Without representation.

Waking up this morning was fun.

Ben was already awake. Lying there breathing softly, tracing my hair down across the pillow. I turned over and he pushed me away again, tucking me down against him, one hand on top of my head, holding me still, the other hand pressed flat against my lower back, forcing my pelvis out. It felt so good I didn't want to ever stop this morning but eventually he turned me back into his embrace and I do believe I screamed right into his mouth.

He's awesome. He knows things to do that I swear I don't think other men are even remotely aware of. Don't ask me to elaborate though, ask him. He'll probably tell you in excruciating Bridget-detail because he can now.

You probably won't even have to ask.

In other news that's not fit to print, everyone has contacted the Evil One to let him know that they aren't the least bit worried about their Bridget and he can't touch her. Literally or figuratively anymore. It's funny, I didn't have to use anything I had. His attempts at blackmail fell flat because I beat him to it and offered up the DVD from that awful week in November because I needed them to safely know what it was all about. They knew and they sat for just long enough of it to take Caleb's leverage away. And instead of punishing me for my jacked-up, destructive risks they just hold me tighter now.

God bless them all.

And Lochlan is flying in for the weekend! I've been cleaning today and wondering who in the hell I'm going to get to represent me now after squeaking out of my contract at the last minute. Any ideas? It wasn't so much about not wanting to write anymore, I just don't want to write as him anymore. My pseudonym/alterego. He isn't me. It became an epic struggle. So Loch was invited up to celebrate my independence from that guy who shadowed my every word and to maybe try and celebrate a little independence of his own. It's going to be a terrific weekend. We have a very small and important party planned. I've already raked up the grass and swept the patio and put the lights up. It's supposed to be warm and sunny, everyone is very excited and that, my friends, is contagious. I hope it's terminal.

I have a million things to do, so I'm going now but tell you what: why don't you write in your blogs so that when I'm tired later I have something to read. That would be great. Or go have very good sex and tell us all about it.

No? Chickens.

Change.

Another post courtesy of the secretive esoterrorist. Esoteric terrorist? Terroteric. Whatever.

I've always been so incredibly resistant to change. There are changes coming. Nevermind, they're already here.

Clocks are ticking, whistle-bells are clanging and if given a choice, I would choose to run the other way, slipping on my headphones as I go and living in that moment, only that moment when I am deep inside my head and cut off from the world.

Changes like standing up to Caleb, who in the what the fuck were you thinking category today sent me a text message, written this morning probably somewhere between a hundred-dollar shave and a breakfast meeting. Because he isn't stupid and somehow he always manages to find things out long before the rest of the world. Someday someone will tell me how he does this, though I expect a lot of people told him just to rub it in. His reaction was to send me a threatening message, which, when I stopped laughing, made me sad for him.

Not a feeling I am used to, I'll tell you that for nothing.

I'm sure my reaction will simply trigger a wave of disastrous emails or confrontations with him, so I'm just going to KEEP GOING FORWARD because hell, nothing in the world could fail me now. The good news is I preempted him months ago. The best news?

He underestimates my friendships.

Other changes like cutting ties with virtually all of my network in the publishing world in order to start over, my agent disagreeing with my choices, with backing out of contracts at the eleventh hour and refusing to support me now, though he stood for everything else and it's like losing a family but I'm going to start over.

Changes like going back on meds I really need but different ones that might work or might not, and changes like ones I won't tell you about today (to save for another) but they involve everyone I know to some extent and I'm leaning heavily on their good graces for the duration.

Again, starting over.

Every single day of my life I've fought to stay out of the inside of my head because it's sad and panicky and destructive and so unhappy. It's the part of me that has no answers for itself. It can't tell you why it's unhappy any more than I can tell you why I am. It just is what it is. I have learned (almost) how to live with it, in spite of it and within it.

It is who I am.

There are moments of joy, moments when I am relaxed. Moments when I'm having fun. Escaped into a movie, forced into my seat on a tilt-a-whirl, the moments before I fall asleep when things are good right then and there, not awful. Moments when I know for sure that I am loved.

The rest of the moments I will never wish to be here. I can't do what I want. I can't go where I want, I can't be who I want to be. Sure, I'm making a stab at all of it but at the end of the day this is a race I can't even place in, let alone win. I have so much on the inside and no one is ever going to see much of any of it. I have qualities that reach so fast past what you'll get from other people it isn't even funny.

But you know what? People will always go for the shallow because they can't deal with what's inside of them. They can't touch it, they don't know themselves, they don't want to know.

