Jesus petrichor.

Long day with church, brunch, Avengers Infinity War and a long walk around the neighborhood while I tried and failed to reassure Batman of anything and he of I. So we called it an impasse and I'm home now with a million chores to do and a lot of Lochlan to catch up on.

Eight straight.

That's a perfect battle song for you, Peanut.

He said this last night in the dark, in the pouring rain as he went past me up the porch, lugging two laptop bags, a laptop not in a bag and three travel mugs. All his things from the latest job. Finished.

(Anything else goes to Schuy, and the new team he's set up. Because as much as I didn't want Lochlan to be gone all the time for months on end, Lochlan himself had no interest in doing another huge project but then got caught up in the big numbers to do it and the endless pragmatism he needs to bring to his life to keep himself under control. He wanted it done right. And he has self-control. I don't. It's something every serial daydreamer needs to learn to function in society so he learned both his own and mine, on my behalf, and I learned exactly nothing.)

He went upstairs and crashed hard into bed, dropping his things on the floor just inside the door. Probably not noticing that the Devil was already there, because when Caleb found out how upset I was over this he moved in. Probably not noticing the windows all open to welcome that cool rain. Probably not noticing he didn't bring me with him.

I followed him upstairs, stripping everything off, leaving my clothes on the floor, crawling up the center of the bed where we formed a sleeping sandwich. A CB&L, which is what? Something bacon and lettuce. Something I can't label.

Ciabatta. Caleb says it sleepily from the dark and I burst out laughing.

Shut up, please, guys. My head is splitting. Lochlan replies and we settle in close in the dark, Caleb's cool hand around Lochlan's forehead, from underneath my neck, my hands clasped around Lochlan's neck from behind piggyback-style, my legs tucked in behind his, Lochlan's arm thrown back to clutch my hip against him as we all spoon on our lefts. Love you, he whispers and he's out.

I've been in some strange places in my life but this is definitely at the top. Then I'm asleep and it proves to be the best sleep of my entire life, bar none.

Ironically, the album is called...(wait for it) 'Gone'.

I'll put my armor on,
Show you how strong I am
I'll put my armor on,
I'll show you that I am

I'm unstoppable
I'm running with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today

What a roller coaster of a weird week. So much happened, let me see if I can wrap it up neatly, since it's Friday, it's still sunny and eventually Lochlan...has to stop working, right?

Please?

Because FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

I burned the roses. Lit 'em up like the fourth of July and Schuyler laughed in spite of himself. Nothing says love like soaking flowers in fuel, let me tell you, and then striking one of the big wooden firepit matches against the brickwork and setting everything within reach aflame. If it can burn it went up. It makes me feel close to Lochlan when he isn't home. Clearly I couldn't get access to his zippo lighter so I had to take measures into my own hands.

They understand. Sometimes my make-believe life runs in slow motion, crashing into real life with magnificent, cello-noted, piano-drenched frustration to mark the worst of the destruction.

(Speaking of which, did you hear the new Red album? From last October I mean. I'm trying to keep up, here, cut me a little break. It features the regular cover version of Unstoppable and then a beautiful acoustic version that put me on my ass. Bless you guys for these softer versions of such heavy recordings. But there's more. Let it keep playing and the next song is a remix of Step Inside, The Violence that is just fucking NUTS.)

(Also a weird side note: Anyone else think Kevin Matisyn formerly of Evans Blue sounds just like Michael Barnes of Red when he sings? Kind of a glorious little discovery. Like extra albums from each band, though I had to abandon EB when they lost Kevin.)

This week the Leafs stepped out of the playoffs. It was a good run but in game seven against the Bruins it all fell apart. Don't blame Gardiner. He did his best.

ABBA reunited. What the fuck. This is great. They are Daniel's favorite band. Don't tell him I told you that.

North and South Korea are about to stop a war that's been going on since before even Caleb was born. I hate the news but this made me feel like there's hope for the planet. Or it did until I kept reading the news (Disclaimer: I don't read the news. Too sad. Too awful. I'd rather remain in my bubble. I also feel things and take them on like a weight so it's just better if I skip all of it altogether) only to see Yellowstone is going to blow up soon or space junk is going to fall and we're all doomed anyway.

