Roller toaster.

Plotting weekend tattoos (shhhhh) and dealing with a last minute car appointment as something fell OFF my car this week and I'd like it stuck back on. Having olive bread and listening to Starset's fourth single, released today while I was picking up some items at the grocery store and I might have squealed out loud. Getting THINGS DONE today. I felt the familiar overwhelm creeping in today which dragged Resolve and Attitude Adjustment behind it. I can handle it. I can do this. I got this.

I swear to God, when people say they have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, yeah, so do I. I just bring the bed with me just in case. Then I run right back, throw it in my room and dive back in before the Big Bad World can find me, or catch me, at least.

I didn't say wolf. It's the whole world today.

Cardinal Copulate (this is not a thirst trap).

We're going to take a day off from relationship drama to examine yet another one of Bridget's Amazing Future Inventions, right up there with Airport hugs and Saltwater Princess, the novel, only it would have to be in encyclopedia form because it's too huge now to reduce down, boiling it into something anyone could even read. Whatever. Onward and upward, right, Jake?

Remember the airport one? (Gawd. Don't go read the post. Here's the part you want)

What if when you traveled or were on your own in a strange place there would be a way to get comfort on the run? I had a vision of a special room or area at the airport, with yellow lights above a stark white hallway, and if you needed someone or wanted comfort you would go stand under those lights and anyone who saw you there would approach you and invite you to have a meal with them, share a cab, or simply give you a long hug. I realize that's an impossibility, a horribly invasive and assumptive series of events but at the same time if you have ever navigated an airport alone and felt as what was on the inside of your own skin brought the only familiarity in an alien sea of people then you'd probably agree this would be a splendid invention.

So here's what I propose:

We divide the Internet into genres, kind of like music except the subgenreing would be LEGIT and not fucked up, in that I mean no one in their right fucking mind would label Ghost the band as anything less that pretentious theatrical pop music and everyone would agree with it, wholeheartedly and I would stop having to read about the band on all my metal news sites.

Yeah, I'm fairly picky about my metal subgenres for someone who's been listening to Lana Del Rey all week long. I'm aware. But this isn't about that.

Let's have an Internet where you pick your genre and the only thing you can see/watch/read are things that pertain to that specific genre.

Cute dogs.

Politics.

Sugar.

Hardcore porn.

Demotivational memes.

And so on, etc. Because I get tired of going looking for porn and finding politics. I get sick of finding a batch of cute puppy videos sandwiched between posts debating whether or not the poster is an asshole and food blogs. I don't want to watch a Lana Del Rey video and find Chinese propaganda social credit score stuff in my sidebar.

I don't want to see your world. Don't want the current events. Don't want to mistakenly stumble across a video of protesters getting gassed and don't want anything about Ghost in my fucking universe.

And yes, women look at porn online too. YES EVEN WITH A HOUSEFUL OF MEN.

(Honestly I'm just trying to find better/different positions for the size differences between me and them. Shut the fuck up.)

Radical self-awareness.

He made it.

Trudging across the beach at high tide, looking a little exhausted and a whole lot relieved, August got back just in time for Ruth's twentieth birthday champagne sunrise toast.

Basically we all drank it in a single gulp, eyes wide because she's twenty and she was seven yesterday, hung up on singing Avril Lavigne songs and wanting to dye her hair blue. I consented to that, a year later because why not? Her hair is no longer blue, right now it's bright green, and she's got a good handful of tattoos and is in her third year at University, which started today (sorry kid, your due date was August 22, not my fault you procrastinated), and so she's off on public transit, to figure it all out. Henry's gone off to do his schoolwork, having started last week on a course and since I'm technically not all that keen on discussing too much of my children online there's your paragraph for the season.

August looks a little past tired actually. Maybe a little haunted instead. Maybe conflicted. Maybe even lonely for those he knows best these days. He greets the children first, as we do, and then the boys. I am last and am practically rabid by the time I reach his arms. I'm so happy he's back. I worry that he's lonely. I worry that he doesn't have a strong enough pull to the point. I worry that something bad will happen when he travels alone.

