On not looking back: entry #1000.

Dear Internet, readers, friends and strangers who have graced my words with your presence,

This entry won't come so easy.

Over the past four years this journal has become a comfortable home. A place for me to let it all out, even when I probably should have kept it in. A safe place. A very dark and quiet place for me to bleed without making such a mess. A thousand entries written, a thousand read.

A hell of a lot of words, don't you think?

A hell of a lot of time spent, even though it always took less time then you think. I could always rattle off a post while eating toast standing up, or on my way to bed, or on my way to a swim in the coffee pot. Thirty-two months of winter and sixteen warmer good months brought to you to savor over your own quiet moments.

Almost one hundred thousand people have forged a path through my words now. Mind the flowers, would you? Watch for the moat so you don't drown, for you have been as close as one can get to a real-life fairytale princess. Remember that.

I survived these words and I emerged scarred but tougher. Scar tissue is always less resilient, a grim reminder, a legacy. I came out of things okay and I'm not going to overstay my welcome. Somewhere there's a quote about leaving while the going is good. If I could find it I would share it with you but you already know it, I'm sure.

I'm leaving on a high note, too. Somehow I expected the final entry here to be something Loch would write so that this place would be finished, something I had asked him to do, should the need ever arise. But you know what? Thankfully it doesn't end sadly.

It ends happily.

Everything is good. I'm happy, Internet. I'm so very happy. I'm beginning a new chapter, a life with a guy who was always more laughter than tears, with nothing but a heart of gold and a song to give me, interested in nothing but what we can make of life together. And whatever life throws at me in the second half will be okay. I'll figure it out, putting one foot in front of the other. I'll deal with it and I'll be such a fighter. You'll be so proud, or maybe you won't even care, having moved on to new journals and new places to visit. Find those, and go and read them as voraciously as you did mine, okay? Promise me that.

Just know how much I loved coming here and how much I will miss it and how gratifying and educational and heartwarming this has been. And that I never meant to upset you or make you sad.

I only meant to touch you.

I also promised I would let go of you when it was time to do so.

That time has come and I was meant for a more private life than what this has become. A circus, and I was the lone juggler standing in center-ring. We've packed up the tent and are retiring from life under the Big Top. I hope you enjoyed the show. Wish me luck, okay? I'm really going to need it. Email me whenever you want. I'll answer.

I love you. All of you. Fare thee well, and thank you for reading.

(Edit: I lasted until September and then I came back in full force.)

Mrs. Ben, day two.

    Could you stay long enough for me to say goodbye
    You can be free as long as you're with me
    If you could see the real me you'd bleed
    If you could see the real me I'd breathe
    Could you still breathe long enough for me?
    Could you still be long enough for me?

Thank you for the kind wishes. It really warms me how many of you have taken a moment or two to sit down and send along a letter of encouragement. We have our detractors for sure but we're content. We're relaxed. I keep bursting into tears at odd moments. I keep forgetting we got married. Then I remember in a sudden burst of emotion. Like Oh! We did it.
He has not forgotten.

Today isn't all that remarkable. Ben has gone back to work. He's going to tell them and life takes an even stranger turn with that. He takes Cole's place in life permanently but he will not become Cole. Ben may be rash and without consequence but he doesn't have violence toward me in his heart save for his strength under the quilts. Save for his emotions, forceful in their escape from his head and his heart.

I'm headed over to the shopping center shortly. I need new runners, going to try on some of the newer Saucony shoes. Then I need to get my watch strap fixed (again) and check on the mail and see if the bank calls me back on one thing and then make a really good dinner. I want to greet Ben at the door when he comes home tonight with the apron/stilettos/pearls and a nametag on my dress that says "Hi, my name is Mrs. Ben" and a pot roast if the Gods of cooking are kind to me later on.

If not, it will be pizza delivered to the front door, which, honestly? Would make him just as happy.

Things are really good. Very good. The rain is pouring down in sheets today, it's so dark inside the house I have lights on and it feels cozy. It feels good.

We did get rings yesterday too. Ben switched the rings that he usually wears on that finger and slid his wedding band on and smiled, saying he'd get used to it quickly, that he liked it. That we picked cool rings. We did, they're very plain polished platinum bands that are really comfortable. He likes comfortable rings, he never ever takes his off. I take mine off for painting and heavy construction because otherwise I would probably crush them when I hurt myself, which happens more often than not. I may not from now on.

Lochlan went back to Toronto this morning, hesitating briefly before telling me he wasn't going to give me the 'if I need him' lecture, that he knows I know how to reach him if I need him, that he's that sure that I probably won't need him, that this is possibly the shortest distance I have ever jumped. That this makes so much sense no one's worried or watching or hoping for the best. They know it's right. They know it's good, that we'll be fine. That we're happy.

So damned happy. And getting better every single day, both of us.

And it's a red raincoat day, a day for walking slowly to catch each and every drop, a day for wearing warm layers under that bright coat, with headphones and hair tucked firmly under a hood tied tight against the elements. A day for smiles half-hidden under an umbrella, a day for changes of the good kind. A Monday like I've never seen before.

