This post is not about Caleb.

When I was a little girl growing up on a beach somewhere on the East coast, I thought the devil was cool. I figured he was about 35 years old, chain-smoked king-sized cigarettes and had tattoos. He wore a lot of black, usually biker clothes or funeral director with a wild-west-twist suits, and he listened to heavy metal. In my head he was a combination of Ozzy Osbourne, Mick Jagger and James Hetfield all rolled up in one man, but better looking. Scorching, smoking hot.

And Jesus was a wimp. One of the uncool kids, sitting in his room with his record player and out of date seventies garb, fringed faded jeans, love beads and flowing white shirt with his long wavy hair and a beard to die for, spinning Simon and Garfunkel or perhaps some Nick Drake while he waited and hoped for the heathens to settle down. While he prayed for them to be good people.

For some reason Jesus was impossibly eighteen years old in my head.

And emo.

Both images are forever stuck at a point when I was eight years old, like most ideals I have. Possibly this might be where my brain stopped growing. In fact, I might be almost one hundred percent sure of that, since I still like to play with the Rubik's cube when I pass one. Sometimes to the point where I am late for an appointment or miss a call, because hey, if I can get this side all red, maybe I can get this side all white and how the hell do people do these again?

Must be nice to be so smart.

But this post is not even about how smart or how dumb Bridget is.

No, this post is about Seth.

Seth is a guy who fixes lives. And he is a friend of Ben's. And two years ago when Ben went off his rocker completely and came on to me in one drunken, dangerous night, Seth was the guy who flew out here the next day and stood close to Ben for weeks on end, pointing out the pieces, and Ben picked up those pieces and managed to put his life back together and stayed sober for over a year. Seth is coming back and they're going to pick up the pieces yet again because the first time Ben couldn't hold on to them. Seth is someone who will shadow Ben, schedule him and basically become his new best friend. He will evaluate and get him all the help he needs and then in twelve weeks hopefully Ben will be at a better place and he'll be able to go back on the road because the night job is calling again.

Thankfully Ben does well with direction and he does even better with deadlines and all he needs is a push because life got to be a little much and he's been veering wildly between being Jesus and being the devil himself lately.

(I do realize that I am no picnic to live with either. No one likes the beautiful fucked-up ones with the maturity of your average eight-year old.)

And so I'm hoping that when Ben has to go back out there into the world where the devil comes in many forms but so does Jesus and so you better watch out for both, that Seth might stick around and maybe give me a little direction, some guidance, a plan of some sort because I am currently without one and I'm sure the recent levelness of my head is due solely to the fact Ben keeps my hands and that single-digit head of mine really busy. In twelve weeks that vanishes for a bit again and I might lose that kid.

I don't want to lose that kid.

Thankfully the kid isn't old enough to drive, she's in her room listening to the Stones and to Black Sabbath and even to a little bit of Drake.

And fine, yes, Simon and Garfunkel.

Polarity begins with a B.

Yesterday's double post was not supposed to be that way. Sometimes I empty my head and then I save it and delete it later but that 'publish' button seems awfully close to the 'save' one when your fingers are cold and I'll just be thankful it was an innocuous entry.

Now, can I ask that you take a day off from the mean emails? I don't ask very often so I'll ask twice in this month because I don't need them today. Please. Thank you.

Change is upon us once again on this marathon swim of a life in which I'm given precious seconds, a wave sweeping over my head, in which to take a deep breath and dive back down for more. Beginning on Monday, when I begin work (no worries, I will have time to journal), Ben will begin work as well, because he's been lying in his own road to hell being repeatedly run over by a large, heavy wagon loaded down with his life's tragedies, disappointments and pressures, bottled in liquid form so he can at once be mired in and escape from darker memories and an incredibly skewed outlook on life now that's getting in the way.

I will be watching him, encouraging and supporting him and hopefully learning from him. Because Ben is a lot like Bridget, needing to be flung to the bottom repeatedly before change will be called for, before things move, and then when the change occurs we usually run for the hills because good things have become the things we fear.

