Plans.

Caleb has promised me an after-dinner swim this evening as the first of the year, much to Sam's dismay. Sam wanted the first swim of the year to be a refresher on my lessons. Never mind that they throw me into the ocean with alarming regularity, off a cliff, no less, he wants me to be able to swim around back to the point without assistance, by myself.

But your first rule is not to swim alone. Ever. 

This is emergency preparation, Bridget. Just like the fire extinguisher in the kitchen. 

And in the hall, in case the kitchen is already on fire.

Exactly. 

And the upstairs and downstairs halls-

Right. Preparation is key. 

So you're making me into a navy seal?

No, just a strong swimmer. 

I don't even think my shoulders or my arm are up to swimming today. I mostly plan to float. 

Also a plan. In case you're injured or tired.

You're becoming more like Lochlan every day. 

Really? He laughs. How so?

Contingency plans. Always a good contingency plan. 

Lochlan is very smart. 

True. But not academic smarts.

No, that's Caleb. Lochlan is life-smart. 

Thought you were going to say street smart. 

No, he goes above that. 

Yeah, he does.

Who does what? Lochlan comes in. 

We were just admiring your mind. 

How's that? 

Sam wants me able to return around the point alone in case of emergency and I told him that was a very Lochlan-thing to do. 

Yeah. He nods at Sam. Good idea. I didn't think of it though. 

You've wished for it before. 

But unlike Sam, who has more faith than anyone I know, I didn't think you could train for it. I just figured you were too small to fight the waves. 

I can fight anything. 

Yeah, you can. You're strong. A lot stronger than before. 

Tears. Geez. We've having a full-on circle jerk here and it's really nice. 

Imaginary daze.

HE FILLED THE POOL.

But it's cold outside. And it's supposed to rain tonight. So yeah. It's like baking a chocolate cake and reallllly wanting some but not being able to have any.

He called it a lesson in patience.

Ironic, that.

***

My love for Mark Morton (from Lamb of God) kind of reached a fever pitch when he said he was putting out a solo project. I was so excited. I love him. Mostly because he looks like John (yes, I've mentioned it before here, several years ago) and he's also hella talented, though as I grow up I skew doom/progressive, not so much thrash/metalcore. So while I've seen LOG live and and I've had a crush on Mr. Morton for like twenty years almost now, I thought he would sing, for whatever reason, on his album.

But like Slash (another famous guitar player who put out some solo work), he doesn't. He has guest vocalists.

Except for one song. So I threw it on the stereo and I'm like Hey! His voice is nice! He sounds so...friendly and not like what I expected.

But I listened and it didn't really stick with me. Kind of...safe. This album is testing the waters or maybe I'm jaded but I would have cranked the levels and drawn out the notes and really thrown the book at it. It's too safe. It's too benign. It doesn't have teeth or heart. Which disappoints me but I won't stop staring at him if I get the chance, or staring at John (if I don't) and when I ask the boys what's missing from this album they think I'm harsh or cracked or naive or just being bitchy because I really want to float in the pool and look at the clouds but I can't.

Imaginary Days for sure.

(Any thoughts on what I'm trying to find on this record that's missing? Email me. I want to love it.)

Crunch, crunch, soft.

Time management seems okay today. I did my annual first full day of spring plea for the pool to be filled, was refused (as is tradition) and went and whined to PJ, who checked my reality for me, proclaiming it very low and remediated it post-haste with another cup of coffee and a banana. We got groceries. I taught myself, PJ and Ruth how to make gỏi cuõn (cold Vietnamese salad rolls, SO MUCH EASIER THAN I THOUGHT) (THANKS YOUTUBE) and then I ate four of them. Not the huge ones. I forgot about sizing and bought smaller, I think nine-inch wrappers. So good though. I love love Vietnamese food, and their coffee too. I would eat my way across their little country save for the fact that it isn't on my bucket list. Maybe it should be. 

I was so proficient in the kitchen this afternoon. It was a marked departure from lying on the floor facedown this morning, hands clasped out in front of me, a dramatic request for just a little water in the pool. We don't have to fill it all the way. Six feet in the deep end will suit me just fine. 

But no. Too soon. Not yet. 

I bet there are people here who swim all year ro-

I said no, Bridget. 

My face is surprise and disappointment and he softens. Get up, Sweetheart. 

If I stomp my feet would it make a difference? 

Absolutely not. 

Damn. 

So get up. 

My arms hurt and I want to float. 

So have a bath. Or a hot tub. Both will allow you to float.