Late afternoon update: I stayed home and good thing, that. Ben came home with a week of matrimony leave which he said is like maternity leave without the sleepless nights unless that's how Bridget wants to roll, and he preempted my disaster-in-the-making roast with McDonalds. He did ask me if I'd wear the stilettos and the apron, just later on, when the kids are asleep.

This is what life with Ben is going to be like. Weird.

To hold.

If there's one thing about me that you know for sure, it's that I only skip a day of posting when I am away. So, sorry, but I was away yesterday.

Getting married.

I got married, Internet. I married Ben. Sigh. Do you want to know what he said that changed my mind? He told me this:

Maybe you would feel less like his if you were mine.

He told me that the night he came home to find me sitting on the floor in the front hall covered in ashes and sobbing my heart out, and it's a sentence that I couldn't argue with if I tried. I don't want to try.

I haven't slept since forever. I haven't stopped smiling. I...I don't even know where to begin or how to explain or why I feel as if I need to continually justify this rather Elizabeth-Tayloresque turn my life seems to have taken.

A third husband, and all before I am even forty years old? Ben will be forty this December and for the record I am soon going to be a blisteringly ancient thirty-seven. Thirty-seven. Told I don't look a day over twenty-six. Do I believe them? Not on your life.

We started with prenuptial agreements and promises, through most of last week. Priorities. Me finding out that Ben started a trust fund in the children's names and they're wealthy because he didn't know what else to do with his money. And he can't touch my future earnings and I cannot touch his. We're just keeping things the way they are. His lawyers are paranoid, mine are not hopeful but we laughed anyway, after I found out he is way wealthier than I thought he was, and I have far more money than I did the last time we traded financial secrets, which would have been sometime long before I paid off his motorcycle and then to retaliate he put the money back in my account.

The ceremony took place last evening out by the creek on Nolan's farm, near picnic rock where Ben proposed. The children were there. The guys were all there. The woods were full of love and support and we recited our simple vows to Sam and cried a whole bunch and maintained a sort of incredulous joy that leaves me tearful even now.

We ate and drank and danced and cried and laughed and it was the most wonderful night ever. He...he's amazing. Giving and generous and caring and vulnerable to a fault. But instead of bringing out the worst in each other somehow we've managed to harvest the best. None of it is difficult or painful or unreal. All of it is beautiful. He's real. He's alive, he is healthy, he's forthright and passionate about the little things. He doesn't want to fix me, doesn't care if I am weak, he just wants to be with me.

He slipped his giant silver ring on my finger because he didn't have rings and told me I had to give it back, that we'd get real ones. I had to clench my fist all night to keep from losing it and when he noticed, he said we would go out and get them today. After lunch.

He asked if there was anything special he was supposed to know about being a husband. I told him I require a large glass of orange juice every night around eleven and he reminded me he said husband, not butler. I reminded him he said he would be the butler.

We've said a lot of words recently, we've dug deep and dug in hard, and a lot of that is so private I'm not writing about it, just know that we are very serious and this is very important and it wasn't a whim, in spite of our pretenses to make it appear to be one.

Ben is surprised at how this feels, far more wonderful than he ever thought it would, coming from someone who always viewed marriage as 'just a piece of paper'. It's never just a piece of paper. It's supposed to be a lifetime commitment to another person, through thick and thin, something we already have. Now we have the paper to prove it, that's all, a formal promise of commitment. A plan for a future together. No matter what.

He said he finally did the right thing. I said me, too. I'm not taking his last name and he's not adopting the kids until they are ready to have a say in the decision, though he is more than willing right now. We aren't moving very fast at all, despite what it seems.

He seems brave enough to be the man of this house, though sometimes he is as fragile as I am and I wonder how he ever wanted to be with me. He says he always wanted to be with me, that he was always vaguely sad that I didn't feel the same way before. I let him in on a little secret. I did, and quite often. I just never let it find the light of day, I never said anything. There's a ease to being with him that has never existed with anyone else. He's Ben and no one else is.

When I told Ben that he walked out of the room. Too cool to cry in front of Loch, I think. He came back and brought me with him to hold.

Everything's going to be okay.

Brothers by choice.

    A momentary lapse of reason
    That binds a life for life
    A small regret, you won't forget,
    There'll be no sleep in here tonight
    Was it love, or was it the idea of being in love?
    Or was it the hand of fate, that seemed to fit just like a glove?
    The moment slipped by and soon the seeds were sown
    The year grew late and neither one wanted to remain alone
    One slip, and down the hole we fall
    It seems to take no time at all

Loch is here. Pink Floyd seems to follow him wherever he goes. And since Ben is off work today he and Loch are participating in some sort of unspoken contest to see who is cooler, who knows Bridget better and who's just all round more know-it-all.

They're being obnoxious. It's ridiculous.

