Neo-orthodox Unitarianism at it's finest.

One of the biggest tenets of AA is to begin by admitting you were powerless in the face of your addictions. It's a way to bring you to your knees, of course but I always thought it was a crock of shit. Start over, sure but the only person you have to blame is yourself and stating stupid things like alcohol controlled me or I was weak is weak in of itself and shifts the blame right off of where it belongs.

On you.

I struggle with this and I'm not the alcoholic. Never have been. Sam says I interpret it wrong. Ben just laughs and tells me I'm so stubborn he can see Youngest Child Syndrome from space. I agree, mind you but I also don't like blame suddenly shifting from I'm an asshole to It was the drink talking/acting/screwing up my life. No it wasn't, Matt.

It was you.

This is your fault.

And Sam is a fucking saint for letting you back into his life/heart/home. I don't even want to place bets on this save for the New Year will feature yet another broken heart and I know from experience they get harder and harder to put back together as time goes on.

Sam tells me to have an open heart and mind. That it's Christmas and this Christmas we're celebrating love all around us. And I know I'm supposed to allow Matt to begin again. We get endless chances to be good humans, even when we sometimes don't truly deserve them.

But love? We'll see. Right now, I'm celebrating germs and I'm cranky from not sleeping from this weird endless sinus headache so I'm definitely coasting on the good graces of God, his children and my army lately and that's fine too. I blew my nose to try and ease the pressure in my left eye and my matching ear exploded in pain. Christ already. It's been a long year and suddenly we're at the day I hate more than anything. Almost. Winter solstice, AKA first day of winter, AKA the shortest day of the year with the absolute minimum of daylight. Caleb always picks this night to spend with me because he knows how much I hate it but honestly I think I'd rather spend it fighting indoctrination. Fighting surrender. Fighting any more change and any more staying the same too.

Oh glorious wind!

This week's wedding planner is working underneath, and in spite of, the weather.

Monday is going to be rainy and four degrees and that romantic son of a bitch Andrew still maintains the wedding dinner will take place on the beach.

With...tents?

No tents.

Umbrellas and portable heaters, then? 

No. It'll be fine, Bridge. 

Oh, honey. It won't be fine and yet he refuses to make contingency plans, all the while I work around him organizing a multitude of contingency plans for every little thing, including backup tents stored in the garage where he can't see them, our portable space heaters and plans to still have dinner outside, just on the patio if it comes to that.

No one wants to eat if they're cold. No one wants to try and eat a wedding feast in the rain.

Sure they do, Andrew says dreamily.

You're the worst bride I've ever dealt with, I remind him. Let's plan for the best and prepare for the worst. Also you need to go and pick up the tents you don't need. I've reserved them already. 

You've managed to weaponize logistics, Bridget. He gives me a kiss on the cheek.

Someone had to, I tell him, and cough in his face.

Short and sweet, or maybe that's short and drippy.

I feel like I've become such a lightweight but work is cancelled for the week and I guess I'm officially on Christmas break? Though I keep sitting down and drifting off because I can't breathe and my face hurts. 

On the upside, Lochlan remains handy to cuddle with and we watched Krampus. Not even two stars bad. More like one of the greatest Christmas movies ever made. 

Single-digits rotten.

Today is crisp and beautiful pre-storm and I'm not at work.

The headache took over and is still here this morning and so I called in because a brightly-lit, noisy, busy restaurant is no place for someone in pain. I will hang out here in leggings and a big sweater and move slowly and quietly, drinking tea and watching Christmas movies on Netflix with PJ and Duncan, neither of whom enjoy cheesy Christmas movies but both of whom will coddle me until the cows come home. Maybe I'll try a wrap a couple of presents but maybe not, too. Lochlan is worried about my health and my sleeping and has instructed me to do nothing and for his sake I'm really going to try. Otherwise I'm happy it happened now and not next Monday because next Monday is going to be a little busy with the wedding and all.

I had a white flag waved in my face and Lochlan has agreed to the cheesy Christmas movies. But only the ones with two stars or less because he says if they're going to bad they may as well be the worst. I think a new tradition has been born. 

Twenty hours of work left before Santa.

No church today, though I would have loved to see the candle lit and hear Ben sing again without guitars burying his voice, but I have a huge headache from a renewed bout of coughing and I'm not pushing myself. Physically this week I already went too hard and now I have to pay the price, I suppose, so I had some coffee and cold pizza and I plan to just live quietly today, and hopefully this week overall.

This is Lochlan's lecture to me this morning as I insist I should go to church and he suggests I maybe just stay in, stopping short of outright ordering and instead trying to influence gently.

Which is nice. He doesn't want to the bad guy, even though he has every right to be and he is smarter than I, so I'll go with his observations and try and take it easy today. I work three days this coming week and then I'm off until New Year's Eve. Which is good because we're having a Christmas eve wedding here and it's getting really busy suddenly. So I checked my list, pulled Ben's big Goatwhore hoodie over my head and plan to do very little, though I do have presents to wrap and I am so behind.

I'll do a bunch of it Thursday maybe. Hopefully, or maybe a little later today. We'll get it done. Just not today. 

Fairytale of Horseshoe Bay.

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

I woke up with that song in my head. Maybe it's growing on me as I age and make mistakes and live far from home. Far from people who break into chorus and dance steps on a sticky wooden floor and far from the snowy wonderland of trying to drive cars uphill on ice and the ever-present conundrum of how to cook a turkey when the power's been out for hours.

It upset me, that song and so I buried my face against Caleb's chest. He isn't awake yet. He tends to sleep until close to eight most days, though he will arrive in the kitchen showered and dressed, ready for the day almost at eight sharp before checking for coffee and any change in the stock market overnight.

