Home, warm and safe for the night.

Joel and Daniel concluded jointly that my brief over-the-shoulder zing concerning schadenfreude was...bratty.

Petulantly as a princess, I don't rightly care.

I'm well-aware that some people come here only so they can feel better about themselves and several who come only so they can clap their hands with glee when very bad things happen to Bridget.

How do I know this? They wrote to me to let me know.

Even when I put it out there, I'm not putting much out there at all, Don't forget that and we'll get along just fine. Now pass the hummus and some bread, I am starved.

I left Sam's office better than what I found it in. I set up his voicemail and taught him how to use it, all the filing is now caught up, I had groceries delivered and I even booked the cleaning service and the guy who comes to plow and sprinkle salt so no one wipes out (Bridget). I stood in Sam's office looking around at the same brass rubbing on the wall in a frame that doesn't match it and a bookcase full of gentle God-centered self-help and a few aging spider plants and some or most of the same furniture and the room smelled very faintly of sandalwood. Just for one little tiny quiet moment that maybe didn't exist outside of my head for all I know.

On purposes.

This post will be short. I'm working for Sam today. I'm answering phones, mostly and filing all the papers that have piled up in the past four months. To put it most kindly, Sam is a bit more...um...chaotic with his office. He said he was desperate, he needed help and didn't want to call a temp though if I had to wager a guess I'd say he wanted me to revisit Jacob's old office.

Which I did. No comment. There are no comments to be had. Fine, it hurts. Magnificently.

There's your schadenfreude for lunch, hope you enjoy it.

Anyway, around twelve I realized I was starving. I poked around in the kitchen and came up with the following:

One mini-can of ginger ale.
One bottle of water.
One mini-pack of pringles.
One frozen burrito that had to be chipped out of the freezer door.

This kitchen used to be fully stocked with fruits and veggies and seeds and juices and other goodies. Coffee/tea always on or close to it. Jacob was always feeding people.

I did notice that if you put the ginger ale and the water together in a big glass it tastes just like club soda.

Huh.

Death and taxes.

    I'm gonna miss you
    I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
    She says I love you
    I'm gonna miss hearing your song

Today was a whirlwind of caught breath, a new diner to try out, a new CD to spin, some new clothes to break in, a few haphazard kisses, some one-year rule reminders, perogies by the potload and taxes, which have to be filed for the deceased whether you're on board with that or not. Thankfully I know three accountants, two of which I'm even speaking to.

I had my teeth investigated, I sold the motorcycle, making John the Happiest Person Alive and I agreed to give up Friday night plans of sitting in the bathtub feeling sorry for myself in exchange for good seats at the hockey game, which is so small-community there are no tickets to buy but if you can help fill the stands it's always appreciated. I will bring eight people and then feed them afterwards. Ben will eat a whole pizza by himself and still be invisible when he turns sideways.

Bridget, not so much these days. :)

Have a lovely night.

What if it does?

Indeed. I've been turning it over in my head all morning. What if it does? What if it works out and there is a happily ever after somewhere in my lifetime after all? What if he was the path I stepped off of by mistake? What if my favorite, most perverted, most vulnerable friend in the whole world was supposed to be THAT guy? Oh crap, he's been under my nose and up in my face for five years and I was busy chasing pain.

What if, what if, what if.

All these thoughts are now best left for another day. The rest of this day involves curling up on the window seat in my kitchen with the snow swirling almost within touching distance but separated by clear intentions, biting on a strand of poppy jasper beads and drinking cappuccino while I read the very surprisingly good book I stole off Ben's night table a few days ago.

I made a fire in the woodstove, I have some nag champa burning upstairs and a roast in the oven for tonight and a whole lot of thinking to do. But not today. Nope, today I am taking it easy, enjoying the coziness and just being good to myself.

Followed underneath my own skin.

    Just call my name
    You'll be okay
    Your scream is burning through my veins
When I opened my eyes this morning, the ring was on my bedside table. I turned over to get up and smacked into Ben who was sleeping on top of my covers, fully clothed, his arm out as if he had just let go of me. He hadn't come home after work last night. I finally called Daniel (Ben's younger brother) because I was worried about him and Daniel said he was probably at a meeting (AA) and that I can't feel responsible for Ben's emotions. He's right but it doesn't make it easier.

I slipped out of the room and went down to look after feeding the pets and making coffee. I brought him back up a cup and shook his shoulder and he bolted up. I almost dropped the cup.

I'm sorry, little bee.

No, I'm sorry.

I told you before you don't need to protect me from Caleb.

I can try.

He can't hurt us.

You don't know that, Ben.

Is that the only reason you gave the ring back?

No.

What's the other reason?

What if it doesn't work out?

What if it does?

No, it's a no. The answer.

It's no.

He came home for lunch because I am alone today and I couldn't get out of my own face and rather than be nice, rather than wait, I gave him back the ring. I want him here as my friend and nothing more. There isn't more to be had. I love him the way I love all my friends and I can't do any more than that.

