Having a thing for tragic endings (he runs, wishing he could fly).

Stupidly what drove me out of euphoria there between Daniel and Schuyler was when a certain song came on their stereo. I was too touched out, too tired, too fragile at that point to get through it. We always make jokes about how long a human being can withstand torture. Tickling is long. Spoon percussion about ten minutes. Waterboarding at least a few minutes, but that song is almost two and a half minutes long and I can't do it most of the time, although a few times I made it but it's not consistent.

The one form of torture I can't manage is heartbreak, after all. That's why I'm with them here in the first place. 

Time for me to turn back into a little bird and fly away, Sky. 

Stay for the week.

Ruth has finals and I have to start wrapping presents. 

Okay, finish out the weekend th-

I gotta go. 

Ah FUCK. Schuyler smashes the button on the stereo and the swells of heartbreak are replaced by a crushing, claustrophobic silence and I can't move suddenly. 

Call Ben for me. 

Bridge, I-

PLEASE. I can't breathe. 

Daniel jumps up and wraps me in his arms, holding me hard. Daniel is the king of kangaroo care and I close my eyes. FUCK. FUCK. FUUUUUUUUCK. Not the way I want to end such a lovely mini vacation but it's like sometimes the wine wears off and the pleasure ebbs and the lights go up and you realize you weren't in a fairy tale after all. Just a nightmare.

Shhhhhh. His breath is against the top of my head as he sways gently, somewhere between a baby-rock and a slow-dance. 

Schuy joins Daniel, wrapping his hands around my head. Out through your nose, Peanut. He whispers it and I follow his instructions, trying to get my breathing back under control from the gulping, panicked breaths that take over before the sobs begin. Jacob is tearing through my mind in the dark, looking for me, tearing doors off their hinges, turning over furniture, leaving the carnage of our love everywhere for someone else to clean up, and it's taking years. It isn't fair. 

***

Back to reality, back to my glitter star tree-topper and the ornaments that I love like glass donuts and cotton-cotton candy and tiny big tops made of wood and paper, so fragile they join my heart in being unable to withstand surprise, momentary torture. Lochlan gives me the once-over and apologizes again for not joining us. He chose sleep, he chose to honour his schedule as Ben's watcher for the day and they napped on and off all day which he said was sorely needed. 

I don't sleep in the day and so I was absolved anyway. 

My hands still shake when I stop doing anything, a dead giveaway and Lochlan finally stops asking me if I'm actually fine and calls Schuyler. He just says Yeah and then listens for a long time, alternating between glaring at me and staring out the window. He looks so tired. His hair is tied back in a loose braid and his shirt and pants are rumpled. He sleeps fully clothed in triage-mode, whether it's me or Ben, and always will, I think. 

He ends the call, looks at his phone for a minute (old habits die hard, just like old friends. Or maybe that's enemies. Look at the mess you made, Jake.) and then nods. He stares at me for so long that I get uncomfortable, his face expressionless, focused. He's waiting for something and I don't fucking know what it is so after an eternity I narrow my eyes in outright annoyance, staring back and he abruptly laughs. 

You're okay?

Define 'okay'.

Better than ten years ago?

Yup. 

Better than ten minutes ago?

Yes, Locket.

Okay then. Off we go. 

 I would post but I can't post from my phone and Schuyler won't let me out of bed ahaahahahahahah happy Saturday.

SAMCAM.

 Oh GREAT. Sam got his hand slapped by...Big Church and has to go to Zoom Advent now, and for the rest of the year. They don't want him to get a fine, even though instructions were clear and exceedingly cautious and ten feet between twenty people OUTDOORS doesn't exactly meet the criteria of a 'religious service', it's more like weaponized hippiedom with a sprinkling of Jesus thrown in.

He's playing Freddie Mercury's In My Defence at top volume to protest. In between complaints about how he had it right. 

(I'm just a singer in a soooooong How can I try to right the wroooooong)

Matt says he's forever famous now on the small screen, and that it will be amazing. He can do greenscreen backgrounds and we can have communion in SPACE or still on the beach or even on the beach IN space but Sam says no one wants to tune in and watch him light virtual candles and it doesn't have the same effect. 

Right. 

Not sure he has looked in the mirror. He's freaking handsome. I told him it can be his OnlyFans account and he can have a button to click to make it rain. 

PERFECT. 

He still does not like this. Freddie swells, high emotion right through my kitchen. Lord. Sam's pulling a me. 

We're going to put it on in the theatre, I assure him. You'll be taller than ever.

Matt winks at me and pulls Sam in close. It's not forever, Babe. 

Excuse. 

me. 

what

BABE? 

I would write more but I just died of adorableness. I'm almost glad we figured out how to keep our hands off each other so I can admire all of this from afar.

