A special place in hell for those who sing on repeat.

But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the Milky Way?
And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?
Was it everything you wanted to find?
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

Loch has headphones in while he washes his truck. He has been singing Drops of Jupiter at the top of his lungs on repeat for close to an hour now. The Devil has been standing directly behind Lochlan in the driveway watching him for at least twenty minutes and I don't even want to go outside for fear of what is about to go down. I just know that only one of those two is capable of being happy and content at a time but never concurrently. I know that I don't know what made them tick before I arrived in the neighborhood and tore everything apart but I know I'm the reason now.

Oh, he's starting up again anew and the Devil has crossed his arms. I sent PJ and August both heads ups. PJ said to let them kill each other and get it out of their systems and then the rest of us can get on with our lives. Then he ammended his words to please me and said he would go check in a bit.

He isn't rushing though.

I guess August is still asleep. I would be too if anyone would let me.

I'm not budging right now to go and try and sort them out. Sam finally fell asleep after what seemed to be a two-hour exhausting session about grief and change and moving forward and by the end we didn't know if I was the counsellor or he was. We both got a lot out and made some space for fresh pain or fresh joy or whatever the heck it is that rushes in with a whoosh when there is room.

I haven't seen Sam cry like that before. But I told him once he fell asleep that I would keep watch over him and maybe he can heal from the inside out. Of course it isn't depression when he sleeps, it's renewal. Whatever, Baby Preacher. Just get some rest for once. I smoothed his curls down with my hand and kissed the top of his head but he is too far gone now to appreciate my efforts to soothe him.

I don't think Matt is coming back. I'm having coffee with him downtown tomorrow. He said he has some things he needs to say (it's not me, it's you, no doubt) and frankly I have some things to say too.

I've been thinking a lot about the things I want to say while I sit here and watch life through the glass. This week seems like it's been all about jumping hurdles and clearing out cobwebs and it's exciting and also terrifying, as always.

Ambush romance, Bridget-style.

(Told you Monday was better off waning.)

Alone with this vision
Alone with this sound
Alone in my dreams
I carry around

I will not take from you and you will not owe
I will protect you from the fire below
It’s not in my mind
It’s here at my side
Go tell the world that I am alive

Been a while, Bumblebee, he says as he pours sparkling water into my glass. There is a blanket held down by four big rocks and on it I have laid out a feast that I brought from the top of the cliff. In stages. It took FOREVER, especially to roll the rocks over to anchor the quilt.

We have cheese and crackers and caviar and potato salad and roast beef. French bread. Chocolate cake. Cookies too.

I light the lanterns that I brought too, shoving candles hastily behind the little glass doors before they're blown out.  The wind is light tonight. It's getting dark. It's mild out but I even brought extra blankets in case we get cold.

The tide tries to reach us but it won't. We're just above the high water mark on the dry sand where the larger rocks eat the beach for dinner. The seagulls are calling. The sun is going down and I am stalling.

Just have to wait for one more thing, Benny.

He sits back against a log and picks up his glass and smiles. I watch him and sip my own water and then I hear a yell.

And there's Loch coming across the beach. Wearing a really nice shirt. And a tie. He's got a cooler bag over his shoulder and a big goofy grin on his face. Matched only by the one on Ben's face when they see each other.

In the cooler there are steamed vegetables, salmon, plates and cutlery and a thermos of tea. And the radio, as per my instructions to PJ and Lochlan didn't know what he was bringing until just now.  He sits down to unpack the bag and hands me the radio. I find a quiet station and leave the music on low, propped on top of the two logs to the side.

Ben takes a plate and asks me what I would like. I point to things and he ladles out a little of each. Too much food. I take my plate and sit and wait for them to fill their plates and glasses too and then I make a toast. They have their glasses ready.

To love. I could only hope to give you both a memory like some of the ones you have given me. To more of this and less strife. To a better life. To loving without limits. To life. To the here and now. 

To love. Ben says.

Here and now, echoes Loch.

They both look touched. I'm going to cry and choke on my potato salad. I can't eat. I don't know what I'm thinking. Too nervous. Too anxious for everything to be perfect. To a casual observer it's a picnic dinner. To me it's everything I can never give back to them because they won't let me and this was a huge operation to try and surprise them.

Loch is wearing a tie. If I were standing, my knees would be jello. I left a card for him with his instructions on the dresser. Meet me on the beach. Dress nice. PJ will give you what you need to bring.

I brought Ben with me down to the beach on my last trip with supplies. He took the bottle from me, tucking it under his arm. What are you up to, Little Bee?

This. This is what I was up to.

But Ben hasn't stopped staring at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he has ever seen and I don't want him to ever stop but at the same time I'm staring back because I hardly ever get to see him anymore. He works too much. He refuses to take breaks sometimes even when he is supposed to. He smiles so big and there's an epic Pacific sunset going on right behind us and I don't plan to turn around because looking at him is better.

He finally stops and looks at my plate. Eat something, Bee. Loch nods. He's missing the sunset too. Gosh. I have it all right here.

