Yesterday just didn't really go my way and I handled it poorly besides. I made two huge, like multi-thousand dollar mistakes on income taxes and practically had to resort to reverse-engineering my calculations to figure out where I want wrong. I bought three different tax softwares and then finally hacked one of them to find out how they filled the forms in for the .tax files. Then I found the mistakes and they were really dumb ones. I missed entire lines. I screwed up instructions. I love financial math and am inept at standard math so it was daunting but had I just taken a deep breath or a walk or something it would have been okay.
Can I do that? Of course I can't.
I went full-Bridget and panicked and freaked the fuck out all over everyone and my Fairy Blood Mother arrived in the middle of the whole thing (which explains at least the random tears, if not the on-purpose ones) and then Duncan told me to go fuck myself and opened a beer and went out to the front porch where he sat sipping it for the next half hour while I stood in the doorway with my head pressed against the screen door watching him but not being able to do anything about it.
When Sam got home, he came in the kitchen door and I just pointed and cried some more.
Had I looked I would have seen it was not beer. It was Jones soda. So there's that.
Duncan came up and apologized last night. He rubbed my back and reminded me I'm like a little frenzied maniac when I panic and he wished I would have just said I was spooling up and he would have done something sooner and not just retaliated. He joked that we need a DoomsBridget clock to show when she's getting closer to imminent disaster.
It sort of wrecked my whole argument about why Joel could happily leave because I'm fine and Ben can manage. Ben wasn't here. Loch wasn't either and really Duncan has rightfully shifted from pouring all of his energy into helping to look after me to taking care of himself. Sam had figured it would be safe for him to go and do some work so he wound up in trouble from PJ too, who was at the dentist all day and thought he had planned for just about every outside contingency but forgot I can dismantle myself from the inside too.
He didn't forget. I was in a great place when he left. Sitting by the fire at the coffee table with forms spread everywhere and my laptop playing music and spitting out answers from the CRA.
If you need four different fail-safes then really they're all in over their heads with me and I should be somewhere with medication and soft walls. Well, I mean I know I should but I keep charming them all the while I insist I'm fully functional.
But.
I fixed the taxes. Doubled the refunds! Filed the paperwork. Forgave Duncan and apologized in kind. Reassured Joel he is still leaving. Took Sam off the hook from where PJ put him. Promised PJ I would give out warnings like favours for a party that will never end. Plotted designing that clock to show my moods so no one would have to ask nor will they be surprised when it starts to chime the hour of my imminent destruction.
I changed my clothes. Because I wasn't expecting the Fairy until tomorrow.
I had a soda. It was good. Root beer. I got hives anyway (food coloring) and Duncan just smiled as I began to itch so I can't have another ever but it was good.
Tuesday, 17 February 2015
Monday, 16 February 2015
Sunday, 15 February 2015
The more they stay the same (Updated*)
Loch said he would indeed burn down the big Lake house or rather, he would have if only he was young and dumb instead of old and juggling responsibilities now instead of batons.
God love him, he's maturing.
Naw, I'm probably mistaken but he also said I'll never go there, he'll just burn my passport instead. I believe that, wholeheartedly I do, because he told me while I was pinned underneath him, his hands holding my hips, his breath making my legs tickle. His tongue making me scream.
I told you he talks the whole damn time. It's unbelievable.
*(For the record, Caleb already placated him easily, telling him the house will be rented out for long-term corporate stays. Caleb's just an absentee landlord, he says. Loch believed him.)
God love him, he's maturing.
Naw, I'm probably mistaken but he also said I'll never go there, he'll just burn my passport instead. I believe that, wholeheartedly I do, because he told me while I was pinned underneath him, his hands holding my hips, his breath making my legs tickle. His tongue making me scream.
I told you he talks the whole damn time. It's unbelievable.
*(For the record, Caleb already placated him easily, telling him the house will be rented out for long-term corporate stays. Caleb's just an absentee landlord, he says. Loch believed him.)
Saturday, 14 February 2015
Community property.
The rain resumed midway through my little mini backyard afternoon vacation, so heavily I had to snap my laptop shut and run for the steps but the door was locked (everyone has this bad habit, we're constantly locking one another out of the house) and so I left my computer by the door (covered) and ran for the boathouse instead.
By the time I get there it's almost too late and I'm soaked again. My Docs will be full of water too. My stockings are probably ruined. Caleb laughs and asks me if we're doing scenes from The Notebook today and I say no because we have neither swans nor a rowboat and he says he'll make notes for next time. He gets me a clean towel from the linen closet and pours me a shot of whiskey and I drink it before I wind up shivering too much to hold on to the glass. I wrap the towel around my back and hold it together in the front. Warmer now.