It's dumb. It's sad. It's ironic and pointless too. And I wasn't even going to post today. I'm busy being shallow-but-deep too, seeking out those tiny moments of joy just to stay alive because it's what's expected. And I'm going to live the rest of my life being told what to do because it's for the best and it doesn't sound like it but I chose all of this and I'm happy I did, and I will be happy with the outcomes because I'm doing the best that I can.

Even though I hate change. I hate being forced to do things I would otherwise put off and I have learned to thrive on pain because it's all there is and maybe if you keep forcing change, something will change. For the better.

For the best.

On taking dares.

    I'll shove your head under water
    but I won't ever let you drown

The day I met Ben it was sunny and warm. He was sitting in front of an unlit campfire, guitar in arms, singing at the top of his lungs. A cool song, an original song. It sounded good. It was grungy and harsh and soft all at the same time. It was deep.

He was adorable. Dark. Pale. Gothic metal guy. Cute (shhhhh, Christ.). When he got to the end I clapped, having plunked myself down across from him to listen to the rest while Cole went off in search of deadwood with Christian. He smiled and introduced himself and I told him my name and said he had a beautiful voice. He said thank you as if it were something he heard many times a day, a confidence evident in his abilities that he keeps so far removed from his personality it's as if he has two men trapped in one body. He told me he knew who I was, that Cole spoke of me often and that they worked together, though Ben was leaving for a new job soon. He said he hoped he'd be a good camping friend, proving his thoughtfulness right off the bat, as if you've ever been on a group camping trip with people who just don't mesh, it can turn a fun long weekend into a never-ending agony in which the minutes tick by.

It's funny how that part turned out actually. When it comes to travel, Ben is incredibly forgetful, especially with big ticket items like, oh, passports. He never ever forgets his guitar. Always has the guitar.

It was hot that day, oppressively so and we had all retreated to the shade to try and stay cool, drinking beer, being silly, while Cole and Ben and Mark entertained with songs and trading leads and telling stories. Finally the sun went down and everyone had grouped off, some talking by the fire, some exploring the shoreline, some in tents talking or reading.

I wanted to swim, wanted to remove the stickiness of the day, the bug spray, the sunscreen, the sweat. I told Cole I was going and asked if he wanted to join me. He didn't but Ben did and so we agreed to meet at the water in ten minutes. I was back in five in my bikini and he came along a couple beats later, in board shorts and a t-shirt. I asked him what the t-shirt was for and he said modesty. We laughed and he took it off. He had a perfectly smooth chest with nicely defined, thick muscles without being obvious. Natural strength.

He went in first and held his hand out for me to follow on the rocky bottom. We got out up to my neck and he stopped, the water barely mid-chest on him. We swam around each other in circles, talking and floating and diving and then all of the sudden it was dark. Super-dark. We could see the campfire lit from shore and Ben asked if I wanted to take a dare.

I pointed out foolishly that I have never failed to make good on a dare, a comment he never forgot again in his life.

He dared me to skinny dip, his eyes flashing.

I said I would if he did. He laughed and said he probably wasn't nearly as impressive.

I asked him what he meant, and he said he never saw a girl less self-conscious in a bikini. I pointed out everyone had the same parts to cover. He asked if I minded when people stared. I said no.

He held up his shorts.

Okay, fine. I untied the strings and held up my two piece.

He let out a surprised laugh. We weren't self-conscious with each other in the least.

He, well, he was impressive. Do I need to elaborate? I guess there are things I never forget too. (He has since read this and pointed out he must be twice as awesome, since cold lake water tends to have the wrong effect on things such as that. I would have to agree there.)

We continued to swim around each other and talk. Cole came down to the water and grinned and told me it was time to come in. Ben swam over to me and grabbed my bikini and threw it to Cole. I tried to retaliate but only served to get dunked and Ben went in to shore. About waist-height he pulled his shorts back on and then joined Cole and they exchanged a few words and had a laugh at my expense and then I asked Cole to throw back my suit so I could come in. He refused and they laughed again. I said fine and I came in anyway, Ben watching every step I took, Cole watching Ben. When I passed Cole I told him thanks a lot and I grabbed my suit. I struggled back into the wet suit and we returned to the campfire and he brought out a towel and tried to make it up to me.

I didn't realize his brain was already in motion.

An hour later Ben announced that his tent was at home because it wasn't here. Cole wasted no time, inviting him to sleep with us, even though I pointed out Chris brought a two-man and they could bunk together, couldn't they? Cole told me not to be so fucking uptight and Ben waited until we were settled and then Cole abruptly put me in the middle, saying that he would have more room and it would be less weird if I was in between them.

