Words like violence break the silenceI'm really disappointed. I thought I could go to the man who bought my horses and buy them back for more. Apparently I can't.
Come crashing in into my little world
Painful to me, pierce right through me
Can't you understand, oh my little girl?
All I ever wanted, all I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
Vows are spoken to be broken
Feelings are intense, words are trivial
Pleasures remain, so does their pain
Words are meaningless and forgettable
Monday, 14 March 2011
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Blameless (I can see the moon and it seems so clear).
Lochlan has my hand in both of his. He won't let go, clutching it against his chest, thumping it for emphasis. He's been shouting at Ben for the better part of the afternoon, in between everything else. PJ has tried to calm him down without infringing on our issues but it's a moot point. Everyone has a say, it seems, and none of it is good.
Last night I left my regret in Caleb's hands, my hair tangled in one strong fist as he slid his other hand across my throat and over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, breathing me in with palpable relief. It's been a long time. I did not resist. I only did what he expects and Ben watched quietly from the balcony, smoking cigarette after cigarette in the pitch black night tinged with a yellow glow from the ambient city lights in the rain.
I listened carefully as Caleb whispered urgently against my ear, I played along as he instructed and I knew that all I had to do if he went too far was scream and everything would be okay because there is no way in hell Ben is going to let Caleb have more than this night. He doesn't get my life. He doesn't get my heart. What he gets is something different. I call him Cole and he responds in kind and the homesick chill bleeds out of my veins in a rush. The relief of being in Caleb's arms is a sick covert thrill I will fail to acknowledge properly because it's reprehensible. But here it is now again, just like the endless rooftop lights of the glass walls he calls home now.
He rises and pours three glasses of red wine, taking one out to Ben. Ben sets it on the table and ignores it. It was still there when I woke up this morning, tangled in limbs, my hair tightly wound around Ben's fingers instead, holding my place in the night.
My head pounds. My skin is raw and flushed. I have forgotten where we are.
Contrition comes flooding back in along with the muted sepia morning light. Caleb is in the kitchen pouring coffee now instead of wine. He is casually dressed in what I call his driving clothes. Black chinos and a white t-shirt. He'll add a black fleece jacket and his sunglasses (rain or shine) and he'll begin to glower now gradually as the day progresses, lifted only by a visit with the children and then a return to the realization that he has begun to wait again for the next time Benjamin surrenders to my pressure when confronted with the perfect chance to turn back time. When reminded that it's not only me we are saving.
These ideals are not shared across the board, obviously and here comes Mr. Outrage to rile against Ben, layering blame upon him until he is buried. Ben who is still working to untangle the mess that Lochlan made so long ago but sometimes Ben is human, easily swayed by his pretty girl and when am I not human? There we were on the balcony, whispering quietly beforehand. Feverishly, in order to ascertain whether we should just cancel this and leave. No harm done. Bridget remains intact.
No, we're here. On with it. I make the decision with my last measure of courage in the face of evil. I talk Ben into things he isn't comfortable with because I know he will come around. At least I hope he will. Life holds no guarantees now, does it, Princess?
If Lochlan thinks we have any less doubt then he is dead wrong. If he thinks I can ever change he is also dead wrong. If he thinks Ben is going to change and become more like Jacob, or worse, more like Lochlan, then he's so wrong he's beyond dead and back to life in a zombie-shuffle-fight-to-the-bitter-end.
When I am moved in the dark, my head hanging upside-down off the edge into the lights while Caleb's hands slide around my neck once more, I see Ben look away briefly. I see him put his hands up to his face as if he is horrified by what he sees and then I see him drop his shame on the floor beside his dignity as he chooses from among his various degrees of excitement instead. And I smile inside my head. In a moment he will come inside. In a moment the guard will change. In a moment I will be liberated from my transgressions. In a moment I will be safe. The homesick will slide back in around my shoulders to complete his embrace but I will be safe.
As Caleb was leaving tonight from his brief stop to see the children, I walked him out to the front hall. We were still talking about Henry's report card as if nothing ever happened. As if there is no abject chronicle written of our lives thus far and he abruptly tells me he has sold the horses. That he had an opportunity to turn a profit and he took it and if the children miss them we can arrange for time at the nearby riding school.