So glad you came back. 

Definitely probably my last year. 

Ha. Doubt it.

No, you know even though last year was brief and didn't end up great it was nice having my whole family there. This year seemed strange without all of you. And he pulls me in for a hard hug again that leaves me without breath.

I stare at him when he lets go.

It's the truth, Bridget. 

So you're not going again?

We'll have a burn here. I know a guy who does fire pretty well. He grins at Lochlan, who surprisingly grins back. Lochlan who has spent the week alternating between snapping at me, marvelling at the fact that his child is twenty years old today and being jealous of August for taking off for Burning Man without a care in the world and all that just went away. Nothing to be mad, sad or envious about, right this minute.

And if anything, though he has a torrent of emotions always at the ready, Lochlan also has a terrific gift of perspective and pragmatism, that keep him centered, balanced and open.

Really glad to hear you missed us, he tells August. We missed you too.

He should be a Scorpio for all these moods.

Two coffees, one orange juice, one attempt and failure to shave my legs in the shower and then two glorious eggs benedicts with back bacons on English muffins and-

Wait. Are there Scottish muffins? I ask Lochlan, my face still full of brunch goodness. Yes, I talk with my mouth full and so do you.

You ask this every time and as I said before, there is. You wouldn't like them though, he scolds and we resume eating in silence. It's birthday week and it begins with brunch at his favorite place and then a long sunny week of floating in the pool, drinking the good birthday-whiskey and low-key bickering with me as I attempt to find a new job, finish three different house projects and up the ante on life itself and figuring out what that is.

Also August coming back any minute now and I miss him! But Lochlan doesn't! And that's a problem!

There's no problem, Lochlan reminds me. Why is he so cranky? Oh right. Someone's dog barked all night across the cove and none of us slept. If it happens again tonight we'll be lighting the pitchforks and kayaking across. If I don't get some meaningful sleep soon I may fall for his attempts to bait me into a fight but honestly I'm trying so hard today, with zero support, to stay in a really good mood and anticipate a wonderful week full of birthday celebrations, homecomings and back to school.

Poly narco baby.

You again? Sam laughs softly when I open the door. We have to stop meeting like this. 

I grin at him and stick out my tongue before softening and stepping back to one side so he can come in. We are settling into quite a Saturday night routine, only my legs are so tired from walking miles and miles around such a huge shopping centre, and I'm falling asleep on my feet.

Sam is our Saturday night companion, our steadfast, our anchor. He's soaking up the affection here with an enthusiasm that I never expected. He and Lochlan are closer than ever and he sleeps so easily, as do we, when we're all together. Even Ben doesn't mind finding him with us. He's a comfort object in human reverend form. And we are comfort right back.

But he sees that I'm struggling with the hour and the expectations right now. That's what I love most about Sam. Within seconds of talking to you he can figure out exactly what you need. He's the Devil in a collar. He's needful things. He's the always-solution to the problem you didn't even know you had yet.

What about instead of a snuggle we had a bath?

OH. Sam. You haven't lived until you've swam in this tub. Except I know I'll fall asleep so another time. 

We could go for a hot tub. 

Rather be naked. 

No one ever accused you of being subtle. Can't you be naked in your own hot tub though? 

It's not exactly in my own private backyard. 

Er..okay. I can draw a bath for you. 

Draw it for three. 

Wait, how big is this tub? 

Big enough. Come and look! 

And he did and he chose a lovely blackberry vanilla bubblebath and ran a blisteringly hot bath for us. While he did that I lit candles and closed curtains. I met Lochlan coming in through the door, suit still on from some thing with Schuyler. He had said to start without him, which was lovely but unnecessary, and I told Sam to arrive later than usual. That's why I'm so sleepy now.

Sam here? 

