[Probably NSFW] Choose your own adventure.

Oh my dear
Heaven is a big bang now
Gotta get to sleep somehow
Bangin' on the ceiling
Bangin' on the ceiling
Keep it down

He put the big headphones around my neck, dialed up the music and smiled in the dark.

Come sit on your throne, Bridge, he laughs.

And then he stretched out on his back, pulling me up onto his face until I had a great vantage point of the stars from somewhere between his nose and the end of his beard.

At some point his left hand came up and pulled the back of my head down and his right hand came up and covered my mouth. The headphones slid off my skull and the world got quiet again, save for my whimpers and cries but eventually those faded too, replaced with competing heartbeats, as they tried to sync up like all the other parts of us, save for our faces. He's too big and I end up tucked into a warm place just underneath the same beard. It's okay though, eventually he dumps me on my face, lifts my hips up and takes a sweet but somewhat degrading turn, always tempered with one hand underneath me, just so it's fair. Just so I'm screaming into his pillow. Just so he gets those bragging rights he can't even share because he's not like that, because this is rare, because we don't technically have a thing.

By the time the stars fade into sunrise, he pulls me back up, untangles the headphone cord which had left me in a danger that I'm not sure he was all that concerned about, frankly, and then pushes me flat on my back for one more go. I can hardly keep my eyes open. The rush of oxygen and adrenaline is sapping whatever strength I have remaining but he is wired. He holds himself up above me, makes it hurt just a little, makes it slow, makes it beautiful, moving to a crawl, even harder until I think I might cry from exhaustion and then suddenly he switches to beast mode and I think I might cry from fear and then he squeezes me so hard up against him I worry I might burst and then I won't cry at all because there will be nothing left of me. Such a rollercoaster of emotions as I am kissed and placed gently back on earth before he stretches out beside me with a mighty sigh and a ridiculously sleepy grin.

He went a good six hours or more over his time but I didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. I didn't have the heart to leave. I didn't have the heart to let go. He represents normal to me. Always has. He personifies what would have been a normal life, had life ever been normal. Had I turned to page 67. Had I taken that offer to just marry him instead of anyone else, that he cooks and cleans and can take care of us in a solid, steady and loving way that is completely different and yet completely wonderful too.

I have to go, Padraig.

But he's already asleep. That's how normal he is.

Daniel called it the Muggle Struggle.

Finished.

Four days without music because iTunes up and randomly broke. Just...broke and Lochlan did that terrible thing where he snorted, blamed Firefox (which I had just reinstalled two weeks prior after spending a good six months dealing with crashing and blank webpages in Chrome) and told me to fix it myself.

I did. I just did.

It ate around a fifth of my music, removing random albums altogether, not caring if they were ones I ripped/imported, pirated or bought directly in iTunes. I don't know what the hell happened but I put it all back together (finally deleting all of the Ariana Grande/One Direction stuff from when Ruth was in Elementary School) and then did a back-up.

So I should be good for a day or so. Or an hour or whatever.

(Twenty minutes, I bet.)

I break things with my mind. I think it's the electricity. The random emotional energy that spills out because there's too much and it has nowhere to go. That's why key fob batteries die so fast around me, laptops up and spontaneously fail and I can make streetlights turn off just by pointing to them.

It scares Lochlan. That's why he's so brusque. That and he doesn't want to spend any more time messing with my machine after he misheard me a few days ago when iTunes started acting up and he gave me a playlist for every single artist. That elicited a mighty anguished wail. Oh my God. I hate playlists. Well, except for sex playlists. But I can't hear them anyway so nevermind.

(I deleted the playlists, one by one. It took a long time. Jesus Christ. My music collection should not be digital save for the fact that I would have to drive a U-Haul to carry it around with me otherwise. I used to have to stand there for forty-minutes in the morning picking a tape to bring for my bus ride downtown. I was late most days. How do you pick just one? I don't have room to bring extras and the ride's only an hour so there's only time for one album anyway. How can I choose? Every damn day was anguish. Cole would offer to pick for me. I would just swear at him. Nooooooooooo. Just MOVE so I can SEE THE TAPES, FUCKER.)

