Allergic to treating myself, or something.

Saturday somehow went to hell in a handbasket as I had possibly one of the worst migraines of my young life take over by lunchtime and try to take me out. I would have gone to the hospital for shots like back in the good old days but it frankly hurt too much to move so I cried until I was sent to bed and there I laid and cried some more. I had been planning to tell you that I went back to the pharmacy and brought home a few boxes of the Relpax, on prescription, because the Cambia isn't portable and because it works best if you take it right away and I always wait until I know it's a migraine for sure, usually missing the window of opportunity to fix it and sending myself down a rabbit hole of physical misery, which is better than emotional misery, right?

So I took a Relpax (NSAID) in the morning and then another three hours later, as instructed. And then my head exploded so I can only tell you that it not only didn't dent the pain, instead it seemingly magnified it.

Lochlan blamed the sushi we had Friday night. I blame wakeful sleeping and psychic stress and anything else you want to offer up, frankly. I wondered if the nail tips squeezing my nails had done it. I gave myself checkpoints to make it to (if I wake up like this I'll go to the ER) and then Sunday morning I slept in until I could get up without wincing and moved in slow-motion throughout the day. I did no cooking or chores, we mostly got caught up on our television series that we wanted to watch (finishing Season One of The Strain, SO GOOD) and I'm still moving gingerly today, not pushing too hard because my head feels sore and I'm just completely out of whack now. Still.

As always?

I know. Slow down, Bridget. Stop stressing the fuck out over every little thing.

Why is that such a tall order for such a small girl?

Nailed it.

Might have fallen into a nail salon yesterday afternoon(blame Daniel and Schuyler and their metrosexuality) and came home with a french manicure on long glamorous nails (solar? Something acrylic tips). I can't pick up pennies off the floor nor can I button my jeans but I don't have stubby eight-year-old hands now.

The downsides are that I feel like I have press-on nails on right now, I can't pick up pennies off the floor nor can I button those damned jeans and also the jury is out on whether or not Bridget can successful look or act like a girl.

I think the jury came back with a no because I also went to Schuyler's Korean barber and let him cut my hair back into a sticking-up pixie and then I promptly used my new nails to finish scraping all the grout off the shower door so it can be redone.

I don't know about this at all.

Daniel and Schuyler were thrilled. Treat yourself, Bridge! 

(How am I supposed to do that when you paid for it?)

Caleb nodded his approval. Look how neat and pulled together you look-
 
(Aye. Fuck off.)

Ben was all Ha! You got the porn nails. Yeesh, glad you didn't have those when we hit the chandelier! I'd be one-eyed Ben the Pirate now. Also, don't touch my junk with those. They hurt.

(Forgot. He had another life once.)

August and PJ shared their opinion. This doesn't seem like you. 

(Tell me about it.)

Lochlan didn't mince his words at all. When can you take them off? 

(Sigh.)

Ruth wants to get hers done now. I think they're okay but when they start to grow out I'll probably take the chainsaw to them. I can't see going back to have them redone or doing this long term. I can't type. I can't wipe my ass. And I feel like a total impostor. Loch is usually right, and he has a lot of generosity and patience for my experimenting but at the same time I think he knows me better than I know myself.

We're good, thanks.

(I almost called this one Adjustable Brightness.)

I was standing in the foyer, just a step or two past the door to the hallway that leads down toward the kitchen, talking to Duncan who was waiting for Ben to come so they could go to a meeting. Duncan is going four times a week right now and is doing well. Ben goes every day and is doing well, admitting now that his plan backfired rather terribly.

So I didn't hear Ben come down the hall and duck behind me, sticking his head right through between my knees and then standing up so I was now sitting on his shoulders. Then two things happened. One, he failed to gauge how close I was to the chandelier and two, when I hit the chandelier I tilted backwards and to the left and grabbed for purchase. Purchase was his head, and as I screamed, I gouged a deep scrape right across his eye and cheek.

Duncan just stood there and laughed.

I managed to break two lightbulbs with my own head and have a huge bruise on my temple and a scratch on my neck and Ben only bled a little bit but we bandaged him up (no stitches required) and now he looks scarier than ever. 

Happy Friday.

Metal devil.

I bought our Iron Maiden tickets this morning while sitting on the cold white marble floor of the hallway of house number four, having chose correctly for the myriad of presale passwords I had for some really good seats. We don't get comp tickets much any more these days. Ben has chosen to leave most of those circles in which handshakes beget events and then I somehow wind up doing music videos for bands whose names I can't even pronounce without a shitload of priming beforehand.

Truth be told I know two Maiden songs. Run for the Hills and...and Ace of...well it's not Spades because that's Motorhead.

Aces High?

Ah yes. I have six months to sort them out.