(Spoiler alert: We actually didn't/don't/can't.)

A preteen Bridget and a distinctly FORTY year old man who should know better.

So much for the unplugged remainder of the week because noise. Construction noise. I'm super-adverse to loud sounds unless it's MUSIC, of course and so I was up out of bed like a rocket when I heard the trucks and I instantly turned to Ben with very wide, quavering eyes and he promised me that we will reschedule our break for when it's done but it's going to be very awesome and it won't take forever, Bumblebee so don't worry. 

About the title: Before the noise began, I was singing Hard Habit to Break to Benjamin, who was patiently correcting my lyrics, which I magnificently GUESSED at the age of thirteen, when the song came out, and have never bothered to correct since and I keep stopping and shrieking Oh my GOD Peter Cetera (lead singer of Chicago, I don't know if he's also the songwriter, why would FACT-CHECKING get in the way of a good yarn) was such an asshole! Hahahahaha and Ben has never laughed so hard since his accident I was afraid he would get a headache but he's fine. He's so happy. Knock wood. This is rare.

They're starting the pool enclosure today. It's like this glass barn that fits on top of the pool. Also under construction is a partial structure to give a little permanence to the hot tub/sauna/poolhouse with a pedway (covered) in between, so you can technically now duck out of the sauna and walk straight to the pool indoors but still see the outside because the whole thing is glass. Point Perdition is now a snowglobe and I like it so much (I saw a mock-up thing of it on Lochlan's computer), mostly because I didn't have to pay for it and mostly because Ransom isn't in charge of it at all. This is a team of other people and they have promised me they will be finished by Tuesday next week or maybe he meant the week after (oh no) and that's good because I don't like strangers in my environment even though they are outside. Apparently this is the largest one they've ever done. 

The poolhouse is heated, and well-stocked with a tiny kitchen with a fridge, bathrooms and cupboards so the men working have a break room and at least a warm place to eat their lunch and the boys took out the fence section so the trucks could drive straight to the pool part of the yard, which always astounds me that the grass doesn't get destroyed but they might put in a chipseal access driveway for that too, we shall see. Not the same people who are doing the pool thing. 

(Schuyler has promised this will definitely mean we can see the property from space now. When you look at Google earth it's a really old top view and half the buildings are missing.) 

Gah. Kill me now. I hate noise. I hate coming up for air. I (we?) haven't slept for a few days now. We were busy celebrating.  Now we have to stop and put on clothes. CHRIST.

The man in the burning building.

Ben is fifty-two years old today. Benjamin is a semi-feral cat with nine lives and he's run through at least fifteen of them but here he is still alive, still moving forward, still creative, crazy and cracked. Literally now, as he tells anyone who will listen how his skull broke open because his brain wanted to be larger and more prominent, as it should be.

He'll laugh and they'll give a sympathetic grin (because they're afraid of him, technically).

He is still in recovery. Still freshly minted, still taking inventory and still causing as much shit as he possibly can.

But here we are (a far cry from the now infamous pub crawl when he turned twenty-nine) and I am making prime rib for dinner and garlic mashed potatoes and not-whiskey but ginger ale that he likes suddenly and a chocolate cake with a set of silvery number-candles because I can't physically fit that many actual individual birthday candles on one of the cakes that I bake. Not on the top anyway and if you put them on the sides the wax drips all over my vintage tablecloth and that's not a thing to celebrate.

(We tried it once. It looked like a porcupine that melted. A day-glo one.)

Ben doesn't like it when I talk about his birthday. He never has so lets just say the whole rest of the week we'll be celebrating and so I'll be back in a few days. We aren't travelling, just unplugging for a few days, upon his (always granted) request. He deserves the world on a fucking spoon and we will give it to him no matter what.

Happy birthday big Ben. I love you to Pluto and beyond.

Audi, vide, tace.

He surprises me, pushing me onto my back, climbing up over me, my lips sliding down his marble shoulder before he pushes me down, following me all the way. He's taking his time, giving me a million chances to step back, to get away, or to return his efforts. The pause extends for so long goosebumps take over my flesh and he traces along my throat with his lips, entranced.

I thread my fingers into his hair, tightening them into a fist as his arms tighten around me, and the reward is a kiss, deployed slowly, softly at first before evolving into a crushing need as he pins me to the night, his weight keeping me right where he wants me. He moves in a crawl, and I keep my arms around his neck, breathing evenly against his chest as kisses hail down against the top of my head. My head is cool again as he moves away, thrusting hard, faster, reaching up to hold the top of the headboard with one hand and I stretch up both hands over my head, where he catches them easily with his other hands, a move that forces his entire weight down onto me, driving deep. My legs anchor against his hips as he tucks his head down against my ear.