And that night I slept. I didn't think I would but I slept between them all night and when I woke up I had four arms around me and Ben was wedged in behind me so tight I think I might have known his middle name before I had to ask. Cole woke up and grinned and asked me if I slept well. I'm almost sure now that Cole was definitely grooming Ben for something more when I left him and long before that, and that's why Ben felt so slighted, jilted when I left Cole for Jacob and subsequently vetoed the great polygamist plan of 2007 or whatever the hell he was up to.

And I failed to notice my friendship with Ben was strangled by his feelings because I was too busy chasing angels.

The goofiest part about the whole thing was every single camping trip since that one, Ben has forgotten his tent on purpose. And I still have never missed a dare. I'm taking one tomorrow, actually, so there might not be an entry. I'll be back Tuesday to tell you all about it.

The energetic nature of volume.

    will it change your life if I change my mind?
    when she's lit the whole wide world
    I want to know if you will beg me and then tell me how to love you
    like anybody else would
    I know you're risking failure, (risking failure)
    but I'd hope you set your levels (for how long)
    so you can run for cover
    you better start to love her
    now are we this pathetic?
    you made me finally see it
    (will it change your life when I change my mind,
    will it change your mind when I change my life)

You know how life just ticks along and then you get thrown all kinds of curveballs? Things you don't expect?

Yes, like that. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Good. Don't get comfortable, then.

Is it Saturday? It seems to be. PJ called me Muffin today. He hasn't done that in years. Ruth went on her first sleepover at a friend's house for a birthday, leaving me feeling panicky and overprotective and Henry got to stay up late and watch movies and eat chocolaty things and be spoiled.

I mailed off some unsolicited short stories today that will probably be rejected in due course. I learned I buy jeans too big and that my ego is so fragile I'm amazed I can get out of bed in the morning.

But I do anyway.

Because I'm Bridget. The former Saltwater Princess and that nickname is nothing more than a painful reminder now of a romantic dream-like state that had all the stamina of a bubble blown by a child on a rainy day. I'll just be Bridget, and you can be Internet, and we can pretend we get along.

It's a good night.

I feel happy.

I have Beg by Evans Blue firmly lodged in my head. How in the hell did that happen?

My spartans fight a different sort of enemy.

Bridget, don't move.

WHAT IS THAT?

A baby spider, baby, relax.

GET IT OFF ME! OH MY GOD.

Shhh, it's okay. I've got it.

Oh hurry hurry hurry, please, Ben.

Man, you need to relax.

I hate bugs.

Yeah, I know, but this is over the top.

Sorry. I really really really hate bugs.

See, if you were bigger they wouldn't look quite so scary.

Nice, thanks.

Anytime.

Saltwater Youtube.

Oh and ignoring the post around the link, remember this? The youtube part, linked in the third paragraph in that post. The Foo Fighters. At least thirty female emailers thanked me for pointing out the goodness that is Taylor Hawkins.

Who everyone said looks like Jacob, but he doesn't IN REAL LIFE.

Because what I never told you was that I got to experience it live a little while ago and I put up my own taped experience. The video isn't great (I was jumping up and down, now I understand how all the bad concert vids wind up on youtube and I'll never speak ill of them again), but the sound was awesome and seeing it live, seeing them live, was really fucking cool.

At 2:22 into the video you can hear Ruthie squeal.

Enjoy.

(Link has now been removed, thank you).

Dented kettle.

More surprises today.

The beard? Gone again, mostly. He's rocking a goatee of stubble today. He still looks like a serial killer. A hot one, but serial nonetheless. It's just too scary. Or maybe I'm too used to his clean-cut cuteness. Hotness. Whatever. I almost forgot my post.

Ben has quit smoking (again, shhhh.). His doctor has advised that he really really needs to stop this time. I'm so glad, I pointed out kissing the Marlboro man isn't nearly as nice as kissing a guy who doesn't smoke and he was vaguely offended. He points out it's the only thing that makes him look like a cool kid anymore, being thisclose to forty and all that. I pointed to the wall of guitars and asked him why he didn't get his cool from that.

Well...he thought that was pretty cool after all. For now.

Oh and the Fridays off thing? Still a feature of his life and part of his new contract with his old shop. When he worked every Friday night delivering pizza as a teenage boy he made himself a promise that when he grew up he would never work another Friday again as long as he lived. It took until he was almost thirty-nine to pull it off with any ceremony at all considering how little he actually works when he's home but it's certainly nice to see him home today.