We're bad for each other. With a soft spot a mile wide for Ben, I will coddle and enable him to the brink of ruin because I have always tried to give him an ease in life that no one else gives him and I don't know why but it's there. Whatever I could do, I would do for him. And he's been much the same way for me and I don't expect people to understand because when they were off playing soccer or volleyball or got up to get and fill a plate at a barbecue or dinner, Ben and I were usually sitting together somewhere talking. We've talked about every last thing on earth there was to talk about and then some more. We know the inside of each other's brains so well that I knew yesterday that he was safe and that he would come home with change in mind because we know sometimes when things get harder instead of easier it's really time to move some stuff around because the feng shui is fucked again and if we just align things better, good fortune will follow.

Hey, at least we take turns.

At least this time I KNOW he's in danger, instead of being fooled.

And me? I'm doing okay. Worried, nervous about Monday, heck, nervous about every day but in a whole other completely selfish way worrying about Benjamin keeps my head busy and we all know what a good thing that is. And it isn't lost on me that he's exactly like me, and I have to admit that seeing him self-destruct repeatedly is like looking in a mirror. I always say I'll change and improve and do whatever I need to do to get past this place where I am stuck, mired in a purgatory and I can't seem to pick a side. I need to pick a side. Ben needs to pick a side.

I really hope we pick the same side.

Falling for you.

I fall for candy apples and new charcoal pencils. And for cute black shoes. I fall for unbaked chocolate chip cookie dough and yarn in shades of pale blue. I fall for seashells and sand dunes and smooth river stones. I fall for leather satchels and new credit cards and white-ripe tomatoes. I fall for plaintive guitar leads and jingle bells and odd noises and sometimes odd things. I like beads and tictacs and marbles and tactile things and light, the way light hits the rooms in my house.

I love voices. Particularly male voices, particularly when they sing. Hard songs with painful emotionally drained verses and powerful choruses. I fall in love with the voices of singers I'll never meet, fall for their words, for the catch at the end of the hook, for the way it's all packaged together and for the gift of pinning that song onto a memory that it will trigger forever when I hear it.

I can be allowed that. It's one of the few vices I wish to keep.

The red pen.

Born to bear and read to all
The details of our ending.
To write it down for all the world to see.
But I forgot my pen,

This morning held a write-in. A ritual began and then abandoned as life took over. Chris and Joel and I invaded the diner with our colored pens and printed drafts and ordered breakfast and began to pass around our offerings, their research papers and my short stories. We edit each other's works, when time permits, and there are strict rules in place. We don't critique content, we only work with making sure the spelling, formats, syntax and tenses are watertight, editing-wise, and then the work must be accompanied by a full and complete breakfast (i.e. something hot, Bridget.), followed by at least half a dozen coffee refills.

It's been a long time since the last one but it was nice to be prepared with stories I have managed to put down and print off, surprising myself. Still writing. Still ticking, still going, still trying to create something worth creating.

They will call this my dark period, which is kind of funny, since the stories are not all that dark, just different. Maybe a little deeper. I don't know, really, that's for future critics to decide.

I ate hash browns and bacon until I was stuffed and drank coffee until I was floating on caffeine and I had to really fight both Chris and Joel not to go easy on my errors, not let things slide just to give me a break and I was hard on both of them, especially on Joel's tendency to use his Newfie colloquialisms.

I have a lot of work to do now before the next write-in, which will be moved to Fridays once a month to accommodate my new job, and so for the day, that's all I'm going to write here. See you tomorrow.

Harder than I thought.

(The brain is off-leash today, this is what results.)

Starting this day in a thick gray sweater that is wool but is not itchy, having poured oil all over my skin this morning in a bid to seal in the moisture, pulling on my slim jeans and my green cowboy boots quietly so as not to stir anyone, I could creep downstairs and pull almost an hour out of thin air from which to think without talking, be without being.