Oh WAIT. I know Number of the Beast. Hallowed be thy Name. Fear of the Dark. Okay, I'm good. I pull a fist down in victory from my sprawl on the floor and Caleb comes back in, shooting a cuff, checking the Breitling, probably to make sure I haven't stolen it off his wrist moreso than for the time and he looks kind of pissed off.

How on earth is Pyro going to know if we leave the point. I have things to do and I'm not going to remain stuck here because he 'said so'. 

Well, I have to so if you have work with me than we do it here. I have an imaginary perimeter. Like a dog. An invisible fence. I laugh and he does..not.

Did you have one of these on the Midway?

Of course. I was a little kid. 

You were a teenager. 

Twelve doesn't have the word teen in it, does it? I ask him innocently. I am rewarded with that look that indicates he can't even believe I have spoken back to him.

Get your things. We need to have some breakfast and then I have some things to do. He can order you around but he can't order me. I'm not the bad guy today. 

Depends. Are you coming to Maiden with us? 

Hell, yes. Now I get the smile. No surprise there.

Company.

Benny, why did you do it? If it wasn't from the stress of being married to me, then why did you take the drink?

I figured if you were going to hit bottom again I didn't want you to be alone. It's sure nice having company when you're fighting demons, isn't it? I don't want you to be down there by yourself.

Wouldn't it be better to stay focused and sober?

Hell, no, Bridget. Then that shit will haunt you. This way you can't remember it much at all. 

He hands me his chip for safekeeping. I turn it over and it says KEEP COMING BACK. I have a little mother of pearl box that I keep them in on our dresser. I'm not even sure if he's pulling my leg or if he really feels like he was helping by joining me in misery. Either way it reminds me that he isn't as tough as he sometimes seems and possibly not as smart either.

Iconoclasting as we go.

Caleb is back, making it all the way to my bedroom door last evening before anyone saw fit to question him, and he knocked gently and I said come in before I realized it was him.

How are you, Doll?

Rough weekend. 

So I hear. What can I do?

Keep away. The blast radius might be bigger than originally estimated. 

You're a bomb, are you?

Maybe. 

He smiles. We brought you home some souvenirs. Can I take you out for breakfast in the morning after I take the kids to school?

Sure. Crazy loves eggs Benedict. 

Okay. Keep the wolves away and I'll see you here at nine. He leans down and wraps me in his arms, kissing my cheek. Get some rest, Neamhchiontach. 

I thought you'd be mad. 

You fall apart every time I travel without you. I'm taking it as a compliment. As for Pyro vilifying me the moment I'm not around to defend myself, well, I'll deal with that later. Been a long day of flying and I'm tired tonight. Sleep well, Princess. 

You too. But it wasn't him calling you out. It was me. You're the only one who has blame placed who is still alive. 

Lucky me. Sleep now, Baby. I have to leave my house before the wolves blow it down with you in it. 

Night night.

It's a house made of straw, Bridget. He's going to burn it down. 

He's not the bad one. 

Neither am I. Not anymore. 

It depends on who you ask, Caleb.

I know it does, Bridge and I'm doing my best here.

Beating the Odds (take it any way you want).

They were right. I'm more dopey today than I thought I would be. Joel has come to stay for a few days. Til the storm passes, he said and he smiled like he used to and I kicked my sleepy brain with my pins-and-needles foot.

Caleb called and I talked to him with my brain full of fuzz and my mouth full of marbles. His questions were gentle and thorough and then he confirmed everything with Joel besides. It was a glitch. A blip. An accident waiting to happen. How is Ben? he asks innocently and I swore and finally hung up. Ben doesn't want to be in third place but he isn't. It's not supposed to be my fault that he drinks but it is. He'll get his shiny new twenty-four hour chip this evening and I'll be proud of him when he does.

We'll make it, he promises, echoing what Lochlan repeated to us last night in the dark when it was just us three. I nod. I know we will. 

I just have to keep my head on straight and do a better job of correcting it when I see that it isn't. I need to not dwell. I need to do my homework but also figure out how to put it aside instead of letting it eat me alive. I need to find a better place to keep my ghosts because there isn't enough room for them here.

Loch winks at me. We gotta travel light, Peanut, he reminds me, and now I finally know what he means.

Mini-nuke.

The good thing about losing it a little bit is that you have onsite experts to help sort you out when the storm clouds finally clear.

It's pouring right now. Did I mention that? And I have benzo-blood flowing freely through my veins. If there were a care in the world it wouldn't be mine save for the fact that I am medication-resistant and I care very much indeed.

August is such a gentleman, continuing to sweetly refuse me as I try to make him suit my wants instead of my needs. He's the closest thing I'll ever have to Jake again and damn if I don't want to use that to my advantage. He's not Joel and he won't let me and I love him for that and I hate him too. He and Sam talked me down. They're still doing it. I'm still up here on a ledge. It just doesn't seem as urgent anymore.

