Extra-beautiful, the bitter/sweet edition.

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here.

You would think with all the boys I know, famous and infamous, I would have done a little better yesterday.

Chris and I were in our usual spot, outside the venue two hours before the show when the photographer (Andy, who RULES ALL) came out and invited us to come in and watch Switchfoot do their soundcheck. Ben would have loved this but alas, Chris takes us to the Switchfoot shows because ironically my husband is usually away playing death metal when they roll into town.

We sat on the floor while they played Dirty Second Hands, and then they came down and met us, chatting for a few minutes.

And I'm an idiot, because I'm standing there holding the hand of the guy who wrote the words on my ankle and I didn't show him my Nothing in the world could fail me now tattoo.

Argh!

(Jon, I'm so sorry. I wanted to show you. My brain wiped itself clean somewhere in between walking down to the stage and when you smiled at me.)

I managed to talk to him a little though. I had a great talk with Chad, and Drew and Tim. Jerome remembered the children from three years ago when we last met up at the same place.

When they were finished we were sent back outside, no longer cold, VIP wristbands displayed proudly because I'm the biggest Switchfoot fan that ever lived and seriously, after coming away from the last show with set lists and guitar picks and a front-row view I figured that was the amazing show and hopefully this one would be cool too but at no point did I expect to meet the band. I've known some other bands. Mostly big scary gruff guys with almost as many tattoos as I have. Not down to earth, friendly and engaging bands that I can sing every word of every song with.

But at door time we filed in and wound up in the front row again! This time firmly rooted between where Tim and Jon stand onstage. Only Jon never stands still. He grabbed hands, he jumped into the audience right next to me, to the positively screams of delight from my kids and the glowstick-teens next to us. He sang to Ruth. He sang to me. Tim checked Henry to make sure he seemed to be having fun. (For the record, Henry bailed at ten songs in, bless his heart. Christian took him to a cooler vantage point from which to enjoy the rest of the show). We sang and swayed and rocked out and took video (PS My blackberry takes amazing video, sound is distorted but I might try a Youtube upload later today) and waved goodbye when they were finished, wrapping up with Dare you to Move after twenty other songs, including playing the new Hello Hurricane album start to finish. Start to finish, I said. Oh my God, the songs.

It was beyond ridiculously good. I didn't want to cut off my access bracelet when we got home. I didn't want to go to sleep.

Four hours later we were up again and on our way to the airport, this time for duty instead of celebration. I had to drop Ben off for his flight and we were almost late because we could not let go of each other and didn't want to face this morning but knew we don't really have much of a choice. Onward and upward big B and little b. Face your fears. Face the day. Dare you to move, stupids.

After a night like that, it seems like anything and everything is possible. Strangers are friends. Fear is adventure in disguise. Time is relative. Wounds heal.

And live music is worth living for, a gift like nothing else to me.

Thank you, boys.

Recycling, the hard way.

Let go for just a moment, Princess.

I think somehow I felt like Ben leaving his favorite guitar here at home was collateral so that he would have to come back. I spent a lot of his time away wondering if I would see him again, feeling like I had been left behind and generally just wholly unprepared for how rocked I would be in his absence.

He has gone away before. Dozens of times over the years. In previous lives we would pick a fight, he would go on tour and I would point out repeatedly in messages and calls that I hardly noticed he wasn't present and I would see him when I saw him. In turn he would point out how peaceful and fun the chaos, noise and misery of the road was compared to my house. We both knew better, it was just fun to throw barbs and pretend they didn't hit their targets.

Of course, now everything is at stake and trips have taken on an albatross-shaped shadow that sometimes blocks the sun and sometimes it just forces shade. I can still see, but it's softened light and it isn't quite right.

The guitar goes back with him early this week and we have no return date this time, both points that leave me completely cold and freaked out and wanting to do the velcro-monkey all over Ben. I want him to brush his hand down my hair and hold my head against his chest so I can quiet to his heartbeat. So I can feel safe. Once he leaves that goes out the window like a mended bird, never to be seen again.

I want to be a raving lunatic. I've shed enough tears in the past two weeks to commission the building of an ark. I've pointed out a hundred times that this is too hard and I can't do it and I've talked and breathed my way out of five good panic attacks because that was the only choice I had. Sink or swim. Get a grip or slide right off the edge. Buck up and deal with it or risk the permanent label of catastrophizing everything, every time. Never getting better. Backsliding over what will be small potatoes someday.

Yeah, well, sometimes those small potatoes aren't so small. They block the view. They block progress.

