Cringeworthy.

Caleb had a huge vase of cattails on the island this morning when I arrived at the loft. I asked him if that represented the remains of his weekend. He gifted me with his unabashed laughter. Pure joy, a rare display from someone who checks every last nuance obsessively. He told me Sophie had been in town for the weekend and a weird stabbing pain shot right through my body like a bolt of agony and disappeared into the floor.

I would have said something incredibly unladylike but I couldn't. It's Sophie. I don't have anything over her. She can run circles around me with...well, everything. The one person who still can make me feel like an incredibly unpulled-together chaotic mess and short and ungraceful to boot.

That and I'm weirdly jealous that she was with him for the weekend.

Oh my God, I am insane.

I'm not all that sure which part I'm jealous of. Maybe just that they had a fun weekend where I was at the farm feeling disconnected and shut out while the boys bonded and did man things and I was sort of an afterthought until late into the evenings and I am so short on affection and time and support right now it was almost an attempt to thumb my nose at Benjamin, coming here, only Benjamin wouldn't notice because he is busy being taken care of so he can be whole and manage without so much handholding.

I'm not sure it ever matters what I do because their eyes are blind and then other times I feel like every move is going to be the wrong one or a lesser one or a total incendiary action that will blow up my world again.

So I go to see Cale and feel even smaller and even less significant but vaguely evil and it's enough to keep a spark lit so that I feel like I have something to offer or withhold from SOMEONE only he isn't really doing it for me so I come home early and Benjamin is playing Sufjan covers and hardly looks up which means he is processing things and this is a good sign. So I go and track down PJ and PJ is all about food and what food should I make and I hesitate one second too long and so we wind up going out for Thai takeout and Ben doesn't say much and the kids are lost in their own worlds and PJ starts to zone out on me and I slip. Just a little. Knuckle to wristbone. Enough so that I get another jolt, only this time it's less jealousy and more plain old vanilla fear.

Stop it, Bridget.

Hmm?

You're worrying yourself to death.

Right, Lochlan. Think it will work this time?

Not funny.

No one cares.

I care.

I don't care that you care.

Stop being difficult.

Stop being an opportunist.

Okay.

Just like that?

Sure. If that's what you want.

I never ever get what I want.

You got all of us.

Okay, then I get everything I want.

Except?

Ben.

Bridget, I had this conversation with Ben word for word three years ago. This is hilarious.

What's so funny about it?

That you two are married and you're acting like he's dead.

We're all dead.

It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?

Yes, Lochlan, it is.

What can I do?

Put a heated floor in Narnia for me.

What?

Nevermind.

Bridget?

Yes?

Time for some sleep.

Is it ever. Good night.

Pale Shelter.

I have this now on my Blackberries, which makes me very happy. It's lovely to be able to keep track of the games without having to plunk down in front of a television on Saturday night at six o'clock.

Speaking of television, the program we have settled on this winter is Ice Pilots NWT. It's very good. Much along the same lines as Ice Road Truckers. I loves me some Northwest Territories. I bet I'd do well there save for the 30 Days of Night-caliber vampires that might appear. But then again I do well anywhere, I bloom where I'm planted. Or maybe it's that I rot where I am tossed. Oh, the vampires will love me now. The sweet, sweet smell of decay and desperation could melt the snow for miles, and I will gather handfuls of blood into my handbag and keep limping along down the middle of the deserted street calling for someone to come and be my company. Or maybe for someone to just leave me alone.

We're heading home in the morning. Ben has been reinforced, patched and repaired and feels strong for having siphoned strength and wisdom from those ahead of him on the difficult path. The ones holding the flashlights while he trips gainfully along in the dark following my drops of blood and the smell of cloying fear that has lead him to me every night for the past two years.

Bridget is not reinforced. Bridget is a mess of sleeplessness and a runaway train of brewed coffee and frustration, a bundle of nerves and a frightful little thing right now.

Just frightful. I won an Ambien for my performance earlier. I plan to take it in about an hour and with a little luck I can begin the week on a better note. I have pulled all of our things together and I'll leave here reluctantly tomorrow. Looking back down the drive until I can't see the porch anymore. Wishing our visit had been longer or successful at all but instead we eat the wasted effort, a non-weekend. No do-overs, no time machine, no grace.

