Bleat.

Because behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all I find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your tail lights fading east
To find yourself a better life.

So cold. I trudge along, hands in my pockets, marching to the invisible music, for the radio plays on an endless loop inside my head and it's easy to make my feet match the beat, the words tripping down a softened, trampled path. The ties for my hat hang straight and the dog speeds along ahead of me on the end of his leash. Everything is grey and I am alone. They've taken my words. He took my heart and dropped it into a cloud at thirty-seven thousand feet, as best he can do for heaven, hoping he can still find it and bring it back in the future.

The future. It makes my eyes sting and the song begins again.

Fear and anticipation are the instruments, tears are the notes, big fat magnifying drops that blur the page of my book as I read later, the dog sleeping at my feet, the grate blowing warm air over my knees. I pick up the emote control and turn the song down a little so that it becomes the thread that holds my conscience together, a pocket where I will stuff the doubts that spill over the airwaves and melt the microwaves that keep me connected. Only a few threads left to ravel and I will break free to twist in this wind.

My nose is red, my eyes washed in bottle greens, sea glass faded, smashed upon the rocks. I pull my socks up over my knees and put my boots on over them. I button my coat in time with the transitions and hum to myself as I get ready to go out again.

Interesting way to spend an evening.

Tonight when I was carrying the stepladder downstairs, I managed to snag the curtain in the front stairwell. In untangling it, the rod and everything came crashing down on me. Of course, this window is a good twelve or fifteen feet high and even Ben needs to prop the stepladder on the stairs to put it up. I won't (can't?) do that so for now it's an unadorned window that allows people at street level to see into my upstairs hallway.

Not a big deal until the dog went to the top of the stairs, looked out the window at his 'reflection' and started barking. Twenty-five minutes later he is still standing there, hackles raised, barking and growling at the strange little white dog on the roof of my neighbor's house.

Lovely.

8 more sleeps til Ben comes home. Then hopefully he can put the curtain back up. Among other things.

I'll sing for free.

Switchfoot is on the stereo and I'm sitting on the floor painting.

Well, you wanted an update. More later. I mean business. I even have the ROLLER out.

Today was a sleeves-rolled-up, no-holds-barred round of Bridget versus The House. With the house ahead by the slimmest of margins and Bridget quickly gaining ground, we gave up and called it a draw. The fight will resume tomorrow, right after I visit the hardware store for more ammunition.

The good news is the laundry and cleaning is completely up to date and I'm physically and emotionally exhausted which hopefully will result in a quiet night tonight. Last night at around eleven thirty my nose hit the keyboard not once but twice while I waited for Ben to appear on Skype. Bless his heart, he hid notes in all the places in the house that I frequent. My coffee cup, the bookshelf in the dining room, under the lamp in the kitchen. I'm not sure if I have found them all, but I'm enjoying the surprise.

And being fond of complaining loudly and bitterly about the state of my to-do list has nothing to do with Ben. I could claim helplessness but really I honestly and truly believe that earnestness and a good heart will eventually reward me. So if I slave away at the house, maybe someone will see that and buy the damn thing. And really, I'm not the type of girl who sits around eating bon-bons and watching daytime television so what else would I do? I LIKE knowing what kind of mud works with drywall joints. I bought the other kind, so it made it a super challenge and I am learning lots.

Oh, mom, please stop laughing.

In other news, I found some new blogs to read via twitter (did you know I twitter? I don't get twitter but I like it). Some very decent and engaging writers but I'm not going to call them out per se. I'm just going to lovingly point out that if you wind up with financial albatrosses because you didn't feel like paying your bills, then firstly don't be surprised when your dream of a white picket fence and your own vehicle goes up in smoke because of your credit rating, and secondly? Please for the love of God, don't talk about saving money in the new year and then in the very next post talk about running errands that contain the words "tanning salon", "manicure", "drinks", and "trip".

I really had no idea how beautifully poignant and hilarious those idealistic mid-twenties years can be but they maybe read me and think something equally awful about me. Who knows? I'm at least self-aware enough to recognize I might have issues too.

Right. Issues? What issues.

(Life is what you make it, princess.)

You, in the corner? Shut the hell up.

I figure if I work my fingers to the bone and keep on with the mother of all time killers (distraction) then I will be too worn out to cry, too tired to freak the fuck out and too satisfied with my efforts to notice how miserable I truly am without Ben here.

Thank goodness there are only this many more sleeps:

You would love me when I'm angry.

I'm not so much sad, just determined. Get us the fuck out of here. Ben is safely in new location. I am mad. I think I'll put on Henry's Hulk Smash Hands and complete the look.

I'm not really mad, just slightly lost. Fortunately. I have a map. The directions are very clear, the landmarks precise. Visit the following places and at the end of the fucking rainbow will be your husband. And the warmer (albeit rainy) weather.

Rain? Who complains about rain? Talk to me after you've spent a winter here. I'll talk rain over the incredible cold any damn day. I have no designs on good hair days (that's what uptwists are for) and Maybelline makes a wickedly wonderful waterproof mascara.

But anyway, back to the map.

Today I had to visit the temple of wood filler and the tomb of gyproc breakdown and disposal. Also the market (for cake, naturally) and my much beloved shopping center, which is a temple of a different and consumerist sort. I got all that accomplished and even sucked the dirt off the floor with the thingie (are we going there? I don't think we're going there) and walked the kids to school and back.

All that AND we took Ben to the airport at five o'clock this morning.

Fiiiiiiiive. Jesus. And God, because God made Bridget coffee. In her own image.

