(Not safe) Swimming in velvet.

When he moves to slide my rings off Ben stops him, shaking his head briefly once. It's enough. I exhale my relief visibly, rewarded with almost-smiles in near darkness. Golden bands are threaded back onto my ring finger gently and deliberately. I watch, holding my breath. Loch smiles and pulls me in closer. He kisses up under my neck. I lift my head up and the back of it rests against Ben's chest. No space. No need for distance now. No room for error.

Ben takes my hands and holds them clasped in front of me. His head comes down to kiss along my shoulder. He slides the strap of my dress off my skin and turns me around as Lochlan's hands fall to my waist. Another kiss, this time stretching far up to meet Ben as he lowers his head. His hands slide around my head to hold me up closer to him. And then he lets go and I fall onto the feather bed. Lochlan laughs and pulls me over. He is already stretched out the full length of our in-house cloud, a dreamlike place where, once fully relaxed, you only feel peace. It's designed on purpose, similar to the giant soaking-bathtub of total sensory deprivation.

Ben has my wide green velvet ribbon and the last thing I see before he covers my eyes is his expression. He craves me. He ties the ribbon gently around my head and now I am blind. His lips are on mine. Cool rough stubble lingers against my philtrum. His breath warms my cheek. His hands pull me back toward the edge of the bed, lifting my knees, wrapping them around his waist. He pulls away and then he is back. When I cry out Loch's hand slides over my mouth. His head presses against my ear and he tells me that everything is okay. And then he disappears again and there is only Ben with his hands locked around my hip bones, grating them against his fingers. I have no leverage. I am in thin air, blind and at his mercy.

And oh, he likes it that way. Abruptly I am dropped back onto the cloud and then pulled back toward Lochlan. His arms pull me in close against him. His skin burns mine until we are fused glass and he stays against me, his mouth against my forehead, exertion forcing his breath out in harsh gasps. I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight. He moves his head again, this time matching his face to mine, biting my lower lip, whispering things I can't hear between bites. Suddenly he lets go again. I am lifted out of his arms forcibly, back into Ben's embrace. When I cry out loud in dismay, Ben pulls off the ribbon and asks me if I'm okay. I nod. I am delirious and overwhelmed by their coordinated efforts to bring heaven down here. They become one person, blurred lines becoming a blend of red into black. Of blue into brown. Of hot into cold and romantic affection into something so outlandish and depraved that even I tend to ignore the safe words, if only I knew what they were. If only I thought they might heed them.

I am bent and pulled and taken to places I have never seen or heard of before. What we've seen of life is strange enough and so there is nowhere to go but here and there is nothing to do but let go and be honest and try harder and stay together.

Eventually we slow to a sleeping crawl and my eyes close against the rising sun, my head against Ben's heartbeat, Lochlan within reach as ever now. I hear the birds and see the light through the windows, burning off the ghost fog over my mind, taking with it my lingering reservations as it rises high into a Sunday sky to highlight the green velvet ribbon, lying tangled on the floor.

Boy sandwiches.

(Again, not putting a time reference on these. When is not important. What is. Besides, it's mostly obvious. One is from thirty years ago. The other, thirty days.)

I knew that he drank most of the whiskey from the bottle on the picnic table but I still didn't know why he couldn't follow simple directions.

Ow! Let go. You're hurting me.

Stay with me, Bridgie. The last thing I want is for you to get lost in the woods tonight.

Lochlan has my hand clenched so tightly in his my fingers are crushed and I'm tripping as I try to run with him. We are making our way through the woods toward the lake as the sun goes down. Not the public swimming beach but the rope swing the boys put up with their fathers years before.

We're going skinny dipping only I don't do that because I don't feel like I'm one of them. Bailey will. Her eyes are bright gold, full of beer. She scowled when she saw that Lochlan was bringing me with them. She's safer at home. It's past her bedtime anyway. I'm not looking after her.

We will, Lochlan says. Caleb nods.

Bailey looks fierce. Don't give her any alcohol. I don't want to get in shit.

I don't want any!

You're not having any anyway, Bridge, you're too young. Here, I brought pop for you.