I can't help the past.

Off now to watch a bit of a movie (escape, Bridget) and snuggle down between Ben and Lochlan, human insulation from my relentless nightmares, deflection for the jealously I feel when Ben gets all the attention and I am left to slide.

Thank heavens I slide whoreizontally sometimes. I did not invent that word. Bet you can guess who did. But I can't say anything, I won't mess with the Witch-Lochtor when my sleep is at stake.

Will write when we are home tomorrow. We're leaving here super earlier. So early I don't know why I'm going to bed at all.

Important update.

Going to go with broccoli and cauliflower roasted with garlic and parmesan for vegetables.

And Nolan had these on my bedside table when we arrived. Are they not the prettiest damned things ever? Oh, I know, but sometimes it's the little things.

Lochlan is being nice. Still. A new record.

Hoping for sleep.

I'm making meatloaf for dinner. Everyone is turkeyed out, smoked out, worn out, rode hard and put up wet and there are places all over this house where you can find a boy with a beard and a book or a laptop and a hot cup of coffee and a lamp on low.

It's snowing again to add to the coziness.

It's grown dark so I went around and closed all the curtains in the bedrooms.

It's grown a bit chilly so I checked on the kids and saw that they were warm and I went and got one of Ben's hoodies because I always was a girl to steal a t-shirt/flannel jacket/suit coat from a man if cold.

Why not?

Ben has learned and he doubles up because he gets cold too.

Only now he has his beard to keep him warm and even though Movember comes to an end Tuesday he has been threatening to go all Wolverine on us and keep it. I love it, he looks beautiful with the longer hair and the beard. Wild, almost. Untamed.

Apt, perhaps.

We're missing Karsh by being here. We're missing the fake-ass black weekend pseudo-sales and the crazy Christmas traffic and the chaos of the city. We're missing the take-out and the noise and church tomorrow and that part is okay because Sam is here so we brought the God and the rest of them can suffer through substitute sermons and cold formal greetings. Tomorrow we'll have rock church in the snow, on horseback. Druid church more than Unitarian. Nature-worship while we still can.

I'm baking potatoes now too. One potato, two potato, just about six pounds total for one dinner. I'm still plotting vegetables, probably will use the rest of the cauli and call it good. Bread with garlic and olive oil. Wine for some, water for others. Milk for the children. Coffee for Ben. Coffee doesn't seem to affect Ben the way it affects me. Lucky boy.

Tonight I am planning to work my way through some more of Duma Key. Tucked in the crook of Ben's arm, warm, safe, full, sleepy.

Would like to just stay here for this. Maybe forever.

Calm before the storm.

Forging halos

Good morning. I've come out very late into the new morning with bedhead and a growling belly. Jeans from yesterday and Ben's hoodie zipped over nakedness because I am so hungry. Nolan left a pot of cream of wheat on the stove for me and a fire in the fireplace and there's a note on the counter that tells me men and children are out on the trail and they will be home in time for a snack mid-morning. Which means I have another hour or so to myself.

It's so lovely here. When we arrived last night, Nolan had decorated for Christmas. Or maybe he decorated for Ben and Bridget and we can become a holiday that people can celebrate. Every tree had lights, the whole way down the long driveway into the woods. Then at the house, the roof, railings and windows were outlined. Multicolored lights because Nolan once said all white lights were less festive and more sophisticated, and Christmas should be a festive time. I agreed but no one questions me leaving my tiny white lights up all year around either.

It looked amazing and I didn't expect it. He doesn't do much in the way of decorating. He has enough to keep him busy. But he did anyway and I love him all the more for the effort.

We came inside, dropped our bags, got hugs and went to our rooms. I tucked the children in in the midst of a huge yawn and I don't think I managed to turn out the light on the table beside the bed before I was in dreamland. Maybe Ben turned it off.

He did not sleep in. Up early to worship the gods of nature and serenity, he's been anxious to get out and get away from it all, so the ride will be good for him. My legs still ache from Christmas shopping in high heels yesterday and I'm thinking a hot bath might round out my lazy morning. It's chilly here. The temperature plummeted overnight and it's hard to get used to the cold outside and even more difficult to get moving now. I could stay under the quilts forever in our bed here, it's hard to imagine that life out from under those covers could be as good as life under them, but I'm up, for what it's worth and I plan to enjoy today. We're having a belated turkey day today. Everyone is here. I couldn't ask for more.

