

Most pornographic post: Mondays are special, it seems. I wanted to clearly and distinctly convey Jacob's sexual prowess with our size difference (his 6'4" to my 5') and I think I almost did it. I also think I need a cigarette after reading that again. And I don't smoke anymore.

Most link-filled post: No rain, just words, in which I list all the bloggers I read, proof that Bridget is not as narcissistic as she seems. I wish you'd all write more, every day would be nice but then again not everyone is wired like I am. That post gives you a good hand up to go and read some new faces or old favorites and have a nice weekend.

Don't worry about me, I'll be here somewhere. Eating pizza and reading Everything's Eventual.

See you early next week.

Not all bad.

Now that the sting of Jacob's trip plans has had a little time to soften, I wanted to point out I will be fine. I'm a big girl. I have a million resources at my fingertips, I just have to not think about the strongest of those being in Newfoundland while I am here. I have a million more resources here if anything else happens with rose petals, benches or flowerpots and I get the Suburban all to myself so I can drive all over town if I feel like it. I'll keep my appointments and take my pills and just try and stay super busy. I am fully aware it sounds like I'm trying to talk myself into making the most of it, probably because that's what normal people do.

Hot, cold. On, off. Hot, cold. Cold cold cold.

Sure, weirdest entry title ever. If you have to know, I hate putting titles on my thoughts. I could never categorize the jumble that comes out of my head, why should I name it?

Oh, and you can leave now, this one is private.

Jacob leaves on Friday morning for his annual conference. Yes, I know. Yes, that conference. He'll be back on Monday. Four days, three nights. I wouldn't have told me either.

Excuse me while I go scream or something.

No, on second thought, I'll be fine. Right?

I throw a mean dinner party but I have trouble with the giving thanks part.

And everything is good enough like it was.
    And everything is good enough like it was.
    And everything is good enough like it was.
    Like it was.

I'm sitting here, not drawing a blank but instead painting so many pictures I'm not sure what order I should present them in.

Bridget is the supreme adherent. I drank what I was given last night despite knowing I shouldn't, I returned to the table when I was ordered to when Ben showed up at our front door and I continue to slice and dice Jacob in marriage therapy as instructed.

It would have been better to skip the alcohol, sleep with Ben sometime over the past several years and ultimately protect Jacob from the pictures in his head now from having to listen to my brutally graphic and protracted descriptions of Cole's favorite things.

I was doing such a wonderful and admirable job of sugarcoating shit right up until today and I slipped and now I can't put it back in. The things I've already shared with him were so mild and I had hoped it was enough. It was not.

Dinner was lovely, by the way. The turkey was perfect, the kids cleaned their plates and everyone had a great time, since Jacob managed to throw Ben off the front lawn without any sort of fuss whatsoever.

Someone please remind me why I'm here? I'd ask Jake but everytime he looks my way he loses his composure all over the floor. And for that reason alone we're staying home for the rest of the day and I get to do some one-handed typing, because he won't let go of my other hand.

Loathe to infect my guests, I did indeed go to the clinic before lunch and it was predictably a ghost town so I was ushered in right away. My throat is healing, the cough and pain is residual in nature, as well as the lack of useable hearing in my ears. All of it should go away "in the next few weeks."

Weeks. Yippee. On with dinner plans!

On a completely unrelated note: Men who go out into the rain with cowboy hats on?

Incredibly freaking hot.

That is all. Happy turkey day to all.

Sick people have no business throwing parties.

    Lord, I'm foolish to be here in the first place,
    I know some man gonna walk in and take my place.
    Ain't no way in the world I'm going out that front door

The tie Jacob wore to church lasted until 11:26 am and then I watched as he untied it and snaked it off one side, balling it up and stuffing it deep into his suitjacket pocket. Then he saw me watching him and made a goofy face while pulling on the neck of his shirt with one finger to symbolize being strangled. I laughed out loud and Sam broke into a grin at us and kept talking from the pulpit. I was so embarrassed but that laugh flew out anyway and Jacob smiled for the rest of the morning.

He loves it when I can't stifle a laugh.

In the late afternoon we chose pumpkins at the pumpkin patch and then opted to come home, much to the dismay of Ruth and Henry, who were all corn maze! and hayrides! and ghost stories! but they're still coughing and have unpredictable sore throats and my throat still hurts all the time and I'm coughing a lot at night and in the mornings, so we came home to warm up and snuggle in for a bit before supper. Listening to music while I fussed with making chicken noodle soup and hot chicken sandwiches. Fielding more protests as I tucked the kids in before 7:30 pm so that they could have the benefits of sleep to heal.

It was exhausting.

Choosing sleep as well around nine, I headed to bed while Jake sat at his desk in the den, reading glasses on, cognac at hand, with Eat a Peach playing on the stereo, almost indiscernible to me at such a low volume. He's already back into his groove, philosophy and faith writing being old familiar friends to him so I left him to enjoy his time.

He did and he woke me up at midnight with drunken pooh-bear talk and crashing into the humidifier and a solid refusal to let me stay asleep in favor of indulging his favorite obsession (that would be me). I would have protested but I was too preoccupied with his mouth and his hands (among other things) to fight for sleep.

This morning we're slowly coming to life, the kids are feeling better today and my throat is miserably raw again. I'm seriously considering a quick run over to the walk-in clinic to have my throat looked at for a third time but may just leave it for tomorrow, as I have a table for ten set (well, two tables) and a lot of cooking to start this afternoon.

And cake. Bridget's got cake. The hell with turkey, bring on dessert.

I'm sure Jacob said something similar last night but I couldn't hear him clearly enough.