Jesus Devil.

When I woke up the fairy lights he put up around the bedroom were still on and a fire crackled gently in the woodstove. I sat up to see that he was in the big overstuffed chair across from the bed. He leans forward, sniffs, wipes his eyes with his hand and takes a sip of his drink.

Go back to sleep, Neamhchiontach. 

But his eyes are red in the strange light and I tell him to come back to bed. Why is he up? What's going on?

I'm just watching you sleep and thinking about how awful I've been to you. 

In the past-

Your entire life. 

Caleb-

Please, Bridget. Go back to sleep and just let me wallow in my misery. This is my penance.

This should be your redemption. 

I don't deserve grace from you, Neamhchiontach. Let's head home while this trip is still a good memory for you. Before I continue to ruin everything. 

He promised me nothing and I took it.

Good evening from Lake Tahoe. We arrived in the middle of a snowstorm and made it safely to the lake house with only a couple of harrowing moments on the road. The driveway was plowed, all the lights were blazing when we pulled in and the house was warm and well-stocked with everything my heart desires and a chef who will be visiting twice per day to cook for us while we are here.

The lake looks cold but beautiful from my vantage point in the master bedroom or from the hot tub on the deck. He's had heaters installed outside for my comfort and all of the generic cabin-themed bedding has been replaced with vintage inspired patchwork quilts in washed ivory and tea-stained hues with furs layered on top.

He's listening.

We had a whiskey toast and then some simple cheese toast for dinner, light since we arrived so late. I had a hot bath and an early night and slept until noon today. No dog to wake me up, no sounds of the house stirring with music playing or loud deep-voiced laughter to rouse me from my dreams.

And surprisingly no Diabhal on this trip. Just Caleb, somehow anxious to make sure I do nothing at all, and anxious to add nothing to my anxiousness overall. Today all we did was watch the snow fall and watch a couple of scary movies on Netflix.

What would you like for dinner this evening, Bridget? 

A Monte Cristo. With a pickle on the side and french fries. 

Always with the Cristos. 

They're so good. 

Still? 

Yes. 

Done. Any dessert? 

Naw. Maybe an Irish Coffee. 

And then more sleep? 

Yes, please. 

Hibernaked/The violent circus.

Yes, I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
                   ~Oscar Wilde

Today is a cutting-wind kind of day. A whitish-gray bitter sky kind of day, a day to stay inside kind of day with fresh coffee, darkened rooms with a fire going, tiny white fairy lights on for the only light besides. A day for homemade cinnamon buns and a hot turkey sandwich dinner planned for later. A day to rest. In pajamas or not. I chose naked. While hibernating. Hence hibernaked. My new awkward but appropriatedly inappropriate portmanteau for this snowy Friday. Hello. Welcome to my weird.

(Besides. Gas went up again. We're walking everywhere from now on, so we may as well hunker down. Gas is 1.45 a litre. That means it'll cost almost three hundred bucks to fill each truck so yeah. Nevermind leaving the house ever again. Like, ever. I can have groceries air-dropped. Schuyler and Batman can work from home. Sam will have to beam into his church to do Sunday service and gosh, I guess Caleb will have to buy ice cream to keep at home instead of driving up highway 99 for the good stuff. Do they do Skype AA meetings? Nevermind, Ben knows them by heart. And our next concert isn't until February so we can ride this out I suppo-

Wait, what?

I still can't hear anything. I had my face melted off last night and I'm not even sorry. I went in thinking I might die and emerged baptized brand new in liquid metal, arms full of merch because goddamn.

Goddamn. 

Four bands in one show meant a five-hour concert. A terrific value for forty-five bucks a ticket in the first place and we got our favorite tables so bonus awesome. I got a seriously affectionate pat-down and a drink order within seconds so double bonus.

But then...then...Avatar happened. Oh my God, where have they been hiding? (Sweden, if you're wondering.) They were incredible. Death metal at it's finest but with a circus bent. No one told me. I squealed through their entire set, when I wasn't being hammered into the floor by it, I mean. They had costumes! And makeup. Thanks to a quick Youtube search I was expecting Mercyful Fate when we went in and left a new hardcore fan. Jesus. Why the fuck does the internet hide this stuff from me? Hail the apocalypse indeed. Also dreads. Forgot how much I love dreads.