For lack of comparison past height, adoration and that odd brand of faith let's say that Ben has obsessions of a different sort and that they come in liquid form. Last night he left for a meeting and came home slightly drunk and I don't know how that happens or what kinds of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings serve beer but it was really interesting from a sociological point of view to watch him come in and decide how he was going to play it. He chose unwisely, trying to pretend he was fine, only he wasn't trembling and wouldn't touch me and the hesitated when he tried to leave his stance against the counter in the kitchen and that split-second was enough for me to see and then I went to him for a hug, not to confirm or test but because I'm Bridget and I like hugs, I like physical contact and he pushed me away and told me not to judge him. I asked him if he remembered who I was and that I would always be the last person to pass judgement on him but he just defended and said he knew who I was, he was drunk, for god's sake and maybe I could just let him celebrate winning the girl of his dreams away from all the better guys without raining on the goddamned parade.

As if I wasn't even that girl.

Ten more minutes and I could see his undirected ire building and I was forced to trick him and have the most ridiculous picture in my head now of running back down the hallway between the kitchen and the back door and locking my beautiful husband behind the other side because when he has had that much he is unpredictable and I am scared. He yelled some horrible thing between the door jambs at me, things about wishing he had stayed out, about the cute girl with the long black hair who could have rocked his night and he wouldn't have to put up with me, or maybe he should go back and get her and bring her here and I can join them and loosen up a bit. Then he pounded on the door so hard I jumped a hundred feet in the air and in spirit banged my head on the attic and then the trees and then the power lines and then the clouds.

And then he stopped but it was moments too late. I had PJ and Chris on speed dial to come and clean up the mess that is their friend because those comparisons in the few rare places that lead me back to Cole can also be the ones that make me fear for myself and the comparisons to Jake are the ones that make me fear for the future and I get this giant, wet, cold slap in the face once again that we aren't making a sweet, idyllic life here, we're simply choosing to be together in between our own personal freakouts and it isn't very pretty, no matter how many lovely and rare words I pull off the pile on the floor to arrange.

I don't hear anything else and then gradually within ten or fifteen minutes I hear voices toward the back of the house, more than one and I know the other guys are here. I hear their sure and confident voices making statements about what will happen next and then a roar erupts from Ben because he doesn't want to leave, he wants to be let in his own house, he wants to be with his wife, he's supposed to be there for her. Is it too much pressure? Sure. Yes. Sometimes it is. Sometimes I think I should set him free but he doesn't want to be set free and I don't want to be without him. I run back down the hallway and open the door and both PJ and Chris are standing in the sitting room and Ben is sitting in the chair holding his head like he does when he has just crossed from unreasonable to surrender.

I run across that little room and throw myself in his arms and hold him as tight as I can. He says that he is sorry but I don't hear him so he says it louder and stops halfway through the word sorry. I shake my head because I don't care what his problems are if he's here. And he says he'll never get mad at me and doesn't understand why I call everyone when I'm afraid instead of just telling him. But there are nights still burned into my head that called for me to be protected from him and I made promises to others on behalf of my children that I must keep so I called. He understands, for their sakes and for mine and he falls deeper in despair but I pull him back up as hard as I can, our fingers slipping even as they grab just a little higher, tighter. Don't let go. Please, God, don't let go. Just hang on to me and I'll hang on to you and then when we get a little stronger and there's just a little more time under our belts, this won't be so hard. it won't be something that requires interventions and stern talks and more empty promises and more reassurances that yes, I changed my mind, you guys can go home now, we're okay and they shake their heads and mentally place labels across our foreheads because the old ones faded and peeled off in the sun but the words on them don't change but we don't really care and I will always flinch when someone's hands fly out and he will always drink when someone's judgement flies out, maybe it's so ingrained now it's just hopeless. Finally there are others who also are not perfect. Finally there is someone out there just like me, we think. Isn't that awesome?