On my list this week is to buy a bunch of chargers for my phone and in the event of a major catastrophe I'll still have music to soothe myself while I wait for Lochlan.

It's the only thing that works anymore.

Rainbow roses.

It's twenty-five fucking degrees.

Yes? 

Can we not fill the pool? 

No, the temperatures will be back down to seasonal by the weekend. 

The pool is heated!

I said no, Bridget. How many tantrums are you going to throw this week, anyway?

GAH.

To make me feel better Ben tossed me off the cliff into the sea, which might have been twenty-five degrees below zero and I may have screamed, swallowed a whole lot of water and burst an eardrum. Which..great.

Spent the afternoon getting a lecture and some drops for my ear. Got an offer of discounted plastic surgery (again). God. What a day.

Schuyler sent flowers. I was confused for a few moments. The doctor just left. How would he know already? Then I read the card which read: He'll be off at 3. This is on me. Don't be angry with him. (Meaning Lochlan.)

I look at the clock. It's four-fifteen.

Lochlan calls. Schuy said he sent flowers. 

Yes, they're beautiful. Clearly they were fertilized with whatever he's full of. He said you'd be off at three. 

Just last minute fixes. 

I understand. 

No you don't. He laughs. But I will be home soon. What are you up to? 

Well, earlier my ex-husband violently threw me off a high cliff into the sea. The doctor said I never would have survived it anyway but then the Devil brought me back to life just enough for conversation and now we're arguing over the perks of being rich and how much power is too much power when all I want to do is put water in the pool already but I'm dead so I have no authority here presently.

So your typical Thursday?

Yes.

Alone in outer space.

Castaway
My cries are blocked by the horizon
Suffocate
I was doing this all for you

I'm in the shallows
Stuck in the gallows
I tried to save you now I'm swallowed
You wanted war
I am the war
I alone

My apologies. Yesterday I melted down and today I'm someone else. Poured myself into a new mold and I'm just trying to keep my shape as I get bent right out of it so easily.

Lochlan got called back to work nary a breath after saying he was off and I. lost. my. mind. The sad part here is that he said he was on call. But I wanted people fired. I wanted heads to roll down the street like bowling balls. I told him he wasn't special. That anyone with basic IT skills can make a network work and what the fuck, why can't they leave him alone now?

(I was truly the biggest little asshole ever.)

No, of course they can't. Sometimes projects run over. Schuyler jumped the gun on letting him go when they need a day, maybe three to iron out some issues. Sometimes people live in the grownup world where life ticks along and you're expected to contribute, be professional and do your part, Bridget.

Except I'm not like that. I like in a magical world of daydreams and stars and I don't contribute to the normie noise. Never have save for that brief decade when I attempted to be a functional adult and look where that got me. Jesus. Never again.

I want to look into space. I want to feel the sun. I want to have everyone I love around me while we lie on our backs and I show them the sky. I want to not worry about ringing alarms, intrusive phones, rumbling bellies, antsy dogs, stratospheric bills and endless numbing rain. I don't want to do new math. I don't want to cook green beans. I don't want to get the winter tires off the trucks. I don't want to say goodbye.

I don't want to say goodbye.

I want to be little forever, running along hopping into his shadow and yet somehow I've almost kept that stature while losing the absolution of being a child. One minute they protect me, let me off the hook, take away all the things I don't like and the next minute I'm expected to grow up, be accountable, put in my presence as a dot on the map of an average, ordinary day in the universe that shouldn't revolve around me, but does just enough for me to find the light before I'm flung off again, into the dark.

I don't feel like writing anything but today isn't a total loss, since Starset put out an acoustic version of Ricochet. The rock version is INSANE, but this is so beautiful and completely perfect too. With headphones. Incredibly loud. Don't know which one I like better, but thankfully I don't have to choose.

Moms I'd like to fool.

Lochlan wasn't the least bit upset about Duncan (who is still there, by the way, in our bed, enjoying a change of scenery or maybe catching up on sleep or maybe he's doing exactly what he told me and fulfilling some errant daydream of a true communal lifestyle, which for him clearly includes sleeping all day, waking up for food and sex and passing her around because sometimes, man, you just gotta hand off the fun and take a moment to appreciate where you are in life.)