This morning also saw a third (fourth?) surprise. Bikes. Not the motorcycle, but actual bicycles. The last time I was on a bicycle was when I was a preteen (or 'tween, as they seem to be called these days) and I went ass over teakettle over the bars and broke several teeth. I did the same thing on a skateboard a few years earlier. Me in control of things with wheels (or rudders!) are just not a great plan overall, okay? He thinks it would be a great idea for all of us to go on bike rides.

I'm trying to get into it. Slowly. I did survive the four-block ride this morning and pointed out I run faster than I bike. He was not impressed with me at all. He said we were riding slowly for me to get used to the gears. And I am not graceful. I kept trying to get on and off the bike by hurdling my leg over the front bar instead of swinging up from the back, like how I get on (I know, mount. Gah.) Nolan's horses.

Okay, the horse might have been less scary but at least when I got going on the bike I didn't have the high-pitched squeal that went on for a good ten minutes like I did with the horse.

(Snort.)

I'll take the horse back, in any case. Horses don't need to be pedaled and don't have to contend with cars crowding us off the trail.

Ben asked me if I would do this for him, and he would quit smoking just for me. I told him in order to be a success he needed to do that for himself, not for me. He called me something awful and said I sounded like a therapist and how ironic of you, the formerly so fragile miss b.

He said he would quit for me anyway, that he'd do just about anything for me, he wants me that much. I told him he could make lunch for me then. I'm starving.

Notes from left field.

    Make me a better place
    it's filled with a little love, yeah
    make me a better place
    it's filled with a little love, yeah

Oh, look. It's a better day, a stronger morning, a chance to get some things out that I won't say out loud for fear that I go up in smoke or catch fire or maybe just blow off the face of the earth like dandelion fluff on a warm summer breeze into the endless blue sky.

It's raining. A glorious dark sky, closed in, warm. Cozy.

The box thing. Really, it's better that it's not here. If I need it I know where to go. And it's a tiny little satellite Jacob that fits in two hands. The mothership was taken back to Newfoundland by Jacob's parents. All ten pounds of it. They wanted to do it the other way around but I was otherwise engaged and not here to argue and it was decided for me that the smaller one would be more Bridget. I could carry it around. Oh how I carried it around at first.

There is no obituary. Stop looking. There was a lovely tribute in the church Jacob grew up in and the one that he left here which amounted to something he had written and a picture of the four of us above it and otherwise his parents were too horrified to announce his death publicly. Suicide isn't something you speak of, you see. They are old-fashioned like that, as they well should be at their ages. They, like me, almost six months later are just beginning to try on their new shoes of bereavement and finding out that they are still too tight, painfully so, and you can't walk in them yet so they'll go back in the dark closet and let's just close the door now, shall we? We'll try them on again another day.

Yes his things are still in that closet and yes every day I'd like to go in there and shut the door and never come out again. Instead I go in the pantry and sit by the Keebler boxes and wish I lived in the cookie factory inside the little cartoon tree because I bet that no one ever cries in that house. I make a very good elf.

Ben has come in the pantry three times to sit with me. He's been very good about this. The first time he sat down and brought two shelves and fourteen cans of soup and fruit down on our heads. It hurt like hell but we laughed because Ben doesn't quite fit in the pantry. He didn't adopt Joel's trick of turning around, getting as close to the door as possible and then sitting down slowly beside where I tuck in beside the baskets on the floor. He's getting the hang of it now.

He brings home a new CD just about every week for me to try out and listen to. He's trying desperately to avoid the old favorites and the crashing pain of me listening to songs that tear my heart apart. I can't afford any more injuries to my poor little heart and for the work I try to do to strengthen it every day those new seams that I sew are tested and sometimes they hold but sometimes they're weakened and I know this patch job won't hold forever but for now it's still better than nothing.

Loch calls me every single day to talk, only he tells me about Hope and all the wonderful things she can do and he tells me things I shouldn't be told about himself and his struggles to be a dad from far off because instead of getting married they broke up again and we trade miseries and confessions and call it support. It's his only way of keeping tabs from far away and Ben has begun to resent it just enough to bring a difficulty to things and I don't blame him in the least but for now no one is going to go out of their way to point it out.