Maybe the social graces were missing but at least he's not living on hope anymore and I can't tiptoe around his wagon as if he can't see me. Hell, how can you miss me? I'm a fucking tornado. Rocking foundations and destroying lives all over the place.

Rebel without a pause.

    Can't you see that you're smothering me
    Holding too tightly afraid to lose control
    Cause everything that you thought I would be
    Has fallen apart right in front of you
    Every step that I take is another mistake to you
    And every second I waste is more than I can take

Here, have the confusion and the doubt, I'll just sprinkle it all around myself and distract you with pretty while my insides turn black. Like a rotten birthday cake or a dead rose.

Why should I? Why would I bend to his will? What do I owe him? The last time I checked, just because he asked, just because he put himself out there and made the offer it doesn't mean that I am bound to accept it. Just because he's somewhat loyal doesn't mean that I have to do a damned thing.

Here's the point. He's holding out. You don't get it. I can use him for companionship. I don't ever have to be alone. Especially at night. I can be safe. He uses me because when I next feel self-destructive, he'll be in the right place, having craved my body long before he ever offered to share my heart. The hype. I am so overrated but it's too late for reason.

For everyone who keeps reminding me that I'm harsh on him, I find it funny how quickly you forget his motive for being my friend for at least half of our relationship. For everyone holding their breath for us to hook up remember you'd be pairing two ruined souls. We fight. A lot. I looked him straight in the eye earlier this year and told him I would never love him like that and he was fine with it. He didn't care about that, he was too distracted thinking about fucking me. Who is the bigger masochist? Who has the most to lose? I can't answer those questions. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.

I forgave him for that, though. I did.

Maybe we deserve each other and I should give him whatever he wants. Let's face it. I'm holding out for...what? I didn't hold out for Caleb. I never held out for Jake. If I sleep with him maybe he'll stick around and maybe he'll be off and ready for his next conquest or six. He's been with a lot of girls in his life, I'm just one on a list to be had.

I could even marry him. I could just start in on him and rip him to pieces and leave him in my wake, another casualty of Bridget's fragile, twisted fucked-up love. Whatever definition you want to give. And then he falls off his wagon and everyone blames me. Or worse. I could give him a real shot and wind up hurt worse than Cole ever hurt me. Or Jake for that matter.

Oh, yeah, let's not go there. No one wants their day ruined hearing about Bridget screaming in pain and Cole laughing. He used to tell Ben things and Ben would agree with him, that I was around for their use. That Ben could have me. Dangling me like a piece of meat in front of my friends and he could force my hands behind my back and shove me forward and I would have tears streaming down my face and Ben felt guilty because Cole was going too far. But what of the desire it brought out in Ben? Do you think I didn't see it? I saw it then and I saw it the night he touched me when he was loaded. I saw it written all over his face and I just tucked it away for later. His betrayal stung me but at the same time I loved it. I loved it that he wanted me so bad. I always knew. But I tucked it away. For later.

Now, it is later. And my only thoughts of revenge lean toward stealing his presence for my comfort, exploiting a history he no longer cares about. At the same time falling in love with this guy because he won't get out of my way. It's too soon, it's all wrong and it won't ever be fair to anyone.

Here's the one shining point to be the wrench in the gears. I don't feel crazy with him. Never have. If you'll notice anything striking, out of all the times I've gone down screaming he is nowhere to be found. I left him out of it. I never thought he could handle me being uncontrollable because he's always had his own monkey to wrestle with. When he came to the hotel, that was his very first attempt to pull me out of the fire. He did well. And for some reason when he's around I feel like he and I are on the same page, that we make decisions together, we talk and no one gets the upper hand, no one is in charge, we're just us. Not crazy, though, never crazy. Never unstable, never fucked up. I have a love for him that is so different and so profound I can't even describe it to him or to myself. Why do you think he never leaves me, even when he tells me he hates me? We're already in love, it's been five years now.

How does that happen?

    I've become so numb I can't feel you there
    Become so tired so much more aware
    I'm becoming this all I want to do
    Is be more like me and be less like you

So this is where we are. You may say I'm stupid or foolish or easy or you may say I'm in pain and looking for a way out or a way in to dilute that pain and you might say it's a disaster in the making, but it's okay.

Because I still can't hear you.

And this is my kitchen sink.

    Stay away from these rocks we'd be a walking disaster
    (don't reach out, don't reach out)
    Just cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there
    (there's someone on your shoulder)

Mmmm, internet I am up far too early for my taste on a Sunday but Butters was barking and Ben isn't responsible for letting him out even though they mostly sleep together now. I called Ben's phone from my bedroom to wake him up and beg him to let the dog out in exchange for french toast for breakfast but then I remembered his phone was charging in the kitchen when I went to bed last night.