Jesus, Neamhchiontach. His hand leaves the headboard to come down and wrap around the side of my head and I feel so tall and powerful suddenly, stretched out full-length underneath the devil. He switches gears suddenly, away completely, up on his knees, pulling my hands back down, threading his fingers through mine, palms together. Eyes meeting in the dark and yet I am still pinned to the eventide, scared I'll be left behind as he makes his way into the dawn. 

I love you, Bridget, and he is back, warmth taking over from sudden thrills, and I squeeze my arms, holding his shoulders as best I can as he picks up speed now, reaching down to pull my hips up against him. I tuck my head down against his chest again, afraid suddenly as his power takes over the sunrise, keeping it from me, forcing me back into the shadows with him between us. 

He bends his head back down, angling his hips and sets the perfect harsh rhythm that will see us through, allow us to catch a glimpse of a heaven we will never be rewarded with, all the while suffering the spoils of a good war nonetheless. He pulls me up against him just as I start to see that sunrise and I bite down against the bone in his shoulder just as he feasts on mine, breath held, limbs locked, euphoria washing over us like new rain and when I open my eyes, the sky is a murky grey light heralding the day but I can still see the stars.

Hiiiiii

Day drunk on a Monday because Mondays have become our Sundays. The tides are big and the moon is full and the wind just won't quit out here and so the only thing to do is drink mulled wine until my eyes turn the color of blood and my heartbeat slows to a shitty trance-tune cadence and then I'm going to attempt to help with dinner. It's Gage's night but he traded off because of a headache and so he is resting and Lochlan and I are stepping in and will whip up a stirfry with rice and peppers and steak. Maybe garlic bread too. We are good like that, we make sure everyone is well fed. It's one of my rules. I've never ever been an eat-a-bowl-of-cereal sort of mom. 

But I'm also not much help here. Being at least two sheets to the wind already, Lochlan won't let me hold a knife, or go near the stove, and so I have set the table, buttered the bread with garlic butter and have put out the good napkins too. I was allowed to measure out rice for the giant rice cooker (it's like space-ship sized, it's kind of hilarious) and now he would like me to 'be company' while he sears slices of steak and bell peppers and mushrooms in the big woks. 

So fun.

Winter night snow jazz.

We went to socially distanced Advent One on the Beach. Sam is so trendy and yet super traditional at the same time. I love him to bits. I didn't listen to a word he said though, zoning out watching his passion as he jammed a candle into the sand, lit it with his vintage zippo in spite of a burgeoning offshore wind and began to shout above the noise, all brimstone and saltwater and love. We held hands. All nine of us who attended from the point. We made a crowd, apart from other small groups of mostly two. We closed our eyes to block out the sun, tried not to shiver in spite of it burning our corneas (it was still hovering around freezing. That's why only nineteen people showed up out of a twenty-person limit*. Three services a Sunday plus the podcast is back. He is used to a few hundred people but this is a necessity.) and were exceedingly grateful that Sam kept it to twenty minutes, give or take. He spoke about this being a changed advent and yet we still wait for Jesus and we must do it with kindness and grace. 

Matt shouted Amen and Sam grinned and wrapped it up with a reminder that collection has moved online effective last weekend, as he mentioned and all the information is on the church website but if anyone has any problems they can swing by the church and drop off their envelope or he can walk them through transferring by phone.

This has effectively ruined the whole point of going to church for half the boys, pure heathens always up for mischief as detailed here over the years with everything from gravy lakes and tiny paper boats to live baby chicks or Lego in those plates.We are awful and hilarious and Sam's absolute favourites, he only wishes we attended more often because he says the church needs to catch and hold the imaginations of the younger congregations who only show up if they have nothing better to do. 

We did our part. I shrug. The church needs to stop being so imaginary and rigid. Bring it down a notch. Make it magical. Sam does a good job on that part but his is a microchurch in the grand scheme of things. I watch the politics and trends of it. I was a minister's wife and Jacob was on two different bodies that spanned globally trying to find ways to attract a younger audience for their message so I got a steady diet of ideas and experiments. 

(I mean, to be honest right now their best bet is to stock their pulpits with hot younger progressive men. It works like a charm. Sad but true. If you are young and passionate I will hang off your every word. If you are old and boring and just recite doctrine I'm checking out first, thanks. Sam is adorable. We only show up for that reason and I'm fairly certain a lot of the other folks do too. Life is short. Objectify your friends.)

(Oh my God. It's a JOKE.)

We came home and stuffed our faces with waffles, champagne (meeee) and hot coffee until we could feel our toes again, and congratulated Sam on a banger of a morning. Short, sweet and done is our favourite. Just for church, I mean. Not for anything else. 