I love him the best right now. I'd much rather he call me man than Mom, okay? That irks me to no end. He's older than I am.

Lochlan did not want to linger in bed. He wants to Do Things. He's a stupidly-early-morning person when he gets into the habit and he needs to be productive. I pointed out his brain/body/mind/eyes probably needs a break and he agreed and then went straight out to buy some engine parts for the latest motorhome he is fixing up. Then we went for breakfast. Then he needed a new phone and made an eye appointment and wondered out loud if he should make a dental one too and then we went back out and did a little grocery shopping (where he smiled at me so contently, and said God, I missed this) and he's been affectionate and not fatherly and not angry and not tired and I lasted about seven hours before I stopped in my tracks and said Okay that's enough. What's gotten into you? 

He smiled again. Guess when I go back to work?

Monday. Please don't say Monday, I was really hoping you'd have more than a week. 

Not Monday. 

Is it...the Monday after that?

No, Peanut. 

I cover my face. Oh my gosh! You've got THREE weeks off? 

My next project is in October. 

Bullshit. Don't say that if you're going to take something on before then. You keep telling me you're taking a break or stopping and then you don't and I-

Bridget. Ask Schuyler. Or Batman. Ask everyone, they all know already. I was trying to make it a surprise. 

WELL IT WORKED. 

I thought you hated surprises. 

I do but I love it when you're home. 

I thought you'd like that. 

Yeah. He's smiling ear to ear while I'm crying. We've worked so hard to be weird but this, this seemed so normal for once.

Fairweather fiends.

I'm holding on
I'm holding on to you
My world is wrong
My world is a lie that's come true
And I fall in love with the ones that run me through
When all along all I need is you

That feeling when you've sung a lyric wrong for close to ten years is a joke to some people. To me it's just one more reminder of my shortcomings, something vital and precious that's soon to leave me. That will be a grief of a whole different kind but for now I've got my headphones on in church and they're on rather loud, though you can't hear them sitting right beside me because Ben chose these ones specifically and he knows what works for every occasion.

He squeezes my hand. I got him out of bed to go to church, he's loaded us up on fresh hot forbidden coffee in return and Sam isn't going to say a word about these headphones because we brought him coffee too. He's been a stranger lately while he sorts himself out and I miss him but I also replaced him for the time being with Duncan who woke up and laughed because no, he didn't want to go to church so we left him there in our bed to wear off the high of sleeping on the coveted third floor. Or whatever the draw is. Can't be me. I'm not whole. God's not going to make me whole, Duncan's certainly not and really there's no hope but I put on a pretty dress anyway and showed up with a smile because that's what you do. Life isn't hopeless, after all. It can be a rollercoaster though, that's for sure.

Speaking of coasters, Lochlan leans his head in between Ben and I. I feel his presence a heartbeat before that happens, a teenage thrill that runs up the back of my neck and that gives me hope that the sound of life will be replaced easily by bigger feels, stronger intuition, bulletproof telepathy when now it's somewhat unreliable, spotty coverage, like wifi on the point.

Guess who's on vacation? 

It's finished?

My part, yes. I don't have to go back. I'm only on call until Tuesday and Schuy said if anyone calls me they'll be fired. 

He climbs over the bench to sit on my other side, arm curling around me, pulling me in tight. What did I miss? 

I smile because I wonder if he's been home. We're here for appearances. 

Ben laughs, No, we're here to prop up Sam. 

Sam's doing better. 

It goes past appearances, I remind him of what I just said. He needs to know we've got him. 

I think he knows. He motions to Sam who comes over and leans toward us to hear whatever murmurs we're about to have with him when Lochlan grabs him fully and pulls him right over the bench into his lap.

How are you doing, Preacher? 

Good. Good. Nice to have you here. I need to see your faces today. He grins sheepishly, kissing Lochlan's cheek. He stands up and hugs me for a long time and moves along to Ben for a hug. Ben kisses him on the lips possibly with tongues involved and holds him hard while he does.

