Deftones, headphones, six oh three.

I took you home
Set you on the glass
I pulled off your wings
Then I laughed
I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now you feel so alive

She came to the door selling invitations to a safe place from which to witness the end of the world, and Ben stood there in the screen porch in nothing but a pair of jeans and his tattoos, glasses on, half-eaten slice of toast in hand and he told her he wasn't interested because he already caught that show, more than once. I watched from behind the door and tried to remain expressionless. She was obviously afraid of his cynicism and so he watched to make sure she made it safely back down the front steps and then he shook his head and came back inside and I'm sure she moved on to our neighbors where odds are she'll get much the same reaction, probably with more clothes and less misanthropy.

Ben said (as if he even cared) that he hoped he was polite enough and then locked the door and took his shirt that I had on and pulled it toward him, bringing me with it into his arms. I got a final bruising airplane-fuel kiss and a long exhausted hug and then we had to retreat to the shower to wash the sweet and dangerous homecoming of the previous night from our flesh.

He's home now and we can resume our collective derangement, like those really creepy couples that terrorize the good people in horror movies? The ones who can finish each other's sentences and he seems to be in charge, since she follows every command he gives her but then all of the sudden she's alone with you and you realize she's the one you should really be afraid of, because she doesn't have any sense at all?

Yeah, that's us. And it makes me laugh.

I look at the cross
Then I look away
Give you the gun
Blow me away
I've watched a change in you

Because the hunkles said, "Enough with the whining, princess".

I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.
~Dorothy Parker

Both of the children passed their swimming levels tonight and got to walk on water (Jacob would have been so proud. Cole too, without the righteous angle though. Perhaps for the physics involved). No, really. It's a weird thing like a Slip n' Slide tied to each end of the pool and the kids run down the length of it, one at a time. They love it. I might post the video but it's Blackberry quality and probably only the sort of thing a mother and a dozen hunkles would love, so maybe let's just say yay for swimming badges!

That and Ben is at the airport, boarding a plane as we speak! Do I hear a yay for husbands in transit?

Ah.

Yay!

That's music to my broken little ears. Music indeed.

Yay.

(yay!)

Okay, goodnight.

It's raining men again.

It's not Monday anymore, I don't have a headache anymore, and save for a foggyish Himalayan hairball incident at three o'clock this morning, I have slept a little bit. I didn't think I would but I did, and this just reiterates for me how incredibly damaging it is that I don't get more sleep and I will. After tonight, that is, because Ben comes home in around twelve hours and so there's no way in hell I'm going to manage more than four or five hours of sleep tonight tops (shhhh) but it's okay, I'll try to get some at the end of the week and we'll see where we are then.

I had chocolate cake for breakfast which always seems to make me feel better about all kinds of things. I had a run this morning. All the way down the street and then home because yeah...I'm not feeling well enough to pull it off today. Not by a longshot.

In other longshots, last night I watched The Bachelorette on television (which is that big glossy black slab in the living room that the boys play the Xbox on, I think). A long time ago I watched two shows from the first season. There was a man looking for love and at the end he proposed to a woman and they broke up three weeks later. The women on the show all looked the same. Tall and tanned with straightened hair and overly-whitened teeth and false eyelashes and far too much makeup and few, if any of them, exhibited any class whatsoever. They all gushed about their search for their very own fairytale ending and then proceeded to answer questions posed by the Bachelor that they thought perhaps might be the right answer, instead of their own answer.

He seemed to pick the one who appealed to him most and when her composure slipped a little at the end when the contest was over, she seemed human, almost. Two weeks later she resumed her facade and they were over because they didn't have any depth as a couple, they hadn't developed a relationship, you can't do that on television and you won't find your fairytale by giving what you think are the right answers to someone who wants to get to know you.

But the Bachelorette seems different. Maybe it's because it's the first one I have seen with the role-reversals. Maybe it's because the Bachelorette, Jillian, I believe her name is, is scared and cries a lot. Maybe it's because some of the men are adorable and actually are willing to be viewed in an honest light. I remember seeing the promo on TV and thinking, oh look, perfectly coiffed men with their fauxhawks and attitudes hoping to get publicity/laid or whatever and why would someone go through that?

They didn't turn out that way last night, but mostly because ninety-nine percent of the guys that I have ever met don't give answers they think you want, they just say whatever comes to mind and then later on they beat themselves to a pulp internally for possibly fucking up something good.

Maybe I just identified with Jillian because I'm usually the only woman in a room full of men and I'm the center of attention and they compete for my attention while I give out roses disguised as affection and in recognition of points scored. Sometimes someone goes home or maybe it's the group dates. I really don't know for sure. I just know that Monday nights are now going to be a whole lot different, because I'll be watching to see how this one turns out (I do realize that she'll pick the wrong guy, they'll proclaim it to be happily ever after and a month afterward she'll be back on the talk-show circuit telling the world how it just didn't work out.)

Because fairytales aren't real.

