His are blue glitter and I said they looked nice so now we match.

Daniel is painting my nails to cheer me up. They are red glitter and I love them. We're not even going to discuss the part where I'm deathly allergic to nail polish and that half the boys hate my glitter tendencies anyways. Caleb called Daniel a glitard in passing so Daniel offered to do his too and Caleb didn't even respond. I made a note to address his rudeness privately later.

He should be happy that someone cares for my happiness the way Daniel does, in trying to teach me self-care, giving up and doing it for me.

We should cut your hair, Daniel suggests but I'm not ready for that. It's grown into long points that are long enough now to braid easily and I love it. Haven't cut it for a long time, don't intend to any time soon.

Maybe a bubble bath then?

For how many? 

One, girl. Jesus. 

Boring!

Right? Okay maybe I'll leave that for someone else to handle. 

Story of my life.

Oh look, a hole.

Lay your heart into my perfect machine
I will use to protect you from me
I will never let you see what's beneath
So good for you and good for me
We told ourselves we're right where we ought to be

Pretty sure in his dreams last night Lochlan let go of the bar before he was anchored securely in a bid to grab me before I fell into the net, because he knew the net wasn't ready yet and we were in a hurry to get a single final practice in before showtime. It's when you rush that everything goes horribly, terribly wrong.

And he hollered my name as his hands grazed my fingertips but it was too late. We both fell but we weren't connected and so we died twisted, preventable deaths alone. I woke up in a cold sweat and practically clawed my way out of bed and down to the coffee maker to find a way to keep the dreams away forever, if they're going to be like that. Fuck that shit. I'm crazy enough without my brain betraying me even further. A mutiny multiplied by the numbers on the calendar.

Twelve years ago tomorrow Ben showed up, staked a claim and Jacob met him easily, tried to minister to Ben and we fed him dinner and he left without a struggle, without a fight but with some sort of harbinger that the army was right there, watching every move Jacob made. I guess they knew deep down he would leave. I guess none of us knew the extent to which he tried to manipulate me, tried to control access to everyone who knew me better than he did, who tried to show him using me as a project for his thesis would only serve to blow him to pieces. Maybe I didn't know then what I know now. It takes a village. A beautiful village tucked into the hills by the sea, wrapped around a massive hole that fills with water when the tide comes in but you can't see the bottom even when it's out.

And that's the way it is. Caleb is better at this than Jacob ever was but Lochlan is best of all and throw Ben into the mix and Jacob never had a chance. It was when he figured this out that he tested his wings and they worked and since he couldn't do enough here he decided to flex his wings in heaven. I guess it's working, as they rarely send him back.

Jesus FUCK, Peanut. It's not your fault he did this. Lochlan picked a bad time to look over my shoulder but I note he speaks in present tense as if this is an ongoing, present event.

It is, Lochlan snaps at me and now he's left the room and I can climb back down into the hole and pull the dark up over my head. Now you can't see me either but I'm here. It's an inky black vat of oxytocin and I only need it for a little while until the courage floods back into my veins to dilute everything else and then I'll come out.

I swear I will.

Mavericks and dreamers.

I'm excitedly wandering around telling anyone who will listen that the Montgolfier brothers not only invented the first hot air balloon but they did it using paper from their family's paper company, a company still run by the family today that we know as Canson Paper.

I only knew it was the Montgolfier brothers because of that scene in the Highlander movie. What I didn't realize is that there was a connection to one of my favorite sketchbook manufacturers.

Though, let's be honest. I have just as many Gumbacher, Strathmore, Legion and Moleskin books in my art cupboard because sketchbooks are my kryptonite. I get weak when confronted with a wall of them and I'll always buy four or five at a time.

I will never run out, at this rate.

In the meantime, Ben has finished his project, just slightly over the wire and has surfaced once again with apologies and late-movie-nights and even-later-Ben-and-Bridget nights and even accompanied me on a small grocery shop this morning to stock up on some of the stuff we ran out of too soon. We gassed up the jeep and got all our errands run because it's supposed to pour rain for the rest of the week and I don't want to be out in it, much. I'd rather be home.