So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away, you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control
My love was punished long ago
If you still care don't ever let me know
If you still care don't ever let me know

This morning is Slipknot and chili lime pistachios while I write emails and pay some bills and wrap up Caleb's week in business here at the loft. I'm headed out Christmas shopping shortly and then to the school for parent-teacher meetings and then with a little luck by dinner time we will be in the truck to join the caravan for the trip to the farm for 'Merican Thanksgiving. Nolan is waiting with open arms and we really really need a lot of that right now.

Happy thanksgiving! Again. because we get two. Think we can try for two Christmases too?

I know. Always worth a shot though.

Ben is doing better. Thank you for your kind thoughts.

Flakes, snow and otherwise.

Show me where it hurts
And I will make it worse.

I have been a busy little bee this morning. I went and bought wrapping paper and stocking stuffers. I found magic drip candles in a store and bought three boxes because I love those almost as much as magic rocks and fire, too. I made my list and tomorrow I plan to go back out and finish shopping for the children and for the out of province family and then I'll come home and finish packing for the farm.

We'd like to be out of here tomorrow evening. I have parent-teacher interviews tomorrow afternoon and then we're good to go. Might even have dinner on the road. Which kind of excites me, because really, Caleb's caliber of restaurant may be just lovely and easy to get used to, but nothing beats truckstop coffee.

And Bridget loves her coffee. I fell asleep in a cup of coffee yesterday afternoon which was a whole new narcoleptic low for me. I will blame the dog. He wakes up at five and so we put him up on the bed and he'll curl up against Ben's legs and sleep for the rest of the morning. But then hallo, Bridget's awake. Ben is awake too but he'll pretend he's asleep until the radio goes off an hour later.

I will sleep this weekend at Nolan's. Next week I will finish up shopping for the boys. Shhh.

I'm trying the Keeping Busy routine and hopefully I can recruit Ben into this plan and maybe we'll squeak through winter without any more upsets. Yesterday we laid low. Ben went to meetings with the boys. I stayed home with the other boys and wrote a little and tried to rest and got spoiled rotten and then Ben came home and rested too and I got a hell of a lot of cuddles and snuggles and a fire lit and kept and I went to sleep in tears anyway because I was worn out and overtired and not feeling so hot and totally frustrated. Ben put his arms around me and pulled me in tight against his chest.

While we slept the snow came, bringing with it a fresh start and a &#^@$* freezing cold morning. We do well when it snows. It's magic of a different sort.

Hold harmless.

There is a sideshow school (!!) at Coney Island and I'm drowning in sleeplessness today. Ben and I each seem to average about three or four hours a night, less when we are being dramatic, more when we are tired of ourselves and each other and give up the ghosts in favor of healing rest.

It's the way it is.

I still harbor the great escape in my head. For times when I am sitting at the bottom of the pantry in the kitchen and everyone wants me out but no one wants to come in, I run away to join the sideshow freaks and they welcome me home and it's glorious and it's simple. They want bacon and cars from the seventies, they want to find some fun on a cool autumn evening and they want to be love. They want to get some mail and fresh wildflowers and a pretty ring. They want to entertain you for their dollars and they know how to boil life down on the rusted ring burner of an old electric stove in the back of a booth on the edge of the pier and they know how to eat what remains and thrive on it.

We, on the other hand, are just pretending.

Ben opened the pantry door, via the gorilla goalie method because I was already on the island and failed to hear his final warning and I was launched out of the park and back into his arms and he smelled like whiskey and love and cigarettes and sad. He yelled at Lochlan to back away and he put his hand over my ear so I couldn't hear him anymore. He is growing to be attached to my hair. Like the others.

Touch=safe.

He would do well to come back to the carnival with me. There are no devils in New York and no complications and no history of anything. Just grindstones and mermaids and cheap Louis Vuitton fakes and Production. Also there is the Aquarium but I haven't made it there yet, I fell in love with the gritty boardwalk and the lights and I can't be torn away from them, I must be physically carried until I can't see them anymore and then I'll walk under my own power.

I would love, oddly enough, to see that in snow.

I would love to be in the mermaid parade too.

I found miracles there.

