Razorburned.

There are moments in my life that I can peg as the exact moment in which I changed. The moment I grew, learned something or re-adapted to my environment to be able to move ahead to the next phase. These are the moments with which I mark time, the moments that are strung together to hold the lights shining for me.

I had one of those moments last night.

My cheek burned red and hot scraping across his. His fingers traced a line down my arm to my hand, leaving goosebumps, the hair raised up from my skin like it does when I'm feeling fear or anticipation.

He laughed softly, his eyes bending into crescents, breaking into silent mirth. He waited for the goosebumps to fade and then did it again, with the same result.

Incredible, he said.

I nodded. I didn't say anything. I just watched him while I waited for the color to leave my cheeks. I waited to see if my flesh would become accustomed to his touch. I noticed I was holding my breath and so I stopped and tried to breath deeply but I know the moment I stopped thinking about breathing that I would hold it again.

He was doing it too. Holding his breath. Rocked by his effect on me and stunned by a physical response so basic and visceral it warmed his heart to the very core.

He broke the spell and apologized for burning my skin. I shook my head, willing him back under the spell but it was shattered.

He kissed me. I returned it once and then deferred. I saw his eyebrows go down and then soften and I knew he was wanting to protest but not willing to risk an argument and I liked that so he got a second kiss. One that didn't end easily. The one that took the breath I was holding and used it all up.

Then he turned and looked out the window. It was late. It had started to snow, again. The dark skies were dotted with feathery snowflakes skimming on the wind, spiraling down, landing everywhere. Covering our mistakes with a fresh coat of pure.

He walked me back down the hall and when we got to the door I started to close it and his look changed.

Why are you closing it?

I don't trust myself.

Does it matter anymore?

I closed it on him in response and slid down one side while he slid down the other and his fingertips came under the door and I grabbed them and held on.

I'm just not ready for this.

I don't even know if he heard it when I whispered it. I just know that his hand was there until I woke up this morning and then I imagine it was gone because he had to go to work or maybe he went to bed or something way smarter than sleeping on the wood floor pressed up against the door like I did. I knew when I woke up I had made the wrong choice once again, picking misery over warmth, solitude over companionship and the dark over the welcoming light of his room.

And so I called him at work and I told him I fucked up. He said knowing I was asleep on the floor bothered him worse that the rejection and that we could talk tonight if I wanted to or just let it go and everything would be alright. It was then that I realized that I can mark the moments that others grow and change too, because that was so not the old Ben that I love last night. It was some new guy that I know by heart but hardly recognized.

Things in the mirror are sometimes not as dumb as they appear.

    Maybe there will come a day
    When those that you keep blind
    Will suddenly realize
    Maybe it's a part of me
    You took to a place
    I hoped it would never go
    And maybe that fucked me up
    Much more than you'll ever know

This morning was very incredibly satisfying.

I took Ben and Joel with me, and I marched into Caleb's hotel suite, walking straight to the desk where he sat and I tossed a nice fat manila envelope in front of him, papers flying everywhere while he regarded me with his usual smug amusement, asking me what it was.

I explained to him it was a copy of his ruin, that I had similar envelopes waiting to be sent to his firm, his family and to our mutual high-end friends, and that if he really wanted me that badly, the price had just gone up. He would lose everything and if there is one thing I could ever tell you about Caleb, it's that he has worked hard to be where he is, and he is defined by his position. He enjoys his position. He won't risk his position. And so rather than calling me on my own threat, he tapped out completely.

His smile turned bitter, sliding right off his face. He asked if that was all I required to be released from him. I confirmed that I meant leaving me, my children and my friends, most of all Ben, alone, that we can all exist peacefully and he can get updates from his parents if he wants to be an absent uncle but otherwise I'm not doing this anymore and I'm not living in fear anymore.

He said he liked me better when I was fragile because that was the only part of me that had held any value for him anyway and without it I am just like everyone else.

I smiled and walked out.

Maybe that's exactly what I want, to be like everyone else.

Movies.

Strangers in a darkened room. Who were holding hands and no one saw.

    Sometimes it's hard to love me,
    Sometimes it's hard to love you too.

And of course I went to see Cloverfield this weekend. We took the kids even. Which caused a little keffufle at the ticket counter as I was informed my children don't appear to be 14. I pointed out I'm well aware. The guys were adamant about how well-versed the kids were in scary monster movies and the theater people seemed to be just thrilled. I made no apologies and we took our seats. It's a guideline, not a law.