Don't you people know that by now? Especially the ones on 'reality' television and in all the stupid bride movies we've all watched. It's not reality any more than I'm a REAL princess. We just believe in what we want to and hope for the best. Jillian's doing it in front of the cameras and I'm doing it in front of my keyboard. Everyone tunes in for a glimpse of a fairytale, because you know that's all there will ever be, that glimpse.

It's an interesting blend of faith, hope and perseverance, isn't it? It's worth tuning in to, just in case I'm wrong. That's why I keep going.

Because I might be wrong.

Charades, while we wait.

And all her friends tell her she's so pretty
But she'd be a whole lot prettier
If she smiled once in a while
Because even her smile looks like a frown
She's seen her share of devils in this angel town

Today's tally so far is three phone calls, two emails including two pictures, one of the wing of the plane and the other an upnose shot from Benjamin, and sixty-eight text messages.

So far. Snort.

He's being really sweet and massively accommodating to my incredible, debilitating fears of abandonment, let me tell you.

I told her I ain't so sure
about this place
It's hard to play a gig in this town
And keep a straight face

In return, I am projecting my bravery onto the meek little girl who would rather scowl from the corner and throw dishes and bricks at all who approach. I'm wearing my courage like a superhero suit, hiding behind it with the sure knowledge that if anyone asked me in just the wrong way I might rip your face right off and eat it. Luckily so far everyone has asked in just the right way and been greeted with Bridget's half-bitten pout and big green quavery eyes obviously attempting to make it sound like everything is just fine. Going through the motions, as Sam instructs and Lochlan insists on. Ben travels. A lot. This is what he does, princess. Fuckfuckfuck.

Everything will be fine, just give me thirty-six more hours, okay?

Everything's gonna be all right

Tough as a wet noodle, I am.

In trying to remain positive about tomorrow evening and beyond I'm noticing I get more and more tense as we get closer to Ben leaving. There's something about him, I don't know but the second he takes one step out of the front door I'm already waiting for him to come home. Even when he goes for the day or for an hour or for a minute I begin to anticipate his return. Trading hearts was never such an obvious choice as it has been with him and I don't regret it, it's just difficult. Difficult to never be independent of my thoughts of him and difficult to deal with short or long term separations, regardless of how necessary they may be.

We locked the weekend down, mindful of the busy week to come. We've spent every waking and sleeping moment together like we can't get enough, as if it couldn't possibly make up for time apart and all it seems to do is make things harder.

He holds my hand as we walk, kisses my forehead every time he turns to me, squeezes me up tight into his arms as I stand in front of him and it's not enough. I want to grab him and pull him down the hill and into the shed and push him inside, barring the door with a heavy board and then I'll run around the shed until I am out of breath, chains in hand, wrapping the tin walls in links of iron that I'll then affix a huge and heavy rusted padlock to and then I'll sink to the grass with a laugh because no one can take him from me then.

I somehow don't think he would mind, sometimes. But maybe sometimes he would and maybe sometimes I have wished that I didn't love him so goddamned much because then I could go about my life selfishly and independent but I can't because I do and he knows and it's alright because sometimes life hands you your other half and says here, try this one on, I think this is it and it is and then you can't see the seams or the beginning or end and you just feel like you're a single entity instead of a million fragments anymore and that's what the hard pill to swallow is. It's supposed to make life easier but it just means the sweet parts give you cavities and the hard parts, well, they give you bruises.

Kung Fu Kisses.

There was nothing in sight, the memories left abandoned
There was nowhere to hide, the ashes fell like snow
And the ground gave in between where we were standing
And your voice was all I heard, and I get what I deserve

The thunder rumbled and the wind blew through the trees last night, lashing rain against the windows with a fury once again, rattling the glass looking for a way in. Inside I was locked in Ben's arms, my arms pinned against his chest, our skin slick in the flickering light. I felt feverish, exhausted and he held me out and then pulled me back when he saw that I had no strength left so he became the strength for both of us. I remember kissing his earlobe and underneath his chin and he sighed harshly against the top of my head and held me that much harder, increasing pressure until I flinched away from him and then he smiled and eased back into the rhythm that I adore, pressed there against his beating heart, not being able to get any closer than I was right at that moment. The next time I didn't flinch at all. The last thing I remember is my heavy eyelids closing as Ben pulled me in against his chest one again, spoons this time. He was so warm. So warm.

We woke up to a freezing cold, cloudy morning, raindrops still making their way down the panes of glass, clearing quickly to sun but remaining cold. He wrapped me in yesterday's flannel shirt, felt my forehead and then headed downstairs to make a fire. He was back up in a flash and went to the shower while I found some pajama pants and buttoned his shirt, rolling the sleeves up over my hands as I headed down to start the coffee and feed the cats and to evaluate if I was actually feeling better. I am, I had sleep last night and yesterday I took so slowly I think I managed to evade the worst of this.