I'm at work. I feel like shit. I don't sleep or eat. I just runrunrun and try to stay upright as long as possible and when I get sixteen or eighteen hours into a day I can stop and sit for a bit and sometimes maybe I get a couple hours of sleep.

Right now I'm busy trying to scan in the kid's school pictures. Caleb has the past four years here too so I'm going to make a slide show that shows how much they have grown. Ben should be here any minute to collect me from my day in hell and we're going to go have coffee with Nolan and discuss the weekend. I want to go to the farm for our 'merican turkey day. I want to escape for a few days. I want to go back to where it was when Ben and I were the only two people on earth and it was dark and snowing and we broke the surface of life together and took a really deep breath.

That's what I want.

He's here. See you later.

(Getaway in) Stockholm syndrome.

I say hell it is love
You say I must suffer
She's a motherfucker
Resurrect me

Sleep well in your killing bed
Give a jig and show some life
Favor for a favor
Don't separate the
Pain from the knife
All the doctors sing
You got to suffer for the cure
As the world fades away
You wonder where you were

I can be bought for the price of a few pretty little things shipped from Agent Provocateur, so says Caleb yesterday as we were preparing to leave his loft. He laughed as if he was kidding only that's when you know he is not, just like he always smiles when he lies.

The tightrope is worn rather thin over that part of the city.

And he is right, for I came away from the weekend with some gorgeous new sets of black ribbons and ruffled pink satin, a favorite combination. Dress up the doll and put her on display. Use your timeshare wisely. All girls like to be spoiled rotten and treated well and not the other way around.

Ben's eyes grew dark as he fought to honor his agreements and quell his own appetites and I let the excuses of history serve as our joint confession. He goes with me into hell. I won't be made to choose between Ben's continued success and my intactness. It's a no-brainer. It's a wash. So I kept my apologies to myself and I took my husband by the hand, box under his arm and we took the car that was sent across town and fulfilled obligations that sometimes seem never-ending and decadent and possibly undeserving and sometimes seem as if they were scraped out of the gutter and presented in a silver teacup.

Kind of like how you can scrape a girl out of the gutter and dress her up in pretty pink satin and tell her she's beautiful when it's all a mistake and a miscommunication. An error in being. A flaw in time.

An aberration in humanity. Like a half-formed future reject off the assembly line that makes people, I appeared with broken ears and a broken mind and a heart that loses whole big pieces and a total lack of judgement that makes everyone who loves me want to alternately scream and line up for whatever sort of enkindled torture it is that I can produce for them.

None of this is true, mind you. I don't think I'm flawed, actually. Not all that much, anyway. Ruined for sure, but I can harbour enough of a reasonable facsimile of myself to make Benjamin so incredibly happy he married me if only for claiming ownership of a visual that is tactile for him. Everyone else must be content to entertain it in their dreams save for for a handful of others who have passes but they are only good for certain times and the only way I can rectify that inside the brokenness of my head is to embrace some other part of my personality that remembers these boys don't remark on beauty that isn't remarkable. That I am worthy or they wouldn't want me. And that no one rocks the pink and black satin like Bridget rocks it. Like she rocks everything.

There will be no remorse until tomorrow.

Here where the tightrope is thicker and I have better balance, the pink satin is tucked away in a drawer that sees less of a confident reflection and more than a little doubt, thinner skin with which to be stung by judgement and hurt by glances carelessly stripped of their intended ignorance and doubt bubbling up from a well that should see the most confidence in all.

It isn't a sport, it's an obligation. Hunting princesses in order to leave the knights alone, I have a real life monster who thrives on making me afraid but also knows how I thrive on the attention it gives me.

I am not one to apologize and I know it will be dismissed as Bridget being crazy in the first few years after Jacob..well whatever it is that they say and I pretend not to hear because I am too busy being Shocking and Difficult and Impossible. Too busy making sure everyone loves me.

Just in case.

Just in case something else happens and a little more of my heart gets crushed into glass. In case you fail to understand that there are actual rules of engagement, something I am not required to share. It's a rare and precious occasion for him to actually touch the satin, don't you see? He much prefers to view me like a movie, burning me into his brain. Trying to erase Benjamin out of the picture, maybe. I don't know. I don't ask.

You think I care that you don't understand?

I do not.

Not tonight.