Ben and I are terrific, thanks for asking. I love him to bits but there's still a huge part of us falling back on friendship to get us through the very hard parts. It's sometimes very awkward. Well, Ben is very awkward sometimes, tripping over his own feet and his own words as much, and then other times he's the smartest person I've ever met, cool and smooth and sure of everything. I like him best when he's warm and funny and making sick jokes and being so perverted I don't think I'll ever let him have lunch with my mother. My kids are used to him, he tones it down or complicates it enough to keep them from being corrupted. They think he's awesome. And he likes them for them. He isn't trying to step in and be a father to them. Ben has never wanted to be a father in his life to anyone, but he's told a few people now (not me) that if he had to chose children to be responsible for and to love (he already loves them) it would be my two. No small feat for a man who is a giant child sometimes.

That isn't an insult. Hell, look at me. I am so immature I let people lead me wherever they want to go and then I realize I'm lost and I need to find my way back but I wind up hitchhiking on a back road and along comes a truck with a guy inside and he looked familiar and he told me not to expect him to carry my baggage because he had his own and it was heavy enough. And then he asked for my help in carrying his stuff too and I agreed and it was maybe the best thing ever. It gave me purpose and it gave me power, to be the strong one.

Even though sometimes? I think he's pretending just to see how far I will get. I hope I can surprise him because I'd like to make him happy. I'd like to make me happy too and I have to come first.

Don't I?

Bites of wind.

Holy smokes, it's freezing outside.

It isn't actually, it's sunny and almost ten degrees. But it's cold if you're on the back of Andrew's motorcycle for a good forty minutes. My thighs hurt. It's very difficult to unclench my fingers from the shape they're in from the deathgrip I had around Andrew's chest. He's not nearly as big as Ben is and every corner felt like a bitter end. I thought I would die and would have rethought the whole trip had he not taken me to the coolest little place for lunch.

It only took me all of three minutes to figure out that he was Ben's snitch, buttering me up only to find out if I have any doubts at all now, over events of late and conversations conducted with fragile hearts packed tight and clinking in the back of a truck on a long and bumpy road. I told him what he could take back to Ben, and that everything is better, that somehow Ben found one sentence to say to me that managed to express both how he felt and eradicate any doubts I might ever have about his motives or his mortality or his loyalty to me, if I had any doubts left at all.

I'm not going to share what Ben said because for once I'm not going to jinx it by telling everyone who isn't awfully close. But I made PJ cry when I told him. And I will tell you, dear Internet. But not just yet.

The blind leading the deaf.

    I'll follow you if you follow me
    I don't know why you lie so clean
    I'll break right through the irony

    Enlighten me
    Reveal my fate
    Just cut these strings
    That hold me safe

    you know my head
    You know my gaze
    You'd know my heart
    If you knew your place
    I'll walk straight down
    As far as I can go

My shoes are wet and soaked with creosote and my hands are ice-cold this morning. Butterfield and I ran the tracks until I couldn't see my neighborhood anymore and didn't really know where we were but I knew I could turn at any time and just follow the line back the way I came.

There are giant standing pools of filthy winter water where the snow used to be, within which rests litter of eight months of indoor weather and outdoor helplessness. Somewhere is even the wrapper from a granola bar I ate in a hurry one day as I tried to multi-task on a walk and then I realized when I was halfway back that I must have dropped the wrapper when I pulled my mittens out of my pockets. It was simply too cold to go back. My penance will always be picking up water bottles and coffee cups from in front of my house. People park up and down my street on football game days and they're a messy beerish lot. I pick up after them quite a bit.

I've brought the windchimes and the angel statue out of winter storage. They're by the back door along with all the lawn chairs and patio lights, ready to go out the minute the snow goes. Then I'd like to sweep the little pebbles off the big flat rocks and rake the grass up well so it grows, lush and green and then maybe I'll excavate a little in the front since we have worn a path cutting through the front yard from the side for as long as we've lived here to go to school. May as well give up on grass in front and do a path and some bark and maybe a few low flowering shrubs, hardy ones to get through the winter. I failed to protect the junipers this winter, having been left by Jacob mere days before I was to head out with burlap and stakes and it just never got done but the bushes look okay so far.

The steps need to be fixed, I want to paint the front door, maybe later this week, and I need to paint one of the kitchen doors too because I forgot and just noticed it today.

While all that goes on I'll begin washing and putting away winter things, we're now in lighter cold weather gear. The hats and big heavy mitts can go. Ruth's boots that hurt her legs because they are stiff and new, my hikers, barely broken in.

I'm going to put winter away. A time a year for me that speaks of promise and warmer nights and days I can think without it hurting so much.

And last night Ben came home and kissed me hard and lingered so long, when I finally pulled away and stared at him, he grinned. I asked him what was so funny and he said it wasn't funny but it was amazing. The whole way home, he said he held his breath, to give to me. It wasn't literal but I knew what he meant and I love it all the same.