Lunatic city.

Bridget was never a Prairie girl to begin with.

I'm listening to Mudvayne and Domenica today. It's an odd kind of day like that.

The best news is despite feeling all kinds of miserable this morning when I woke up, a hot bath and some Advil took the bite out of the cold I am fighting. I had a fever but right now it's the high point of the day and I feel almost human. I did manage to clean the floors and catch up on the laundry and I even sanded a little bit and removed the ancient door jam (which was a mess) from my bedroom door. It was once an exterior door, since my room is part of the addition that was put on in the thirties/forties.

Great fun, that. Not sure how much lead paint I need to inhale in my lifetime but I've probably had enough.

I sat in the car again while it warmed up. I didn't need to go out but I have this weird thing about making sure it starts which is all me and not the car. I have issues. Seriously.

I spoke to the boys, who are running around in the sunshine in Vancouver without jackets on (ARGHHHH) and I cried at all of them. I used blubbery words like scared and Colorado low and blizzard and power outages and they all have assured me that we'll be fine. So to further the 'fine' I walked to the store and got some treats for the kids and for Bridget because I am still slightly bent that there was no cake at the bakery and so fuck you cake, it's salsa and chips this weekend.

We'll watch movies and hang out in our pajamas. We'll eat and sleep and get better. We'll get through this blizzard just like Ma Ingalls and the girls did that time that Pa went hunting and the blizzard came up and they didn't see him for over a week and almost starved to death, except we'll do it hopefully with more snack food and the internet.

We don't have a choice so what the hell.

If it gets bad though, you'll find us at the Fairmont. I'm not stupid. I put my Mastercard by the door. Because that's what true princesses do in an emergency and someday I plan to be one.

(A true princess, not an emergency. Haven't you noticed? I'm already an emergency.)

Needless to say, my arch-nemesis, The Weather Network, is calling for some ridiculous amount of snow and wind, complete with red warnings and dire predictions. True to form, Environment Canada is all wtf, weather network, fear-mongering much?

I'm splitting the difference. Nachos it is.

The Tell-Tale Heart.

Sometimes talented men die young, whether it be because they've expended too much energy in kind or because there is only so much room for the brightest stars to shine all at once and when your time is up, it's simply up.

She didn't plan on notoriety. It was one of the few wrinkles in her memories, the fact that in recent years it grew more and more difficult to slip in and out undetected. Unsteadily so, as she would drink half the bottle before she even put on her coat, lamenting the loss of a life so incredibly wicked and writ. Then she would choose his roses from the vase on the table and tuck the bottle, now tightly capped, under her coat and head off to remember. In the dark, like he must be now.

Upon arrival she waited behind the wall, listening. Hearing nothing she walked forward. Tiptoes. Minimizing her clicking heels, the sound overtaken by her thumping heart. She knelt down and placed the roses at the base of the memorial and then gently balanced the bourbon beside the flowers. She touched her fingers to her lips and then to the cold stone and she smiled, warm with a tinge of bitterness because he has been gone now for such a long time. She has not known him in her own lifetime. She wished she did.

She stood, taking one more swift glance around the courtyard and broke into a run, leaving her treasures behind with her heart, her blood entombed under this massive stone reliquary.

Happy birthday. Someday we'll be together again.

She died this year. At home, alone in her bed, and this year will be the first year that they will be together, and he can meet his flesh and blood.

There is no mystery here, only resonance.

Princess courageous and the mittens of doom.

Ben sent me this to watch since I couldn't stay awake to see it last night.

Nom nom. Awesome. They should be back in Canada by now. True North, strong and free, baby.

In other news, we're supposed to have a whole lovely bunch of wind and freezing ice pellets and snow for the next four days and so I went and filled my car up to the brim with gas and did not find winter washer fluid anywhere but I have regular so better than nothing and I bought groceries which oddly while I was shopping seemed to consist of mostly vitamin water and frozen burritos but by the time I got home all of the usual suspects were stacked in the pantry. It's very difficult to shop for three people, I believe at this point we have enough food to last until summer.

I could spend the day sitting on the pantry floor hoping nothing goes wrong, missing Ben and being awful and unmanageable. I'd LIKE to do that, God knows, everyone keeps minimizing this as if my reactionary life is completely unreasonable. Well, it isn't and I'm not, but I have things about me that don't lend well to stupid concepts like 'independence' and 'strength'. So there. Sue me. I don't do alone well. I hardly manage it at all, frankly and damned if I'm not amazingly proud of myself for going out today. Small steps.

Every last one with a tiny squeak of pain because Ben isn't within reach.

Also, I'm convinced life will be easier when it isn't mostly conducted in ice at ridiculous temperatures below zero. I plan to buy a red umbrella to stand out and maybe some cute red rain boots.

Look, distractions, princess. See them? They're right there.

I plan all kinds of things for when I get out of here, when I get to be with Ben. When things settle and we survive this most recent round of obstacles. Henry seems to be on the mend at last. Ruth has a lesser version of his cold. I have a terribly sore throat and swollen glands, hence the vitamin water. I don't drink enough unless there is coffee left. Coincidentally since I still seem to make coffee for six people every morning, there is always some left.

And I'm not going to talk about yesterday. I was cheeky and I got my hand slapped as a result. Caleb politely asked me to remove my post so I did because I don't bite the hand that feeds me. It bites me. Sometimes it hurts and so for now I'm just going to let that go for a little bit and maybe he will slither back into the shadows, under a rock somewhere like a good little snake and I can continue my walk through the shade in the forest hoping that I come across the clearing soon.

(Where the sun shines and the flowers bloom toward the sky. Where snakes wither helplessly and then they die.)

Whoops. That was out loud again, wasn't it?

I'm going to go make lunch for the children. They should be home from school any moment now.

Putting the 'Mental' in fundamental.

Why does time move so incredibly SLOW while Ben is away? Can someone tell me? I'd love the answer to that one. And really, if you're prone to being able to proficiently answer philoso-psychological questions like that, you might want to stick around because I have more.

I'm sure I'll get a phone call from Sam when he sees that.

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.