The biggest news of the week is that after dinner was devoured and cleared away last night I went down to the storage room, found the bins of Halloween decorations and put them all up. Usually I don't put much effort into it, though we have morphed from very adult violent themes of dismemberment and serial killing, jumpscares and flashing lights everywhere to a softer sort of rustic Samhain vibe of grapevines and silver-painted skulls and soft LED pumpkin lights. It's kind of weird but also doesn't feel nearly as stressful. I feel like I'm outgrowing horror but I also don't feel like I've participated enough in Halloween proper for so many years now it's too early to make a statement like that and feel good about it.

The house looks much nicer though. Or maybe that's just because Ben has been in my sights all morning long.

Dinner dates.

I finally got to the point in life where I attended a beautiful wedding and didn't raise my glass in toasting the happy couple all while thinking 'Gosh, I hope he doesn't jump off a building some day to get away from your happy life you're pretending to have'.

I call it progress, Joel. 

I call it highly morbid. That's disturbing, Bridget. 

It's inevitable. It's just residual bitterness. I wasn't wishing them ill or assuming all marriages implode, it was more of a...protection...spell. 

A protection spell. Now you're a witch?

Sometimes, yes I am. 

This makes more sense than most things, oddly enough. Now tell me about the wedding. 

It was lovely. Very smoothly produced, though in my next life I think I'll be a decorator because the weddings I've done are breathtaking, while the ones I attend outside of the Collective seem a little more out of the box. 

So you're not still struggling with crippling self-doubt at all. 

Oh, I am. Don't get me wrong. But renting stock centerpieces are different. Most decorators are probably too busy to walk a beach for five months collecting a certain shade of driftwood. 

Obsessive. 

Stop labelling me! 

Just trying to get a barometer, here, Bridge-

Then ask for one. Don't take random thoughts from a conversation that's all over the place and try and diagnose me. 

He pauses for a moment in one of those Joel-clarity lightbulb moments that illuminates the entire planet. When Joel pulls a mea culpa you'll absolve him just because he does it so adorably. I'm not sure if it's manipulation or self-protection but it works perfectly. You're so right, Bridget. I'm sorry. I just try to get a feel for how you are when I visit in case you need extra support but you have so much in house and I think you're in good hands right now. 

I do too. 

Then I should probably go. 

You could stay for dinner. 

I'm sure you have a full table, but thank you. 

We always have room for you, Joel. 

I didn't bring anything. 

You brought you. That's enough of a gift. I don't need presents, I need your presence. 

You and your words. 

Yup. Do you want to set the table or get the cranberries underway?

Turkeys.

I alternately want to make another cup of coffee, build a bigger fire and go kayaking, if only to come home and have one of those blisteringly-hot showers you can barely feel because your skin is as cold as marble right until that moment that you stop shivering, wrapped in wool, finally warm. Then someone will bring in some Vietnamese takeout and you can cue up that horror movie (hopefully a good one, we're not going to talk about last night's choice Don't Breathe, which was honestly one of the worst pieces of absolute shit I've ever sat through.) and then go to bed at a still-decent hour, because it's smart to do so.

It's an echo of yesterday almost, though we did go and vote, we did go and see the Joker movie (absolutely fantastic with a side of WTF uncomfortableness) and we did eat our body weights in popcorn, which is always a bad idea but late last night I popped a huge cookie sheet full of hashbrown patties in the oven and distributed them to much appreciativeness, as nothing says I love you like the person who delivers a hot potato into your hands at eleven at night.

I think I'll skip the kayaking, as the rain is coming fast and steadily. It's definitely a typical October, though not for here, and I'm so incredibly grateful not to be living in the Prairies anymore, as I've heard Mother Nature finally shut the power off with her skills.

No thank you.

I'm glad I live here right now, in any case. I'm thankful for a lot of things today, not the least of which being the hole that sucks me in seems to be nowhere to be found right this moment.

Caturday.