Could you let Duncan know I'm here and ask him to get my laptop from the back deck? He nods and calls. I yell that I'll be home in a few and Caleb glares at me. When he hangs up he says I should stay. I point out that I have things to do and that was a little break and I had no intentions of being out very long when the weather made sure of it.
He asks if I would like to hear his news. I told him I already heard that the boat sold and I hope we can get a little zippy outboard or something or maybe jet skis to play with in our teeny-tiny cove and he nodded and said yes we can but that isn't his news. He gave up the expensive, depreciating asset for an appreciating one instead.
Another house.
Number three, if you're being absolutely technical (considering the boathouse is part of the main property, and Schuyler and Daniel's house is next door but counts as house number two). Which is sort of astounding considering everyone I love is so minimalistic, nomadic, indecisive and unwilling to put down roots anywhere it seems but inside me, wrapped around the little charred pieces of my formerly robust heart.
He went on to describe it as not really a house, more like a cabin. A five-bedroom, three-bathroom cabin with a lot of waterfrontage in Tahoe and a very private road.
You bought a house in Lake Tahoe?
Yes, Neamhchiontach. It's a familiar place to you, close enough that it isn't impossible to get to on short notice and yet far enough that it's a decided break from here.
Here?
The commune. Your beloved collective. It's a place where I can breathe and you can have a little privacy. A place you can call your own.
But it isn't mine.
No, it's ours. But when we are not using it the others are free to enjoy it.
Just not together with us.
No, not with us.
Then why five bedrooms?
He laughed. Because I don't think you can get a house any smaller there. And if I could, I wouldn't want it. I told you, I'm going to show you a life that will keep you in awe, and it doesn't involve magic or elaborate shows.
So this is not an elaborate show?
No, Bridget, this is a wise business decision and a promise that you're going to have a good life no matter how many times Pyro tries to burn down my efforts.
Better not show him the new house then, because that's exactly what he'll want to do to it.
By the time I get there it's almost too late and I'm soaked again. My Docs will be full of water too. My stockings are probably ruined. Caleb laughs and asks me if we're doing scenes from The Notebook today and I say no because we have neither swans nor a rowboat and he says he'll make notes for next time. He gets me a clean towel from the linen closet and pours me a shot of whiskey and I drink it before I wind up shivering too much to hold on to the glass. I wrap the towel around my back and hold it together in the front. Warmer now.
Could you let Duncan know I'm here and ask him to get my laptop from the back deck? He nods and calls. I yell that I'll be home in a few and Caleb glares at me. When he hangs up he says I should stay. I point out that I have things to do and that was a little break and I had no intentions of being out very long when the weather made sure of it.
He asks if I would like to hear his news. I told him I already heard that the boat sold and I hope we can get a little zippy outboard or something or maybe jet skis to play with in our teeny-tiny cove and he nodded and said yes we can but that isn't his news. He gave up the expensive, depreciating asset for an appreciating one instead.
Another house.
Number three, if you're being absolutely technical (considering the boathouse is part of the main property, and Schuyler and Daniel's house is next door but counts as house number two). Which is sort of astounding considering everyone I love is so minimalistic, nomadic, indecisive and unwilling to put down roots anywhere it seems but inside me, wrapped around the little charred pieces of my formerly robust heart.
He went on to describe it as not really a house, more like a cabin. A five-bedroom, three-bathroom cabin with a lot of waterfrontage in Tahoe and a very private road.
You bought a house in Lake Tahoe?
Yes, Neamhchiontach. It's a familiar place to you, close enough that it isn't impossible to get to on short notice and yet far enough that it's a decided break from here.
Here?
The commune. Your beloved collective. It's a place where I can breathe and you can have a little privacy. A place you can call your own.
But it isn't mine.
No, it's ours. But when we are not using it the others are free to enjoy it.
Just not together with us.
No, not with us.
Then why five bedrooms?
He laughed. Because I don't think you can get a house any smaller there. And if I could, I wouldn't want it. I told you, I'm going to show you a life that will keep you in awe, and it doesn't involve magic or elaborate shows.
So this is not an elaborate show?
No, Bridget, this is a wise business decision and a promise that you're going to have a good life no matter how many times Pyro tries to burn down my efforts.
Better not show him the new house then, because that's exactly what he'll want to do to it.
Friday, 13 February 2015
Night and day.
I'm listening to Billie Holiday while I sit in the sun, dress hiked up to my knees, Adirondack chair finally dry, laptop in place. Boots off. Stockings off. Brain off.
If I had a cup of coffee this would be perfect.