Yes, but I can't fit as many people in the bathtub with me as I can in the pool. 

So have it alone. 

Well, where's the fun in THAT?

Love letters to my own cracked soul.

I had to listen to Dare you to Move three times just to get out of bed. Today is a fight from the moment I opened my eyes and I plan to win. My corner's strategy is to power through. Take deep breaths. Envision it all rolling right off my back like a wave. Floating looking up at the clouds. Letting the weight disappear. Digging through the still-cool earth in search of life, but knowing where the (figurative) bodies are buried, and letting them rest.

My playlist is messed up and when all the iterations of Dare you to Move were finished, Wonderful Feeling came on. I have two of those (thanks, iTunes. Christ.) Okay, I feel better. Aspirins help too. My body hurts from running all day with coffee pots and arrows shot by entitled, spoilt-rude customers that I emerge wounded each night and everything aches something fierce and I have to fight that too.

I am two paychecks away from ten thousand dollars (not including tips, which can be really big. I just blow those because my charm demands a ransom for what it puts me though, after all) and I don't think I'm quitting yet. I want to prove I can fix myself and I'm not sure how this is going to do it but what if it is?

(Now today, people, please be nice in the ring because I'm really fucking tired and not in the mood for your shit.)

Beets, maybe.

They conveniently rallied around the Devil today, inviting him out for lunch, asking him for help with stuff, hanging out, being brothers as when one of the brothers in the Collective is hurting the others will always, always swoop in to help. By the time I came home from work, sweating right through my dress, done with customers, done with shit, done with life, they were having a grand old time tearing up the garden, sleeves rolled up, shovels and the tillers in overdrive.

I stopped and watched for a moment, smiling, though it hardly reached my face for being so tired. I wished for a picture, as I could have had it developed in black and white and added it to our history. Conquering the new world, or putting down roots, would be the caption.

In all honesty, these days we practice Irish gardening. I throw a handful of seeds towards the dirt and harvest what comes up. It works a little too well sometimes and some years it's a lot of work but with time management and all of this help we'll figure it out and come out ahead. Gardening is a very peaceful thing for me, and I don't care if it's flowers or food, it does more than pills, counselling, distraction or time.

I'm really glad they picked him up where I left him off. He needed it. I needed it too. 

Hasselblad heyday.

I went up to deliver Caleb's mail (it's my job this month. We all take turns and you get the task for the whole month. No one has to come dig through mail in the front hall. If some is for you it will be delivered to your room. It keeps my front hall clear.

I knocked and he said Come in and when I came in he was just standing up and turning off his monitor. Just a second too late.

What is that?

Just finishing up some banking-

No, your wallpaper. Turn it back on, please, I want to see. 

He sighs and lets his shoulders drop but he complies.

One of Cole's photographs of me.

You live in the same house. Do you really need a...a...technological shrine?

It's a beautiful photograph. 

They all were. But I don't want to see them. 

Then don't put them on your computer.

It feels inappropriate. 

It's nothing of the kind. My brother took a nice picture of my girlfriend, if you leave out all of the history. It's nothing you need to worry about. 

Do you have a lock of my hair and a few candles burning somewhere too?

No, I blew those out already. That's why you're here. I had a little summoning circle.

Oh, Jesus. 

Well, you asked. I'm just up here all day making voodoo dolls of Lochlan and casting wizard spells to make you mine. Seriously, Bridget. Thank you for bringing up my statements but honestly it's a good photo and if you stick around long enough you'll see they rotate through a sizeable collection of his work, including some even of Chris and Loch. So while I love to flatter you and you deserve it, it's really just a picture. 

It's never just a picture. 

No, it is. It really just is. I miss my brother. Let me have that. 

Captain Marvel update.

It was AWESOME!! The first half I was all lol aliens and the second half came back and put me on my ass. It was very very good and worth a weaker first half, which I was told sets up the Avengers world or something. I only fell asleep twice but rescued myself thanks to Lochlan glaring at me in the dark.

Lol. Aliens.

Also, managed to hear Heart, Lita Ford, Garbage and Hole in the same movie. WTF. 

Happy Saint Patrick's Day. My very own in-house Saint Patrick made coffee and french toast for us this morning, encouraged us to go outside and eat on the patio (which is fully decorated so I wonder if we're having a party tonight) and then got tickets to see Captain Marvel for the squad this afternoon.

I guess he got the morning half-right.

I'm KIDDING.

(Really not a Marvel person.)

(Maybe this one will change my mind.)