Oh. I love to watch these things.

Sam laughs with tears in his eyes. I needed that too. And Ben laughs and claps him gently on the back, letting him out of the row. We sit back down and listen as the whispers spool up behind us from those who disapprove of what I don't know. I'm sheltered. Maybe they think affection and church mix like oil and water. Maybe they think people shouldn't show their feelings. Maybe there should be no visible love between brothers. Maybe preachers shouldn't fall in love with their landladies and spend time in their beds. Maybe they can go fuck themselves. I'm not here for them. I'm not even here for God. I'm here because I want to support my friend who has supported me since forever and I'm not going to apologize for a goddamned thing anymore.

Except maybe replacing him with Duncan because I'm sure that will come up later. Whoops.

Bridget's not cool Vol. 73645246726

Love my boys. They presented me with a t-shirt last night that heralds a giant skull wearing headphones. I loved it so much. Then they pointed out I needed to see the back.

It says DEAF BEFORE DECAF.

I don't think I'll ever take it off but I also got my coffee back this morning with a warning to stick to one or maybe two cups at the most.

Roger that.

We're four episodes from the end of Lost in Space and I'm still on the fence. It has some good moments, lots of humor but then the overreaching weight of the blended family aspect leaves me believing that every single word that comes out of the dad's mouth is something the writer wishes his own dad would say. It's cloying and oppressive and I hate that part because instead of giving the show depth it takes its light and snuffs it out.

Oh well. On to brighter and better things soon.

I do love grabbing a pizza and eating slices without plates while we watch movies and television in the theatre room though. It's more the method than the media in this case, it's the company and the break from life. It's nice and I don't care if every show isn't my Favorite Show Ever, they're all of very good quality and all are very entertaining and sometimes that's all I want. that escapism.

Today is the Vancouver tattoo convention and I'm on the fence about that too. I've never been to one. I'm sure it's predictable. I'm tempted to go and wear white, because everyone will wear black. I'm tempted to get flash (I have tons, I'm not knocking it. New school butterflies EVERYWHERE.  I'm tempted to swallow my fears about being cool enough and just go.

I'm fairly certain I can hold my own in the tattoo department, as I have a full suit and take no shit for it, though I also have been know to cover every inch of myself with Dermablend for special occasions. Sometimes you just want them off. Sometimes they're tiring to the eyes. So much reading all the time. And yet I still feel like I didn't have an ounce of credibility until I got my knuckles done and the minute I did that (they spell LOCH LAN now with a heart at the end), the finish line moved to include face tattoos. I'm never ever doing that so I'll be back here with no chill. I'll let you know if I go, or rather you'll see me there. Dressed in white, don't forget. Because if I'm going to stick out, you're going to see me from outer space.

There's no place like Rome.

It's Friday, it's National Lima Bean Respect Day, and it's a day when we're watching the new Chef's Table season on Netflix so I don't have time to write. YEESH, people. Can't you see how busy I am watching pretentious food critic ladies gatekeeping proper gelato?

I know, right?

(Fun fact: Eight years ago when we moved here we went for a walk in Coal Harbour and stopped to get the kids some ice cream. The two tiny cones were $16 and the shop had a tip jar. My tip was to charge less, though in actuality I think I put a quarter in the jar, because I'm only sort-of an asshole.

That was my first inkling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.)

I almost wrote 'canvas' right there. I'm not caffeinated today. We did go out for brunch yesterday and Ben was pretty sure that along with forgetting his hash browns the server also forgot my decaf and probably gave me regular coffee. I could have run beside the truck to get home. I didn't fall asleep until four this morning. And still no one will let me near the coffee machine. Or outside so I can go to someone else's house and get some.

But yes! We're not in canvas anymore. We are in scratchy modal t-shirts though, which is too much fake for my poor skin which only seems to like boy flesh or organic cotton these days and everything else gives me hives again. So I'm hibernating with Netflix and nakedness in my room, just to try and ease the discomfort. I wouldn't notice it as much if I were distracted by my own energy levels but I'm not in charge here. This lady who demands we fly to Italy for the best gelato is, apparently.