Hey, Brother. Sam is in the bathroom doorway. I just arrived. I'm running a bath for us. 

Nice. Lochlan smiles warmly, giving me a quick kiss and then heading straight to Sam for one of those thumping-back hugs they do.

 I do indeed fall asleep in the bathtub, lulled into heavy dreams, listening to quiet talk between these two and then Lochlan wakes me gently, squeezing me in his arms until I open my eyes. Time for bed, Peanut. He pulls me with him out of the warm bubbles, Sam wraps me in a towel and then I am led to my big giant bed and I only have time to ask that they turn off the lights and blow out the candles before I am asleep again. When I wake up it's morning. It's ten already. Sam is gone. Lochlan is awake watching me. The sun is up.

Good sleep? 

So good. I realize Ben is sleeping in his usual place and snuggle into him. Lochlan plays big spoon and we fall back asleep for a half hour, Ben's arm coming out to pull us in tightly to him.

Was Sam frustrated when he left?

On the contrary. He was tender. He baptized you with a kiss and said he would say extra graces over dinner tonight. 

Good. 

Yeah.

Happy burn.

I need a vacation. I just braved the crowds at Metropolis for a little back-to-school shopping with the kids. Henry did not want to go, having bought a bunch of outfits already this summer for the upcoming fall. Ruth will always take shopping over just about any other activity, and happily lights into Forever 21 with an enthusiasm reserved for kids about to eat cake at a birthday party.

Speaking of parties, she went out with her friends tonight in her cute new jacket and gave us reprieve to complete preparations for her family party tomorrow. We blew up a million balloons, suspending them all over the main level of the house from the ceiling, brought out the pile of presents and finished decorating the cake I baked this morning. She'll be twenty on Tuesday, a double-happy day because August is supposed to come home in time for her actual day.

I kind of hope he comes home early but that's wishful thinking. Had I been able to stand it physically, they would have had to drag me kicking and screaming from Black Rock City. I know he has such good fun and he always downplays it when he comes back and that makes me sad. He shouldn't have to minimize such a life-changing, life-restoring experience but he will even as I press him for more details. More feelings! More photos!

It's all so exciting. I'm happy I'm keeping up today. So is everyone else though, as I threatened to get drunk and go sit in a tree yesterday and apparently that was exceedingly immature. I can be mature!

Tauruscopes.

It's raining here on the point under a super black moon morning. It's quiet and dim. It's my favorite time of day. I'm awake, alert and inspired. I drink my coffee alone when I can, headphones blocking out the world, my very own version of an apocalypse bunker complete with stores for years, if not longer. I can write and play with words and draw and music myself up until I'm ready to be released into the known world where we are hellbent on socializing, being together or whatever that thing is called where I must exhaustingly interact with other humans because that's what one is supposed to do.

Maybe it's me. I tolerate so few of them. Like the sun. I can handle it (if I must) while I'm gardening but if I'm at the beach I want this weather, always. Darkened skies and brackish teal. Muted foggy green and dampened lamp-black shores, holding their secrets closer as they wait for the light.

Today brings a new personal outrage as I need to bring my glasses to the beach. From far I can spot the sea glass pieces but once I pick them up I then need to put on my glasses to see if they're ready for saving or need more work. This is my true garden where I cultivate the legacy of how water smoothes the rough edges, softens the violence of a shard, mutes the screams of my victims-

(Okay maybe ignore that last part, for that is simply wishful thinking and nothing more.)

Little blind-and-deaf Bridget is watched closely, red eyes blinking out of the darkness by the edge of the steps. Always close enough to run. Always far enough to try and afford a graceful sort of mock-privacy. I set my coffee cup down on a large flat rock and he stirs in concern, pretending to shift his position sitting on the third step up, coffee cup nestled in capable hands.

I find a singular treasure and pull my glasses back down over my eyes to look more closely. The edges are smooth and cloudy, pitted and round. Perfect. It's hard to find the white and pale blue pieces. Mostly I find green and brown. Each color has a value and I'm suddenly rich. Each piece has a weight and I'm suddenly heavy. Each day has a number and suddenly this one means something.