But this morning I picked up my iPhone and I frowned. Caleb looked at me.

What's the matter?

This feels light. 

He laughed. What are you talking about? 

Sure enough, that fifth of music was missing. But I've put it all back now and the phone feels right again, sitting with the weight of 64.96 GB of music on it. I was ruthless in what I left off, too. I could have loaded over a hundred on it. But once again Lochlan told me it would take me the rest of my life to listen to everything I have on here now and once again I asked him why that's so important while Sam stood very quietly in the doorway.

You can feel the weight of the digital music? 

She's weird, PJ reassures him, as if that answers his question.

Yes, I can and yes I am. Sorry but it's true. But I married a guy who can start a fire by snapping his fingers and that's not supposed to be weird at all, oh no. I get it.

Whatever. It's hot out. I'm going out to plug my phone into the underwater speakers for the pool (tech I adore) and then I'm going to sit at the bottom for a couple hours and see if they notice I haven't made dinner.

Partial ellipse.

Forget pets, boys act weird during an eclipse.

Yes. They do. I just did a scientific study with a small but reliable pool of subjects. And they were weird, trust me. Lochlan woke up this morning in a mood, one of those No-one-touches-my-wife moods, and we spent an inordinate amount of time hoisting the telescopes up to the roof, so much time, in fact that he lost his nerve and wouldn't let me up there once the festivities began, because I'm a child, you see and not just any child but an exceedingly curious child.

(I would have totally looked.)

No, I wouldn't. I would have thought about it but I already can't read the fucking instructions on all of the little bottles of things Sephora gives me so I'm not going to risk my vision.

But would you trust me? I don't even trust me. And so he pretended we were running late making some food to take up and sure enough it was over by the time he realized we were 'missing' it and perhaps some day I'll forgive him but it won't be today.

Nope, not today.

The relief from the others told me it was a group effort and had he not been able to pin me in the kitchen they had multiple backup plans in place just in case.

How curious am I, again?

Oh, right. That curious.

I don't know what to say. Should I be sorry? Eclipses don't happen every day. None of you were there in Grade 1 when I walked home from school with my homemade cereal-box viewer and every ounce of determination I had jacked out hard not to look the last time I was left unattended during one of these things. I think I can be accountable for myself and I think for something appropriately magical it isn't fair that I be denied based on projected fears. No I don't.

Kind of sounds like Burning Man, which starts this week too and I don't know if it took me a few decades but I'm STARTING TO SENSE A PATTERN.

Barefoot Bridge and Jesus.

I didn't wear shoes to church today.

Forgot my purse too.

Grabbed my phone at the last minute and once there, I turned in the pew to see if Loch was coming and Duncan's hand slid up my thigh, taking my dress with it. His hand was so warm I may have burst into flames and I had to give up looking for anyone or God knows what Duncan would have found in his travels. It was by fluke that I didn't go commando, that's how warm I am today. I turned back around and sat down and patted his hand and put it back on his own leg. Then I picked up the bible from the rack in front of me and started pretending to read it earnestly only I didn't have my glasses with me so I couldn't see much for the tiny print. Fuck. I put it back and pretend to examine my nails.

Duncan leans in, pressing his brown curls against my halo of blonde. Sorry, Babe. He kisses my bangs and I turn to look up at him. I meant to get your attention and you turned and I couldn't pull my brain out of it in time. He smiles sweetly, all teeth and I can't be mad save for that fact that we try to be low-key about the Collective in church. Of all places.

Lochlan slides in against my other side, arm around me. What's the smile for? 

Just apologizing. I tried to get Bridget's attention and almost felt her up when she turned to see if you were coming in and she's been gracious in not shaming me into flames. 

That's my job, right? Lochlan laughs. If you kept your hands to yourself- Then he looks at me. Bridget. What? We're not late are we? 

I'm warm. 

Did you bring shoes?

No. 

Does Sam know? 

