Transmission.

Where the hell have I been?
Sleeping, lost, and numb.
I'm so glad that I have found you.
I am wide awake and heading home.

Snow.

Glorious, infuriating snow coats everything with a fresh thick layer of white and cold, covering our tracks, hiding the entire city, now frozen and brittle and hurriedly adapted to the winter that is our virtual trademark and begrudged friend. Soon the river will be open for skating and Christmas weddings and long walks on the thick ice, and the hot chocolate stations will be set up along the way, connected by strings of tiny lights glowing warmly in the night and it isn't so dark anymore.

I ran this morning. Sliding against the slush and stumbling through memories disguised as hurdles I flew through the wet streets in the dark, keeping my footing but just barely, keeping my breathing regular, timed with my steps, working toward a 3:2 ratio from my usual 2:1 for better oxygen. I shook my arms loose and kept my shoulders down because I'm trying to work on my posture when I run, and so my chin was jutted up and straight ahead as I ran down the path and straight past the benches, and almost wiped out when I saw the roses everywhere but I did not stop.

No. I'm done stopping.

I kept going, kept forcing my legs to support me even when I could feel the heaviness creeping in and I poured on the rest of my strength and headed back across the river and over into Chinatown, turning at the shady little dim sum place on the second corner to come home. This time I did not look for the roses, I concentrated on keeping my back straight and I shaved minutes off the return trip, making my brain work in conjunction with my legs. Working hard and finally being rewarded with the endorphin flood just in time to block the agony I was punishing my body with.

I turned down my street and ran home just as the sun was beginning to stir, smiling because I could see the porch light on halfway down the first block, and I ran the rest of the way at full bore. Home. Home to remove wet shoes and wet clothes and jump into a hot shower and then get back in bed with big Ben, who was still sleeping, one ear left open to listen for my eventual return.

And I got an Eskimo kiss.

One year.

This morning Ben woke up before me, put his arms around me so tight I woke up startled, and then he kissed me and smiled at me through equally glassy eyes. Sometimes it's a wonder we can see each other.

He said one thing.

Be strong.

After supper interventions and other assorted ideas.

The pills were found and taken away again and it appears I'm an incorrigible brat. Granted, a cute one, but incorrigible nonetheless.

Is that ever a hard word to spell when you're messed up on illegal anti-anxiety pills. But no worries! Because God loves me (please.) and my friends love me and now I have to sober the fuck up and just get through tomorrow and the day after that and then I'll be on the other side of this magnificently awful anniversary and I can try and get my footing again. Because I gave it away or lost it or..no, it's here somewhere and I'll get it. After the waterboarding. You know...to dilute all this medication.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming. I've been spoilt. A nice hot dinner, comfort food, and now a hot bath with a big guy who takes up the entire clawfoot tub and then early to bed, with the same guy who also takes up the entire bed. He's opted for Kangaroo care which oddly works very well despite the fact that my head is a metronome, only instead of a beat it goes:

Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake

I wanted it to stop. I just went about it the wrong way.

Give nothing away.

Prayed like a father dusk to dawn.
Beg like a hooker all night long.
Tempted the devil with my song.
And got what I wanted all along.

But I,
And I would,
If I could,
And I would,
Wish it away.

Bridget's listening to Tool today. And making bruschetta for lunch but the knife was too dull and it took forever. And drinking coffee and trying to crawl off her high and out of her hole and well, I guess that makes this a ledge, then. She was doing far better last night after several extra hours of focused attention but dammit, life muscled it's way back in and took over and really it's not important because she can wait. She's so very patient with everything sometimes, just enough until she doesn't have to be anymore and you'll know that by how you can see her decide to climb down and dangle off the edge of that ledge by her fingertips, which turn whiter than they even usually are, and they'll slide slowly toward the lip and she'll frown and hope someone notices very soon and usually, most times, they do. And you can take away her too-high shoes and her too-strong pills and you can wipe her memories and clear her head and rub the tears off her face and hold her really tight but the next day when you go looking for her once again you'll find that nothing has changed.