No one told me that before the movie started I'd be gifted a viewing of the new Jon Bon Jovi video. Or that it was possibly written with Ben and I in mind. Or that when it was done I would look around and find everyone staring at me with stupid grins plastered on, nodding.

Bunch of idiots. Ben was absorbed in his blackberry pretending to be invisible. Ruth was talking my ear off. Henry was busy eating his snack while the lights were still on.

The movie was awesome once you got past the car sickness aspect. The kids enjoyed the heck out of it, especially the Very Gross Part, and we all resolved to go see the sequel. If you last right through the end credits it will all become very clear.

The other interesting moment was when Ben asked me if I was hungry. I nodded and he walked away, over toward the concessions. PJ asked what his problem was, and I asked him what he meant. PJ pointed out that he didn't wait to see what I wanted. I started to say he probably knows and then it kind of hit me all at once.

It's kind of like falling very hard and watching yourself do it. But from outside of your body.

Mornings with Poe.

Up for the dawn with coffee in hand, and a blanket for two, for the sunrise this morning felt colder than most. And inspiration came to me in the form of a fragment of old poem that I know, succinctly, by heart.

    
    But Psyche, uplifting her finger
    Said Sadly this star I mistrust
    Her pallor I strangely mistrust
    Oh, hasten! Oh, let us not linger!
    Oh, fly, let us fly, for we must
    In terror she spoke letting sink her Wings
    until they trailed in the dust
    In agony sobbed, letting sink her
    Plumes till they trailed in the dust
    Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

    I replied this is nothing but dreaming
    Let us on by this tremulous light
    Let us bathe in this crystalline light
    It's sybilic splendor is beaming
    With Hope and in Beauty tonight
    See it flickers up the sky through the night!
    Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming
    And be sure it will lead us aright
    We safely may trust to a gleaming
    That cannot but guide us aright
    Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night

You are the quintessential tornado, now, aren't you?

What do you want, Caleb?

I wanted to make sure you were alright after you concocted your brief little display of disinterest in our mutual friend.

I'm not interested in him and it has nothing to do with you.

Bridget, if you're trying to protect him by pretending not to be interested, you've already failed.

Why don't you just leave me alone?

Why don't you bring him along to our next meeting? Then you can show me how much you don't love him. Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you're doing.

You know nothing about me.

On the contrary, my dear princess. I know precisely the difference between giving you ecstasy and hastening your death. I try not to forget the numbers. Sometimes they get mixed up.

Did you just threaten me?

I have no reason to do that.

Sure you do.

What would that be?

Kicks. Your own amusement.

Yes, that's important, isn't it?

Not to me.

Well then let's try something different. You want to save your friend? Protect him any way you can. And be a little more subtle about it. Having him move in to soothe your fear of the dark won't save you any more that your lies will save Ben's life. Don't forget how suggestible he can be.

Leave him alone.

There's the princess we all know and love.

You don't love me.

Oh, but I do.

Prove it by leaving me alone.

That isn't as much fun, Bridget. So I'll be in town on Monday and I'll see you around nine. Yes?

Fine.

Pardon me? I couldn't hear you.

FINE.

I could hear you, I was just making sure you heard me. I'll make sure you're carried out with your hearing aids this time.

Fuck you.

I heard that too, Bridget.

Daylight to break.

This morning I pulled on fuzzy grey tights, a grey wool skirt and a warm nubby brown wool sweater that is long and warm with a turtleneck. I twisted my hair up into a messy bun with bits sticking out all over, stuck my reading glasses on top of my head and slid my watch on over my right hand. I slipped into my doc boots and went down to make some coffee.

No one else got up in time so I went into the den, closed the door to keep all the heat in the house from leaving and I opened the french doors all the way and I stood in the -45 degree morning and watched the sun rise between the pine trees in my backyard, the magenta glow highlighting the Victorian roof peaks of other houses in our neighborhood. The world was still and quiet. A time to reflect. A time to embrace myself as me, just plain old me, here to greet the day and consume my piece of the planet pie and leave my tiny mark which isn't really a mark so much as a chip on the rim of life's cup.

One that could cut you if you aren't careful but one that you ignore because the cup itself is so pretty and it's your favorite. So you carefully turn Bridget to the outside so that she won't cause any problems and you watch the sunset and sip from the smooth side, the unmarked side, the place that you will stake out to leave your own mark.

Soon the noises and smells of everyone up for breakfast came filtering down the hall and I reluctantly acknowledged the end of the dawn of the morning and went to join my children for waffles and fruit. Ben did not get up and join us because he's having a lazy day and will sleep for a while yet, I imagine but it's okay.

There will be another sunrise tomorrow.

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.