I didn't make an announcement. I'm trying to be subtle here. 

This is like your uniform through the entirety of the eighties, you know. Sundress. Tan, freckles. No shoes. That's it. I'd be surprised if you're wearing underwear.

Surprise. I actually am. 

Wonders never cease. 

I certainly hope not. 

Never change, Fidget. 

I was hoping to improve. 

Nothing to improve upon. Though I don't think we can go out for lunch. No place will let you in without shoes. 

Drive-through. 

Hell yes.

Fair sanctuaries.

I didn't call his bluff, didn't bluster over for his test or his free pass or his freaky Lochlanish fair-weather ways. I followed him all the way to the house and then veered abruptly left, quietly left, and so I was in the garage, door locked and closed behind me, up the other stairs and knocking softly on the unlocked door down the unused back hall of August's flat in the waning hours before Lochlan even knew where I went. I was hoping he would understand and not panic and think I got snatched by a bear. I asked August to text him and tell him that much and just tell him that I was sorry and August smiled gently and said,

Do it yourself, Bridget. Please. 

So I did and Lochlan just wrote back I love you. 

Because he does and I think he understands.

If he does that makes one of us, at least.

August put on the record player and we swung in place listening to Emerson, Lake & Palmer for a couple of hours straight and I gave up trying to stay awake and since August is one of those absolutely perfect men when I woke up from my catnap he made hot chocolate with vegan raw marshmallows but thankfully didn't tell me that's what they were until after, and he fixed us a plate of homemade flax crackers and some fruit to share. We talked a little bit about nothing and about everything too.

He got the Joel-update required so I don't actually have to talk to Joel and then he walked me back across the driveway so I wouldn't get snatched by a bear. Lochlan was sitting on the steps just inside the back door, nearly asleep, leaning against the wall, slack-jawed, eyes closed. He jumped to his feet when the door opened and August laughed. Take him up so he can get his beauty sleep, Bridge. He needs it more than you do. He kissed us both on the tops of our heads and we waited and watched him until he reached the other side of the garage door again.

I need to show you something. Lochlan takes my hand and leads me through the house. We go upstairs, through our rooms and right out to the balcony, where there are candles everywhere, some already suffocated to the bottom and in the center of the tile floor a low table set with beautiful dishes, covered plates and cushions all over the floor. It's like the Afghan Horseman restaurant but here at home. Exotic music plays on the stereo. He's tied tapestries all over the place to close it in. It's amazing.

Had you called my bluff you would have been surprised with a romantic middle eastern dinner for two. Just us. 

Why would you bait me? 

Because you would show up. You don't like being dared so you just take them. You always march right past me and say well, come on. I was a bit stunned when you didn't. 

I'm so sorry. But you could have messaged me and told me the truth when I left. 

I'm not going to guilt you into coming back. 

But all of your hard work went to waste! 

Not really. Ben and I had an intensely romantic dinner together. But don't worry. It was take out. 

I would have loved this. 

Well then, did you learn your lesson?

Did you learn yours?

But we're too tired to be profound or to wait for answers so we settle for crashing into bed instead.

Saturday night's...alright...for...fighting..??

That's one of the other things I love about the beach is how it sounds at night: muted and amplified all at the same time, which is mostly how life sounds for me overall, quieted in places and overly loud in others, only I don't get to pick and it's never the same things at the same time. The surf is loud, pounding out an unsteady beat against the shore. My heart tries to match, tries to prove we're kindred, tries to prove my blood is seawater within but I only end up feeling dizzy and weak in the face of so much directionless power.

It's not directionless. The tide goes in, the tide goes out. It pulls the moon. 'Tis a game to her. Lochlan says it softly, such beautiful words in his quiet lilt. My eyes fill up and defocus and now everything is black. I would find my way by sound, but I don't have echolocation. I would find my way by touch but I've touched the ocean floor and she wants to keep me. I would try not to cry but it's pointless, for words are never just words, are they?

She's a lot like you. 

In what way?