On the other hand the theatre has coffee. And nachos. So good enough. Lunch is decided. Actually coffee and nachos is not a good combo.

(Also I learned last night that when Thanos dissolved half the people on earth in the last Avengers they'e actually dead. I thought they were transported to another planet. That's weird. It totally looks like they're just being whisked away but WHATEVER, people. Give me the cliff's notes and eventually I'll figure it out.)

(PSS we watched Mortal Engines last night. AMAZING concepts which fell mostly flat. Can't figure out why. Why why why? Everyone in the movie was a beautiful soul. Why did this movie not work? At all? Let's all go think about it and touch base later. I realize you're not here for my reviews but I also don't care.)

The princess and the violet fog (spoilers if you're dying to see A Star is Born and haven't, yet).

Let me be naive here, just for one post.

Have you tried the gin? McQueen & the Violet Fog? It's like drinking rosemary-licorice cordial and it's very very good. I had way too much of it yesterday and yet I woke up okay today. Maybe because I got up at seven sharp and made coffee. I've decided to double my coffee consumption because honestly I'm cooking dinner now and I'm head-dropping while I stir boiling things on the stove, while I set the table. While I sort the mail (into eight piles. We get so much mail holy shit)

More coffee is not going to stave off the narcolepsy but the nervous energy it creates will help to insulate me from its effects.

So after thinking over my movie viewing yesterday I figured out why I didn't like it.

It was La La Land in a different package, with a grittier face and a far more tragic result of said actions.

I'm all for people going for their dreams but what happens if you find love along the way? According to Hollywood, you stomp that shit out post haste and continue on your way.

In the old days you would give up your dreams and settle, because love.

Modern days, hell, modern demands have changed that so it's the opposite now. God help you if you give up those dreams, and god help the significant other who holds you back.

Why can't you have a happy medium? Keep your dreams, and keep your love. There was no reason why she couldn't have brought him on tour. No reason why she couldn't have forced him to go, brought some keepers to handle him (because that awards show fiasco was so preventable) and then everyone is happy.

Instead they decided to be tragic. Fuck that. Choose love.

Shallow.

Ben came home early from his meeting and I am positively halfway to shitfaced, which is probably two martinis too many, but this is my fourth, I can't enunciate any more and I'm afraid he's going to be disappointed in me as I lost my grip on the day, a grip that was one-handed anyway, greasy enough to slide too far for my comfort and already way past theirs.

It's March break still, the last one we'll ever get. It's spring which hurts in a weird way. I always seem to fall in love in the spring and have my heart broken in summer, fall and winter, if we're keeping track but right now the buds are on the trees and it's a retina-searing eighteen degrees but cold in the wind. 

That's fine. I'm inside. 

Nothing particularly bad happened today, I'm just tired. I lie that information to Ben and he fails to believe it. He asks me if the concert cancellation (Breaking Benjamin (not my Benjamin) and Asking Alexandria cancelled their western Canadian tour dates due to 'production issues'. I know what that means, I'm not dumb, but I am seven hundred dollars richer again soon because refunds! Refunds and breathing space because we had three concerts in one week in April and now there's only two) had anything to do with it. Of course not. Shit happens ('production issues', apparently). I just...eh...I need more sleep. 

I'm watching A Star Is Born on my laptop (the remake with Bradley and ah..er...Lady? Not the Barbra Streisand one, but I'm going to dig that up next) and it's freaking GREAT. Their chemistry is blowing me off my seat. 

I'm glad you never met anyone like that, I tell Ben. Or rather, I almost tell him. Some of the words aren't fully formed. 

I did, he says. 

I mean someone who could sing. 

I did, he says. 

OH my fucking God! I mean Lady Gaga with her million award nominations and Saturday Night Live gig! 

Yeah, you're not really all that, are you? He said it as a joke but I just took another huge swallow of gin and put the movie back on just in time to see Bradley Cooper take a big swallow of gin, too. Oh, I get it. In this story, I'm the guy with a fucked up life watching someone steal my starshine. 

Gotcha, universe. Touché.

(Also I went into this knowing nothing, laughing about how much Bradley Cooper sounded like Sam Elliot with his Deep Voice and then Sam Elliot comes on screen. Yay.)

(Boy did I ever go into this knowing nothing. Oh my God. Next time go ahead and spoil it, please. Everyone was like It's great! It won awards! Well, to someone like me it's a battlefield disguised as entertainment and I don't have any fight left in me. Ben almost threw the computer out the window.)