Caleb twists the cap off as I watch. He is nineteen and this is his first year home for the summer from university. I take a drink. It's really sweet. I don't drink pop late at night. I don't even know late at night, we've never been properly introduced. I'm usually in bed by nine o'clock. But when it's summer and everyone stays out late my parents are satisfied that the older kids will keep me safe and entertain me besides and then they are free to sit on the dock and talk into the early morning hours with their cottage friends. It's a win-win situation.

Caleb doesn't seem drunk but he drinks a huge gulp from the whiskey bottle and then he's the first one out of his clothes, leaping ahead to grab the swing and launch himself out over the deepest part of the lake. With a holler he lets go and disappears under the surface. Everyone laughs and Cole goes next. I stare at his nakedness. They have no modesty whatsoever. Bailey is next. Her long hair covers her chest and she leaves her bikini bottoms on. She laughs and squeals as she flies out over the water and then screams when Caleb leaps up from below to catch her. I smile. I picture them as a couple someday. Maybe next year when she gives up the mall for more serious pursuits, because Caleb is so serious. He wants to be a lawyer. I can see that. He's very good at talking, reasoning. Adults trust him.

Lochlan has not gone on the rope yet. At sixteen he is well-respected but a loner on the fringe of the group even though he pretends he's right in the thick of it all. He's sitting beside me drawing pictures with a sharpie and a composition book. He turns to me and draws a ring on my finger and writes Love is the most important thing down the length of my arm. He tells me never to forget that. I write I won't on his knee. It wears off before we go home because it gets wet. My words don't because I don't go in. In the morning my mom asks what it means and Bailey tells her that Lochlan doodles on everyone.

I don't show my mother what Caleb wrote on my back. I saw it in the mirror this morning because he wouldn't tell me what he wrote in his modern cursive script from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. He tells me he's going to get a big tattoo on his back in a few years. I ask him what he's getting but he doesn't know yet.

***

Your shadow
I will show you something different
I will only stop you drifting so far

I find Lochlan flat on his back on the floor in the library. Oh, he is so loaded I can't get him up. He wants to get up but he can't. I don't want to tell anyone else to enlist some help because they will just judge him. He needs to forget things so he uses a liquid lobotomy and then he will forever be sixteen and I will be ten and nothing will have ever gone wrong and the worst thing we will ever have to deal with is homework and eating our vegetables and rainy days in which we can't go to the lake or beach at all. He stops singing when he realizes that I'm there.

We need to go back in time, Bridgie.

Too late, Lochlan.

Tears slide out his eyes and into his hair. He does not get up. There's music on the stereo, I can't hear what it is. I just know I want to get him up off the floor and upstairs so he can sleep it off but I don't want the kids to see him and I can't do this by myself.

You need to get up, Lochlan.

Bridget, just go out and lock the door. Come back tomorrow please.

Come to bed, Lochlan. Come on.

I can't feel my teeth, sweetheart. I'm sorry.

You're an adult. You didn't fall into a vat of whiskey, Lochlan. How can you be sorry for something you did on purpose?

You don't think sometimes things turn out not to be the right decision?

I don't know.

I'll rephrase it then. Bridget, you've chosen wrong. Now what?

He doesn't wait for me to reply. He is singing again. His accent is all over the place and I want to laugh only this sucks.

You looked beautiful this morning.

Thank you.

No, I mean it. It's hard to believe you have grown up in front of all of us.

What was I supposed to do, stay little forever?

Maybe. Then I wouldn't have taken you to that godforsaken place.

I look away. I really don't want to do this now. I sit down beside him on the floor.

Then you wouldn't have this stupid tattoo. He lifts up my shirt in the back and runs his hand across my shoulder blades, where it says Innocent in Caleb's neat cursive script, in Gaelic. Neamhchiontach. To match his tattoo that says Devil in Gaelic. Diabhal.

I like my tattoo. It keeps him forever accountable.

It makes me feel guilty.

I forgave you.

But you didn't forget, peanut. He tilts forward and puts his head down in my lap. He closes his eyes and I automatically start to comb through his curls with my fingers. He goes to sleep. He's the only one who doesn't look like a little boy when he's sleeping. He looks like a man. A man conflicted and torn, a man who carries such a heavy load all the while refusing to claim it as his own.