But I don't. Not saying if someone handed me one I wouldn't drink it because I would right this second. Hell, yes, I would.
I think I like Billie's Gloomy Sunday better than Pallbearer's. Wait until I tell that to Teflon Jesus. He will laugh and then probably agree with me. Everyone loves Billie. We play her records on the porch in the evenings when it's not too chilly but when it's just chill. When it's almost dark but not quite dark and everyone is home, quiet and thoughtful, listening to the needle scratch the vinyl into our brains where it will rest until awakened by a feeling or a memory or a dream. Isn't that how music is suppose to work?
Thursday, 12 February 2015
Excommunicating myself.
And one day we will dieBetween taxes and removing all trace of Firefox from my computer so far today, it's been too busy to write.
And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see
Love to be
In the arms of all I'm keeping here with me
The last straw for said browser was broken way early this morning when it failed to give me half of the information I needed to book flights because just...large voids of white space seem to be located where I want to see actual useful information. In any case, I got the job done finally and then blew away the program.
Because no. Because I'm not going through that mess again.
Now I'm using Safari which took all sorts of wrangling and beatings to make it function the way I need it too. I even managed to export and import my bookmarks and...and...something something keychain. I don't remember. Password things.
All by myself!
But you know something? I could be Amish. So, so easily. Except for the curiosity part. Then I'm doomed.
Do the Amish file taxes? I'd look it up but the tabs in Safari. I can't find 'em. Give me a minute (I mean an hour. Give me an hour.)
Wednesday, 11 February 2015
In the twinkle of an aye (all apologies, I cannot resist).
This morning I let Caleb inspect his purchases, because as he pointed out, before he settled the bill he wanted to be sure everything was perfect. He's a perfectionist. His standards are high. I finally relented, first in the cashmere, then in the velvet, telling him he could look but not touch. He found that supremely amusing as we have sort of-almost made up here over the whole Joel-eviction thing.
While I did a slow turn, freezing to pieces in the Boathouse in my underthings he revealed something too. The news that he's going to sell the boat. That he has something else in mind but he'll tell me once it's official. He's simply not using it, though the private covered slip and extensive docks he built will be terrific for the resale value of this house someday.
(This is the part where I will perish from curiosity and he knows it. See how he plays? I'll find out what I need to but the cost will be huge.)
And in Joel-news:
Joel is going but we've come a mutual agreement to meet for brunch once a month. That way he gets a check-in (UNQUALIFIED) and I get a...free butternaut adventure since he always chooses a very fancy place when we go out, which is so interesting for that imaginary trust fund kid. The butter arrives on a little plate in pretty curls and instead of spreading it on bread I make it into little people with my knife. I call them butternauts and it's a welcome distraction from his endless counseling. I've mentioned them before (here and here, for example).
Caleb is somewhat satisfied that we came up with this ourselves. Then Joel and I promptly hunkered down and watched Annabelle, because Joel is only really good for horror, hockey and humility, as I always tell him.
He wishes I was as good with my emotions as I am with my observations, my words. I point out that for every gift there is a deficit somewhere and oh boy did I ever lose hard. Thank heavens I can express myself in the feelings I can't seem to control, or everyone would be left foundering in the darkness along with me.
That would not be good.
So now we have that space over the garage. Someone suggested we call Asher back. When I was done laughing I asked if we just hold it for Ruth. By the time she's 17 or 18 she'll want her own space I imagine. In the meantime I think I'll call August and ask if he'll come back or maybe come out for Spring Break/Easter/Summer/The Rest of my Life.
Though he'll probably gently refuse. Run, Augie. Run while you can.
While I did a slow turn, freezing to pieces in the Boathouse in my underthings he revealed something too. The news that he's going to sell the boat. That he has something else in mind but he'll tell me once it's official. He's simply not using it, though the private covered slip and extensive docks he built will be terrific for the resale value of this house someday.
(This is the part where I will perish from curiosity and he knows it. See how he plays? I'll find out what I need to but the cost will be huge.)
And in Joel-news:
Joel is going but we've come a mutual agreement to meet for brunch once a month. That way he gets a check-in (UNQUALIFIED) and I get a...free butternaut adventure since he always chooses a very fancy place when we go out, which is so interesting for that imaginary trust fund kid. The butter arrives on a little plate in pretty curls and instead of spreading it on bread I make it into little people with my knife. I call them butternauts and it's a welcome distraction from his endless counseling. I've mentioned them before (here and here, for example).
Caleb is somewhat satisfied that we came up with this ourselves. Then Joel and I promptly hunkered down and watched Annabelle, because Joel is only really good for horror, hockey and humility, as I always tell him.