Beautiful beyond words. Bottomless. Playful yet dangerous. And blue. Always blue. He stares at me just a little bit shyly. Words always came easily when he was teaching, never when he was describing what was in his heart. Then he would trip and stumble, picking up speed, dropping letters, doubling back for meanings, making sure I understood what he meant, even as I've never had the same difficultly when I couldn't grasp the language for the life of me half the time in the most basic of fashions.

Blue. 

Blue. She's yours. It's why we're here. Well, she and the Collective. 

I smile quickly and then it's gone off to hide in the dark somewhere.

You can have what you want, Bridget. We've had this conversation. I don't know if you need a reminder or if you're looking for some sort of permission but this entire commune is yours. You do what you want. 

Another smile. This smile says Bridget's about to barf.

Loch-

I'm not going to spend the next six months watching you set up some elaborate game with Dalton, he your moon, you the ocean. 

Ah. 

Just drown him up front. Bring him back. Get on with things. 

That's abrupt. 

I didn't say it wouldn't kill me. 

Then I'll banish him. 

Then someone else becomes a target. 

Then I'll banish them all. 

You sound like a benevolent queen. 

Who would do anything for her king. Oops. Freakishly loud in a moment where everything else suddenly muted.

He smiles so warmly it's hard to enjoy the cold night air in the tortured state I was expecting. One of the joys of loving a redhead is you're perpetually sticking your hands, fingers, toes, heart and brain into the fire alongside them. Them and their mixed messages.

I love you. But you can still have Dalton. 

What if I don't want him?

No one believes that. 

I don't want him this week. Or this season, I mean. He seems like a spring...er...fling.

Lochlan throws back his head and laughs. This is why I love you. 

Because I have now almost slept with the entire collective?

No, because when offered something once forbidden on a silver platter you suddenly duck and run. 

I'm going to go for a swim. 

Cool off? 

Drown. 

Bridge- 

I don't mean ACTUALLY.

No swimming. Besides, we have plans. 

What did you do?

You'll see. But Dalton's invited so we should really go now. Brush the sand off your bum and put a smile on your face there, bluebird.

Cows is killing me and other fun Thursday things.

Another ride up to Whistler today. Crankworx is going on. It's very busy, dirty and things somehow cost more. Take note, tourists..

Also Cows is catching up with me, as I can no longer eat a cone of their beautiful ice cream, even with Lactose pills beforehand. I spent most of the trip home trying to be beautiful and fragile in the car with Caleb while dying with gas pains.

Christ.

Caleb was mad anyway because I might have cuddled with Dalton a little bit out loud and since I did that he wondered what the hell I must have done in private and since I'm a lady I didn't tell him anything. I kept changing the subject. He kept changing it back. I shook him down for ice cream and he hardly noticed what flavor we got (coffee) or how bad traffic was for a Thursday or the fact that I rushed him along. He was distracted to a fault with his almost-shaved retribution head, his punishment hair, his eye-for-an-eye.

It will grow back in a couple weeks. It wasn't long to begin with, and he had it fixed professionally from where Lochlan didn't worry about keeping it even or anything reasonable.

When we got back Lochlan was in the driveway.

You look pale. He tells me.

Ice cream, I think. 

You don't do dairy well, Peanut. Never did. One thing a day. 

I only had the ice cream-

Cheese on your sandwich at lunch. 

Aw fuck. That's right.

THIS.

Dalton fell asleep today in the chaise, his head on my lap. Not a snooze-lite but one of those exhausted bottom-falling-out sorts of sleeps where you might die if it happens in a place that isn't safe but you do it anyway. I did it on a sidewalk once in Atlantic City when I got locked out of our motel room. I don't know why I'm still alive. For how unsafe it was or for the profound rage Lochlan went into when he returned and found me curled up against the door. At four in the morning. In the shittiest part of the city. When he thought I had a key. I was nineteen. I had nothing. Had I had a quarter to call him I wouldn't have had a number to call him at. He never forgave himself for those kinds of terrible moments even as I never blamed him for them. I went out when I was supposed to stay put. I never thought to ask for a key. I never thought to find out where he'd be exactly, or when he'd be back. I never thought to find a safer place. I never thought. I never think.