I am so dumbfounded by this I can't speak as he kisses the top of my head and leaves. Eight minutes later I am still standing by the door, tears rolling down my cheeks when Ben comes into the foyer and asks what's wrong and I tell him, woodenly. I am still numb. I love my horses and they've been sold out from under me.
Just as I thought we had smoothed over the bumpy road we traveled when I failed to allow for a smooth spring quarter with the company and delayed his time with me as long as I could and I worked so hard last night to make it up to him and see that he is happy and leaves the boys alone, this is how I am rewarded.
Business as usual. Only it's so personal. You don't understand.
I don't know how many times I've tried to tell you, Bridget. This is what happens. You think you keep him under control and he just erodes a little more of you. He's not going to stop until there's nothing left. WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? Lochlan's voice has returned to a low simmer, seething desperation. I try to pull my hand away and I can't.
I'm not willing to see what happens if I don't engage Caleb. Clearly he's adept at removing things I love when I don't obey his word. I don't see why that's so hard for them to understand. If he requests me, I have to go. Eventually. Inevitably. It's not a difficult concept. I don't have a choice. I never have. Just a reprieve here and there, and look where that has gotten me.
Last night I left my regret in Caleb's hands, my hair tangled in one strong fist as he slid his other hand across my throat and over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, breathing me in with palpable relief. It's been a long time. I did not resist. I only did what he expects and Ben watched quietly from the balcony, smoking cigarette after cigarette in the pitch black night tinged with a yellow glow from the ambient city lights in the rain.
I listened carefully as Caleb whispered urgently against my ear, I played along as he instructed and I knew that all I had to do if he went too far was scream and everything would be okay because there is no way in hell Ben is going to let Caleb have more than this night. He doesn't get my life. He doesn't get my heart. What he gets is something different. I call him Cole and he responds in kind and the homesick chill bleeds out of my veins in a rush. The relief of being in Caleb's arms is a sick covert thrill I will fail to acknowledge properly because it's reprehensible. But here it is now again, just like the endless rooftop lights of the glass walls he calls home now.
He rises and pours three glasses of red wine, taking one out to Ben. Ben sets it on the table and ignores it. It was still there when I woke up this morning, tangled in limbs, my hair tightly wound around Ben's fingers instead, holding my place in the night.
My head pounds. My skin is raw and flushed. I have forgotten where we are.
Contrition comes flooding back in along with the muted sepia morning light. Caleb is in the kitchen pouring coffee now instead of wine. He is casually dressed in what I call his driving clothes. Black chinos and a white t-shirt. He'll add a black fleece jacket and his sunglasses (rain or shine) and he'll begin to glower now gradually as the day progresses, lifted only by a visit with the children and then a return to the realization that he has begun to wait again for the next time Benjamin surrenders to my pressure when confronted with the perfect chance to turn back time. When reminded that it's not only me we are saving.
These ideals are not shared across the board, obviously and here comes Mr. Outrage to rile against Ben, layering blame upon him until he is buried. Ben who is still working to untangle the mess that Lochlan made so long ago but sometimes Ben is human, easily swayed by his pretty girl and when am I not human? There we were on the balcony, whispering quietly beforehand. Feverishly, in order to ascertain whether we should just cancel this and leave. No harm done. Bridget remains intact.
No, we're here. On with it. I make the decision with my last measure of courage in the face of evil. I talk Ben into things he isn't comfortable with because I know he will come around. At least I hope he will. Life holds no guarantees now, does it, Princess?
If Lochlan thinks we have any less doubt then he is dead wrong. If he thinks I can ever change he is also dead wrong. If he thinks Ben is going to change and become more like Jacob, or worse, more like Lochlan, then he's so wrong he's beyond dead and back to life in a zombie-shuffle-fight-to-the-bitter-end.
When I am moved in the dark, my head hanging upside-down off the edge into the lights while Caleb's hands slide around my neck once more, I see Ben look away briefly. I see him put his hands up to his face as if he is horrified by what he sees and then I see him drop his shame on the floor beside his dignity as he chooses from among his various degrees of excitement instead. And I smile inside my head. In a moment he will come inside. In a moment the guard will change. In a moment I will be liberated from my transgressions. In a moment I will be safe. The homesick will slide back in around my shoulders to complete his embrace but I will be safe.