He wishes I was as good with my emotions as I am with my observations, my words. I point out that for every gift there is a deficit somewhere and oh boy did I ever lose hard. Thank heavens I can express myself in the feelings I can't seem to control, or everyone would be left foundering in the darkness along with me.
That would not be good.
So now we have that space over the garage. Someone suggested we call Asher back. When I was done laughing I asked if we just hold it for Ruth. By the time she's 17 or 18 she'll want her own space I imagine. In the meantime I think I'll call August and ask if he'll come back or maybe come out for Spring Break/Easter/Summer/The Rest of my Life.
Though he'll probably gently refuse. Run, Augie. Run while you can.
Tuesday, 10 February 2015
Acting like a lady.
Hang on to your hopes, my friendI'm ready to punch Joel in the face, I think. Though I wouldn't. Nothing is worth getting into it physically. Especially since we're in this up to our necks emotionally at this point and I just want him gone.
That's an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend that you can build them again
Look around
The grass is high
The fields are ripe
It's the springtime of my life
He campaigned for and won a whole day with me to change my mind and even Lochan went to the wrong side to allow it.
Which stung so badly I still feel burned. Their reasoning being, if something goes really wrong as it tends to do every now and then, he should be here, because August isn't anymore.
I point out helpfully that between PJ, Ben and Sam I've been called back from the edge easily. That did not help and only served to riddle my promises with holes and now I can stack them all up and put them on a post because they're done and he's so close to staying I want to scream.
He sits too close. He waits too long. Every single thing I say is evaluated, loaded and shot to see how far it goes, how badly it wounds, how I could change it, rethink it, get better.
(I am better, Fucktard. You're just stringing this out so that you have a job, aren't you? Tell them she's nucking futs and they'll make sure you have a roof over your head for decades.)
I don't have that kind of time. I want him gone NOW and the Devil asked me for a report proving I don't need Joel. He wants me to outline a plan for the future and a plan for emergencies and he will be vetting them personally. If I can argue successfully, Joel can go.
But I'm not a lawyer! Besides, I thought it was 'innocent until proven guilty'!
If that's the case, Bridget, then he should stay and maybe you should go.
Gladly! I turn on my heel and slam out and go back to Joel, because I do what I'm told. Even if I hate it. Even if it hurts. Even if I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, even though he's staring me right in the face right now. That's what kind of good girl I am.
Monday, 9 February 2015
Mold a new reality (9 and 18).
I was singing under my breath, walking back and forth on the edge of the curb as if it was a log over water. I was pretending Brutus and Nero were on each side, like in The Rescuers when they guarded Penny. I wasn't paying attention until I turned to come back and Caleb was standing there, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes, college-smile on his face. It's spring break for him and Easter for the rest of us. We're having a block party since the snow is finally gone.
Whatcha doin', Bridgie?
Waiting for dinner. Lochlan said he was going to make hot dogs for me so I have to wait a little bit. They had the hamburgers but not hot dogs ready. I don't like the hamburgers.
Why not?
They have onions in them and they're bumpy and really big. I like hotdogs because I can put mustard on them.
You can put mustard on a hamburger. I can make you a smaller one.
No you can't, silly! Only cheese and ketchup. Oh, and pickles. And Lochlan's already making me a hot dog but thank you anyway.
Okay. I can wait with you. What song were you singing?
Closer to the heart. It's really old.
A couple years. Loch teach it to you?
Yes.
Yeah, he likes Rush.
He says he'll take me to see them at their concert if they have one here.
That sounds fun.
Yes. How is school?
He laughs. Why do you ask?
Because that's what all the grownups ask when they see you. I think it must be an important question.
School is hard. I want to be a lawyer so I have to get really good marks to get into law school.
Another school?
Yes, it's like a specialty school.
Oh. So are you getting like B's and A's?
Something like that.
Lochlan is going to go to circus school. He wants to be able to do everything so like ringmaster and tightrope-guy and elephant-rider and clown with juggling. And fire. He wants to juggle burning things too.
Is there a school for that?
I don't know.
What about you? What will you go to school for?
I'm going to be a grownup first.
Yes, but what job will you have?
Storyteller and also Lochlan's assistant.
Oh so business school with a minor in creative writing?
No, circus-assistant school. I can already write stories so I don't have to learn that.
Just then Lochlan hollers my name and tells me to come and eat.
Caleb turns and looks back at the group manning the food tables and then smiles again. You better go get your hot dog.
With mustard. It's just gross if it doesn't have mustard.
Next time I'll make you a little hamburger, okay?
Okay but none of the bumpy things. One like McDonald's, okay?
Oh, you want a pressed patty instead of fresh ground beef.