Changing of the Guard.

Angels on the sideline again,
Benched along with patience and reason.
Angels on the sideline again,
Wondering where this tug of war will end.

Gotta divide it all right in two.

Was it a dream? It felt like one but it wasn't.

Alpha, meet Omega. He's going to kick your ass.

I'm sure I said that as I was roused out of where I fell asleep on the couch. Lochlan was there, shaking me awake gently. Whispering to me. Me looking around for Ben, knowing he would be nearby, allowing things to happen that should not happen because and only because if it were reversed he would feel much the same way, that denying him access to me was the one thing in the world that ever scared him so much he broke.

Lochlan, with a long history of making me feel safe and being the first person I ever let into my heart, the one guy everyone figured I would have gone to after Jake died, only I didn't, for once. I went to Ben and Loch came around just a bit too late. But he still wants his cut and he was back with sweet apologies and open arms, trying to atone for not being here through a difficult week for me even though a long time ago I told him he didn't have to be, I told him to back down because I was happy with Ben and Loch had to work harder in his own life, that he was a father now and that had to be his first priority.

It's not the same anymore, our relationship and when Ben finally had enough, telling Lochlan it was time to go, Loch scowled at us and said of the whole group we were the biggest screwups. That we deserved each other. It hurt like hell. He made one final pitch, that I shouldn't go work for Caleb, that he heard and saw things while they both lived in Toronto that spoke of bad news only once again he was too late. He looked to Ben for confirmation and Ben just took me right out of Lochlan's arms. It was as if I was home at last. The way Ben's arms felt was like a relief, a comfort and a familiarity that spoke of home. I was home. I chose my side and I'm sticking with it. I'll stick with Ben.

Loch made a few further comments about us not lasting very long, that when I cracked Ben just cracked further, and who did he think he was, since he wasn't remotely as strong as Jacob or as perfect as Lochlan and Cole both were. Ben abruptly stopped talking to Loch and just looked at me with a question on his face. I nodded and Ben kissed me.

Hard.

The kind of kiss you don't indulge in when there is someone else present. Then he let go of me and went and saw Loch out. They exchanged some bitter words in the hallway and then Ben said he knew what Loch was doing but he wasn't going to flatten him tonight because he was indeed working on himself just as we all should be.

Loch had nothing to say to that. As he was halfway down the walkway, Ben spat to his back.

You're not the alpha anymore, asshole. She isn't yours.

Lochlan kept going.

Oh, but it didn't end there. You see, all this took place after midnight, and then in the early hours of Sunday morning, Ben got up early, showered and went downstairs. I kept expecting him back. I was trying to stay awake for him. I tried to stay strong for him. I cried. I miss the way Lochlan used to be before the strain of life and death and loss took it's toll on him, too. I miss a lot of things but I'm absolutely sure of my choices because I don't lead with my head. I'll never lead with my head because my head has been messed up for a long time but my heart seems to still be under warranty. It gets broken and repaired time and time again and it hasn't failed me yet and so it wins.

After two hours he still hadn't come back so I got up and showered and went downstairs.

Ben was sitting in the living room staring into the fire, an empty glass in his hand.

What are you doing?

Trying to keep control.

He's gone, Ben.

Things come so easy to him, princess.

Not anymore, they don't.

He's right. I'm not good enough for you. I'm not enough for you.

Stop it, Ben. Isn't that what you tell me? Just stop and just be and all that simplistic crap. I'm supposed to do it, then why can't you do it too?

You know something? He's gone, princess and life is never going to be the same for you if you stay with me.

I'm not going anywhere, Ben.

I love you.

He let the glass slip out of his hand and I caught it when I caught him and I tried to hug him instead of being overwhelmed by him and I kept my arms locked tight and he didn't shake or talk or cry, he was strong and back in control and he hugged me as long as I could keep breathing for, crushed against him like that from the floor. I finally let the glass roll out of my hand and it hit the oriental rug and went rolling on one side across the room in a wide arc but Ben kept holding on.