The plate swims on the other side of my tears and the sea roars in waves washing over my soul and I never ever ever want to go a minute further in life. We can stop right here, freeze it like this. They both look so happy. Just please, just this one thing right here.

Nobody pinch me, I whisper.

They can't hear it.

That's okay.

If it's okay with you, I'm just going to go ahead and slide into Tuesday.

This force is in love with you
It wants you safe
It wants you well
This force knows what you can do
And what you can make
With your tattered shell

Faith in your device
So quiet and precise
Just when, not how
You can feel it now
Deep beneath the light
A spark will now ignite
And you will see me now
This is our world now

Dreaming of omelets and angels today. Cold to a fault. Frustrated with being sick and feeling weak and achey and dizzy. Not in the mood for anything it seems and yet life demands that I sit up and pay attention when I just want to fight it, push it away and crawl under the covers in order to sleep for a year.

Sam calls that depression. I just call it Monday.

I don't know how to fix this frustration. Wait to get better? Go easy? Naw. I was changing beds all morning and hauling weeds all afternoon. I daresay I made a hint of progress on both fronts and can do it all again in a week. Invisible chores. Like cleaning windows and the tops of cupboards. All the things no one sees but appreciates like mad the second they lapse. Bah, humbug.

Bah Mondays.

They should be stricken from the record.

I'm going to go put on wool socks and a big fuzzy grey sweater and try and thaw Lochlan, who won't thaw at all but is gentle and sweet even if he's mad. I can't say I blame him but he agreed to this and it's working so why fuck with a good arrangement? Why not just stay away from the Devil? Why eat angels when you can eat eggs instead? Why be sick when you could be better? Why be awake when I could just sleep and then my brain wouldn't forge a mutiny on me at the start of each brand new week?

Wouldn't I love to have the answers, but the questions aren't even real.

Here is patheos. Happy Easter.

Caleb's hands were warm and strong as he pulled my face up to his. I warn him but he never cares. I want him but that wouldn't matter. I love him and hate him with equal force.

Diabhal. Don't.

I know you miss Cole, Neamhchiontach. Take your time. 

But I struggle like a bee in a spider's web before he forces me still. Straight-ahead affection is so uncharacteristic of him, I want to soak it up like a sponge. Usually he's too rough, bordering on violent. He won't let me face him, won't let me move, won't kiss me or hold me. He bites. He twists me until I cry and then he is satisfied that he's exhausted all of me. So when he takes his time and he's sweet it throws me off my game of defense. Even though I'm still not sure precisely which way this is going to go.

Then I decide it's not going to go and I stop.

He puts his head down all the way until the top of it is against my collarbone (the one his brother broke in half when he threw me at a wall) and he pleads for me. I am half out of my clothes, he is so warm. What's the harm? I think as he liquifies my resolve.

(Oh. Dumb girl. There's so much harm and it's not just to you.)

His hands tighten against my skin and he starts whispering in Gaelic. A mile a minute. I can't catch all the words, I'm chasing them but they're getting away and I'm running slower and slower down this dark road and I just want a way out. I want a map. I need a ride, dammit.

And then it strikes me. He's praying.

(The boys were once Irish Catholic. Before one became a psycho and the other, the Devil himself.)

(Oh, he's praying hard and I am trapped still in his web and I'll never get out. Shalom, Shalob.)

Oh my Diabhal. You can't just wish for things. Or people. Or ask God to give you anything you haven't earned. It doesn't matter what words you say. I should know. I tried them all.

Spoiler.

Yes, that's exactly what it looked like:

Two rows of teary-eyed men and one drowny-eyed lady at the movie theatre when the lights came up at the end of Furious Seven.

I wasn't sure I was up to going, it's two hours and seventeen minutes and I have a blistering headache from the antibiotics but I'm glad I saw it. I forgot about how sick I felt as I held my breath through some of the craziest action scenes (the BUS! JESUS!) and then..well, and then when that white car peels off I lost my shit.

It was fun. Dwayne Johnson and Jason Statham had far too much screen time. Lucas Black had a whopping one-minute cameo. Michelle Rodriguez finally had a whole bunch of screen just like in old times!

But Paul.

Man.

He lit up the screen like a celluloid heartbeat and he will be missed.

This is a day of nothing.

I didn't really get up today except for the part where Ben led me to a warm bath and then into fresh pajamas. He washed my hair for me and then I leaned back against him in the broiling water and I closed my eyes. So tired. Head hurts so bad. Far too sick to pull this off alone.

He dried me off. He picked out pretty blue leggings with waves all over them and a long-sleeved white Amaranthe Massive Addictive t-shirt and I am good to go for another day. Then he disappeared.

PJ brought up more tea and sat for a while showing me funny videos. True facts about Seahorses. That was the best one.

I watched a documentary with Duncan. I can't remember what it was about. I took my pills as scheduled. I slept hard but I still feel like I've been kicked in the soul.