Whichever the flat ones are. And no onions.
I'll remember that.
Hey, Caleb?
Yes?
Will you be finished lawyer school before I finish circus assistant school?
Yes, I would think so.
Okay good.
Why?
So you'll have more free time to come and watch Lochlan's act. He's going to need a very big audience to be famous.
Whatcha doin', Bridgie?
Waiting for dinner. Lochlan said he was going to make hot dogs for me so I have to wait a little bit. They had the hamburgers but not hot dogs ready. I don't like the hamburgers.
Why not?
They have onions in them and they're bumpy and really big. I like hotdogs because I can put mustard on them.
You can put mustard on a hamburger. I can make you a smaller one.
No you can't, silly! Only cheese and ketchup. Oh, and pickles. And Lochlan's already making me a hot dog but thank you anyway.
Okay. I can wait with you. What song were you singing?
Closer to the heart. It's really old.
A couple years. Loch teach it to you?
Yes.
Yeah, he likes Rush.
He says he'll take me to see them at their concert if they have one here.
That sounds fun.
Yes. How is school?
He laughs. Why do you ask?
Because that's what all the grownups ask when they see you. I think it must be an important question.
School is hard. I want to be a lawyer so I have to get really good marks to get into law school.
Another school?
Yes, it's like a specialty school.
Oh. So are you getting like B's and A's?
Something like that.
Lochlan is going to go to circus school. He wants to be able to do everything so like ringmaster and tightrope-guy and elephant-rider and clown with juggling. And fire. He wants to juggle burning things too.
Is there a school for that?
I don't know.
What about you? What will you go to school for?
I'm going to be a grownup first.
Yes, but what job will you have?
Storyteller and also Lochlan's assistant.
Oh so business school with a minor in creative writing?
No, circus-assistant school. I can already write stories so I don't have to learn that.
Just then Lochlan hollers my name and tells me to come and eat.
Caleb turns and looks back at the group manning the food tables and then smiles again. You better go get your hot dog.
With mustard. It's just gross if it doesn't have mustard.
Next time I'll make you a little hamburger, okay?
Okay but none of the bumpy things. One like McDonald's, okay?
Oh, you want a pressed patty instead of fresh ground beef.
Whichever the flat ones are. And no onions.
I'll remember that.
Hey, Caleb?
Yes?
Will you be finished lawyer school before I finish circus assistant school?
Yes, I would think so.
Okay good.
Why?
So you'll have more free time to come and watch Lochlan's act. He's going to need a very big audience to be famous.
Sunday, 8 February 2015
'Something about an iron hand in a velvet glove quote from Charles the Fifth', he said.
My cashmere and velvet goodies have returned and everything fits this time. I was ordered to come and prove that to the Devil but I declined, telling him I was going to church. He offered to bring me. Nothing says weird like sitting beside Satan in a pew while Sam preaches his fool heart out.
It was worse when Jake was up there.
I'd give anything if he still was up there.
After church we went out for an early lunch or brunch I guess it's called (still no coffee after thirty-nine days) and then when we were coming back down the driveway he ordered me once again to show him when we went inside so that he is satisfied everything is right now. Once again I said no, that he will have to trust me.
That if it was a gift it comes without obligation.
He gave me that half amused-half incredulous smile that makes him look all of a handsome eighteen again and said that I win, that he can wait. But not long.
All amused now. He really likes this game. Some days he's not impatient at all.
Sam was home when we got back. Out in the driveway drinking tea and watching Loch on the unicycle. Caleb did not even pretend he was going to run him over. He always says it would be a freak accident. Not a 'freak-accident' but a freak accident, in which case a freak gets hit. I just roll my eyes and go to sit with Sam because it's beautiful and sunny for once and the rest of the day is mine, and what's mine is ours.
It was worse when Jake was up there.
I'd give anything if he still was up there.
After church we went out for an early lunch or brunch I guess it's called (still no coffee after thirty-nine days) and then when we were coming back down the driveway he ordered me once again to show him when we went inside so that he is satisfied everything is right now. Once again I said no, that he will have to trust me.
That if it was a gift it comes without obligation.
He gave me that half amused-half incredulous smile that makes him look all of a handsome eighteen again and said that I win, that he can wait. But not long.
All amused now. He really likes this game. Some days he's not impatient at all.
Sam was home when we got back. Out in the driveway drinking tea and watching Loch on the unicycle. Caleb did not even pretend he was going to run him over. He always says it would be a freak accident. Not a 'freak-accident' but a freak accident, in which case a freak gets hit. I just roll my eyes and go to sit with Sam because it's beautiful and sunny for once and the rest of the day is mine, and what's mine is ours.
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