Someone tell me how to do all this.

Something I have missed.

Jake's beach house was always cool and breezy. He left all the windows open, all the time, so any time I would go over to visit him, I would know what music he was listening to, or if he was singing or just washing dishes, or watching a movie. The painted floorboards were always warm under my bare feet and the seagrass mat outside the door caught and held most of the sand that always threatened to take over.

Food tasted better there, you know that? Wine tasted fuller, spices were stronger and pasta had a better texture. Bread was airy and toasty. Chocolate, so rich.

His blankets were softer, his couch more comfortable and I could hear the surf from any point within. Looking out over the waves, standing in front of the wall of glass, wearing a bikini and a big shirt and having a cup of coffee was my favorite way to pass the time. Not watching Jake watch me. Not reading his mind on purpose. Not wearing watches, ever. Not thinking about the future or the past. Not thinking at all, mostly. Just spending time with the soundtrack of the white noise from the sea.

November Writing Challenges.

I'm not doing them. I'm just going to continue on with the massive effort underway at self-preservation. Right now I'm uncomplicating things in my life instead of making it harder.

In other words, I've had enough challenges for a while, I won't be volunteering for any more.

Other things I have done to simplify my life? I started eating a lot of fruit and nuts. Raw. Easy. Good for me. Drinking more water, less coffee. Smoking less. I sold my spinning wheel to someone who will enjoy it. I'll spin up the remainder of the fiber I have with the hand spindle and finish that round rug that I add to every now and then. I fired my entire team of mental health professionals. Started with one and it snowballed until they were dropping like flies. Why? I don't know. Ineffectuality, I guess. I dreaded going. I can't do something when I get hives just thinking about it. In the panic for order within my skull, bad choices for doctors were made. It's okay, that's fixed now.

Well, the bad doctor part is fixed. My head? Oh lord, you don't want to know.

I got my shoes back. Chris swung by and collected them after a call from Ben. I start work for Caleb on November 17. I'm really hoping he doesn't proposition me every single day. I'm going to order the physical CD releases of Limbs and Branches and the Winter EP because iTunes and I REALLY aren't getting along, or have I mentioned that previously? I roasted all the pumpkin seeds and collected the rest of the cherry tomatoes from the basement. They're all gone now.

Oh, and there are four days left in this year without Jacob and I'm doing really fucking good. Place your bets now and hope for the best.

On Ben's methods and Caleb's madness.

Yes, we went to the party last night. Like I said, everyone who was anyone was there, and I'm not sure if the fire code allowed that many people in one factory loft at a time or if it just felt like it was that full but as I moved around I spent a lot of time reaching up and tapping shoulders and saying Excuse me, can I slip through here?

We were late of course. Instructions to the sitter ran long, Henry had a meltdown from being all jacked up on Halloween candy and then Ben couldn't find his hat. He was Clyde, I was Bonnie.


Caleb made a speech about welcoming people to his new home, in his new city, and then he thanked everyone for coming, said that it was important to him to honor my efforts with a small, intimate celebration (nothing small or intimate about it) for my work in a difficult year, and he also formally announced that I would be coming to work for him, starting this month, as his assistant. That he is so lucky to be graced with my organizational skills and my beauty besides. People nodded and murmured and I briefly wondered who the fuck they all were to be affirming his nonsense? I kept thinking, nobody knows me. I mean really knows me.