It's Saturday of the long weekend and we had our big turkey dinner a week ago due to houseguests (I know! I don't talk about my life at all) and so right now I want to have breakfast and then go find the advance polling station so I can cast my vote and get it over with and then I can feel released in tuning out the endless rhetoric online and in the neighborhood, though some well-meaning or malicious (not sure which) candidate has peppered our gate area twice in the past two weeks with signs and so I called their office each time to come and collect them because well, please. We're so obviously not Conservative, if you know what I mean, but I'm speaking literally, as you probably know by now. I wouldn't dream of talking politics because it's something I figure everyone needs to educate themselves about and avoid the rhetoric as much as possible. Your friends will be skewed, your newspapers heavily skewed and the internet as a whole? Completely misinformed/directed altogether.

So that said, today is a day where I'm skirting around the hole somewhat easily. I just have a lot on my plate.

Lochlan made us coffees at the Keurig (which weird! I have a drawer for it but then I bought these McDonald's coffee pod things that don't have bottoms and come in big foil packets so I can't even put them in the drawers and I guess they can live in the box but they're so good and he laid a big fire because it's freezing this morning and I'm enjoying this comfortable camping sort of foggy quiet morning.

We're finishing up the laundry. We're going to go vote. We're dropping Ruth at a friend's house for the night and then we may see the Joker movie. Lochlan needs to call his mother to fix something on her computer and I really really want my scary movie night (still pending). I was hoping to sleep in but one of the cats (and my body) won't let me, too much and so I'm trying to rest my body when I am awake (exceedingly difficult) and just get over this cold, get over being tired and somehow pull myself out from under the crushing weight of the calendar and everything I have conditioned myself to feel from it based on the dates on a square on the wall.

I'll try harder, I tell Lochlan and he kisses my forehead.

I know, Peanut. You're doing fine.

An audience of none (Operation: Stay Out of The Hole continues).

It's some ungodly early hour and I'm spending it with Ben, who is working hard on a project he wanted to finish by Thanksgiving but honestly when he spoke of his panic I pointed out he could have easily meant American Thanksgiving in which case he has more time.

Tons of time. Months! Isn't the US Thanksgiving right on top of Christmas?

I woke up at five, long before sunrise, still in the studio and flew off the couch. The lights are still on. He still sits in his chair, headphones on, concentrating madly. I wrap myself in a blanket (who needs clothes?) and come over to see what he's doing. I put on headphones that are hanging on a hook but they're hooked in to something different and music plays from a CD. Cream, Sitting on Top of the World. Fair enough. Good song for a twirl and a spin.

Between the blanket dress and the quiet absurdity of dancing to music only I can hear I wind up giving him a sultry, ridiculously hot and extensively x-rated striptease to the song, not stopping until it's done, veering wildly from pure to downright filthy. When I finish he is still looking down, not having seen a thing. I think he's forgotten I slept here last night to be near him. Sam always says not to look to others for approval for your actions, and so I'm giving myself a 10/10 for my performance.

Carve me for Halloween.

I am dozing against Caleb's hard-as-a-rock shoulder. For some reason he isn't as bony as Ben but he's also not nearly as comfortable. It's probably the workouts, as the one thing Caleb refuses to be is the weakest in the bunch. He's a walking Hammacher Schlemmer catalog. Everything has to be The Best or it will never be good enough, and so this quiet morning with a fire crackling and my favourite teal and grey stoneware mugs, long empty is exactly what he wants. At least in this moment he does.

Tell me your thoughts. It's never a friendly curiosity with him. It's always an order.

But I'm ready because there's nothing I like more than to spread my insanity around like a sticky trap within which to catch my men. Or so some people will tell you but honestly I don't get the gossip. Most men don't want 'a handful', they want 'capable'. They want independence. In this day and age being a Knight in Shining Armour is exhausting and they have their own shit to deal with anyway, so put that to bed right there.

I'm wondering what would grow if I were planted right now. 

Pardon?

If I were a seed and you put me in the ground, what would grow? Would it be a tall beautiful flower? Or a little weed? Or maybe an exquisite vegetable like an eggplant or a turnip. 

His shoulders start shaking with laughter and I'm awake now. I have to shift my head because now it hurts to press against his muscles. You're amazing. 

I'm a turnip. 

An amazing turnip. 

Best you ever saw. 

And how.

Overtime.

(Three steps forward, eleven thousand four hundred miles back the way we came.)