How am I supposed to forget? And why can't you follow simple directions?

He doesn't hear me. He's in his whiskey dreams where I am a child. Little more than someone to bounce his fears off. Little more than a mirror, his little shadow. A little hesitant. A little suggestible.

Little.

****

The library door opens around seven. I see the light spill into the hallway and I get up and go to see how he is. Lochlan walks out into the hall and sees me and then turns and heads upstairs. I am behind him the whole way but he doesn't stop. Finally outside the bedroom door I ask him how he's doing and he stops for a beat but then he goes into my room and closes the door on me. In my face, if we are being particular.

I turn and slide down the door to sit against it. I can wait for him. Eighty-five minutes pass and Ben comes to the top of the steps and just looks at me. I ask him what he wants and he says he's been looking for me. I snap that I've been here for a while, that Lochlan went inside and never came back out. Ben says that he probably went to sleep. That he weighs a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and probably can't handle a forty all that well. Why don't I come down and let Lochlan sleep through the rest of the evening?

I shake my head. I'm fine right here, I tell him.

What's more important, Bridget?

Love. Love is the most important thing, Ben.

Who told you that, Bridget? I wouldn't say it's true all the time. I watch his face. He is choosing his words so carefully. Each one is made of land mines disguised as letters. Each one ticks like a time bomb. Each one is locked and loaded.

Maybe you're right.

He stops thinking and reacts instead, changing expressions and I know I went too far.

Are you choosing sides today?

Trying not to.

You might want to think about that, Bridget. Because from here it looks like my team is down a player.

We're all on the same team, Ben.

You know something, Bridget? You and Loch may live in some kind of fucked-up Neverland fantasy but some of us are right here in reality and I've got news for you. We've never been on the same team. Ever. I gave you as much latitude as I could and it's making me crazy.

The door opens suddenly. Lochlan doesn't come out or say anything but the door is just...open. An invitation. An escape.

A decision.

I did not have to think twice. I grabbed Ben's hand and pulled him in with me. He didn't fight me. We made a Lochlan sandwich (Ben and I were the bread, Loch was the meat) and stayed with him until he started making sense again. We took turns watching over him, took turns sleeping and took turns talking him out of his drunken opinions and stalwart proclamations. It took a while.

When the tides had turned we were forced to do the same for Ben, unencumbered by alcohol but positively hobbled with doubt, fear and massive waves of regret. I'm not picking sides, I prioritize based on need. Once reminded of that Ben was more comfortable and far less resigned. His generosity hits me like a brick wall only to mix with Lochlan's possessiveness. The heartbreaking honesty and depth of our words leaves me exhausted and suddenly doubtful of everything and nothing, least of all this very unconventional love affair that finds me squarely in the center.

Because this time I got the middle. It's very hard to be the meat. And yet, here I am.

Neamhchiontach go cinnte. And please pass the whiskey.

The dreams we have as children.

He either grew tired of us mentioning his curls nonstop or he went Hare Krishna on me (it's happened before) but when I walked into the kitchen this morning I didn't recognize Lochlan, who finally went for a haircut. By the end of summer he will be strawberry blonde and have perfect curls again but until then we get treated to this virtual stranger with dark red and weirdly straight hair. I can see his eyes. He can't hide behind his curly charm now.

***

I'm listening to Noel Gallagher again. I know. The Birds album turned out to be a literal masterpiece to my ears. They are so selective sometimes I even surprise myself.

***

We're out of cake.

I did not care to acknowledge much about this birthday just because I can't count this high and when I try I become sad in a way that seems so permanent and regretful and completely unusual to the fleeting and crushing sad feeling that I am familiar with. Life is far different from what I pictured. Not in a bad way, just completely different, and I have had to be far braver than I thought possible and still every day things are new and different and kind of unbelievable and those are the dreams you can pop like bubbles and I know I'm a fatalist but I mean well, really I do.

I worry the bottom will fall out. That's all. I've always felt as if I stood on the outside and my life is a movie I watch on a big screen, so lifelike I can feel what everyone feels, so intangible after all that any decisions are put to a committee vote instead of a whim.