But after the first hour of clinging to Ben's hand like the ultimate wallflower I ventured out a little on my own. Spoke to some people that I had not seen since Cole's memorial. Spoke to a few people who had met Ben in Toronto and spent time with him and were thrilled that he had settled down. Danced with just about every man there. Forgot all about my medications and took the champagne when it was offered by a server. Drank it too fast and got a little dizzy. Realized how tired I was and I looked across the room and saw Ben talking to some guys and right at that moment he looked at me and he nodded and rubbed his eyebrow which means we'd leave in a few moments, because our brains are now tethered and we can sense when we need each other and oh my God, when did this all happen? I decided fresh air would be good, so I went out on the balcony. The first thing I noticed was a bistro set that wasn't there before, two chairs and a tiny glass table, reflecting the string of white lights along the balcony railing. It's not even a balcony, it's a generous fire escape. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down facing the river.

The cold worked nicely to clear my head. I was glad. I stood up to go back inside and turned around and Caleb was just opening the door to come out. He had a cup of coffee for me. He put it on the table and then stepped back. I could feel eyes on us. Good, they're watching him. Better still, they're watching me.

I took a sip of the coffee and thanked him for his attentiveness, as that table is for me to write at while I work for him, as long as it remains this mild.

He really loves you, princess.

What?

Benjamin. He loves you.

I know.

And you love him.

Yes, of course.

But you don't think you do, not enough. You think he deserves better because your loyalties are divided.

How nice of my brother-in-law to drive me to tears at my own party.

Yes.

Do you want to know something interesting, Bridget? Something I've never told you before?

I just stared at the river and nodded because I've learned never to try and anticipate the moves that the devil will make.

When you came to me last year, when you wanted me to take the pain away and I did, and when you'd start crying again and I'd give you more and make you feel better, do you know what you asked the most?

I closed my eyes. I would have to walk the gauntlet of dozens of happy partygoers in a minute, I didn't want to do it with tears streaming down my face but thinking back to those two days after Jake died and I asked Caleb for something to help me forget I had to keep living without Jacob and he complied, naming his price and for two days I was his prisoner, not feeling anything but numb and then sometimes fear and then that would go away too. I didn't say anything, I just waited for him to keep talking.

You asked for Ben. You never stopped asking for him. You were so fucked up and yet you weren't asking for Jacob, you asked for Ben. I find that interesting, don't you? I think your feelings for him run deeper than you realize, princess.

Whoops, everything was swimming now and I turned to go back inside because there was some sort of breakage in my head again and his arms closed around me and I tried to shove him away but then I looked up and it was Ben's face there, it was Ben, the brain tethering worked and he came out to get me.

Caleb asked quietly if maybe we wanted to stay, that we could continue the celebration, but just for three, that he would end the party now and then we could take part in another, more sordid one. Ben declined, for once. He's accepted in the past. And I realized that he's kept me on a long leash in hopes that I would never stray very far, and he's gone out of his way to not be as possessive as Jacob or Cole. He's made sacrifices to ensure success for us. He's smarter than you think he is. He's as depraved as anyone could ever get, but he knows when enough is enough.

Caleb made several more offers, but Ben was no longer listening. He got us into our coats, and then he took my hand in his and we left by the fire escape, walking carefully down the four flights of steps and then at the end, Ben pushed the ladder down and made his way to the bottom, had me throw my shoes down and then descend into his waiting arms where he held me off the ground while he lined up my shoes and then put me into them again.

Hey, that was neat.

What do you mean?

Like your memory thief.

I looked up and grinned at him. Rescue from such an wonderful and unlikely source. Seen in a whole new light which is how I keep catching glimpses of Ben and being surprised. Grateful.

What did he say to you?

He reminded me of when I came to him last year. The needles...

Okay, let's get you home and then I'll come back and hurt him.

No, it's not like that.

Then what is it, baby?

He...he told me when I'd come to, I'd always ask for you. He said I wanted you and that I loved you more than I realize I do.

You would ask...for me?

For you.

Do you think he was telling the truth?

Yes. When he's lying, he smiles.

No smile?

No smile.

For me.

For you.

Ben wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, out of my shoes. He kissed me so hard he took my breath away. Then I quoted our characters, since we watched Bonnie and Clyde a few nights ago. He remembered.

You're good!

I ain't good. I'm the best!

