This post is about Taylor Swift. I'm not sorry.

August and I are simultaneously watching the documentary Miss Americana and texting each other. I was not allowed out (it was too late and too awful outside because RAIN. We've had something like 1478930532 days of it so far this year, and it's getting old again. But it's not snow, so look on the bright side, people. You know, your SAD light.) and he figured that was a sign. It was, most likely.

Oh my goooood what a cute cat. It's one of those grumpy ones, right? A Scottish fold maybe? I don't know

She's got her diary, front and centre. And a kitten. This is some 13 going on 30 shit

Oh yup. 13

Wait. She said ink jet. Not well but jet. And a glass quill? Jesus. Early Cinderella here

Suddenly heartstring-pulling as she seemingly is self-aware and that surprises me. I have this vision of her as a cold-hearted music machine. Granted, I've heard maybe one of her songs. Uh. I don't remember.

August interjects here (and will be purple text)  I knew you were trouble when you walked in

Oh, right.

Cat #2!

"I just need to make a better record". Jesus, woman. Do it for you.

Oh here's mom. Isn't this weird need to please everyone her fault?

I really like the raw songs and not the stylized overproduced stuff. Joel should be ashamed.

It's so lonely at the top. At least mom's there. And Joel. Does Joel have a family?

What airline staff serves the food before takeoff? LOL

Taylor looks surprised at the C-word and then tells us cancer was hard for her. Taylor, she means.  Um..

Omg my dream fridge!

Cat. is. ON. the. table.

What's in that bottle that she's drinking? Wow, she cries alot. Love her.

"We" don't do that anymore. "This" is fine. Odd tenses. I like it.

Oh my fuck. You GO GIRL. STAND UP FOR YOURSELF.

Oh no. Mom, don't be a yes-man. Hug your child. There's dad and Joel. They just stare. For fucks sake

This is called Burnout, Taylor.

Aaaaaaand you fixed it!

Oh, I like that song. Wait, wasn't Jack Antonoff engaged to Lena Dunham?

She's starting to look like she's checked out live.

Brandon Urie?

Oh fixing the wooden expression on stage. Gotcha...

 And here's where I admit I got one hundred percent sucked in and failed to find anything wrong with the rest of it and am a huge fan now! Though I still don't know any of the songs, she seems like she is stuck at whatever age she was when she became famous and with a few quirks she seems like she knows and has learned and is game to admit she's still learning. I wanted it to go on for hours but it stopped way too soon and I realized I stopped texting completely.

I guess that's the story so far.

Aug

Augieeeeeeeeee

You awake?

Sweet dreams

Heavy with limited visibility (like my heart).

Okay! It's started snowing like mad here and I've already organized the Boy Squad (a term they hate) into finishing the laundry, running the dishwasher, getting a huge load of groceries, gassing up the vehicles, putting down de-icer on the driveway, hill and walkways, plus the steps to the beach, and now they're all milling around close by because I'm baking chocolate-chip cookies.

Bring on the snow. I'm ready.

(I'm also feeling a lot better. That helps.)

Hive mind.

It stuns me that I used to get tattooed and then go out and get shitfaced, dance all night, fuck someone and then wake up and do it all again the next night. Nowadays I hobble around the kitchen with my hands out to ward people off, yelling DON'T TOUCH ME HOLY FUCK I'LL KILL YOU if they even attempt to enter the room, forget all about being actually touched. Between my ear and the most recent spate of work I am candy-glass, shattering if you look at me.

I sleep fitfully, on the outside of Ben all through the end of last week, away from any involuntarily thrash or affection from Lochlan in his dreams. He already grabbed me once and felt so bad I grabbed him back in dismay, knowing he also hurts, just somehow not as much because he had less work done again. Dammit.

Mark just laughs as he watches me through the decades as I shrink into a violet when I used to be a mighty tree. It's okay though, I think I've reached the end of my tattoo time and then I want a little more, and then I'm sure and then I change my mind again. My theory is that you only get one form, may as well make it as pretty and unique as possible and thanks to Mark, I think I've done that.

Though, if I may, an entire swarm of fucking bees is a pretty awesome addition to a suit with very little gaps remaining. When in doubt, fill 'em up with bees, I always say.

Or at least that's what I say now. 

Caleb said I look dangerous when I showed him and then I screamed at him in surprise when he went to hug me on my way out.

Give me a few days to unclench my teeth and fists and by then the swelling should be down and I'll be back to normal.

(HA. Who's normal?)

If it glitters it's probably trash.