Caleb offered a drive in his R8. He knows I love the car. He knows I get cabin fever but I just wasn't up to it. He graciously took a raincheck and also said if I wasn't a lot better in a day or two he would summon the doctor back.

Sam cuddled with me for hours and we didn't talk at all, we just sat together in the big double chair and watched the fire, his arm looped around my neck. He seemed content to not talk or listen to music  or do anything for hours but then he disappeared too (Good Friday services) and I went back upstairs.

I think I slept but then Loch sat down on the bed. He rubbed my back and told me a story about a little girl who runs away and joins the circus but she doesn't want to work, all she wants to do is ride the amusement rides next door and pick flowers and never ever talks to anyone unless she's on stage or on caller duty and she's so silly and he loves her so.

Hey. I know that story.

Outside the rain continued endlessly. I hardly noticed.

Echo in the wells.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

This morning I came down to a Mexican standoff. Batman and Caleb in my kitchen staring each other down, face to face, words fired, wounds filled with letter-shrapnel, and PJ is playing Simon & Garfunkel which made the whole mess all the more absurd.

They both turned as I reached the bottom steps with my feverish face and hair sticking up, in soaking wet pajamas. Loch made me come down for food (orders via phone, he is working today) and then I'm to go right straight back to bed. I need my antibiotic for the morning and Daniel promised to come up and snuggle. PJ said maybe and Sam said he would be up straightaway after work.

But these two, well, they're not invited.

They don't even live here, though by virtue of circumstance, good fortune, bad luck and ridiculous timing they afforded me this life, though both alternately claim credit and refuse to acknowledge their investment at all. It's kind of dumb and I'm too sick to deal with it today so PJ hands me a plate with a blueberry muffin all buttered but cold the way I like it and a half-cup of black tea. I take it and walk right between them to sit at the island right in the middle because that's my seat. I'm almost too weak to climb up on the stool but I manage and I sit and eat quietly while everyone stares at me. When I'm finished I give PJ my dishes and he kisses my forehead and I turn and go back upstairs without a word.

I don't care why they're arguing, as long as it doesn't wake me up.

I must be sicker than I thought.

I'll take a black-market kidney if you have one though.

Hotel Rio is still my favorite, though iTunes keeps sliding right into the Happy In Galoshes album after this one and Missing Cleveland is worth another look if you haven't.

I wish I could figure out the words.

***
Some things don't change.

I sat up nice and pretty for the scary Russian doctor (not the older one) this morning. I'm fine. It's just another kidney infection. Hurts and I'm rundown, hence the crankiness of late. Lochlan swears he can sense when I'm about to get very sick based on my moods.

I don't believe that for even a second.

The doctor has less interest in my current ailments and more in what his connections might be able to do for me. He doesn't speak the language much and Caleb had left to afford me a little privacy. Lucky for me. I felt very sophisticated coming back down the hall with a container full of my pee to be tested.

Your hair. Did someone cut it?

I had it cut. 

You wanted it like this?

Yes. 

Oh. He flinched as if he couldn't believe that and then tried something else in stilted English. I have a guy. He can do your...your backside. 

Excuse me?

Surgery. So you have a bigger backside. A...booty, if you will. 

Oh! No thank you. I like it the way it is. 

Do it for the mans?

Hell no. 

Seriously? You would not to want change this to be bigger? They like it. 

No, they would not. No plastic surgery. 

That's a shame. You could be so pretty. You have the face. But you're a little on small side, no? I'd have to, what do they say? Throw you back.

Blast radius.

I am still awfully cranky.

Scott Weiland and the Wildabouts' debut album Blaster came out this morning. Jeremy Brown died last night. I'm not so sure the timing could have been worse to birth an album but never get to meet it properly, in the hands of the public who adores you but there is no good timing for death. It just grabs someone you love while you're looking the other way, at something stupid or inconsequential.

Either way, guys, Blaster is a surprising masterpiece of an album. Hotel Rio is my favorite on the first listen but it's ALL good and over the next five listens I'll change my mind five times.

So yes, I'm still crabby. We should be celebrating, not mourning. Life is so short and we waste so much of it fighting to control feelings that seem to do little more than waste our time. 

Rest in peace, Brown. (I hope they bury you with one of your hats.)

And Matt moved off the point yesterday, deciding Batman's house was still too close to be 'space'. 

Spoiler: she didn't go to the boathouse!

Last night and today featured a full-point internet blackout until we were finished dinner and could watch the season finale of The Walking Dead. 

That's how ridiculously rude and disrespectful the internet has become, friends. They can't wait to prove they saw the show FIRST! so they have to vomit all the spoilers before half the country has even seen it. Nice.

Movie reviews take note and learn how to review a movie without giving things away. God. All of you, just use your fucking manners for once, could you?

Anyway, we finally got to see it and the blackout is over. But it's also late so posting will resume tomorrow.

(Notice I didn't spoil it, because there are still people out there who haven't seen it. This isn't hard! It's common sense and good graces. Jesus Christ. Chill. So annoyed by life. Goodnight.)