***

People want to know what's going on. With triangles and declarations and boys and life here in the collective and I tend to ignore writing about it when I get overwhelmed or distracted.

Well, sorry, I've been distracted. An awful lot actually.

I stepped into the garage and Jake growled at me to smile, oh and to slow the fuck down, and really pay attention and count the stars that are lucky and leave the rest for others (no, I need them all, Pooh) and then I tried a new tea and learned that yes the afternoon coffee will now destroy me because caffeine makes me crazy and then I had to bite my lip when I realized I really really wish I could control the universe sometimes because then it would make perfect sense and I realized who I sounded like and it was that much-needed stab of familiarity mixed with an ache for a time when things were so simple the only things I had an opinion on were the color of my cotton candy (blue, always blue) and whether or not my hair went into a braid or a knot at the back of my neck (I liked the braid, he liked the knot).

I went to tell him about the ache but he had left already. To get his hair cut. And when he came back my courage left to make room.

Soliloquies for two.

Hope I didn't speak too soon
My eyes have always
Followed you around the room
Cause you're the only
God that I will ever need
I'm holding on and waiting for the moment
For my heart to be unbroken by the sea

It's windy on the beach today, so much so that it feels like fall. The water is dark, the waves choppy, the big boats far off into the blinding white sun, away from the shore. It's Wednesday and it's almost like I can reach out with one finger and stop the world from rotating for no one is visible from here. It's as if we've been dropped onto an uninhabited planet if only it weren't for the same story going around and around and around, at thirty-three rpm or one complete revolution around the sun over twenty-four hours exactly. It doesn't matter if this is a turntable or an orbit, frankly.

And that is his argument at present.

Because today he is the one who looks like a teenager, balanced on a rock above the shore, jeans wet up to the knees, eyes squinched up in the sunlight, head of red curls unbrushed and tangled, turned to face me sometimes but only out of habit and certainly not because I am all that interesting. I'm only listening today, and not talking back.

He hates that, you see.

That's why I do it.

I don't have much else to offer because he wouldn't listen even if he knew I think he's right and he makes perfect sense but at the same time so does everyone else.

I can't hear the music either, playing through my headphones that are tucked into the zipper of my hoodie. But I know it's playing, just like I know he's right. Some things just are. The moon always rises and this sun will always set. You can set your watch by Lochlan's ability to point out the sheer practicality of a feeling or an action and then he'll turn around and blow his own theory full of holes while everyone else ducks for cover from the blast.

It's sort of interesting when that happens.

He said once, if I stay at home and work two jobs I can make enough for college and then graduate without any debt. That would give me a leg up on life.

And then he left and went on the road with the show and with me, where we made downwards of fifty dollars a day between us and stole the rest and came home with empty pockets and emptier stomachs. He paid off his student loans three years ago. College waited for Lochlan long after everyone else was finished. I never finished at all.

He said once, if you were smart, you'd take Ben's offer and never look back. He's fun, he cares a hell of a lot for you and he's trying so hard, Bridget. He loves you.

And then he left because he couldn't stick around to watch it because it wasn't him and it wasn't fair and it wouldn't last and it doesn't matter how hard Ben tries, Ben can't undo history this deep.

Because our history is deeper than this ocean, deeper than the deepest, darkest, coldest part of the sea and that's why I should talk to him instead of just listening because you can't have an argument if only one person is fighting. That hasn't stopped him, not one little bit. He's still talking, I haven't said a word since eight fifteen this morning.

And he's talking fast. Fast because he has so much he wants to say and fast because there is not much time to do it. You see time is the enemy and he's rushing but at the same time he's been standing on that rock for the better part of forty-five minutes throwing out thoughts and admonishing me to hurry up and then he stares out to sea while he comes up with something else that he thinks might clinch it.

It's sort of amazing to view him so objectively.

I keep raising my eyebrows every time he turns his back because suddenly I no longer understand him at all, how his actions can go one way and his words another but it's okay because the sea will mix it all back together on my behalf, depositing it on the shore, frosted smooth and rounded by the sand, lighter so it's left behind for me to find.