As Caleb was leaving tonight from his brief stop to see the children, I walked him out to the front hall. We were still talking about Henry's report card as if nothing ever happened. As if there is no abject chronicle written of our lives thus far and he abruptly tells me he has sold the horses. That he had an opportunity to turn a profit and he took it and if the children miss them we can arrange for time at the nearby riding school.
I am so dumbfounded by this I can't speak as he kisses the top of my head and leaves. Eight minutes later I am still standing by the door, tears rolling down my cheeks when Ben comes into the foyer and asks what's wrong and I tell him, woodenly. I am still numb. I love my horses and they've been sold out from under me.
Just as I thought we had smoothed over the bumpy road we traveled when I failed to allow for a smooth spring quarter with the company and delayed his time with me as long as I could and I worked so hard last night to make it up to him and see that he is happy and leaves the boys alone, this is how I am rewarded.
Business as usual. Only it's so personal. You don't understand.
I don't know how many times I've tried to tell you, Bridget. This is what happens. You think you keep him under control and he just erodes a little more of you. He's not going to stop until there's nothing left. WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? Lochlan's voice has returned to a low simmer, seething desperation. I try to pull my hand away and I can't.
I'm not willing to see what happens if I don't engage Caleb. Clearly he's adept at removing things I love when I don't obey his word. I don't see why that's so hard for them to understand. If he requests me, I have to go. Eventually. Inevitably. It's not a difficult concept. I don't have a choice. I never have. Just a reprieve here and there, and look where that has gotten me.
You can take the road that takes you to the stars now
I can take a road that’ll see me through.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Cold water pressure.
This morning the bright yellow grey sky heralds summer in a campground by the sea, the cool damp air seeping into the cracks of the trailer but hunger and the need to pee precludes burrowing deeper under the covers. I grab my hoodie and shrug into it quickly while I search for my jeans, finding shorts instead. I pull them on and zip up the hoodie and head outside.
I smell burned coffee and pine trees and salt. The ash of last night's campfire is fragile and has already blown over the grass. I ignore the beer bottles stacked against the steps and head toward the row of outhouses out on the bluff. What a dumb place for them. It's only when you're exiting that you really get a sense of the wonderful view of wide open Atlantic.
When I return to the camper Lochlan is awake. He has his threadbare white t-shirt on inside-out and his jeans on but the buttons aren't fastened. He is filling the kettle for his coffee. I am too young to drink coffee still. His curls threaten a revolt as he smiles at me. He drinks it in one gulp. He's always been a fast coffee drinker. Breaks are short. It becomes a habit.
Want to go out for breakfast?
It's an old joke. We never have breakfast here. We don't have any food. We get on the motorcycle and drive to the diner once or twice a day and sit in a booth with a scratch-polished table and ripped leather seats and the waitress always frowns because we sit on the same side, Bridget on the inside. And I don't speak even when she asks me a direct question, which if she is anything like me, leads her to believe that he is my captor and I am his unwilling victim, instructed to remain silent lest I give away his crimes.
For my compliance, hash browns. And when we leave he'll turn to me, pull up the hood on my green sweater and make sure the zipper is all the way up, because it's still cold, you see. Especially on the bike.
I smell burned coffee and pine trees and salt. The ash of last night's campfire is fragile and has already blown over the grass. I ignore the beer bottles stacked against the steps and head toward the row of outhouses out on the bluff. What a dumb place for them. It's only when you're exiting that you really get a sense of the wonderful view of wide open Atlantic.
When I return to the camper Lochlan is awake. He has his threadbare white t-shirt on inside-out and his jeans on but the buttons aren't fastened. He is filling the kettle for his coffee. I am too young to drink coffee still. His curls threaten a revolt as he smiles at me. He drinks it in one gulp. He's always been a fast coffee drinker. Breaks are short. It becomes a habit.
Want to go out for breakfast?