My soul wanders in a small loop, looking for a permanent home or purpose even, searching for meaning in the endless chaos of my life. It's sure but unsure, convicted but easily swayed, distracted but focused. I'm a magpie, an enigma, a storm on a beautiful day. Just like outside this morning where the sun beamed onto the clouds heavy with rain as they pushed in against the blue, turning everything grey and dim, muting what was supposed to be a day devoid of obligation or purpose.

At least for me.

But I can't embrace it. I can't work with it. I can't relax ever. I don't know why. Sam and Caleb separately gave me the same answer and it surprised me, in that my soul is still looking. I don't give Caleb any credit as when he takes it he locks it in a small box and it remains with him. I do give Sam credit as he has a direct line and can get answers as I need them, though I may not necessarily like them.

It's okay, he tells me. You don't have to like them. Or accept them. They're there regardless. 

Schrodinger's Jesus? 

In a way, yes, Sam laughs.

All-business Saturdays.

Sorry, I checked out of today. I spent four hours flat on my back while Mark attacked the gaps in my suit with tattoos of various things found in nature, mostly bees, taking it until I cried Uncle because no amount of Bactine or zoning was going to get me any further. Then he wrapped all of my new tattoos and Lochlan took me out for a chicken sandwich, which was so good. I had a huge glass of lemonade and then ordered myself a piece of chocolate cake too. He watched me eat, asked if I was good and then we came home to rest.

Mark is tattooing Ben and Loch tomorrow. It's kind of fun, like a mini-vacation save for the fact that I have to hold my wrists at an unnatural angle tonight and I also can't slide my legs up onto the chair across from me underneath the big desk because I don't want to scrape them.

I love my tattoos. I went through a long period of hating all of them but with some reworks and some new direction the love is back with a vengeance.

It feels great. Tomorrow I'll be wrecked but right now this is wonderful. I had no phone, no book, no television, no boys, just a random spotify playlist that Mark has cobbled together and the odd bit of conversation but not much because he likes to concentrate while he works and I like to lie there and guess the artists of the songs he plays.

Instead of fluffing your ego I'll mulch your soul.

This is how I act when someone famous walks into my kitchen:

Oh my God, Katatonia just dropped a surprise spring release!

Is there a single?

Yes, but I didn't love-love it. I'll wait and see what the previews sound like. It's very...different.

He nods and smiles. I guess he's used to people fawning over him and not randomly talking about other things. I wonder if I should point out that I only actually do fawn over Ben but that's mostly because I love him more than life itself and I will always be his biggest fan.

Can I make you some coffee?

Please, but only if you'll have some too.

Of course.

Of course! Why wouldn't I want coffee at eight o'clock at night? Who does that? Wait, alcoholics do that. I take down two mugs and fire up the Keurig. He opens the fridge to find milk while I put the sugar and a spoon on the island, in case he takes it with everything. Coffee shop jobs die hard.

What are your other favorites these days?

 I rattle off a handful of up-and-comers and beloved ride-or-dies and he nods. Pleased he has a walking crystal ball in front of him or maybe he's happy to pretend he has a wife to make his coffee for five seconds. I can see he's still wildly rattled that I haven't gushed or asked for a photo or something.

Do you want something to eat?

No, I'm fine, thank you.

What are YOUR favorites these days?

Oh, well, I'm working on a good assortment. He rattles off three bands I've been listening to for years. Yeah, I know. But he seemed far more comfortable talking about himself and we both know it.

Ben is lucky.

Okay, don't-

I mean, I can see the stability is good in this environment. He's very content. You're a constant strength.

It's the other way around. He is the strength.

I see. Anything I can do to help?

No, thank you. We're doing great here. 

I see that. (OMG STOP SAYING THAT.) If you do need anything, however, here's my card. I'll put my personal cell on it. He writes a number on the back and holds it out while I look at it, pained expression all over my face.

If I've overstepped-

Do you know how many of these cards I have? 

He pulls out his wallet and tucks it back inside. I see. 

I don't know if you do. 

In my life I have to take my chances when I see them. It's lonely at my house. I'm looking to make it a home. 

I think there are websites for that. 

It's not the same. 

I see (TAKE THAT, FUCKER). More fun to swoop in and steal supposed surface-girlfriends from your artists? 

'Surface' girlfriends? 

You know, the ones that float. In the shallow end. With their purchased...assets. Ready to jump to the next pool that glitters more brightly. 

At the risk of sounding awful, it usually works-

It won't work here. (I give him mental credit for going for it even though I'm close in age to him, at least and not some naive twenty-year-old with wide eyes and Big Plans.)

Bridget, please accept my apologies for my assumptions and my terrible behaviour. May we start fresh? 

I don't think I'd like to do that. 

I understand. 

Beware the surface girls, hey? They'll suck the life right out of you. 