I tighten my ponytail with both hands and resume my search for more of those words that match the actions. Slim pickings today. Just like always.

On buttoning a sweater with shivering fingers, on holding on with trembling hands.

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life.

You know what I remember most? Not his eventual acquiescence to my plans, but the fact that I had Black on repeat that entire weekend and listening to it now is akin to someone ripping open my soul and pouring hot lava down the hole.

You're gonna what? Jesus Lord, you'll fucking freeze to death.

I won't stay in long. But I can't come here and not go in.

Sure you can. Bridget, we're going to come in the winter and the summer too. There will be so many chances.

Jacob stands on the tiny porch in jeans and a thin, worn sweater over a plain white t-shirt. His hair just reaches the neck of the sweater in the back and I can't take my eyes off it. The wool matches the dark underneath part of his hair, a soft pale caramel. His jeans are so worn they're white and the lines around his eyes speak to a stress that would later break him, only I didn't know and I mistook the burden he carried to be plain and simple concern.

I don't think you should go in, Bridget. He repeats himself with a challenge in his voice. Only I don't rise to it, I turn around and go inside.

Jake doesn't follow. He exits the porch and heads down the shore. A long walk, giving him that all important count to twenty-five to calm down because ten doesn't cut it.

By the time he returns, pale blue eyes peaceful, reflecting the sea, I am curled up in the corner of the big couch with a knit blanket over me, a cup of tea on the table by my elbow, another on the coffee table in front of me, waiting for him. He takes a grateful sip and then points out he doesn't want me to catch a cold. Then he says he worries the undertow will be too strong. Then he says Sometimes I don't think you fight her hard enough, meaning the sea. He then makes a comment about the weather turning ominous.

I am amused. Will you rate your concerns in order of importance, preacher?

What? No, princess. How about this? You're not allowed in.

Oh, see, now I have to go in just to defy you.

He glares at me while taking another sip of tea. Everything tastes better here, did you notice that?

I nod. Don't change the subject, Jake. If we don't come back ever, I want to submerge myself just once more.

Who said we won't come back? I bought this place for us. This can be safe harbour. A getaway from all of it and still be near everything you...WE..need.

I just have a feeling, that's all. This is it. One chance.

Then you go for your freezing swim and I'll have to work to prove you wrong.

In up to my knees.

Okay, so..you know those awkward lollipops with the big sugar crystals and the wooden knob-handles? Those are tea-stirrers. I just sort of eat them. I had no idea really but now that I know it makes PERFECT SENSE!

Today is my birthday. Welcome to the weirdness that is me, always. Am dressed up! With eyelashes and everything because we're going out to shop and eat and do whatever I want because I. am. awesome and my mind is forever somewhere between twelve and seventeen. Really the numbers just keep ticking up and I want to grab the lowest one with both arms and pull back down hard with all of my weight until the one left showing matches how I feel.

On the upside? They are finished the fountain. All the pounding and hammering was to fix the steps/driveway/new section but the pond/fountain was put in and is WORKING! I can't hear it at all unless I am standing in it.

But the very best part?

Caleb did not get the koi fish to stock the pond. He got us turtles. Turtles and a bullfrog (which I'm told will be eaten by the turtles so he should now hop away, for his little green life)!

Because as I told you, I am still twelve and twelve-year-olds don't drink tea (or stay out of ponds full of turtles, for that matter).

Bane.

They started at 7:50 this morning, and I was at Caleb's door at 7:56 in my pajamas. He opens it, unsmiling but dressed and ready for his day and I barge right in, complaining that we have noise bylaws and sleeping boys and neighbors with infants and why the fuck can't they take a week off from jackhammering the whole fucking property and then I see the purse on the counter.

Oh, you're busy.

Bridget, it's just-

Then she walks out into the living room, trying to latch her earring. Oh God. Not her.

Bridget. Still unhappy with the entire universe, are you?

Long time no see, Sophie. Too bad we don't have more time to talk but you have to leave.

Caleb and I-

Yeah, safe trip home. Get out.

You don't get to tell me what to do in his house.

Sure I do. I look at Caleb, waiting for him to pick a side. He doesn't make me wait long.