It's an old joke. We never have breakfast here. We don't have any food. We get on the motorcycle and drive to the diner once or twice a day and sit in a booth with a scratch-polished table and ripped leather seats and the waitress always frowns because we sit on the same side, Bridget on the inside. And I don't speak even when she asks me a direct question, which if she is anything like me, leads her to believe that he is my captor and I am his unwilling victim, instructed to remain silent lest I give away his crimes.
For my compliance, hash browns. And when we leave he'll turn to me, pull up the hood on my green sweater and make sure the zipper is all the way up, because it's still cold, you see. Especially on the bike.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Friday gloss.
This week I'm well on my way to being organized. I have almost finished Full Dark, No Stars and a Revlon Creme Gloss in cherry tart. The kids and I decorated cupcakes and made some plans for spring break and I've been to a birthday party, parenting mediation and a tsunami warning.
I think this weekend we may go out for Chinese food and see Battle: Los Angeles, which I keep calling The Battle of Los Angeles as if it's a Rage Against the Machine album title (it isn't, just close).
I printed out reams of concert tickets too. Rush and Switchfoot, to name a couple. It's going to be as good a spring for shows as it is for films (Suckerpunch, Fast Five, Thor, Super 8, Circo and that's just for a start).
I have stifled memories, burst into laughter and held my tongue, hanging on for dear life, sitting on it, tucking the bits back inside that threaten to stay out, shoving, sweating, pushing and swearing and throwing latches as quickly as I can catch air. That's hard for me. I am stubborn, but sometimes waiting them out is the only way to travel light.
I have listened to the lawyers when they told me not to write about the devil, because the devil stands to burn everything I know and love down to cinders and the only thing left will be a faded poster still flapping against a power pole in town, held fast by a single rusted staple.
I have tucked myself under Ben's arm as he sleeps unaware, putting my head down against his heart, wishing he had forty-two hours in the day instead of twenty-four, and I have memorized his heart beat so I can play it through my skull when I miss him, even though we have grown fresh skin over the raw open wounds of a year ago, skin that stretches uneasily and bends to accommodate his long days and my penchant for using proximity as a emotional weapon in taking one too many hugs from Lochlan. Too frequent and too long in duration, too close. Enough time to match breathing patterns and unlock muscle tension. Enough time to forget that aching wedge with its twenty-five years of moss, rain and circus flyers stacked up, making the weight unbearable.
I have dutifully sat in the desks of Ruth and Henry's classrooms and listened carefully as their teachers assure me they are doing well. I have exclaimed with delight as their marks have risen dramatically since last term and they both are labeled voracious readers and creative writers. I beam with pride. I can't ask for more from them and yet, this is nurture, not nature. Nature does not beget small humans of this caliber and I can lie awake at night wondering if my choices and my behavior stunt their emotions or perhaps set the stage for decades of therapy when they join adulthood and for now, I am content that so far things working out very well, which means I will earn a temporary reprieve from Caleb's ever-present threat of English boarding schools.
I have admitted to Sam that I really don't want the stress with Caleb's company and he arranged for the decisions to be revisited in the fall, on my behalf. I booked Nolan on a flight here for Easter and I spent a small fortune on new umbrellas. Good umbrellas, because when you pay $25 for a single umbrella it works better and doesn't fall apart within days and I can get on board with that, even though sometimes the boys tell me I am cheaper than a tin can in a one dollar grocery.
Hear it with a soft, slight Scottish accent and it sounds better, believe me.
I have made decisions about things I want. Bucket list stuff. Stuff I really wanted to do before I turned forty or maybe just before I die but no one's listening while they decide what I should do instead so sometimes I wait out my own life with the patience of the sphinx. Only I still have my nose. The rest of me is disintegrating in the elements and across the street is a Pizza Hut. It's a tourist wasteland. Come and visit, always remember.
And I'm melodramatic without even trying, as I'm actually rather content right now.
*rolls eyes*
I don't have a coffee craving or a imminent narcoleptic event brewing and the boys are beginning to trickle home in a slow river of beards and total utter decompression disguised in flannel and denim and tattoo ink, resplendent in the knowledge that I still have my shit together. Something I somehow manage to do better than most people, even when I can't string together the simplest of words.
I think this weekend we may go out for Chinese food and see Battle: Los Angeles, which I keep calling The Battle of Los Angeles as if it's a Rage Against the Machine album title (it isn't, just close).