You really want to know who the fuck I am.

(Don't panic. It's a song lyric.)

I still have a weird dent and a white mark on my fingernail where I slammed my finger in the fridge at work on one of my last days. I only miss my paycheques, nothing else and when I went in to drop off my dress I was struck by how disorganized and filthy everything was. And yet it was filled with customers. I think my next job will be bagging groceries. At least there all the food is sealed and I can't be embarrassed by the state of it all. When people ask what's good I would pick a different dish every day off the back of the menu because I don't know, I wouldn't eat it.

Caleb smooths his fingers across the dent and tells me it will grow out soon. He's anxious once again to get a good review, a favourable mention in my writing instead of a vent or a despairing question of why he's here. I don't know what he wants me to say. No one needs to hear that he woke me out of a sound sleep last night, brought me to heaven four times straight with his fingers and then with his mouth and then put his weight on me, bringing himself up to where I was before disappearing back to his own room in the dark. It wasn't midnight yet. I was so sleepy. Just the way he loves it. Then I feel asleep again and when I woke up it was daylight. I was curled against Ben with Lochlan wrapped around me. I had to see if it was a dream. I asked Lochlan why Caleb came back and he didn't answer, changing the subject instead.

When I come downstairs PJ is playing Slipknot's Orphan so loud I think the roof is going to rattle right off the house.

Right? He grins, giving me a couple of good headbangs for effect.

The guitar sounds like Van Halen. I frown at him and he laughs.

Okay, so I know it's not your favorite.

Ooh. I like this part though. I give him a single slow headbang in return and he claps for me.

God. So proud. You look like a mom trying to be there for her kid.

So I'll skip that part and just throw the horns instead?

Atta girl. Throw them HIGH.

It better not be as hot as it was yesterday all day or I swear I'm going to liquify and they'll have to keep me in a jar in the fridge, which sounds great right now frankly. I actually fit in the fridge. We checked and scared the fuck out of Duncan one morning as he blindly reached in for something and I grabbed his hand.

Keeping up appearances with acts of attrition
It doesn't matter 'cause I know you'll never listen
Before you knew it when you saw it, now you say you never knew it
It was all a big conspiracy
We came together when the hands of fate let go
Is there anybody left to fill this hole?

Heat madness.

Fear fun, fear love
Fresh out of fucks forever
Trying to be stronger for you
Ice cream, ice queen
I dream in jeans and leather
Life's dream I'm sweet for you

Lying on Daniel's giant pizza slice inflatable pool float today. It's big enough for four people. It's vegetarian. I am stretched out between a cartoon cross-section of a mushroom and what I think is a blob of green pepper. It's a horrible thing, this, with terrible graphics and worse colors, but it's also the only one big enough for me to step onto and stretch out on without getting wet.

As such I have my airpods with me, an item that is positively banned from poolside, a rule I break every chance I get.

If you ruin them I'm not replacing them and neither are you, Lochlan says. Then what will you do?

Listen to my music on the speakers. Then they all can be treated to Venice Bitch played on repeat for four hours straight and they'll know what my brain can be like.

Better than they do now, I mean.

Daniel's not going to rat me out. He made a big show of cramming his giant frame onto my floating chaise with attached...uh..leg holder. 

Ahem, it's called a footrest, Daniel says.

Then why does it end just under your knees? 

Because it's for kids, he reminds me.

(Everything they get for me is built for your average ten-year-old. You should see my tiny kayak. It's like a little curled blue leaf and it's about half the length of theirs.) and he's not saying a word, though I know his arse is soaked through already because it's almost submerged from his weight. He's so tanned. I could stare forever. He looks like Ben but friendly. Wet.