Then Of Mice and Men happened. They were the most straightforward of the night. No costumes. No makeup. Just a band out to prove they are still heavy even though Austin is no longer with them and Aaron is doing the clean and the dirty vocals almost at the same time. He could manage it all just fine. They didn't do any power ballads, which slay me every time but I gather they wanted to prove something and they did. Also headbanging in unison is my new favorite thing. Not to do (are you mad?) but to watch. SO awesome.

Hollywood Undead was the outlier. Kind of a heavy-pop party sound with so much rap I was like...how? But they were charming enough to make it work by working the crowd so hard we didn't even realize how much fun we were having until they were done. The masks are cheesy and the fact that every women is a 'bitch' in their songs (Just. NO.) hardly distracted from watching them play off us and each other with lightning speed. Solid show.

But then the curtains opened on Maria and the blood girls and Travis (who I think is nailed to the front of the stage possibly, I need to go back and check) and I cried. Whoops but yeah. Fangirled so hard you would laugh at the pictures and video I managed to get. It's shaky and jumpy and awful but I didn't care. But honestly the whole set was too short, too smoky and too theatrical. They could have fit three more songs in rather than have huge props to change out, as Ben pointed out, through his own melted face hole. However they sounded so fucking good live and were a band I never expected to see in person that I instantly forgave the technical downsides of their set for their sheer perfection. They played Burn. And Whore. Win.

We were home by one-thirty this morning. My face is never going to grow back. I have a pentagram hoodie now, which oddly fills a hole in my wardrobe I didn't know I had but did until now. And I'm happy that I survived and didn't stay home like I threatened to yesterday. Music is transforming, restorative and life-changing. I bought some more tickets this morning for another show.

We love you, Vancouver! indeed.

Okay I can't do two big concerts in a week. Help.

I feel as though I've finally reached that level of je ne sais quoi where we have enough champagne to furnish a wedding reception still but not a bandaid in the house. I always wanted to be one of those moms, believe it or not, who didn't plan everything within an inch of its' life.

Come on, kids! We're out of food, let's go to McDonalds! 

But I've never been that kind of mom. I'm the mom who has enough groceries stocked to outlast the end of days. Seriously. If the toilet paper supplies in any given bathroom fall below twelve rolls in the cupboard I get apoplexy. So while it's no big deal to run out of something for most people, in this house it's downright uncharacteristic.

But I have bandaids now and I finished fixing the dishwasher by putting a chair up against the door and then climbing underneath it. I also reversed my technique and attached the spring to the linkage first and then into the hole in the track instead of the other way around. Done and done.

I did my smoky eye three times before Ruth offered to do my makeup for me and I refused because she'll use a thousand products and frown that something doesn't work on me because she doesn't have the miles of laugh lines I do. I settled for mostly lipstick and mascara, as always. Don't fix it if it isn't broken, I always say, but that's a lie. I usually say Fuck, I should have exploited my looks harder twenty years ago. And then I remind myself it will be dark. Also my earrings hurt. Gah.

I tried to give Henry instructions on dinner and he said he'll be fine.
He'll eat all of the chocolate in the house, stay up too late and try to take Friday off. Not sure I disagree with that plan.

PJ is at the door, whining to go already. Like a puppy. He loves metal. Goes to every show he can catch.

Ben is asleep somewhere and so not ready yet.

Lochlan isn't even going.

They're still calling for snow.

And I just found out the set times. In this Moment goes on at 10:50, because I forgot about Hollywood Undead so now it's four bands instead of three. That's at ten to eleven. Very much past my bedtime, as I've been up since four this morning.

Wish us luck. (I mean, this is a dumb thing to even discuss but I'm from Halifax, the city that thinks it's doing okay if they get one big rock show every eight years, and there was a void growing up where we didn't get any bands worth filling a stadium for. At all. Okay Bon Jovi came in '93 and '94 and Aerosmith in '94 also but that was it. In Vancouver you could go to three huge shows a night and still have to miss things until you figure out how to clone yourself.)

I wish I could clone myself right now.

Multibasking.