I printed out reams of concert tickets too. Rush and Switchfoot, to name a couple. It's going to be as good a spring for shows as it is for films (Suckerpunch, Fast Five, Thor, Super 8, Circo and that's just for a start).
I have stifled memories, burst into laughter and held my tongue, hanging on for dear life, sitting on it, tucking the bits back inside that threaten to stay out, shoving, sweating, pushing and swearing and throwing latches as quickly as I can catch air. That's hard for me. I am stubborn, but sometimes waiting them out is the only way to travel light.
I have listened to the lawyers when they told me not to write about the devil, because the devil stands to burn everything I know and love down to cinders and the only thing left will be a faded poster still flapping against a power pole in town, held fast by a single rusted staple.
I have tucked myself under Ben's arm as he sleeps unaware, putting my head down against his heart, wishing he had forty-two hours in the day instead of twenty-four, and I have memorized his heart beat so I can play it through my skull when I miss him, even though we have grown fresh skin over the raw open wounds of a year ago, skin that stretches uneasily and bends to accommodate his long days and my penchant for using proximity as a emotional weapon in taking one too many hugs from Lochlan. Too frequent and too long in duration, too close. Enough time to match breathing patterns and unlock muscle tension. Enough time to forget that aching wedge with its twenty-five years of moss, rain and circus flyers stacked up, making the weight unbearable.
I have dutifully sat in the desks of Ruth and Henry's classrooms and listened carefully as their teachers assure me they are doing well. I have exclaimed with delight as their marks have risen dramatically since last term and they both are labeled voracious readers and creative writers. I beam with pride. I can't ask for more from them and yet, this is nurture, not nature. Nature does not beget small humans of this caliber and I can lie awake at night wondering if my choices and my behavior stunt their emotions or perhaps set the stage for decades of therapy when they join adulthood and for now, I am content that so far things working out very well, which means I will earn a temporary reprieve from Caleb's ever-present threat of English boarding schools.
I have admitted to Sam that I really don't want the stress with Caleb's company and he arranged for the decisions to be revisited in the fall, on my behalf. I booked Nolan on a flight here for Easter and I spent a small fortune on new umbrellas. Good umbrellas, because when you pay $25 for a single umbrella it works better and doesn't fall apart within days and I can get on board with that, even though sometimes the boys tell me I am cheaper than a tin can in a one dollar grocery.
Hear it with a soft, slight Scottish accent and it sounds better, believe me.
I have made decisions about things I want. Bucket list stuff. Stuff I really wanted to do before I turned forty or maybe just before I die but no one's listening while they decide what I should do instead so sometimes I wait out my own life with the patience of the sphinx. Only I still have my nose. The rest of me is disintegrating in the elements and across the street is a Pizza Hut. It's a tourist wasteland. Come and visit, always remember.
And I'm melodramatic without even trying, as I'm actually rather content right now.
*rolls eyes*
I don't have a coffee craving or a imminent narcoleptic event brewing and the boys are beginning to trickle home in a slow river of beards and total utter decompression disguised in flannel and denim and tattoo ink, resplendent in the knowledge that I still have my shit together. Something I somehow manage to do better than most people, even when I can't string together the simplest of words.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Tying up loose friends.
My apologies. I didn't make it back in time to write anything. The day tilted up dangerously on an axis I wasn't prepared for and I hung on with the tips of my fingers until things straightened back out. I don't feel like I did much more than set my mouth in a determined social expression and withstand and wait. That leaves me under the impression that it would be best, just now, if I don't say anything more. Just call the day done and go to bed.
Maturity! A rare thing, like the Aurora Borealis or Daniel singing out loud.
Goodnight.
Maturity! A rare thing, like the Aurora Borealis or Daniel singing out loud.
Goodnight.
Long gone.
And when I'm goneI am heading out into the rain to practice scuba driving and also to shop for umbrellas. Because they all seem to self-destruct on the same day. The very very very rainiest one. Actual post to follow later.
Who will break your fall?
Who will you blame?
I can't go on
And let you lose it all
It's more than I can take
Who'll ease your pain?
Ease your pain
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Priorities.