And modest!

He grinned the whole damned way home. Me too, though he said I was still drunk, that I must have been since my shoes are still in the alley where I was lifted out of them. That's okay, I don't need them anyway. I have something better now.

For she's a jolly good psycho...

The past twenty-four hours have been a blur of costumes, candy, eyeliner (yes, on everybody, what did you expect?) and quick pecks on cheeks as people have been in and out. For a while there I feared the kids were suddenly going to have a better social life than I do, only of course I'm not supposed to have a social life at all right now, especially not this week as we round the corner to the final six days of suck and then whatever comes after that.

Well, don't look at me. Every day I open my eyes is a fantastic surprise with mostly no plans and I can do whatever I want. Maybe that's a gift in itself but I haven't quite learned to appreciate that yet.

In the meantime, there's a party tonight. It's a half-Halloween, half-graduation party (for me! For graduating from Sam's program!) thrown by Caleb, who throws one hell of a party when he's less the devil and more James Bond. Plus he wanted to break in his new loft in style, and style is what Caleb does best. Everyone is going. EVERYONE.

Because it's a party for me.

And boy, do I need a party. It's been such a long time. It might not be the best time, but I'll make do.

Baptize my mind.

Both my hands are filled with guilt
Give me absolution
Both my eyes are blind with filth
Give me absolution

I'm here.

I keep starting to write and then deleting everything, which isn't what a journal is supposed to be. It doesn't have to be wrapped up in a neat little package every day and sometimes I don't get around to writing it early enough because I can't seem to express myself the way I'd like to be heard. To top it off I'm having an incredibly self-conscious late morning, in which I feel like a virtual pariah, and that I have to lie to my friends when they ask me how I'm doing, how I'm feeling. I say fine through gritted teeth and a small fake smile and they accept it as the truth because they've probably grown tired of my emotions flooding them out of their contented zones. We ran out of comfort words and platitudes a hell of a long time ago and so I worry that if I say the day sucks and I feel like I'm raw and I'd like to go and cry somewhere so I don't break things, that they might roll their eyes, or find a reason to wait longer between visits or phone calls.

Because eventually, yes, that is exactly what will happen. Not because they're jerks or they're not truly my friends (because they aren't jerks and they are my friends) but because human nature is such that when confronted with negativity and grief over and over again we shut down and begin to go through the motions to preserve our own selves.

And so that's what I do, fake it, and I'm hoping it will preempt the need for them to pull away.

I graduated this morning, you know.

From Sam's grief program at the church, one he conducted just for me because I wouldn't do a group thing and one we thought was going to continue until the middle of next month, until he looked at his notes last week and realized we had mere hours left to complete. I think poor Sam knows the inside of my head better than anyone at this point (Joel included) and I feel a little sorry for him, but at the same time, I admire him and am ashamed of myself for the behavior I demonstrated most days as he tried to help me and I refused to help myself. I'm so honored to know him, and Jacob would be proud of his charge, I think. Jacob was Sam's mentor.

I came home and didn't like the fact that I've been denied the relief I thought I would feel when I was finished. That I would somehow be able to weather Jake's upcoming birthday a little better, that I would cry less spontaneously and act less fake to protect the comfort of others. That I wouldn't be in such a drive to feel something different that I resorted to trying to quash an overwhelming need to slam my head in the truck door repeatedly until I felt something other than this. But then I realized I finished something, something just for me.

Sam said not to be in despair, that there isn't supposed to be a great big instant improvement, I only have a better understanding of my feelings, and some tools to use to help myself work through them on a continued basis. That mostly it's a way to help give voice to feelings that I wasn't recognizing so easily, and also to pass the time, and have a dedicated time to talk as much as I want about Jacob, and about Bridget, and that Sam will never roll his eyes or fail to call or visit because one of his duties as a minister is to tend to those who are suffering, and sure, maybe some others are suffering worse and Bridget is a spoiled child who can't get her head on straight but she still deserves this time and she will get his time.