I would've loved you for a thousand years
I would've died for you
I would've sacrificed it all my dear
I would've bled for you
Till death do us part
You were unholy right from the start

I was never a Judas Priest fan but I love Rob Halford singing with Maria Brink on Black Wedding. It's a campy, raunchy metal romp with a blistering sample of Billy Idol's White Wedding bringing up the conclusion of every chorus. We're going to see In This Moment tomorrow night and I'm SO excited! Especially since Burn is on the setlist. And Whore. And Sick Like Me. Did I mention how excited I am? Because I can't wait.

I'm listening to the setlist while I've almost got the dishwasher fixed. There's a broken spring in the door. I almost had it but then the door fell on my head and now I have little birdies singing In This Moment songs in tinny little radio loops around my head and I had to crawl away from the kitchen and lie down for a minute.

Then I figured it would be better to wait for someone to get home, since I'm bleeding (the hinge chewed up the back of my hand too) and I'd feel really fucking stupid if I was crushed to death by a fourteen-year-old dishwasher on the eve of a really good rock show.

So yeah. I'll wait. Got a band-aid? We're out.

End of harvest.

Today marks the beginning of the dark half of the year. Boy, does it ever. This week I've finished a Drawlloween and an Inktober that Christian found online and we spent the month filling our sketchbooks. I accepted a short trip invitation from the Devil and I helped Henry finish his Halloween costume in record time. I baked six loaves of flax bread. I had a beer with Duncan. I helped PJ paint the back door.

And it's going to snow on Friday.

 I have mini-chocolate bars but we don't have trick or treaters thanks to the gate and the signs and the general unwelcomeness of the front of the property and so instead we will pop some more of this leftover champagne and continue the Samhain party as it were. Caleb says he bought me a present to mark the occasion and because I accepted his offer to not be at home wallowing on Jacob's birthday for the first time in history. I don't know what it is. I hate surprises.

I need a coffee.

The best thing ever? Group hugs for happy reasons.

(I'm so tired. So, so tired so if I leave a pile of trailed-off sentences and typos here, please forgive me.)

Last night we threw a really nice six-year bash for Daniel and Schuyler's wedding anniversary and now I'm seriously considering having a monthly multi-case delivery of champagne because sometimes life calls for it repeatedly and those cases are heavy. Pumpkins are heavy. History is heavy too and yet I carry it everywhere I go.

Caleb cleaned up from his party in record-time with a lot of help and I set to work recreating to beautiful patio from the night of Daniel and Schuy's wedding, complete with pumpkins stacked everywhere (not carved), scarecrows and candelabras with lit candles and tiny white and orange fairy lights strung everywhere. We had champagne bottles to pop, flutes to fill, a pancake bar and carrot anniversary cake for dessert. We had their playlist from their wedding on the stereo and I even put a bowtie collar on the dog, who may have peed on a pumpkin at the end of the night but I'll give him credit for not biting the fronts of the pumpkins like he usually does, leaving little tiny teeth marks everywhere.

The happy couple renewed their vows for their six-year milestone in front of Sam, who did not hold his shit together this time and cried freely as he officiated. Uncharacteristic for him, probaly feeding off the incredible passion and intensity with which Scuyler and Daniel tearfully recited their original vows to each other, with an updated portion at the end of each. God. Not a dry eye in our house. I would be so jealous but I am too busy being happy for them. I love them so much. We did not last two nights straight like we did at their original reception bt we made it until midnight and then we had to literally kick them out of the backyard to go home and continue their celebration. I passed them a new bottle of champagne to take with them, and Ben physically barred them from trying to help and they finally agreed to go with many more hugs and tears.

If only we could always be this civilized and loving, this fun. Happy anniversary to my boys, you set the bar very high indeed.

Now I have to go, for we're still cleaning up and Ben is shotputting pumpkins faster than PJ can save them for carving.

RESIST.

Well, that was a show for the ages. We saw Roger Waters last night and honestly in hindsight we should have gotten a private box for it but there weren't enough of us going. That lack of numbers oddly quelled the hype a little, and I wasn't as excited as I would have been until he walked out on stage and I was all ooooooh. This is the voice Lochlan introduced me to with such reverence way back a million years ago.