As per this recent post, I did indeed find a coat this morning. And I learned I can't find curtains at all unless they're very generic patio-door-sized rod-pocket panel jobs in the dullest colors on earth, which is how people decorate their homes, I am guessing.
I wouldn't know. I don't seem to harbor any decorating skills at all. And I'm creative but when it comes to the house I don't want neutral, I want....
Carnival.
But you can't dress a house in circus. No one would come to the show. Boo. Hoo.
I'm okay with that for now, I'll leave everything white. What isn't white is beige. It's so neutral it's Switzerland.
As for my coat, I got EXACTLY what I envisioned in my head. That doesn't happen so often. Visions, people! I have a vision in my head of how I would like this house to be decorated and not a sweet clue of how to go about accomplishing that. I just...well, my incredibly...er.. minimalistic/proletarian/gypsy formative teenaged/early adultood years preclude the ability to do ridiculous daredevil things like pay $15 for a coordinating bath mat because what a waste, we already have a bath mat, it just doesn't....match, but at the end of the day when death, drama and dues take up so much of our precious time, who the fuck cares if the bath mat matches the shower curtain?
(The shower curtain is clear in the bathroom I am speaking of. I told you I can't make decisions on such dumb things.)
However!
I can make decisions on big huge things.
And so I quit my job again.
You see, on Saturday we threw a birthday party picnic for Caleb, at Henry's request. It went very well. Everyone had fun. (Civilized! Co-! Parenting! FUCK!) Apparently time with Bridget wasn't plentiful enough and so Caleb sent along a pewter envelope later in the evening. I accepted for us (because I am immature, remember?) and then Ben declined for us and we stayed home and made out with Lochlan instead (because I could say just about anything and that's all you ever think about anymore anyway). Sunday Caleb attempted to reach us once more and I ignored my phone. Monday I attended the board meeting he called as he moves to finalize his retirement and I don't know if it was low blood sugar, fear or just general immaturity (ding ding ding!) but I'm afraid I didn't last very long and I walked out in the middle of the meeting and embarrassed the fuck out of him and accomplished nothing since undoing this will take a lot more than just leaving the building, I'd have to spend another ninety minutes signing papers at the lawyer's office. I hate the lawyers. They have no senses of humor.
Maybe tomorrow I'll do that. Today I am busy picking colors for the circus/beach house, and enjoying my new coat and temporary Pretty Vagrant status. Oh, and making out with Lochlan.
Yes, this is totally working for me.
I wouldn't know. I don't seem to harbor any decorating skills at all. And I'm creative but when it comes to the house I don't want neutral, I want....
Carnival.
But you can't dress a house in circus. No one would come to the show. Boo. Hoo.
I'm okay with that for now, I'll leave everything white. What isn't white is beige. It's so neutral it's Switzerland.
As for my coat, I got EXACTLY what I envisioned in my head. That doesn't happen so often. Visions, people! I have a vision in my head of how I would like this house to be decorated and not a sweet clue of how to go about accomplishing that. I just...well, my incredibly...er.. minimalistic/proletarian/gypsy formative teenaged/early adultood years preclude the ability to do ridiculous daredevil things like pay $15 for a coordinating bath mat because what a waste, we already have a bath mat, it just doesn't....match, but at the end of the day when death, drama and dues take up so much of our precious time, who the fuck cares if the bath mat matches the shower curtain?
(The shower curtain is clear in the bathroom I am speaking of. I told you I can't make decisions on such dumb things.)
However!
I can make decisions on big huge things.
And so I quit my job again.
You see, on Saturday we threw a birthday party picnic for Caleb, at Henry's request. It went very well. Everyone had fun. (Civilized! Co-! Parenting! FUCK!) Apparently time with Bridget wasn't plentiful enough and so Caleb sent along a pewter envelope later in the evening. I accepted for us (because I am immature, remember?) and then Ben declined for us and we stayed home and made out with Lochlan instead (because I could say just about anything and that's all you ever think about anymore anyway). Sunday Caleb attempted to reach us once more and I ignored my phone. Monday I attended the board meeting he called as he moves to finalize his retirement and I don't know if it was low blood sugar, fear or just general immaturity (ding ding ding!) but I'm afraid I didn't last very long and I walked out in the middle of the meeting and embarrassed the fuck out of him and accomplished nothing since undoing this will take a lot more than just leaving the building, I'd have to spend another ninety minutes signing papers at the lawyer's office. I hate the lawyers. They have no senses of humor.