We did manage to turn the game off long enough to catch the sickening end of another losing round of Leafs hockey. Everyone left around 10:30 and I went to bed to read around eleven, waking up with the book I was reading on my face at four a.m. I hate that. And then the dog at eight a.m. You can't tell me you're not going to wake up if that happens. But Ben pretends not to. He sleeps hard anyway. He sleeps like a rock, he doesn't move, he doesn't stir, sometimes I think he doesn't breathe or dream, He just drops.

If you're wondering how I know that there is a whole list of disastrous camping stories that left a bunch of us packed into one tent or the other, waiting out torrential rains, snowstorms, people who forget tents or large parts of them, wayward bears, rabid raccoons and other assorted situations that left him sleeping right behind me, curled around me, one arm down under my knees while Cole breathed down on my head in front of me, arms around my shoulders.

Yeah. Uh...

Anyway...

Today I have big plans. I'm going to church, going to try again now that people have stopped seeking me out for comment or curiosity, now that Sam has settled in and it doesn't feel like he's filling in and I'm only going to show Sam that I'm not avoiding him, even though I won't grant his request to come to the office and talk with him. I can't go in that office. But I can damn well stick my middle finger up at God and defiantly take my place in the sanctuary. I'm still angry with God and I'm hoping to change that.

After church we'll have a quick lunch and then I'm going shopping because I have no clothes. None. Everything is tight. Twenty pounds is a whole four sizes up and I'm happy for that but I don't know what to wear. Ben said just buy some jeans and one dress-up outfit and I'd be good to go. Maybe a couple of sweaters or something. I'm not used to shopping for myself and Cole and Jacob had the same tastes in what they liked to see me in and I think I'm done feeling like a doll. My plan today is to wear a sweater over my skirt which is held closed with pins because I can't get the zipper up. Haha.

After shopping I promised to head over to the outdoor rink before supper to watch Ben's game. They, unlike the Leafs, are doing well this year.

Dinner is at home tonight, since it's a school night. And I would like to go to bed early. I've been up for two hours and I'm already tired. I think it's because I feel the weight of God's expectations and it's a lot of work ignoring Him.

My rocker looks just like me.

I don't know quite what happened to this day, but it began with a phone call and Ben took off and was back fifteen minutes later. More phone calls were made and the room downstairs that functions as the official music room was left to gather dust as my living room was rearranged to accommodate Rock Band, the game.

I've never seen a more excited bunch of guys (and kids). They even had pledged an information blackout, vowing not to find out in advance what songs were on it. So, to our surprise, there was Ben's favorite song, one of the first ones you get to play, no less.

Remember my issues with REM being stuck in my head? Well, Ben has had the same problem now for years, but with Radiohead's Creep. He can be as self-disparaging as the rest of us and probably won't want you to know that he sings this to himself just about all the time he's not singing something else but I'll tell you anyway and probably everything else besides.

The game is a riot though. It will eat up your whole day if you're not careful. I thought it was eleven when I went to make lunch but it was already three o'clock. Something tells me they will play all night. That's okay. I love company. And I love music even more.

    I don't care if it hurts
    I want to have control
    I want a perfect body
    I want a perfect soul
    I want you to notice when I'm not around
    You're so fucking special
    I wish I was special

    But I'm a creep
    I'm a weirdo
    What the hell I'm doing here?
    I don't belong here

    She's running out again
    She's running out
    She runs runs runs

Baptized in alcohol.

Hmm. An interesting evening. Skateboard Jesus told me I looked fulfilled and asked where the preacher man was. I said dead and he nodded and said he expected it. I was about to ask him how and instead I was ushered away again. It was dark out. The restaurant beckoned with warm lights and enticing menus framed in the window.

I ate more than I usually do. I stole PJ's roll even. I had one glass of wine and I enjoyed myself. I didn't feel crazy or grief-stricken or abused or ruined or even fragile. I felt like Bridget, who once was a girl before she became this, whatever this is. This soulless bird who flits around perching in everyone's tree looking for a nest that was destroyed in a storm, rebuilt and then destroyed again. Looking for shelter, looking for refuge from future storms.

I don't feel crazy. I can talk about Cole. I can listen to stories about Jacob. I can endure gentle jokes and comments and others pointing out how much both men are missed. I can appreciate the lack of judgement over things they did in their lives that weren't quite right or so terribly wrong and I can revel in small moments where life doesn't hurt quite as much as it has in the past.

But maybe that's because I'm almost just about totally drunk off one forbidden glass of wine, because no one dares deny me that but had I asked for a second I would have been shut out completely. Tomorrow when I'm back to me again I'm sure I'll wake up beside crazy. It's just waiting for the good to wear off again. It stalks me.

And pathetic. Did I mention pathetic? Yeah, that's what I am.

It's a happy-pathetic though, no worries. A kind of wow, what a loser but at least she's doing well pathetic. A beautiful one.

And please for the love of God stop telling me to put the ring on. It's not about the ring. It's about the crystal ball. I have a really big shard of it left and it said my future is...

...uncertain.

But goofier than pathetic. THAT I can assure you. First day without pain of any kind. Tomorrow must be a doozy.

K, so drunk. Bye.