But isn't that better than a life alone?

I don't know if it is. Something to think about, anyway.

Still bothered but also here's a fun story for you.

(I wish I could keep as many boundaries with friends as I can with strangers.)

Ben had what we like to call a 'blow-through' yesterday. That's when his people come to him, instead of meeting in far away cities where things get done, where they disparage where he lives because it's not 'close to anything'.

Okay, he'll say, naming at least ten huge bands that record here. Every tour starts or ends here. Everyone rehearses here. But whatever.

People from LA are outward, vacuous assholes in this industry. If not, it means they want something from you. New York is a little better. A lot friendlier but a lot less patient. Put the two together and it's mildly hilarious. But I was still on my best, these people are way up there and I've seen their names in my liner notes.

So they show up, we host a huge barbecue, the rain holds off a little, thank God, the meetings wrap up and a final cocktail hour winds things down before they're all off to the airport to leave this godforsaken remote wilderness.

I'm on the beach with Ben and a few of the executives. They love Ben. He is fiercely talented, dedicated, has his shit together at last with a newfound industry respect for it and also he's fucking crazy. They've heard the stories.

One of them tries to make small talk with me. I'm sure he's drunk and afraid. So young and green.

Are you Ben's...wife? 

Ex. We're still close friends. 

Ah. What do you think of...all this? He waves his drink, spilling a little, indicating the house, cliffside and view.

I love it. That's why I'm here. 

It's great that he invites you here. Ben's a generous man. 

I'm sorry? 

If you hadn't divorced this probably could have been yours. He's so smug.

I start laughing.

Did I say something funny? He looks pleased but doubtful.

It's my house, dude. 

I'm so confused. 

Then don't assume and you won't be. 

He said it's his. 

It is. I asked him to live here. 

Do you work in the industry? 

No, I'm a retired circus performer. 

Cirque?

Atlantic City, New York, eastern seaboard mostly, in the nineties. Nothing notable. 

I need to quit drinking. 

Probably. 

I didn't think the circus paid so well. 

Oh, it doesn't. You have to grift for your dinner in that industry. Just like this one, only you sing instead of dance, I guess. 

I don't see why you and Ben are divorced. Or how this factors in. Trust fund?

No, and it's a long story.

Dammit, I have a flight to catch. 

It's okay, I wasn't going to tell it again anyway. 

Stay with me.

Lochlan brought out two whiskeys in one hand last night and in the other, a bluetooth speaker, setting it on the railing and cueing up some Sam Smith, a modern spin on our endless beloved eighties power ballads. Maybe we're sophisticated now? I ask as I clink my glass against his and take a long sip.

I doubt it, he laughs.

He takes the glasses, setting them on the table and pulls me into his arms, leading me around the front porch while the rain pours down a few feet away, soaking our world with holy water, washing away the sins and mistakes, drowning the past, snuffing out ghosts and driving enemies away. It's just he and I. Just us and the rain. As ever.

A spin with my hand up over my head and he pulls me back in. We need a bigger camper, he says softly.

This size is perfect for us. I didn't know they came in bigger sizes. This is the first camper I've ever been in. It's the first alone-slow dance I've ever had too.The radio blares a noise and fizzles out abruptly, ruining the mood and Lochlan swears, dropping his arms.

I need more batteries, he said back then. The bluetooth isn't updated on this, he says now and the cold rushes into the space where he was a second ago.

He takes out his phone and lets it be the speaker instead, resuming the music, because technology now enhances our long romance, instead of hobbling it. Because the past is the present and the future too. Because he's here and it doesn't matter what gets into this space as long as I can still reach out and touch him.

As long as I can still reach out and touch you, you mean. 

I mean both, I tell him and he's in close again.

Happy to hear you say it. He has me up against the rail now, hands on my head, leaning us out over into the rain, laughing as we are drenched in seconds midkiss. He leans us back in and pulls me away from the rail and down to the hanging bench. Another long kiss and he is trying to take my clothes off while I fight to keep them on.

Too cold, no blankets. 

I'll light us on fire, he says, breathless now.

Upstairs, I plea and he groans.

That is the one thing I loved about the camper. We only had to take two steps and we were in bed. 

Soon we can move back for the summer. I take the speaker and he brings the glasses.

I can't wait for that. Privacy, finally. He finishes his drink and then mine too, leaving the glasses on the table in the front hall.

Rainy day people.

The best place to have an existential crisis these days is the gazebo. If you lie flat on your back with your head sticking out on the step you get the added benefit of only being cold on your head, letting the rain wash your hair while your clothes remain nice and dry and heat blasts down on your prone form, drying you out like a husk of your former self.