I'll have Mike take you to the airport, Sophie.

But I thought we were going to-

I forgot I have an engagement this morning. Sorry.

She scowls at me and I shoot her my winningest smile. Caleb is trying not to laugh at me at this point. I have bedhead, I know. Great.

I see. Still stringing everyone along. Quite the little piece of work you are, as always.

Bye, Sophie. My smile drops as I turn and leave. A little warning would have been nice. As I grab the railing to go down the wet stairs I hear their voices rise. A fight. Oh darn.

***

Caleb walks into the kitchen an hour later, just as I slide the first of the birthday cupcakes into the stove to bake.

Bridget, that wasn't nice.

Was it nice of you to bring her here?

She was in town for a couple days. I didn't think I had to clear it with you.

You picked my side.

Of course I did.

I'm surprised by that.

Don't be. It's the burning building question. Who would I save? Well, she may be easier, but you are more fun.

Why is that?

I think the sight of you, with your messy curls, in your Hello Kitty pajamas ready to claw the makeup right off of her face was so adorable what else could I do?

Maybe you could entertain her downtown?

At Batman's hotel? Maybe we can fill each other's ice buckets. Your post yesterday was quite genius. Throw Batman to the wolves and then they won't notice Lochlan has finally regained his Alpha status.

That's not what I did.

Then you're deluding yourself. And for the record? I slept on the couch in the living room last night. So she wasn't very happy this morning to begin with.

I actually don't want the gory details.

Well, I'm going to give them to you anyway. I'm too old for one-night stands.

Even with Sophie?

Sophie is a social climber and a parasite and unlike you she is never silly and definitely never cute. So in case you wondered where my loyalties were, they are with you, always. The only reason I didn't let you know was because it was late and I know Henry isn't feeling well. Since there won't be a next time, I don't actually have to promise to do it differently, do I?

No, you don't.

How are the cupcakes coming? They smell delicious. I could have gone to the bakery though. You only have one birthday a year, Bridget.

My birthday isn't until tomorrow. These are just because it's Friday and...I like pre-weekends.

Yeah, me too. He stands there looking like an idiot, smiling huge. It's contagious. I cock my head and calculate.

Come back in an hour or so and you can taste-test them.

I will do that.

Today also marks the very first time I offered to feed Caleb without wondering briefly how to poison it so as to kill him without detection. It's a whole fucking day of firsts! Amazing!

Counterintelligence.

This week Lochlan did what he always does when something isn't quite going right.

He put on his resigned face, and he hauled his logic out, dusting off the top and oiling all of the moving parts. He pulled me in close, pressing a kiss hard against my forehead and told me grimly that everything will be okay, just keep going forward and we'll cross the bridges when we get to them. I nod in reply. We're resilient and silly and insolent and committed. We're filthy and hungry and we dream of adventure.

So why do we regret it when it finally shows itself?

***
Batman sends me a text message mid-morning, just as I am beginning a full-on house cleaning. I'm still fighting the parade of cherry blossom stems tracking indoors. I'm losing. They're everywhere. And on the almost-white carpets and white tile it's sort of a seasonal mess. My work is cut out for me. Fuck me, they're even in our beds.

Room service lunch today if you're game. I'll buy. And order without even looking.

I don't respond right away and ten minutes later another message chimes in.

Or we could just spend the afternoon in bed in the hotel. That's fine too.

I freeze. It's a blatant, crass message that Batman wouldn't write. I'm trying to figure out how to respond when three more messages crash into the first two.

Just ignore that. My brain is not connected to my fingers.

Don't tell them, it was a joke.

I'm very sorry. I think I must have spring fever.

The last one made me laugh. Don't make things weird again, Batman. I say it under my breath. It's sort of too late for normal, however. Batman was the original Indecent Proposal of my adulthood. I think sometimes when things don't go right in his life he becomes wistful for that, but at no point do I think he means any harm so there is no harm in writing it down.

Repeating itself.

I was coming up the sidewalk with the dog, out for a quick walk before beginning to pull dinner together, when I saw her. Ruth, long hair glinting gold in the sun, hoodie tied in a knot around her thin frame, pink t-shirt and jeans, converse. In a pack with around ten other kids. Loose on a sunny afternoon with vague instructions to stay out of the woods and be home by four-forty at the latest.