Joel brought the drugs. I know he gets them from the Russians via Caleb. That's fine. As long as they're safe. He knows what he's doing. I told him his nickname was going to be The Sandman again and he laughed helplessly and reminded me that that would be great if the drugs actually worked the way they're supposed to but let's be honest. No one gets tranquilized like a horse and then makes Thanksgiving dinner. Because usually they're lights out. He is incredulous. It barely makes a dent in me. I'm getting tired but really it just took the edge off a tiny bit so I could catch my breath, taking a moment or several to wonder why I still get blindsided by grief and self-doubt almost eight years in.

Eight YEARS.

I'm here to tell you there is absolutely no timeline for this. No deadline to get better. Don't believe them if they tell you different. It doesn't go away, it just sometimes gets buried until everything else and then one day you uncover it again and BOOM.

BOOM.

He's dead.

Completely dead.

Cue more screaming.

Ben had a drink. Sam took the bottle and poured it out on the living room floor. It was a poignant moment. Sam was disappointed that Ben put this on me. He blamed me for his stress and fear and used me as an excuse to fall again and Sam didn't let him go there. I did though. I get it. I'm impossible. I'm killing them all and I can't help it. It's like the streetlights. It's like my lack of censor or filter or complete inability to let it go. I'm writing my own demise, self-destructing from the outside in or the inside out, I don't even know which. Ben isn't going back to the farm to get better but he's going to go back to two meetings a day and the house will be dry again for the foreseeable future.

PJ didn't like that but he gets it. He picked up the slack. He saw me rounding the corner and heading for home and he put his arm out and clotheslined me on it, flat on my back on the floor and he held me there and hollered for Loch who made the call and Joel was here while I screamed at the top of my lungs not to bring him in. That he doesn't deserve to help me. That he doesn't get hero status after everything he's done to me and Loch said he loved me but for everything that is holy to shut the hell up or he would choke me out and I smiled at him sweetly and he lost it.

PJ sent him to August who reminded him that Cole did this and Caleb has picked up the torch and that Lochlan needs to be stronger than I am or we're never going to make it. I looked over PJ's shoulder and fought to get to Loch but no one would let me and I promised him we're going to make it. I promised him again over dinner as my turkey was cut for me and I face-timed the kids (who were away with Caleb at Grandma's for Thanksgiving) somewhat successfully but I don't think he really believes me. Not when we live in the shadows of the dead and the shadows of the living alike.

I made a joke while we were cleaning up dinner about going to suck the booze off the living room carpet and bought myself an extra bedtime dose of false reality. Thanks Joel. I love you too, fucker.

His glasses hung from his right hand as he sat in the chair, folders, books, papers and his bible opened across his lap, untouched mug full of coffee on the table under the lamp to his left. His eyes were closed, his mouth was closed, his hair was in his eyes, bits of it curling up over his ears, and his feet were bare. His jeans were threadbare, blue button-down shirt worn thin.  His work clothes. The reverend-uniform. Typical for him midweek. The wind blew against the storm windows. We put them up last weekend because it's Thanksgiving and we didn't want to have to do it in amongst cooking turkey and entertaining all the boys, even Ben who got left out of invitations but unbeknownst to me would be invited for dinner two days later and told to smarten up and help with me and help he did.

I take the glasses out of his hand gently and put them on the table beside his coffee. Then I take the cup and as I turn to go he says my name.

Bridget. 

He knew then and there he was leaving. I wonder if he knew he'd never come back? I wonder if he left and then realized it was a mistake and then somehow knew he couldn't come back, or wonder if I would take him back if he did. He knew when he opened his eyes and looked around for his glasses and then for me that he was going to leave and I didn't know until he left. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't be better or more or perfect or somehow less me.

I couldn't stop him.

I wasn't good enough. He didn't want me the way I was. The way I am.

Chops (because we don't want to talk about how the Leafs did last night).

Listening to Disturbed cover The Sound of Silence right this minute reminds me of Ben singing carols by candlelight in the church on Christmas Eve back when we lived in the cold place, when we first fell in love and he lived and breathed trying to be less scary, more tender.

It's beautiful. The song and his efforts back then. He succeeded ten times over and here we are today and he's still singing. I respond to men who sing. Go figure.

And I'm still listening to cheesy songs because yeah..this morning August, Sam, Ben and Loch did a smashing rendition of Chicago's Hard Habit to Break. Loch did it sans accent (!), full lead, obviously practicing the singing tips Ben's been giving him. It was beautiful. Made me cry. Not the pretty kind, the sobby red kind.

Of course. Because arghh. But they don't mind and I got a hell of a group hug at the end. I might have cried some more. Words hit home and usually knock me down. I can't help it. I'm unsteady on my feet.

So it was a solid, typical Thursday breakfast.