Maybe tomorrow I'll do that. Today I am busy picking colors for the circus/beach house, and enjoying my new coat and temporary Pretty Vagrant status. Oh, and making out with Lochlan.
Yes, this is totally working for me.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Those are great, princess.
What are?
Your sneezes. They're just orgasmic.
What are you talking about?
The breathless buildup and then climax and then the afterglowish bless-you thanks.
Wow.
What? I appreciate them, that's all.
Are you that bored?
Yup. Can I play with your phone?
Yes. On second thought, no, don't touch my stuff.
Why? My hands are clean.
I know your hands are clean, but your brain is positively filthy, Padraig.
What are?
Your sneezes. They're just orgasmic.
What are you talking about?
The breathless buildup and then climax and then the afterglowish bless-you thanks.
Wow.
What? I appreciate them, that's all.
Are you that bored?
Yup. Can I play with your phone?
Yes. On second thought, no, don't touch my stuff.
Why? My hands are clean.
I know your hands are clean, but your brain is positively filthy, Padraig.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
The maudlin rum.
One of these daysMoments into the game last night, Lochlan skated too close to Ben and Ben gave him a shove that sent him to the ground, knocking his helmet off. He came charging out of the net, fast for such a big guy and the others threw themselves between Lochlan and certain death, since Ben never put down his stick.
you'll break me of many things
Some cold white day,
but you're crazy if you think
I would leave you this way
You should wake up before the wrath comes
(me and you) could take off before the wrath comes
soon
And one of these days
I pray it will be sometime soon
On a day like today
you'd be crazy not to want me
to teach you the way
But Ben had no intentions of hurting Loch. These are simply reminder knocks. Caleb got his later in the game and I'm still not one hundred percent comfortable with him taking Cole's spot, which was occasional player when enough others don't show, because Caleb is the furthest thing from a sporting man that I can envision unless it involves horses, or perhaps water polo or croquet.
Croquet. Yes, when we are all a hundred years old, the swings will come slower, the insults will be unintelligible for hearing loss and the sidelong glances will be ignored on account of dementia. Who is this person and why are they looking at me? I cannot wait for that suddenly. I will sit under a huge umbrella on an old quilt I haven't purchased yet and watch the waves since they will not change over the next fifty years as remarkably as I will.
Mark this day, as it's the first day I have written about a future action, something Sam is always pushing me for, something I am usually too skittish/superstitious to manage since if I jinx it now, then what, Samuel?
He has no answers. He will, however, have a big smile.
Ben brought me flowers again last night. Huge chrysanthemums, a lily or two, what seems to be eucalyptus and something else, a beautiful creamy-pink arrangement that made me smile, for there's nothing quite as striking as a man walking toward me with a giant bouquet of flowers. I needed both arms to hold them as we came into the house, and I feared the biggest glass vase might not be big enough. He would have sacrificed the water pitcher but my plan was to divide the bouquet into smaller arrangements and have flowers in several different rooms. When I said this he simply said he would start bringing me flowers every night, and then the house will be filled.
Long after we left the flowers behind on the main floor, the dark came to claim his generosities, leaving behind his greed as I was held down, stretched out and stung. Turned raw, made whole, scratched smooth. Worn out, to be regenerated in sunlight for the next moonless night. I fell asleep marveling at how badly my limbs trembled, while Ben slept already, one arm tightly wrapped around my frame, weighing me down against the storm so I could not be ripped away from him by bad fortune. Consigned to a welcome oblivion for two.
Sleep came for me and I didn't have a chance to bring my dreams. It spit me out on the side of the road just before five this morning and as I picked myself up and dusted off my skin a light was shining, just around the next bend. Instead of heading toward it, I walked the other way, back into the dark. Toward the place where I have no narrative to cloud my perceptions, no inevitable death to scare my heartbeats into double-time and no flimsy camper-door lock to alter my existence forever.
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