She made a move to run out from between two parked cars, heading up the hill in a game of Cops & Robbers when the boy in front of her threw his arm up to block her from going any further, as an SUV drove slowly down the street.

She laughed and he smiled at her. He's a full head taller than she is, red t-shirt and jeans and I don't know his name but she will tell me later. Once the street was clear he dropped his arm and took off with her running hard to keep or catch up.

Kind of reminds me of someone.

Update: His name is Tyler and he is thirteen and a half, and he's man enough to sit out on the porch with Lochlan, PJ, Christian and Andrew while they discuss why Ruthie isn't allowed in the woods. He has pointed out several times that he was with her and he wouldn't let anything happen to her anyway but that he is very, very sorry he talked her into it. I daresay there's a hint of a smile playing on Lochlan's face, while Ruth has already run upstairs crying because she is trouble, probably having thrown herself facedown on her bed.

I'm sure this will replay itself many times over in varying degrees of severity over the next few years and I can say I hope it gets easier but I know it won't.

I am trying to break my mind, and other future Wilco songs.

(Sorry to be so perpetually unavailable, it's been a busy week so far.)

-Matt and Sam? Done, for the time being. Sam is not being as resilient as he once told me to be, and I'm having a hard time comforting him without wanting to THROW THAT IN HIS FACE.

-Duncan opted to not file his taxes, due yesterday. I am waiting for an unmarked black CRA van to squeal down the driveway, throw him in the back and take him away. While I wait I'm introducing him to Turbo Tax. Because he was the only one who said he would "take care of it" once I finished when I offered to mail/file/phone. I'm glad I followed up. He is a little bit too laissez-faire these days about important things and all jacked completely uptight about unimportant things. I think his midlife crisis is finally kicking in.

-Coach sent me a 25% discount offer in honor of my upcoming birthday. My brand-spanking shiny new family doctor scheduled me for a fucking mammogram as her gift to me. Obviously the purse-shopping excites me far more. Also I can't seem to decide on a birthday dinner restaurant. Or who to take with me, seeing as how Ben has resumed his resistance all things redhaired and circusy.

(They have four days remaining to sort it out before I take Dalton and we'll just do tequila body shots off of each other and toast to madness and the art of finding midnight in the bottom of a sunlight sunlit (Ben just messaged me and told me sunlight looked wrong. BLAH.) horizon or something equally nonsensical. Dalton has turned out to be the smarter brother in the family, clearly. I offered him Saturday and he smiled and said I'm game. Whatever you want, princess.)

-This morning work began on the driveway too, since they have the heavy equipment here anyway to put in the never-ending, ostentatious yacht club/former simple removable dock. You know, because Mr. Honest (heretofore known as Satan) failed to inform me he was having part of the driveway extended so that it actually splits and turns right so that he can park up beside the boathouse, on the hill, instead of having to come all the way down to the house, past the garage with all the vehicles here already. I'm sure he is spending whatever this costs to stick it to PJ, who regularly sticks it to Caleb by parking directly behind the Porsche so Caleb can't get out. It's a little ridiculous but it makes me laugh.

Also, Caleb is putting in a fountain/pond out front. For koi. I'll be able to hear it from my bedroom window, which overlooks the front of the house and now I'll have to pee all the damn time just from listening to the sound of running water. Yay! In the meantime I get the sound of bulldozers and men yelling. Yay! Nothing new there.

-I bought Insurgent this morning (because the nice people at the tiny independent bookstore in town held a copy for me and oh my God I love them to bits) and have cleared seventy pages so far. This is a record for me, I'm admittedly a hideously slow reader. It's so good I want to eat the physical book.

-I painted my nails in Fearless Fog. Corey called it Cadaver Corpse because it's a weird mauvy-rigor-grey but he's a sick fuck anyway. I like the color but I love the name. I want to spend the rest of my life in a fearless fog and then things that shouldn't hurt won't and things that don't matter will.

Oh, I think I just figured out Duncan.

Neat.