So for one solid minute, this afternoon in the midst of the final major renovation project in the house I took my lunatic moment. I lost my mind. I stomped and screamed and yelled and took all my frustrations out on a cardboard box in the basement. I tore it to pieces and kicked it and freaked the fuck out.

Completely. You would have been surprised. I'm a quiet worrier, I cry, I get frustrated. I become silent. Paralyzed. I very rarely explode and when I do I might yell for a minute or talk back. I'm buttoned-up.

Ben just stood there. I don't think he knew what to do. He didn't know what to say so he just turned around and went back upstairs to keep working while I finished tearing up the box three floors below. Then I came upstairs, passed him the tools he needed and we carried along as before.

Later tonight after dinner, Ben said he thought I really needed that and he was glad for it. I'm still humiliated and embarrassed that I flipped like that but he assures me I've been bottling things up and should yell more and cry less, that it would be easier for everyone. Healthier too.

Maybe he was just relieved I didn't go after the guitar.

(For the record, I would never destroy his belongings. I wasn't mad at Ben. I was mad at the circumstances, and they're not his fault.)

Not sure what I'm going to do for my next trick. It will probably involve more quiet plastering though. That seems to be January's theme, and how I've kept all this rampant frustration in check for so long thus far.

A sight for sore eyes.

Today was amazing. The sun was shining, it was mild out, and we took off after a lazy morning to have some lunch out, run a few errands and take a long drive.

I've been very good today. I've worked hard not to be the little velcro-monkey I expected to be. Ben came home in full beard and flannel just before midnight and opened his arms and I was a fucking goner, baby.

He smelled like airplane fuel, and once again I did not care. I stayed in his arms and I slept fitfully, waking up every six minutes to make sure he was really here and I wasn't dreaming.

I'm not dreaming, am I?

Best intentions.

After lunch this afternoon I got in the car and pulled out of the garage into the sunshine and sat for a few moments waiting for the car to warm up. The boys have told me I can't just let my car sit for long periods without at least warming it up every now and then so I've been dutiful (before you email me, we're talking -30 or worse temperatures most of the time) though they probably say it just as much to get me out of the house.

I figured I would put it in gear and go to the hardware store and maybe stop for a coffee on the way home. A little treat since I haven't spent a dime or left the house for any reason other than school and one trip grocery shopping for two weeks straight.

Huh.

I pulled back into the garage, turned the car off, plugged it in and came inside.

I made coffee in the coffee maker. Odds are Ben will want to visit a few places tomorrow anyway so we'll go out then and maybe we can tack on a nice lunch out somewhere and a coffee on the way back.

I think it's self-preservation. I have a headache. I'm way beyond overtired and everything is melty and the roads are very slippery. It's not that I am in bed with the covers pulled up over my head wishing away the world, it's more that I don't feel like wasting the energy and stressing myself out more when I know I'm overtaxed.

This morning I painted and caught up on the laundry and cleaned and I got everything ready for Ben's return tonight. His towels are out. His favorite foods are stocked in the kitchen. The house is clean. I even brushed the dog. He's so excited to be coming home, even if it's just for a long weekend and I am still plotting to bar the doors and ground all the planes so that he can't go back next week. I hope I'm successful but I think instead I'll be expected to be an adult.

Hmph. Fat chance of that ever happening in this lifetime.

He's coming home, though! That's all that matters.

Lachrymose and twee.

One more sleep to go and then I can fill this massive hole where Ben is supposed to be but isn't. I've been edging around this hole for almost two weeks now and no amount of contingency plans, rickety fences or reassurance keeps the fear of falling in away from me.

One more sleep.

I'm so excited my heart is already pounding and I have that weird sickish feeling in my throat. I'm looking so forward to being able to sleep with both eyes closed, getting the giant princess-crushing hugs and general feeling of safety that Ben provides and a million other reasons. I miss seeing his eyes in person. I miss the grin and the beard he said he is keeping until we're with him for good and I miss being able to feel my heart beating because he has it with him and hell, even at Build-A-Bear they have a beating heart you can buy to stuff into your animal as it's made. It's important. It's basic comfort like nothing else.

Like Ben.

In other boy-news, I heard from my fair-weather lover too after mentioning how well I do when he is away. Lochlan called me and swore at me. Nice. I swore back because I am such a lady, and a petulant, immature one at that. Then I cried because he doesn't miss me the way Ben does.

He said I had no way of knowing that, simply because he doesn't moon over me the way the others do presently. I pointed out they don't, haven't and aren't so what does he know, anyway? He said he isn't given the privilege of showing any vulnerability when it comes to Bridget any more because everyone gets their guard up and I fall apart and it's just a bad scene all around. Fair enough. We'll finish that conversation when I see him next. But see? I can just leave Lochlan there and not be sad.