When Ben came out of the shower he laughed to find me still in his shirt with my pants with Pucca all over them, coffee cup in hand. We have extensive plans for more nights of the same, right through the weekend, because after the weekend he heads off for a couple of days of meetings far away from here and we're just going to duck our heads and distract, predict, comply until at least Wednesday. Under the radar we'll fly, you won't even know we're here.

Like the cartoon ninjas on my tv screen.

Silver chairs and spruce tops.

Open fire on the needs designed on my knees for you
Open fire on my knees desires what I need from you

Nevermind me, I threw up all morning and now that I feel better and am on my feet officially, the plan is to continue to listen to Silverchair at top volume while simultaneously practicing Vivaldi's Winter. I'm not sure if I can pull any of it off but I feel like making some noise.

Too much coffee and I can't get the tangle out of this sentence anyway.

Not even fifteen minutes later
I'm still walking down the street,
When I saw a shadow of a man creep out of sight.
Then he walks up from behind
And puts a gun up to my head,
He made it clear he wasn't looking for a fight.
He said "Give me all you've got
I want your money not your life,
But if you try to make a move I won't think twice."

Here's your morning music video. Now, what in the heck was the plan again? Oh yes, eat well, sleep well, run well and STAY BUSY, Bridget.

Pfft. Fine, Henry wants me to make him an explorer/treehouse bag out of his old camouflage shorts that are too small. I also have to mend Ruthie's quilt. And a billion other things I'm about to put off while I wait out some bigger anxiety-causing issues. I'm learning very slowly I can do this and it's not a bad thing. Mostly. Or is it? I don't know for sure.

It's days like this I think I really should be medicated to remove the edge, calm me down, bliss me out just a little bit.

But I can't do that, so onward and upward we go.

There is no fake cheese either so my whole day is screwed. I like fake cheese in my grilled sandwiches, not slices of actual, real cheese. It's just too Heidi. If I do that I may as well add a big glass of goat's milk and then braid my hair to keep it out of my face while I'm sewing.

Well, crap. I just described my actual morning. Now you know how thrilling life can be here at the formerly-Reilly household now ruled by the dark emo one. Which is...me. Hahahaha.

P.S. I'll share this morning's email round robin if you're as morbid as I am. Don't email me if you're not. Describe three ways the person in the list below you will die. Here are mine as imagined by Christian:

#1 Scientists discover lip gloss causes cancer.

#2 Drowning via excessive pomegranate ice tea ingestion, aka teaboarding.

#3 Like that girl in Goldfinger, except instead of paint she'll be covered with tattoos.

Bridget McFly, time traveler.

Something did get in the way.
Something finally did break.
When I tried to find my place in the diary of Jane.
And I've burned every single page,
And I still look the other way.
And I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane.

I think I'll spend the rest of my life bouncing back and forth between present, past and future like a confused astronaut, a person with no permanent place in any dimension, simply a visitor from another time, sent to teach something briefly or to learn something to fold into the next incarnation of Bridget as she wings here way through time and space, never daring to stop long in any one place lest she explode in a shower of tiny white lights and utter elation at being able to light up the universe for the first time ever, visible for miles.

I think I'd rather be a fly on the wall because it drives me crazy when three doors get closed between me and the boys, who have taken their argument down to the den because it means they can shut the den door, shut the hall door and shut the foyer door and I won't hear a thing while they holler at each other all morning. Because Lochlan was supposed to come yesterday and keep me company but he ran into some work delays and never made it and I finally gave up and made dinner and then called him for the ninth time, when he picked up and admitted he didn't want me replacing him with someone else so he tried to wait me out, even though being alone and not being all that impressed with all the storm warnings had set me seriously on point.

He was selfish and I paid the price for it. And that isn't allowed, or so they always like to tell Ben when HE fucks up. Except he doesn't fuck up anymore and he's going to kick Lochlan's ass because Lochlan is supposed to be the perfect one and oh hell I can't wrap my brain him not being that way. It's almost like finding out the stars are artificial or hearts don't beat, they flex. Just shut up, because I don't want to know. I liked it better before.

Just for this there will be no room for him on Bridget's Groovy Space Adventure Bus, departing in t-minus fifteen minutes. No room at all. Lochlan, you can walk. Or you can apologize and follow the caravan. Your choice.

I didn't mean to kill anybody.

Relax, it's just a quote from The Wizard of Oz.

Honestly, you people...

So it's Monday night, a typical Monday in which you've spent the day waiting patiently for it to end, because Mondays just...suck.

And then the evening's entertainment begins scrolling across my blackberry screen:

THIS IS A WARNING THAT SEVERE THUNDERSTORMS ARE IMMINENT OR OCCURRING IN THESE REGIONS. REMEMBER THAT SOME SEVERE THUNDERSTORMS PRODUCE TORNADOES. LISTEN FOR UPDATED WARNINGS.

I am still getting over the nagging psychological effects of fretting over the flood just three short weeks ago. God, could you knock it off just for a little while? Please?