And you know who's proud of me, even though I came home proclaiming that I didn't feel any different and that Sam isn't any good at what he does or maybe I'm just unworthy, unfixable and pointless?

Ben is proud, that's who.

Like Sam, he ignores the fake parts of my facade, he never runs out of patience anymore with me and he's been really incredibly generous about indulging me in my whims, whether they are good for me or not, including too much affection from friends looking to get their share, and deals with the devil, never a good idea. He's weathered everything I have ever thrown at him, and the one request he made when we got married, was that I do this program with Sam, because Ben did it after his father died, and while he said he didn't outwardly feel less sad, he felt like he had accomplished something personal, something important, something good. Something just for him. And now something for you, because Ben is a really really private guy and didn't tell a lot of people about that.

And I don't know what comes next or where life is going to take me, I just know that I think I can handle it. Possibly kicking and screaming, so it will be noisy, whatever it is but I'll do it anyway. And maybe someday soon this smile won't be a fake one.

The impetus of dreams.

You know what I love? Those moments afterward, when I'm still tightly wrapped in Ben's arms and he shifts onto his back again so I can lie against him without being crushed anymore, and we talk a little as we fall asleep. He's warm those times, so warm. Strong, too. That confidence that only comes out in the dark, when we're close together and everything else goes away for just a little while.

We had a rough day yesterday. A day that drove us to our favorite hiding places to ride out the hard parts but a day that saw us team up and attempt to weather it together, at least somewhat. That's such a tall order sometimes but we did it anyway and woke up in a new frame of mind, his arms still around me, his mind clear, his eyes open. The sleep of the dead. No dreams, no waking, just dark, just nothing. Sometimes sleep needs to be that way.

This morning we dropped the children off at school and then Ben went for a meeting and I went for a run and he agreed to meet me at the end of my usual circuit and bring me home. It's nice to be able to keep running without having to check my progress and know that however far I go, I need to turn and come back, and so today found me far past my usual haunts and I had to call him and tell him, no, not there, way over here. By the museum. Yeah, I did make it pretty far this time, didn't I?

When he pulled up he had my purse, a pair of jeans and a shirt and coat in the truck and so I was indeed the woman in the passenger side of that white Ford truck you saw who probably flashed you or gave you a show. Once I was changed and had my running clothes in the bag he brought, he smiled and then he reached into his coat and pulled out my antipersperant. He said that he didn't think I needed it, since I'm perfect and I probably don't even sweat that much when I run (I don't) but he thought I might want it anyway. I asked him if he had any makeup in his coat too, so I could at least have eyelashes at lunch.

Yeah, I've got some but I don't like to share, princess.

You what?

I'm kidding. I stopped doing that years ago.

Yeah, right, Ben.

I get way more respect without it.

I'll bet.

Do you think I do?

Of course, who in the hell is going to take a guy in eyeliner and nail polish seriously?

Another guy in eyeliner and nail polish.

See any of those around?

Not yet but I'm thinking if I can get PJ when he's not looking.

Funny you should say that.

What?

Oh, you know what? Never mind.

No, now you have to tell me.

Benny, PJ is being you for Halloween.

Somehow I thought he would be pissed but I'd rather warm him up to the idea instead of having him deck PJ or something. Instead I got a big surprise.

He is? Really?

Yes. Are you mad?

Hell, no. I think it's awesome!

You're kidding, right?

You know what this means, princess?

No...?

When someone dresses up like you for Halloween, it means you've arrived.

He was grinning like a fool, wisely preferring to believe that his friend was honoring him by playing him for Halloween instead of being pissed off that he might be made fun of. And so he was feeling so good we wound up going not to McDonalds, as he had planned, but some place a little bit nicer, but a place that still wouldn't notice that Elvis and the Girl with No Eyelashes were gracing them with their very presence on a sunny day in October.

Some people are just oblivious, I guess.