Ben says I type too hard and broke it. Hahaha (Wait. Really?)

It was supposed to be a moment of high regard. A brightness that would leave you speechless, a sight that would render you blind. A force that would be remembered for all eternity and eventually a legend.

Instead it's going to be a quiet, miserable non-event. A painful misery no one will ever see. It will be over before anyone has time to say Is anyone there? before they move on to the next leaf, reading the stories with their rapid-fire schizophrenic attention spans, most likely while talking on the phone and perhaps eating something. In a hurry. Distracted. Busy.

Dumb luck is a gift some would pay for and yet it's never available when one goes shopping. Relax is a state we are not worthy enough to consider. Try to read too much into anything and I will horrify you with my efforts to keep you the hell away. I will be behind it in the dark with my apron gathered up tightly, picking up the leaves and stacking them alphabetically in one hand while I wipe away tears with the other.

It was supposed to be instant. Like a cake mix. Like a flash from a bulb.

Ben and I have been very busy rescuing ourselves (long stories, all of them) from all of the hazards and pitfalls lately, left to defend ourselves from life like teenagers the first week out of the nest. I went from having to be in charge twenty-four hours a day to not having enough resolve left to deal with fuck-all and so I turned around and upended the load into his lap and he picked it up and dealt with it and things are better now.

Maybe it's him after all. Ben and daylight and warmth and a whole new jar begun of sea glass just from two short sunset walks on the beach and plans to spend time and have fun and it would be great if Bonham would stop click-clacking all around at night, tap dancing into the bedroom and chasing the cat out, standing up on my side of the bed wanting to cuddle or maybe take a walk outside at some ruthless hour. Argh. The furry baby who doesn't sleep through the night. I really really need sleep. I need a vacation. I need time to get used to this...Pacific Northbest.

Anyway, Lochlan has cobbled my machine together long enough to say hello to you and I am the stubbornnest little thing you will ever meet because I'm not spending money on another goddamned laptop in this lifetime unless it's made of pipe dreams and free-range cheese so take what you can get and know if I must I'll send word via BlackBerry which is the modern day method of princess telegram anyhow. Ask anyone. I've been running a mobile office for weeks with it already and at night I park it in a cold glass of water because it's usually smoking by the time I go to bed.

Wait. Don't take that literally. BlackBerries don't like water. They do like being used and used well. I just wish maybe the screen were a tiny bit bigger and then I could chuck the damn computer right out the window. I might anyway.

PS. I saw a Nissan Pao today and I want one! One painted in shades of lime and tangerine, please, with a stainless steel roof rack for my snowboard. I told Satan (oh, he of the 350Z) that he would soon be outclassed and he laughed and laughed and then forbade me to buy one.

You know what that will bring. Nothing but misery for him.

(Snort.)

Precedent.

Late into the evenings I would pull on dry jeans and a damp t-shirt over a still-soaked bathing suit and comb my fingers through my wet, tangled hair. I would fetch the stick I had leaning up against a tree, tied with a frayed piece of pink yarn so that none of the boys would steal it and I would seek out Lochlan, throwing myself down beside him at the campfire. He would pass me a hot dog and I would roast it slowly while I listened. That was my space. As the evening grew late I would get tired and rest my head on his shoulder. When he got tired of that he would shrug violently until I woke up and sat up straight, and sometimes he would find a hoodie and wrap it around me and put his arm around my shoulders and hold me close while he nursed a single beer for hours and smile quietly at nothing in particular. Those were some of the best sleeps I ever had. He lives at one hundred and forty degrees.

Like everything with Lochlan, it depended on his mood. Something that hasn't changed much since he was fourteen. Sometimes I think those were the very best days of my life and other times I see how little I have changed, and how I grew to crave that physical intimacy of touch beyond anything else I will ever need. How he will sit back and wait for me but never come to meet me halfway. On anything.

He is still like that. Hot and cold. In the mood or not. You can ask him what's wrong and he'll look at you like you have suddenly sprouted an extra nose or a third arm, or he'll mutter something about being tired to blow you off. The cues leading to that question would be the same. Maddening. So like Lochlan.

Yes, for the past thirty years, he has been the same.

Hey Bridget, here's your hot dog.

What's on it?

Dried mackerel flakes. Just try it, you'll love it.

Really?

Trust me, I know you, princess.

And he smiles at nothing. I still don't understand him at all.

Now everything is easy cause of you.

So. We bought a house. A very big house in the forest with a wonderful yard and a veranda (verandah looks so much nicer, and is as proper, according to my sources), a huge kitchen, and more closets and bathrooms than I think I have ever seen in one place at one time. There are many fireplaces and outside you can hear crickets. There are places to hide inside and out. It's not too far from a good school or from the water (frontage for days, all around a point) and the weather here is mild, so ironically, there are big coat closets in each entryway but we will never need our big coats again. (Unless we go snowboarding, which will be often, let me tell you, though I still currently get hives when I see snow. Think that will pass?) The house has a time machine also. Ben was quick to point that out. I won't have to wash dishes! A breakfast bar. New construction so no hundred-year old surprises, it was built after Henry was born. Modern character. Good, we were due for a change there. We finish up our details over the next week or so. Inspection, final banking details, driving past it repeatedly (though we can barely see it from the road) with big smiles if all goes well. I will promise to try to be excited but by nature I tend to be on edge until every last i is dotted and t is crossed and then I am thrilled. Only then. Maybe talk to me after the bank, after the inspection and after the moving truck is gone and I see happens with that. So early May, come back and get your barometer then, when all of it sinks in. Really I'm still just getting used to this. I've been here just two weeks now and we already have a house. Ben and the children are excited beyond words, so I will just grab their coattails and ride along on their happiness. It is exciting overall. New starts are good for the soul, but new starts in breathtakingly beautiful places are even better. This city is a gift and suddenly every day is my birthday. Even in the rain, even when I can't sleep, I can say that I fell in love again but this time it brings no jealousy. Maybe this only makes sense if you're here. Like when Ben was trying to describe it and I dismissed his words before. Now that I'm here I totally get it. And I hope that the rest of April goes smoothly, right on through and into May and then I will have another one of those birthday things and will spend it unpacking I bet, unless Ben comes up with a plan to sweep me off my feet for the day. Both would be equally wonderful. In our new house. With room for EVERYONE. (Fine, I'm excited. A little.)