I can, I swear.

Okay, not really.

I'm just trying to focus. I got a lot accomplished in the past two weeks. A lot I didn't expect to accomplish and I even picked up my bravery cape and tried it on a few times. Maybe it fits. I'm just not sure about the color or the weight. But it's there on the hook and when the sun is shining I might drape it over my arm or twirl once or twice in front of the mirror wearing it.

Maybe I'll sleep in it tonight.

Fifty hours left until Ben comes home! Yay! or boo, that's way too long.

And there's a hippo loose in Montenegro.

• The saved voice notes on my BlackBerry are hilarious. I forgot they were there, and so I'm amusing myself right now playing them all back. Conway Twitty and The Night Bacon one is my favorite. Ben cracks up and has to start over. Twice.
  
• I've never seen an episode of the Simpsons, Mad Men, Desperate Housewives, American Idol or whatever else everyone seems to live-Twitter. I don't really like TV. Okay, I loved NCIS before it disappeared, and I liked Ice Road Truckers and Ice Pilots NWT. I love watching the Dakar Rally when it's on, the winter Olympics (but not really the summer ones except for men's swimming..hmm...fancy that) and my all-time favorite thing to watch was Eco-Challenge. LONG gone. I don't watch the news. I love movies but lately I haven't had enough peace of mind to sit down long enough to watch one. Maybe this weekend. We still have a bunch of new Blu-Rays just sitting here that haven't been opened yet.
• When I'm painting/drywalling/making a mess, I twist my wet hair up in two knots behind each ear and secure with hair elastics. Not only does it make the mailman laugh when I forget it's like that and take the dog for a walk as Princess Leia, but when I take them out later when my hair is dry, it is all ringletty and pretty, which is just a nice bonus after spending the day feeling yuck.
  
• I have no idea where Montenegro is. I looked it up and I still have no idea. Bad maps or inept Geography teacher. I'll let you decide.
• the first thing I plan to buy in Vancouver is a fake Louis Vuitton bag. Why? Because I always wanted one. Ben wanted to buy me a real one in Paris but then we had the fight and came home and really, let's just not go there.
• My new plan for world domination includes taking out The Weather Network first. They were off by fifteen degrees today. They got my hopes up for the last time. I'm a fan of Weather Underground now. As always, last to the party.
  
• I'm addicted to themes for my BlackBerry. (You may know this if you follow me on Twitter. Are you following me? You should follow me. I warn you, I post alot and then delete half of it later, but I'm impulsive like that.) I follow all the theme making girls. They make such nice themes and my new Bold can hold dozens of them. I change my theme or at least my wallpaper every single day.
  
• I realize I've been reading my Christmas book for three weeks already. I'm hoping to finish it tonight this month.
• I would vote for this as the most useful thing on the internet. No, I'm not kidding. (Also, cute ministers..it's a thing. Go away.)
• Ben has been very patient. I would tell you how patient, but then I just look like a drama queen. What's that? Oh, shut up.
  
• There are 55 hours left until he gets home. FIFTY-FIVE! Karma, if you're going to be a bitch, do it now.
  
• Lochlan has dropped off the face of the earth. I hate it when he does that but really, he doesn't have much patience for me. He never has. He'll resurface when he's good and ready. I am fine with him being gone when he goes and stays away. Ironic.
  
• Point form posts are sometimes what Bridget gives you when she's had three hours of sleep because Henry has been coughing again. With any luck tonight (aka a hot bath and some children's Nyquil) he'll sleep a lot better and then maybe I will also. Cross your fingers.

Not like the other: A chip. Or two.

Yes, I saw it. I looked out over the snowswept plain and I considered the gusts and the barren stillness and remoteness of it all and I gave it an appropriate length of deliberation. I took a pass.

Jacob warmed his hands by rubbing them together.

Where are your gloves?

I don't know. Is this alright, then?

No, it isn't.

I wouldn't have picked this for you either.

You don't get to make decisions anymore, you're dead.

Exactly. And you haven't been left behind.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, I stopped using CFL bulbs today. As in, I went around the house replacing perfectly good spendy dim CFLs with good old-fashioned incandescent bulbs. And wow. What a difference. The light is bright and warm again. I can toss spent bulbs in recycling again. I can put them in outdoor fixtures without them failing, know that I can flip a light on and off without shortening its lifespan (which, for the record is NO longer) and I don't have to wait three seconds for the light to come on. By then, I am already across the room and have tripped over the dog. I can happily use my pretty lamps with clip on shades. And incandescents are two for a dollar.