Duncan is beside me. He asked if I wanted to hang out for half an hour outside to get some fresh air. Lochlan agreed to the half hour because surprise, he's on a conference call because the person who took the job didn't know how to do all of it.

Duncan is smoking his annual new year blunt. Because he's not going to give up his lizard kingdom without a fight and because he's remorseless and as hypocritical as the rest. I call him on it. Giving back your coins?

I stopped drinking. Keeping my coins.

Alcohol is a drug, Dunk.

Don't grind my gears, Bridge. He growls it at me, getting up and stamping out his treat, smudging it into the concrete pad at the edge of the step. Better?

Talk to Ben about that.

It's once a year! It's a ritual, not a crutch. If it was a crutch, I'd do it more than this.

What's wrong, Dunk. You're far more short-tempered than usual.

Second. He's looking over the grass. We have a visitor approaching. I look sideways and see a blur but I know their gaits. It's New Jake. For fucks sake. What does he want?

He reaches us at last with a smile and a wave. Duncan stares him down. New Jake fails to notice but nods in his direction and addresses me upsidedown as I look up at him from the floor.

I need a passenger for this afternoon. I put new rear shocks on the bike and I want to see how it drives. Hoping to add a hundred pounds or so. Would you like a ride today, Bridget?

It's raining. Duncan says it before I can answer.

It's only a sprinkle. What do you say, Bri-

She's busy today. Duncan looks in the other direction, at an imaginary plane. Try PJ.

That's twice as much weight as I want to test.

Sorry then. Another time.

New Jake takes the hint and tells us to have a great day. I respond warmly with the same while Duncan ignores him. I wait until he disappears far away around the side of Batman's house and turn to look at Duncan.

What was that?

He sniffs around you like a hungry bear. I'm just trying to keep you from getting eaten.

I point to my ear. Too late, don't you think? You going to tear Caleb a new one as well?

Pretty sure PJ and Lochlan are doing that right now.

I jump up. You set me up so they could hurt him?

No, Bridget, I distracted you so they could teach him a lesson.

Thought you were my friend.

We thought Caleb was your friend.

He's never been. You all know this. And with that I'm gone, flying back to the house to try and stop whatever's about to happen.

***

He's fine. PJ held him down, Lochlan bit his ear until it bled. What an interesting twist and amazing payback because now he knows how much it hurts. Caleb now has two stitches (with Lochlan's assurances that he 'held back', so I transferred the appropriate amount to his account. We're so mature.

Scarred on the inside.

That title is my t-shirt today. It's supposed to be edgy and emo but everyone misreads it and says Scared? Of what?

I will stand straight, pulling it out and usually they'll continue to ignore the letters and try to cajole me into saying what I'm scared of. It's maddening.

But it's true. My scars are bigger and more prolific on the inside. On the outside I'm rocking a lot of little dings and dents, a couple good size permanent marks in the checkmark under my nose from the skateboard and two caesarean section scars that healed pretty poorly, truth be told. There's also a burn mark on my neck but I can hide it under my hair and it's not as visible as you would think. You have to look for it. I'm also missing virtually all of my fingerprints so touchscreens are fun.

Inside I've got my rebuilt motor of a heart and a hundred million stab wounds from where they've tried to kill me with their love and missed, leaving so many holes water pours out freely when I swim but my heart remains only mildly affected by their efforts.

Lochlan scowled at me, lifting his arm up to let me pass underneath as he held the door open.

Get what you wanted? 

No, I remind him for he knows the ever-present craving for the ghost looms large and that the Devil is the only one who can fulfill it.

Christ, Peanut. You make me crazy. 

I want company where I am, here in crazytown.

You don't need him, then. Here. Let me check your ear. There's been some concern about blood flow and coloring and I'm a little excited because I've been promised I can see a surgeon and get elf ears if this doesn't work and I still really, really want them.

Aw, it looks great. And with that those hopes are dashed but at least his own are back on track now. As long as I'm physically intact (only scarred on the inside) he can pretend I haven't forced a devil of a boyfriend on him, which is an incredibly unrealistic depiction of what this is but no one needs a refresher.

He's not coming back around this week. It's not a question, exactly.

No, I told him I'm taking a bit of a break now. I need time to think. 

Good. I have some news. 

News?

Info, maybe. I cleared the week. 

Really? 

I'll be home. Job's been passed on to another person who wanted it and I don't want it. 

What'd Schuyler say. 

See you tonight?

Oh, so he didn't mind? 

He's always surprised if I take a gig. 

Okay. 

So we can do some special things. Spend time. Heal your ear properly. 

With magic? 

If you want. 

(I need to find a shirt that says TOO EASILY FORGIVEN.)