It's hard to get Ben into the pool some weeks. The days run together for him. He probably doesn't know it's Wednesday. He doesn't know there's a long weekend coming up. PJ and I already grocery shopped. The gardening is done. I made jam. The house is clean, beds are fresh, gifts are collected and wrapped for next week, a week that sees Ruth and Lochlan have birthdays (twenty and fifty-four, respectively, where is the time going holy shit) and we're ready. I'll bake cakes this weekend and finish up decorating.

And it's thirty-eight degrees in the sun right now. The music is melting into my brain. It's going to be stuck fast and we'll never get it off.

Bridget. What the fuck.

Oh shit. Lochlan's noticed the headphones. He charges into the pool and pushes the pizza to the edge where PJ stands with an equally disapproving glare. PJ leans down, one hand out and I begrudgingly give him my airpods.

Last warning or you don't get them back, Lochlan says.

For fucks sakes! I protest and I turn and roll off the float into the deep end.

The blog with the classiest, most introspective foursomes you'll ever read about with zero sex mentioned because I'm better than that, fuckers.

They mistook my kindness for weakness
I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus
Can't a girl just do the best she can?

August called me late last evening. It's as if I can conjure him and he's there. Kind of like Jake, I guess, only marginally less heartbreaking. Or maybe he's marginally more heartbreaking.

Grab your humidifier and get on a plane, baby. 

Oh my God I love you. 

I bet. He laughs. You okay?

Hmmm? Yes? It's not Halloween yet. 

Not what I meant. 

Where are you? 

On the road. 

Ah. 

We're not in yet. Gate news is decent. Got hung up in Lovelock seeing some old friends. Still here.

Oh. 

I love you, Bridget. Wish you were here. 

Yeah me too. Love you too. Be safe.

Will do. Catch you on the other side. 

He hung up and I tried to keep my shit together and failed.

***

Before I could get out of sight Caleb swoops in. He's an emotional vampire. He smells feelings and he's there, feasting on my affectivity, drinking up my despair, growing stronger from the elixir of my misery and then trying to fix it. Because if he can make me happy, bring me up so high he knows eventually I will fall from those heights and he'll be there to feed once more. We're a vicious cycle. We're a cyclone together. A tornado of history that flattens everything in it's path and in the waking light I really hate him right now. He can give me anything I want but I don't want any of it.

Love you, I say as he smooths my bangs back with his thumb, smiling at me gently.

We can go. 

I can't handle the conditions. 

We'll bring the doctor. You can run around with an IV pole. It'll be a look. 

Sounds like certain disaster. 

Okay, stay home and cry over your livestream instead. 

That isn't...why I was crying-

You need to learn to embrace what I can provide.

I'm no longer sure if he's talking about impulsive trips or well-planned, choreographed sex parties anymore.

I split the difference. I thought I was. 

Not even close. He laughs but there's an undercurrent of disapproval so strong I go under, fight to get back to shore and give up, preparing myself to die.

***

It was a one-off, Peanut. 

I was, you mean. A little bit of a stressful night as I couldn't relax enough to get anywhere except for with Ben and you don't think that shit tears at Lochlan just a little bit?

Should have had a little wine first. 

Should have had a lot of things. Maybe not Caleb. 

I'm just trying to make you happy. 

Then don't agree with me. 

What?

Nothing. 

Bridge-

Hey, Lochlan?

Yes?

Can we go to Burning Man? 

No, Bridget. It's bad for you. And by the time we got ready it'd be almost over. 

Okay. 

Wait, what? 

That's what I want. Is for you to be what I'm used to. 

The killjoy? Your dad?

The voice of reason. You're the only part of my brain that keeps me sane. 

He smiles a weird grateful smile, maybe getting the confirmation he needed that he doesn't have to try and make all of my wildest dreams come true, he just has to keep being himself and stay true to what he knows is right and what is wrong and not fuck with those things. Ever.

I'm really glad you said that, Peanut. I needed that.

I nod because I'm losing it. I'm also hung up in Love-Loch and I can't say anything to him in return.