So stuff it.

You want to talk to me about the environment? About saving energy and helping the planet? Trust me, you don't want to get into it with me. I could almost guarantee you I'll win the war on who is more ubercrunchay with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back.

And I'll do it brightly and warmly lit.

(Snort.)

Bedtime Stories (Four sleeps left).

Run, rabbit, run. Down the rabbit hole. It goes faster if you tuck your skirt around your legs tightly and close your eyes.

Go, Bridget, go!

I was up off my backside and running, never daring to look behind me, since the shadow stretching out in front of me was enough incentive. In my head the constant soundtracker took over and put Vivaldi to my movements, which made my brain compete with my legs for speed and made me dizzy. I fought to replace it with Bach. Angry, brooding German. Sonata No. 1 in G minor. Hell, pick something, princess, just get moving!

Down further and further, the cavern looped around and around, a spiral deep underground, leading God knows where. A door. It's a door. Open it. Run inside and SLAM! Turn and survey the room. Lightbulb in the ceiling and a tiny bottle on the floor in the center, almost directly underneath the bulb.

DRINK ME.

Who am I to question the weirdness of the moment or the relative recklessness of drinking something that I can't identify?

Whoooooooosh.

I'm tiny. The size of a firefly. My voice is a helium buzz and I laugh, a chipmunk bubble not even loud enough to echo off the stone walls. I can hide anywhere now, the problem is running. It will take weeks to cover the same distance I just ran when I was big.

The door flies open and I hide behind the tiny bottle, crouched down because it's empty. Hoping it's enough.

Fee Fi Fo fum.

What the fuck? I don't remember a giant in this story. But where there are giants, there are beanstalks. And golden eggs. Maybe if I can find both I can buy my way out of this mess. The goose was probably eaten already by the Queen of Hearts and her ludicrous children and I am fresh out of luck and storybooks. Why oh why can't this be The Princess and the Pea? That one is easy.

I step out.

Caleb.

Yes, princess?

It doesn't go like that.

It doesn't matter. I have money, I'll just change it.

But you can't. It's a classic.

Write another.

I don't write fairytales.

Sure you do.

Not until after they happen.

Why is that?

It's just the way I am.

He grinned, and the giant was replaced by the beast.

Stop that.

Stop what?

Stop changing. I can't keep you straight.

That's my point. If you didn't write it, I can do whatever I please. Free reign on the page.

Then it won't be a very good story and no one will read it. A sad ending to your hopes of becoming a classic.

Suddenly he was Caleb again and I blinked and he passed me a cookie. One bite and I was back to Bridget-size, all five feet of anxiety, words and humor that becomes unrecognizable emo swill with one good shake. Nice yellow dress. I don't wear yellow. Christ. He held up the rose. It was already dead. My favorite kind.

So what would make it a classic?

Time.

Hard to have time when you won't stop running, Bridget.

Fairytales have happy endings, and I am nowhere near one right now.

How do you know that?

Because you're here.

Aren't you supposed to give me the gold? Then I'll go away. Unless...

Rumpelstiltskin!

*POOF*

Morning star.

Caleb (most likely with everyone's blessing) is having me watched.

I wasn't sure at first, and at one point I thought maybe he was back in town and content to remain on the fringes, watching me from behind snowbanks or across the street even. I just felt like I was putting on a show of sorts, like we had some sort of (though benevolent) keeper.

It's Mike.

Caleb's driver has a soft spot for me. Not in the way men usually do, but in a Samwise-way, in that he cares very much for my welfare without getting sucked in to my princess force field or whatever it is that casts the spell that ruins all of my friendships in favor of the weirdly thrilling tension-filled relationships that brought me this collective, for lack of a better term.

And I have a soft spot for him, negotiating heavily for a triple Christmas bonus over what Caleb had already generously planned for Mike, because Mike earns it. Who else could navigate for the devil so efficiently and then some? And he brings me pocky sticks. Gold.

And so Mike continues to earn his renumeration by being more than Satan's GPS. It's easier to say driver than second. I'm not blind. Mike only pretends to be subservient. I'm sure he can be just as cold-blooded as Satan himself, I'm sure his role is even larger than we assume but for now I am oddly grateful that we have someone looking out for us, even if I only catch the odd glimpse or feeling of him there. Mike will eventually make his way out west too, to continue his employment under/beside Caleb, and until then I will enjoy his invisible company.

(Oh, come on. Did you really think I wasn't going to call this out?)