I'm not sure what Loch's problem is, he was one of the few unquestionable supporters of Ben and I getting together and then he shows up and tries to pull rank and get under Ben's skin. Ben isn't having it. God bless him, he's keeping Loch in his place and proving that he knows me better, the only trump card Loch has being the length of time we've known each other and that ubiquitous first time milestone. And...all that other stuff in there. Wait. Who has the upper hand?

They're doing that unconscious muscle-flexing thing. Okay, honestly Ben looks so stupid doing that. He doesn't need it, being as tall and dark-haired as he is. All he has to do is stop smiling and everyone tiptoes around him. Loch couldn't look scary if he tried. Besides, he's 5'9". Which is super-tall in my universe but relatively short by the guys' standards.

The patio lights this year are the little white and green paper lanterns. The chairs are all green and the table and bench are painted black. I like my yard but the dog really needs a gravel dog run. We've been walking him four times a day so he doesn't ruin the new grass. It almost happened last fall.

Loch just walked past me and kissed the top of my head. Ben watches him carefully. He says I'm back on my path now. That he's happy I'm away from Cole and happier still that Jacob is history. I swore at him. I cried into his collar and then he handed me off to Ben because he doesn't want to cause problems, he's here for happy reasons.

He says he gets to see Hope three times a week or so but otherwise she's nursing still so many times a day that he doesn't get whole days or weekends and it's rough on him. He said he now understands things about parenting being hard that he never truly understood before.

I nodded. I feel so bad for him, but he'll be okay. He and PJ are going to hit the town this weekend. They should take Mark too. And maybe Duncan. August has no interest right now in looking for a girlfriend, a fact that proves to be a tragedy for women everywhere. He's adorable. They all are. I'm happy at least some of them are making an effort.

And no, my pills aren't working yet. Therapy isn't really getting off the ground yet. I haven't freaked out on Sam and asked him for the box yet. Ben and I are getting along possibly better than we ever have in our lives, which only goes to show contentment can go a very long way, and things are pretty good for the moment.

My guys are all here. I'm making them dinner and they'll watch me as I move around the kitchen and they'll all take their turns kissing my head or my cheek or having a hug or taking a moment to corner me and see how I'm really doing (awesome) or just to tell me that they're happy I'm doing well, and then Ben will get more time and more attention than anyone else for the first time ever at one of these dinners, rarer than they used to be. I can stop and he'll pull me onto his knee and kiss my neck and then grin because he has everything he ever wanted, and so do I so I'll match the grin and everyone else will make fun of the two happy fools in the corner.

I'm thankful for this. Times like these. Moments like these. This is what living is all about.

Dayplanner on fire.

    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

I'm home from nottherapy. Fun. Actually it is fun. I just go and talk to this very kind man who seems to know everything and he sounds like a minister but I haven't asked. I just go and talk. It's very quiet, very low-key and very low pressure and it seems to be nice so far.

Today he had donuts. I didn't have one but he offered four times. I made a promise right there to never bug anyone again with multiple offers of food when they've said no already.

We're home now for lunch and then we're going to an appointment with the lawyers, all of 'em to iron out some things, first me privately for cutting ties with my publishing company and then together to map the future so everyone is safe financially. Long story I will share early next week.

And then Loch arrives! Late this afternoon by commercial flight, hopefully armed with a drive full of baby pictures and a goal to do nothing but enjoy the weekend. He's not staying here, he'll be taken care of nicely at John's house instead. I'm so happy Loch is coming out. It's important that he's here for a break and to catch up with the guys. I suppose this weekend is going to turn into a testosterone-fest but I don't care. Having all my friends in one place is important and it's few and far between anymore.

And I still need groceries. Ack. I'm off, then, have yourselves a good day.

Swinging from a star.

There is no post today. I'm too busy trying to learn how to be a normal human bean. Maybe there's a post in here after all, between the epic battles and last-minute jitters, and why in the hell someone would pick right this month to quit smoking. Probably the same reason another person picked right this month to go back on her meds, and oh, aren't we two peas in a pod, two licks with one stick. Sometimes I fear for everyone's sanity on days like today.

Loch arrives tomorrow, slightly ahead of schedule. Escaping. Escaping is an art form in this case, he is fed up, took a super five day long weekend and will spend it with us. Ben is being difficult, I am being worse than difficult, and thank heavens we have Ruth and Henry around to teach us all how to behave like adults.

Because sometimes we are children. And not the good kind.

In other news, the ice cream parlour is open for the summer, the very last pile of snow from where I was making a sled-mountain at the bottom of the driveway is gone and Butterfield knocked me right into the mud. I raked all the dirt and sand and trash right into the road this morning because the street cleaners will be around soon and for the past two years I would bag it all. I felt daring and scofflawish. I felt weird doing that but try bagging sand, guys. PJ came by and said things looked great, that I was doing a good job putting winter away and ushering in the warmer times.

I nodded. I surely fucking am. I have help though. Gothboy does a good job putting up patio lights.

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?