Let me tell you, at this rate I'm going to blow through the checkpoints and win this multi-provincial endurance race before you can say...uh....March break and then I will unpack my drawing books and my violin bow and my tiny perfect wardrobe of pretty black things and I'll put my hands on my hips and regard my new vistas and I will give it my best Scarlet O'Hara:

As God as my witness, I will never be cold again!

(In any event, this is day one, so eleven more sleeps and Ben is home to add air to the tires on the car and save me from myself, if only briefly.)

Are we there yet?

I have run out of distractions, preparations and courage.

My eyes are burning and I feel like I'm going to vomit. In less than ten hours, none of which will be spent asleep, Ben will be gone, and for me it's the physical equivalent of ripping off my arms and legs, removing my heart and telling me to just deal with it.

Right. I can't fathom how I'm going to pull this off either. The only thing that comes to mind is taking the kids and going and sitting on the floor inside the closet and rocking all three of us until someone (ideally, Ben) comes back and breaks down the door. My head wants escape through any means possible, my heart wants to throw the house to the wolves and just go with him and my very small logical voice, heard in a whisper says to smarten up, grab the paintbrush and get busy. See how much you can get done before he returns.

He is home in eleven days but it's only for three. Then we do the long haul. A month, maybe more. No one has provided me with flight numbers and so I'm going on wary promises and disbelief.

Better things on the other side? I'll believe it when we get there. Until then, please excuse the river of tears and whatever else childish behavior you think is stupid. I'm not good at this and I will be making no apologies.

None of this is good.

Next person who calls them the 'aught years' gets a wedgie.

Oh my. I'm coming here late in the day. It's dark out and I'm incapable of telling you about this day or even tomorrow right this second so we'll go with a grateful list and call it a night.

1. I slept in. Only the sleeping part was only from about five until eight. (It was worth it. So, so worth it.)
2. Soundgarden is reuniting. YES!
   
3. The middle of January forecast appears to be warmer than it is now. Thank heavens.
4. I have movies to watch all month long. Most of them seem to involve Gerard Butler. Why? He makes me happy. Just like PJ and chocolate cake.
   
5. The drywall is finished. It was a huge project and it's done. Done!
   
6. There will be more cake. I'm going to go get one. Maybe on Tuesday.
7. Did I mention the two extra minutes of daylight a day?
   
8. When I grasp at straws, I am usually successful (see #7)

We're going to go now and make some bagels and fruit for dinner (lunch was so late, like 2:30!) and walk the puppy and watch some movies. Tomorrow is my last day of Normal Life with Ben. I have to keep reminding myself that it's not forever, but it sure feels like it is. And I know I'll be (almost) okay when he goes. I just wish he could stay.

PJ, Lochlan, Dalt, Sky, Danny, Christian and Rob all went today. So yeah. New plan. Pour cement into Ben's shoes. Turn off cellphones. Hunker down and disappear.

If only.

(say it with me: FORTY DEGREES WARMER THERE. BRIDGET, GET A GRIP!)

Three sleeps left and I don't know how I'm going to do this.
~via BlackBerry.

Wow. Thanks for the emails.

If ANYONE on the face of this earth has earned the right to medicate in any way, shape or form, it would be me. If you don't agree then it's simple. DON'T READ. You don't want to think I have ways to get to Jacob? I make you uncomfortable? Right.

I never said it would be pretty. I said *I* was pretty. There's a difference.

Well, here we go.

So this is the new year
and I have no resolutions
for self assigned penance
for problems with easy solutions

so everybody put your best suit or dress on
let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
as thirty dialogues bleed into one

In 2010, things are going to be different. We're preparing to move somewhere warmer than the -45 I walked out into this morning, the cold sunshine burning my skin and my eyes, no amount of coat or arms or heat able to block the shivering.

In 2010, Ben and I will celebrate our second anniversary married.

In 2010, the children will turn 11 and 9 and I don't know where all this time actually went but perhaps in 2010 I will find and restore it so things move at a more natural pace that isn't way too fast or agonizing slow.

In 2010 we will be rich but not in material wealth and not because I sold out for sugar because it seemed like a great way at the time to ensure the future and stick it to Satan all at once. The richness will be in adventure and in living near water and mountains and forests and warmth, because we are ocean people and ocean people need oceans nearby.

2010 for Bridget is dedicated to making every day fun and peaceful of mind and learning how to embrace the present and just be. Deal with things as they arise instead of distressing myself to pieces over what may or may not go wrong. Maybe on paper that seems to be a circumvention of traditional resolutions, but if you know me, then you understand that it will be a full-time job.

Enjoying every single day to the fullest will be difficult considering that between now and Monday, most of the boys are leaving for work in our new city, and on Monday proper Ben flies out too. Which leaves just me and the children behind here in the city that is colder than Siberia to navigate the remainder of winter, the sale of this big wonderful house and the mountain of painting and packing that needs to be done.

Enmeshed in daily living will be efforts to maintain or improve my mental health. With things like sleep and good food and biofeedback and distractions because it's been so easy to lean on the boys, letting them fix things while I fret and flutter around their margins. Maybe I'll become stronger. This is the collective hope. Failure is not an option. Failure means the end of everything and so we can't entertain that scenario. It just can't happen and so it won't.

Last evening I spent the final night of 2010 bubbled in expensive champagne, dancing, sparkling. Talking about profound things and accepting admiration I haven't earned yet.

I cried when August started a midnight singalong of Auld Lang Syne and I went to the beach house when Caleb came looking for us after the last guest drifted from my hazy vision, opening the door just in time.

Jacob turned around from where he was drying dishes at the kitchen sink.

There you are. Happy new year, princess.

Happy new year, Jake.

What should we do today?

Let's take a walk on the beach.

Are you sure? It's pretty cold today.

I'm sure.