My offer was accepted.

Holy fucking shit.

MAKE THE PHONE STOP RINGING.

Who in the hell wheels and deals at nine at night?

Not me. I want to go to bed now please. I can't take it.

Equivocal rain.

You feed the fire that burned us all
When you lied
To feel the pain that spurs you on
Black inside

Waiting for news sometime in the next hour. Could be good news and sheer panic or it could be relief and resolve. We shall see.

Last night I went along and dutifully weighed in on everything that was presented to me by strangers who want to spend my money the way they see fit and in the midst of it Ben and I decided we wanted to be the children and we fired up a lovely argument which made most of the evening unbearable and tense.

I stayed at the penthouse last night only because now when I get angry I tend to just give up and give in. I'll stand behind Caleb for a while and study my own fingerprints because he makes the biggest impact. I'm not sure if I like that or it's the only avenue because I'm exhausted and unsure and ridiculously relieved to be here. I don't know which way is which or which end is up. I'm not sure it matters now what the issue was. We made up. We made out. Case closed. As usual a collective sigh of resigned frustration rises in a chorus. She's not leaving him. Fuck.

(Ben, I mean. Jesus, people.)

In other news, Ben fixed my keyboard. Victory chores. We came out here and some of the goo must have softened and reactivated in the ocean humidity because suddenly all of the major important letters and directional keys were stuck fast and it was so incredibly frustrating. He pulled most of them off and then looked at me. I merely pointed out that I get my money's worth. I buy cheap, disposable laptops and I eat over them, drink over them and cry over them until the words are released in proper order and the letters are stuck down fast. Then a little over a year later I start again. This laptop is worse than the last one though because the old one had nice loud speakers and this one does not.It's been a battle to hear anything from the tinny little speakers and I've been due a new one for a while.

The boys insist it be an Apple product but I resist because I like the threadbare, worn, industrial-type machines, not the sleek hipster ones. I don't want perky bouncing icons and that strange reflective silver. I want something in black, as always and not something new to learn OS-wise, because my brain is completely full up and I am busy learning everything new again. Besides, the old letter placement and temperamental Windows is like a favorite old blanket: it no longer keeps me warm, it's just a comfort thing.

It has to be a magnificently sad day when a sixteen-month-old Acer Aspire is a comfort object. I must be losing my mind.

Wait. Oh, yes. There's one of the posters in the pile from a long time ago:

LOST: One princess mind. Last seen on the East coast, circa 1997.

I can't wait for the day that I get to bitch about my old Macbook Pro, like the boys do. Before they lovingly pet the things and possibly feed them treats. What does a Macbook eat, I wonder? Oh yes, cash. Om nom nom.

Really though, it is inevitable. I do understand that for what I pay in disposable Windows machines I have already paid for the computer I should have purchased, instead of the one that I have.

But the space bar. It works again! And shift. And $, ironically enough.

Not sure for how long, and as I said, I am waiting for news and that news dictates the efforts of the coming days. Cross your fingers or perhaps leave them open if you enjoy seeing me fail. It makes no difference to me at all.

I think I gave up and I gave out and then I gave in and somehow I woke up a state of comfortable flux, snow white duvet hiding the sins of the dark from the bright white of another day, another chance even. I took it. I took the leap. I made the calls and I signed my name and I took the papers I was given and I listened carefully to the instructions and maybe we will land somewhere safe or maybe we'll just keep falling for a bit. Either option is fine tonight, oddly.

Not a good thing, just the state of affairs this evening. It always frightens me most when I am just ambivalent and nothing more.

.skaerf lortnoC .uoy fo llA

I've seen all of the decadence one person can absorb for one night. Bathrooms that outnumber bedrooms, marble this, that and the other, gas stoves wider than my car, decor that is going to make my belongings look like third-rate castoffs and lovely protected green spaces all around everything so maybe, just maybe, I will be able to sit on my new front veranda and hear the crickets.

If everyone would just shut the hell up, I might.

I'm at the penthouse tonight if anyone needs me. Quiet here, no crickets, only flames.

(Princesses should not have to be brave.)

Whatever fire drove me straight out the other end of winter on the high plains has finally gone out and I can't seem to walk out the damn door today. Today of ALL days. And I need to. So I'm going. Jesus, help me or avert your eyes or something. Don't just stand there and watch.

And apparently all songs lead back to Freebird. Like six degrees of separation or something. Fuck it. Argh.

Relish and Catch up.

Mmmmm...listening to all the great covers of Wicked Game that are out there. So far I like Corey's best.

Also found the best color of nail polish in the whole world. Radioactive turquoise, Schuyler called it.

Quiet day, holy.