Great, you married the Omega man. Me against the family. Wonderful.

No way. He dies at the end of that movie.

Everyone dies, Bridget.

You're going to live forever.

I'm guessing I don't have a choice.

No.

Bridg-

Ben, please God, just shut up.

One more thing. I love you. You never said it back.

I love you too. And you need to go to a meeting. Okay?

Yeah, that would be a good idea.

And so yesterday he did go to a meeting and I waited in the truck and then he took me out for coffee and we poked around the bookstore for a long while and we had a normal day, refusing to be crushed under the weight of other people's expectations or other people's assumptions. And there will be a lot more slips and a lot more meetings and probably a lot more screwups before we're done in this life.

Just like everyone else.

Adaptation.

Fight over the clouds, over wind, over sky
Fight over life, over blood, over prayer, overhead and light
Fight over love, over sun, over another
Fight.

Angels on the sideline again.
Been soon long with patience and reason.
Angels on the sideline again
Wondering when this tug of war will end.

The barometer this morning is rather peaceful, and quiet and calm. It's a barometer from a girl who is un-therapied and un-medicated and un-pressured to do anything except just be. Just today and then we'll worry about the future and the past some other time. Just eat when you're hungry and sleep when you are tired and paint and write and read and watch the kids play in the snow and just take it easy a little bit. Just go for a hug when you feel the slipping and break away a little when some strength shows and maybe go for a run and maybe sneak a croissant and maybe just ditch some of the chores around the house in favor of doing nothing. Not wake up early enough to go to church and send the minister a text message that sort-of almost apologizes because Sam is cool with that but then he intends to get you anyway and plans to stop by later with a handful of prayers to stuff into your ears because you need them and you won't help yourself and he really wants to help you. Both of you because you're good people and you'll be okay so why not take the hand when it is extended for you because they all love you so, so much?

Of course, you will take what is offered. You always do even if sometimes it's a selfish offer that benefits someone else because you don't know any better. Your judgement has been broken for years.

But you mean well.

You will be well.

This life is new, and changes are required. This guy, though some of the attitudes and mannerisms and ideals are similar, well, he isn't the same. But he loves you and you love him and he's a hell of a lot easier to figure out because everything is simple and he doesn't wrap his words in gift wrapping that needs to be interpreted, he just says it. He spells it out and you repeat it back as soon as you have absorbed the letters. And all he wants is a simple life, and to have fun with you and he wants you to have fun with him because you always have. And he works so hard not to touch things that are bad for him but he's always been so bad and self-destructive and extravagant in some ways it takes a lot to relearn those things but he says you make it easier. You. Surprise. You've provided a home and a stability that he's never had before and he cherishes it more than he can express to you but you laugh. Stability? From me? He nods. It sinks in that you're maybe doing better than you think you are, than others would have you believe, but it's true.

It was always true. You just have to figure out how to manage your selfish and generous sides. You have to figure out a lot of things. You're just over-complicating things again.

You always do that. I don't know why you do that.

Stop it.

Just go be happy. Life is all lined up, you just need to live it.

He is smiling at you. So damned cute. So alive.

Full guard.

This first snow won't be going away. Winter came in and cleared the table in one sweep of a long, cold arm and sat down in a chair to laugh maniacally. Oh yes, she said. I'm here for the duration.

Bitch.

She stuck out her icy foot and tripped me and I fell face-first into this most despised of all seasons. Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas. Just not winter. I got up and took a wild swing at her and she kept laughing as I landed nothing, my tiny fists sailing easily through her, an apparition.

I vowed that in March and April I will harness the power of the infinite sun and incinerate her into oblivion and she finally looked concerned. Bet last year's incarnation of winter failed to mention that the gig is on a tight deadline, or that it ends spectacularly for the cold.

So ha-ha to you, you evil bitch. Do what you have to do and get the fuck out.

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.