Far too fast to pacify you.

In a year of fallen angels
Broken hands and boys in danger
Pray the lord might pacify you
Ain't no telling what he's up to

Let's enjoy a little morning coffee with Bridget, shall we? As she begins her first day at work, as assistant to Mr. C____, who, as bosses go, is incredibly indulgent so far.

I knew Caleb was sending a car for me, which is silly considering the Lexus has been in my driveway for two days. But he himself showed up in the 350z again, which handled poorly in the snow but I could see that he was enjoying ferrying me around and a lot of times I think Caleb has made so much money that he pretends to be working and he doesn't have to work at all.

He took me out for breakfast to celebrate my first day of work, and of course I wasn't hungry because I didn't know he was going to do that and I had already eaten but I had coffee and a warm piece of pecan pie that I ate half of, while he had an egg white omelet and bacon and steamed vegetables because he will not allow himself to gain an ounce. It was this vanity I was marveling over when I found another. The lines at the corners of his eyes that are not as pronounced as Cole's were because I think Caleb rarely smiles.

Unless I'm there.

He has smiled through most of the morning, I'm surprised there aren't feathers sticking out of his mouth.

To address all the people who pointed out that Sam has asked me to come work for him many times over and I have refused, and yet here I am, working for my devil of a brother in law, let me just say this. Working for Sam is beyond difficult because I spend my day staring at or walking in and out of Jacob's old office.

That hell is worse than this one.

This one so far is not so bad. So far work-wise I have ordered new business cards with Caleb's new information on them, I have arranged for a huge Christmas tree to be delivered to the loft on December thirteenth and he's asked me if I can show him how to use his Blackberry when we come back from lunch. Oh and I charmed his doorman. To absolute pieces.

Basically I think my job description is to let Caleb watch me walk around in his loft in my ridiculously high heels. If he's going to pay me this much money to do that, then yes, Lochlan, I am selling out. No better than a whore? That's great, thank you.

There is something in it for me, too. You seem to forget that.

Like a Scorpions song, only much more profound.

Something about wind and change.

The winds here are warm. Winter seems to be holding back. Perhaps Autumn has kidnapped Jack Frost and our usual minus twenty mornings aren't appearing as scheduled. It gave me an extra breath to prepare for the cold. I was ready weeks ago. The boots and coats and mittens and everything out in their places. Shovels at the ready and we have had to shovel once. The back steps are bare.

I like this. More like home, less like this godforsaken city that's putting me through a seventh winter even though I vowed I would get out of here years and years ago. If everything happens for a reason then I would like to know the reasons for this. I think I might be making my peace with this city at last.

Change comes in the form of noticing this morning that it's November sixteenth and the kids have only had a very minor cold each and a one-day stomach flu around Thanksgiving. The three years previous to this had us in front of the vampire cowboy doctor at least four times by this date, inhalers every night, coughing constantly and exhausted beyond repair.

Here's the part where I squeeze my eyes tightly shit and then crack one open for a quick peek around, in case Jinx heard me. She's the one that hears her name and then comes and fixes what she missed. So within two days I expect the germs and the snow to descend on my big old house in a flood of ruin.

Pleasepleaseplease just miss this house this year.

In other changes. We went to the early service and are home already (thank you Sam for your words this morning, clearly directed at us). Seth and Ben have already made out a list for the week. Ben seems more confident and has limitless enthusiasm and very few cravings today. This is living life one day at a time to the fullest.

And I start work tomorrow in the lair of the demon of the business underworld. I'm halfway excited. The other half of me is cautious, as usual. One must be cautious when one meets the devil on his own proving ground. And I have all kinds of things to prove.

Not to him, though. To ME.

Nothing doing.

On this Saturday night the mercury is dropping fast and we're all tucked in for the night. Only this night is a little different. Even though the Leafs are playing the Canucks and later on the UFC fight to end all UFC fights is scheduled to be on, we have the TV off, the friends are home (thank you PJ for the hugs and coffee and thank you Seth for looking after Ben today) and we've lit a roaring fire and are going to spend the evening matching our fingertips under a blanket on the couch.

Just us, just two silly fools who have names that begin with the letter B, just the ones covered with sadness and effort and tattoos and then tomorrow the day starts all over again. And it will be another good one, just like today.

Goodnight.

If it's Saturday I talk to myself out loud. Wait, nevermind.

When the sun clears the dark away I sit quietly, legs crossed, eyes closed, left abandoned in a moment but only for a moment with a kiss on the forehead that means meeting time, he'll be back and I hear the doors close and then a thud as the truck door closes and the rumble of life from the big beast with FORD stamped on the back.

Seth seems nice, since two years ago I was briefly introduced but did not talk with him at any length. Last night he sat at the kitchen table and I watched him watching us. He does not take notes or act as if he's thinking about anything of importance, in fact, he acts a lot like August. You wouldn't know what he does for a living and when I remarked last evening that being stuck here for the next ten weeks or so doesn't seem like much of a living at all on his part, he let his warm blue eyes rest on me and he smiled, telling me candidly that he averages three clients a year, and then the rest of the time he does whatever he wants, that he is well-compensated. He likes what he does and he doesn't consider it work.

Ben will do well again. He wants to do well, he just doesn't have the self-discipline required to do it on his own. Self-discipline isn't something Ben comes with. It's sold separately. Like batteries.

Seth will be Ben's batteries. Ben is going to do a lot of really hard work.

I am not.

I'm going to continue on this path for a bit. No pills, no therapy, just a new routine that is slightly busier, which means I have less time to let my brain crash around inside my skull. Bridget's idle brain is her worst enemy and time is her nemesis and between the two, she's been cultivating destruction all by herself.

She does that, you know. The tiny tornado, flattening very big structures and causing fear in people for no reason at all. A glitch when all conditions are right.

I don't want to go through life being known like that.

Maybe I'm too late.

No, dammit. There is always time. If I ever learned anything from Jake, there is time for me. Of course, there was no time for him, but there's time for me, there's time for Ben and there's time to get it right.

Limitless chances, princess. Just do the best you can.

Do you think if I fill those empty spaces in my head his voice will stop finding a way in?

Is that what I even want?

And with that, I must go, because PJ is here. To fill my empty head with coffee and my arms with some really good hugs, I hope.

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.