Sometimes I think TOO much.

At least Point Perdition is safe, relatively-speaking, though that depends on who you ask, and Dalton's arms are warm, wrapped up around my waist. He's not going to let go, even as he's not awake. And I feel somehow anchored, comfortable. Relaxed, even. It's kind of nice. I lean back against the cushions, take another sip of my mimosa and pick up my book. Because there are far worse things than to be pinned by a warm, sleeping man who looks far too much like Casey Affleck (one of my favorites) for his own good or mine, especially by the pool on a perfect late-summer day and for once victory is mine because...

BECAUSE....

I don't have to pee.

You can't put a butterfly in a jar.

That was FUN! It's been all fun all the time since I posted yesterday with hardly any time to breathe let alone sit down in front of a stupid computer.

BC Place was great once again. They were stellar for ACDC and they were beyond stellar for Metallica. No lines, no waiting. I wished for my rollerblades a few times. I wished they'd have opened the roof. PJ got me good and drunk early on and when Gojira came on first we rocked our faces off. We were annoyed at the fact that Metallica's 'ad' for watching them warm up remained up on the screen above the camera screens the whole time. Unnecessary. But Gojira stole the damn show with their sweet hardness as they do. I love that band. So so good. The sound was bad. The sun was bright. The band was incredible.

Avenged Sevenfold seemed to be very popular. Can I leave it at that? Okay. Let's do that. Nothing stood out about their music to me but they got the crowd pumped.

Under Ben's beautiful glare PJ went out and loaded up on Gatorade for me before Metallica came on. Lochlan laughed and let it all happen. Dalton let me steal most of his food and lean against him. The host near our section looked the other way while we moved down since the rows around us were empty and then we got more Gatorade because it was so hot and dry in there. I never want to see grape Gatorade again in my lifetime and damn, they make strong highballs but then Metallica came out and blew my face off anyway.

I hoped valiantly, fruitlessly for Sanitarium, and did not get it.

I got so much else though, so did everyone. The sound got a lot better. Don't leave after the encore. They hang out. They talk. It's WEIRD and AWESOME.

When we got home it was almost two in the morning before I managed to pick-axe all of my eyeliner off my face, bring Ben back to earth and go to sleep knowing we had to get up early this morning to go kayaking.

But we did.

And it was even more fun.

I took my boys (on their own kayaks) and I took the dog on my kayak. He had fun TOO. Now I can't lift my arms, I have a broken foot peg someone has to deal with and I'm so tired I would like to cry but too busy having fun to actually cry.

I will sleep tonight.

The memory remains.

God. Here we go. Not sure I'm ever ready for these nights. All of us heading off to the stadium for Metallica. Ben going too. I'm guessing five or six people will recognize him and ask for a photo or throw the horns and want to shake his hand. Some won't approach him (he has a scary resting bitch face), and some will say something shitty about his music or one of the bands he's played in on or some stupid thing and he'll ignore anything negative like he always does and I will feel sad for him and sad for people who feel as if they have to provoke people who hold little allegiance to a flawed business model anymore anyway.

Ben doesn't care if you hate one of the bands he's been in. He hates some of them too. Some of them imploded and tried to take him down with them, some tried to undercut him from the get go. Some tried to climb over him to get nowhere fast, and some were earnest and naive. He's seen everything. So don't be a shit. And God forbid, don't let PJ hear you say something personal about Benjamin. PJ will make sure you leave wearing your beer. Boy, are you clumsy.

I'm really sad Metallica played Sanitarium last show because odds are they won't play it tonight (according to setlists) and I don't know a thing about Avenged Sevenfold except they don't sound like something I'd listen to but that's okay too, we will be open to New Things and hopefully we'll survive. Our last Metallica show (also with Gojira! Hey!) was amazing (HOLY. 8 years ago! and...don't read that entry, I just ambushed myself so hard) so I hope this one will be amazing too.

Wish us luck. I hope to nap between bands.