The visuals were incredible. The sound was incredible. We didn't leave with ringing ears for the first time ever but at the same time I heard every word. It was amazing, probably more exciting for those down front and on the floor but I am too small to stand on the floor for shows, I learned that lesson years ago. I like being in the rafters with the unruly crowds, though last night they were massively unruly and impolite to a likes of which I haven't seen before. In any case it didn't distract from the too-long Trump diatribes, projected visually for three songs straight, the giant floating pigs and moon-balls or us crying through virtually every song, especially the encore, which was Mother and Comfortably Numb. 

Gah. What a night.

We fought our way out of the arena, through the bar crowds for Halloween weekend and back to the point with perfect timing, as Caleb was seeing out the remainders of his own evening. Masquerade masks and champagne flutes littered the patio, and he looked very handsome in his tuxedo with his dracula cape from many Halloweens ago across his shoulders.

He was happy to see us, asked if we didn't mind if he cleaned up tomorrow, as he was very tired, and apologized for the party ending so early that we missed it entirely. I tried to give him a poker face but defaulted to surprised delight and he smiled and said he was too old for the hijinks of our past, that if I wanted to come and see him tomorrow I was welcome to. But that he needed some sleep.

I'm so conditioned to go to him I was actively disappointed. I can't explain it (well, I can, actually, but I won't). He kissed our cheeks and gave me a spooky laugh, which I love when he does, and he was gone.

Then he was back three minutes later knocking on the side door. I was still in the kitchen. He presented me with a sealed bottle of champagne and a new platter of charcuterie that hadn't been touched. Leftovers. Enjoy. Celebrate a bucket list item that I know this show was for Loch. 

Thank you. 

Don't mention it. Hey, Neamhchiontach. 

Yes, Diabhal? 

I know that you were expecting something else entirely but as I said I'm trying. 

You're doing well. 

It isn't easy. You look beautiful. 

I have spilled beer and smoke all over me. It was a rough crowd. 

I don't worry for your safety with Lochlan anymore. 

The 'anymore' part reminded me of who he is, and I said goodnight and went inside.

We didn't touch the champagne. We'll save it for New Years (it's the REALLY good stuff) but we ate the entire platter of cheese and meat because I was starving. Bad pizza slices are $7.75 at the arena and they're not worth it. So there was only one thing missing from the night and that was hearing Fearless, my favorite Pink Floyd song and a soothing lullaby for the ears in the face of endless danger. Lochlan used to play me to sleep with it and I miss that sometimes. I think I always will.

Welcome to the machine.

Tonight is going to be SO busy. I slept in until then after waking up at eight to let the dog out so I feel somewhat rested, it's just going to be a bit of a marathon. We're going to see Roger Waters downtown and then coming back to finish the night at Caleb's small Halloween soirée (sigh, not even linking to them but they never end well for me), which he commandeered the use of my studio (currently empty) along with the back patio, the driveway and his own house. Perfect spot to entertain a hundred aging lawyers and their impossibly vacuous trophy third wives, without a soul going inside my house. The doors will be locked, but surprisingly some of the boys aren't going with us to the show tonight, having seen Roger Waters previously so they'll be home to keep watch.

Lochlan is already losing his mind. I think he's probably the world's biggest Pink Floyd fan and so he is stoked to go tonight. I'm just trying to figure out what to wear, unless I just come home and do a quick change into a party dress, since no way in hell am I dressing up for a rock show. We've had this discussion before, Internet.

Very important points.

An undercurrent of mild anger runs through the point today as the entire Collective feels betrayed by a dream, as if they would or could try and somehow control my love life to their own end, as if they direct every action made here in order to serve a purpose.

I try to indicate that pots and kettles are usually black, unless they're stainless steel...or enamel and that honestly how haven't they controlled every aspect of my life from puberty onward, the strongest examples being when Lochlan broke up with me and I was virtually given to Cole, to Ben stepping in and taking over when Jacob flew. I know damn well Jacob was an outlier and they were pissed that I didn't stay within the group but all's well that ends well, I guess or something close to it.

But also! Lochlan is weirdly touched and has been losing his shit just about every time he looks at me. Because I was so relieved that it was a dream. Because I don't want to join the dead. Because I don't want to ever leave the collective again. It's easier just to listen when they tell you not to put your hand in the fire so that you don't get burned. Instead you can step right into it whole-bodied and be renewed.

Maybe it marks the very first time I have elevated the living above the dead. Maybe it marks a change. One that lets them breathe easy. One that just lets me breathe.