His arms tighten around me and I squeak a little. My shoulder is sore from his teeth pressed against it, my arms weak from his hands holding them down and my legs ache mightily from being tense for hours. He wasn't traditionally rough but he still goes hard and I still need a little cautionary handling the next day as I move slower.

He's been romantic though. He had a fire in the fireplace and hot buttered rum drinks waiting when I arrived and he didn't put me up against the wall or pin to the bed by my neck. He was gentle and sweet and he said he wanted me to have my Christmas present early but a week is way too early and so he agreed to wait a little bit longer, and I agreed not to leave last night, to stick around and go to sleep and he found such comfort in that it made me want to cry. He's touched that I wear his ring every day, no matter what and not all that angry about PJ as he is learning to live in the main house and he's learning to put his temper away and that's nice too.

I always expect everything to be so temporary. He's nice today? Only a matter of time. I didn't cough all morning? I will tonight. The car started with no issues in the cold? What if it doesn't tomorrow?

(I'm never comfortable in my own skin, let alone in someone else's.)

It's not a matter of time. This is where I needed to be. He reassures me without trying to convince me. That's helping, too.

Something has to change, Diabhal.

It is, Neamhchiontach. It is.

Then can you help me get this song out of my head?

Let's try. He found his phone, hooked up to a neat little bluetooth speaker on the shelf and played Coldplay's Christmas Lights instead. And it worked on the first try.

Slower than slow learners.

A new daydream today involves Ryan Clark and Benjamin Burnley doing a duet. A girl can dream, can't she?

I watched the new Tourniquet video first thing, with coffee. I don't know why I did that. I think it's part three of a set that began with Red Cold River. It's uh..very metal. The song is amazing but sometimes I think musicians should stop with making videos. Even as they've been my bread and butter, they generally suck, honestly. Even some of the ones I've been in. Some are fucking breathtaking, but then again, that's rare. I used to hate live concert video compilations and now I think that's the way to go.

I pre-ordered the new War and Peace albums this morning from Demon Hunter. Now I have two more songs, though I can't seem to take Carry Me Down (the piano version) off today's pedestal, on repeat in the rain as I conclude that I have used up all of my nine lives as a curious cat and I now wish to be a fly on the wall, hearing everything or nothing at all as PJ holds his ground against whatever kind but menacing discussion he and Caleb are having.

Leave it, Lochlan orders. He's distracted, up to his neck in Henry's computer, optimizing the motherboard or something. Henry is learning as much as Lochlan knows as fast as Lochlan can teach him. Together they figured out they missed a step when they built the machine and I still can't figure out how to turn on the monitor.

As long as I can figure out how to get to my music I'm fine. This annoys Caleb to no end, who, against Ben's express instructions, tried to teach me to use Spotify. Spotify is a heated topic in this house. Very precious few people have it as the pricing on the back end is detrimental to the artists you're listening to. I balk at renting my music besides that. Fuck that noise. I need to own it.

PJ is back in a few minutes.

What body part has he threatened to take from you in the night and sell on the black market? I bet I can guess. 

PJ makes a face. What? No. He just wanted to know where I am in this new hierarchy. 

Below me, obvs. 

Well, obvs. He just wants to make sure I'm below him. 

And what did you say? 

You don't want me to repeat it. 

Hell, yes I do. 

I asked him when the last time he had good pussy was. 

Okay, yeah, I don't want to know. Never mind. I hate that word. 

I needed to be crass to make a point with him. 

Which was? 

You call the shots. Not him. 

And from deep inside the computer case, now up to his shoulders, Lochlan laughed. 

Nanny state.

I made it through the year and I did not even collapse
Gotta say, "Thank God, for that"
I'm torn between what keeps me whole and what tears me in half
I'll fall apart or stay intact

With tired eyes I stumble back to bed
I need to realize my sorry life's not hanging by a thread
At least not yet

So look at me now
Its finally Christmas and I'm home
Head indoors, to get out of this weather
And I don't know how
But the closest friends I've ever known are all inside
Singing together
Singing merry Christmas, here's to many more/i>

It's quickly becoming my all-time favourite Christmastime song, though they all are, if I'm being honest (Just kidding! It's still and always will be Type O Negative's Red Water). I love Christmas. I love falling asleep in the big chair in the living room in my uniform after coming home from work from a really busy day and waking up to PJ running interference between Caleb and Lochlan, both of whom have vastly different but the exact same ideals when it comes to how best to deal with this pathetic state of affairs.

Jesus, I just sat down for a second. I fall asleep whenever I stop moving and suddenly it's a job con?

PJ ordered both of them out of the room. No more arguments, no more ultimatums just get the fuck out and let her sleep and he'll wake me up later and send me off to bed.

He didn't clarify which bed and Merry Christmas to both of us because guess where I woke up? I still haven't found my work uniform. I think PJ was hoping I would stay forever in his room if I couldn't leave with decorum but he doesn't know me as well as I hoped, I guess. I got up and started to walk out and he was suddenly full of shit.

Okay, okay. Here's your clothes. 

Gee, thanks, Padraig. 

No, thank you, Bridge. Best Christmas gift I never asked for. 

Ah. Too decadent?

Wrong size. 

Motherfucker!

Indeed. 

Weirdly proud.

I got a Christmas bonus today. Cash in a Christmas card from the owners of the restaurant. It is the equivalent of a half day's pay but it touches me all the same as I work my ass off to see that people like their meal and that they come back. I mopped twice today. I'm so tired I could cry and I came home and opened my card while Dalton looked on. This is something because it's the first bonus I've earned myself in twenty years that wasn't related to doing work for Caleb or Batman. It's the first one that's all mine. No strings. No expectations. Nothing but joy and generosity.

I feel a little bad for lecturing the manager today on the most efficient way to clean the windows.

But only a little. Maybe he put extra cash in afterwards because he knew I was right.