You're exactly what I see
Maybe that's exactly what I need
Your heart is working overtime
and your brain is racing out of your mind

the hardest thing about this
is that I can't let you in
You know I need you but I can't see you
without losing everything

It's like a flashlight is being shown in my eyes and I squint, looking away. A throbbing starts in my head, somewhere far back, I can't place it exactly but he squeezes my fingers hard in his hands and says my name. I look back warily. I'm present. Yes, I'm paying attention. If I wasn't I'd be screaming, scrambling backwards, returning to the dark of the cave that is my mind, at once warm and comforting but ice-cold and frightening. He doesn't want to run down there today. He doesn't even want to put a foot in the door.

So he's got it propped open.

Hold the door, I laugh. It's an inside joke, if you know the provenance. I wasn't a Game of Thrones fan overall but that was one singular shining moment, wasn't it?

Three things about the day, Bridge. It's an order. He can do what Joel can't anymore and I love Sam for rolling up his sleeves and standing here in the cold while he tries to call a foolish freedom dog to heel, watching her run the fields in the sun, wholly ignoring him.

The new Wildernessa EP. Espresso. Cole's sweater.

Those are things. I need more. He says it gently. Like I'm trying to remember the answers on a verbal exam and it means my entire future. Okay, so exactly the same thing.

The sun is rising. I am safe and loved. We are okay.

What does 'okay' mean?

Everyone is healthy except for this cold. We're all doing well for the moment. Making plans for the future. We are blessed and have what we need. The pantry is full. The door is secure. The house is warm. The dog sleeps on the big rug in the kitchen. The children smile. We have movie tickets. Music plays all the time. It's really good.

What are your worries?

That my memories will drown all of this.

Can they? Do you give them that power?

I don't-

Bridget.

I try not to-

Bridget-

Okay, let's say I don't. Then what?

Can you drown them with an ocean of gratitude and blessings and maybe even faith that things are getting better?

Well, logically, yes but when did that ever work for me?

And Lochlan starts laughing. That's the best thing about all of this. It doesn't matter how dark it gets, doesn't matter how far down Sam peels my protective layers to get to the dimmest bulb in the garden that is this Collective, Lochlan is right here. Even when he was gone he was always available, never wavered, never put anything above this. Not God, not his own marriage, not anything. It's maybe a faith I have that I put above everything too because we always said we'd be a team and we've burned everything away but this and that's enough for me. I'm not independent and no, I'm not doing this for myself. There is no self. Just us.

I can do that, and I look into Sam's eyes with a determination he doesn't know is from something deliriously unhealthy as I try to please him without even budging. I can trick him by shifting his definitions for my own benefit.

But then he catches me.

Do what, Bridget?

What you said.

What did I say?

I've forgotten-

No, you changed it.

Survival mode? I offer up helpfully while he frowns.

Right. Survival mode. He looks at Lochlan with frustration and decides that's enough. At the door he turns before leaving. She's all yours.

Yeah, I know, Lochlan confirms. He takes my hand, now freezing cold from where Sam let go. You have to work with him, Bridget.

I thought I was.

You're grifting him. It isn't really fair and you don't need to put up a wall right now. Don't play games. It's Sam. He's a gift.

I'm sorry.

Tell him that. And don't start grifting me. Jesus Christ. I created a little monster.

I told you that decades ago.

I'd probably be fine if someone would take away my Sirius XM.

Every time that song comes on I reach out with one finger and turn the radio off.  Sam laughs and points out I've never turned off a fifties-era song before and I raise my eyebrows at him.

That's George Thorogood. 

He covered the Bo Diddley song. My bad. It came out in the fifties. 

Wow. Must have had a whole different sentiment. 

Name some of your loves today. 

Ginger kombucha, tattoo flash, power ballads, TED talks, painting tutorials-

People, Bridget. 

Not George then. Or Bo. 

Go on. 

Lochlan. Ben. You. 

You didn't say Ja-

I reach out and turn the radio back up, all the way. Forever Young by Alphaville is playing now. I wonder if anyone's ever covered it. I don't know if I can get through it. Hits too hard. Like every other eighties ballad I come across, which is why I was listening to this station (80s on 8) in the first place. If Lochlan and I hadn't imploded before I even grew into adulthood that first time around things would have been so incredibly different right now.