Snort.

*(The twenty person limit is achievable through an online booking system. Log in, claim your free ticket. He has twenty tickets available for each service and allows for last minute cancellations in order to be as fair as he can be. He has ruled out attending altogether if you are sick or compromised in any way and has done a lot of triage tech support to help people listen along to his podcasts so he's fine. I don't know what other churches are doing, they left Sam swinging in the wind a little so this is what he came up with, apparently there's no blanket plan for the greater organization.)

*(We have decided to go every third Sunday to free up room, which kind of sucks during Advent but Sam said he can do a private service here since there's only twenty of us or so.)

Big plans, cheap planners

It's already a good day. I had a surprise tattoo offer from an artist I like that has an opening this afternoon. We have Chinese food takeout planned for dinner and then we're starting Bly Manor on Netflix. We finished The Haunting of Hill House and it was SO GOOD and now I'm anxious to keep it going. 

Caleb didn't try to keep me when I went to spoon in with him early this morning after a nightmare, handed off door to door to make sure I didn't go anywhere else so everyone's tired now and I wasn't cold in the shower which is nice, because usually I am. I have a new peony 3 in 1 bottle in the shower which is nice as usually I get stuck I'm hot or cold, no in-between lately and I spend more time putting on a sweater or taking it off than doing anything else. 

 Decorations are going up around the houses. Advent begins tomorrow. The presents have been sent out that leave the point and we even managed to snag a few black friday deals, or I did as I contemplated buying a Hobonichi planner with a Midori page a day book for my incoming leather planner combo but in the end I chickened out and bought a Leuchtterm daily planner and matching bullet journal which ended up being free (thanks Indigo!) and I'm satisfied with my choice. If I love it and last the whole year then for 2022 I will spring for the Hobonichi + Midori.

That's the plan, anyway. 

Really excited for my deep fried wontons tonight though. That will get me through the pain of this tattoo, anyway.

They hate it when I watch it. I watch it all the fucking time now. I can recite it word for word, songs too at this point. Someone please take it off Netflix already.

He's got the (whole world in his hands, sing it with me) fire roaring in the fireplace, window open, firescreen in place and a fully charged ipad on the tray across the bed. There's a very large glass of red wine beside it. A hazard, if you ask me. A necessity, if you ask Lochlan. 

I'm going to go get us a plate. You must be starving. 

I didn't eat dinner. I sat at the table though, taking up space. Staring at Ben who still hasn't noticed that I noticed that he's struggling.

K. I am noncommittal. Ben has been taken over by Schuyler and Daniel for the evening. I think (I hope, anyway) that he is just tired. Just heavy with the weight of the steps he must take, over and over again. Heavy with his pockets full of coins that all say different, encouraging things and feeling as if he is back at square one again and he worries we will be disappointed in him. At least that's what he told me the last time, jumping off the wagon, back for good. Wrecked in the head, destroyed liver and all. 

I'll take it. I like the broken ones best. Ben and I have a good long history now of being completely exasperated with each other and yet I love him with an intensity that sometimes he wonders (don't they all) if he even deserves. And even when he has given up on himself I don't give up on him and I won't. 

But I won't be satisfied with silence, either. 

When Lochlan's back I am knee-deep in A Star Is Born. I love-hate this movie. Everyone else just hates this movie. If only because the subject matter hits so close it bites at the skin on the backs of our necks and hurts with every single frame because legacy, in that movie, is bigger than fame, bigger than ego and sadly, bigger than love. Loneliness is a curse and a death sentence and Jesus, that poor dog. But I also sing along with the songs, which are incredible and the chemistry in that movie continues to blow my mind. 

And? Let's be honest, as I never am, here. It feels reallllllly fucking good to hurt for someone else for a change. 

Shut that off. Lochlan has that beautiful, angry clip in his voice as he returns with a plate of olives, peppers, tangerine slices and cheese. The minute I leave. Jesus, Bridge. 

But I'm off the deep end-

SHUT IT OFF, he bellows over my attempts to reach the notes. He wins. I switch back to the dashboard, where I am confronted with a plethora of cheesy Christmas movies and....Michael Meyers. 

Hey! Halloween's out! Can we watch it? 

I knew you would want to.

Awesome! 

Anything but a Star is Born. 

We should find the original. Kris Kristofferson drives his car off a cliff. 

Sounds uplifting. 

Pretty sure it's worse than this one.

Somehow I doubt it. 

Lochlan continues to glare at me and the screen interchangeably for the next several hours, not even getting jump-scared, he is so annoyed and he doesn't relax until about eleven, when Ben!! shows up for bed. Ben is full of affection and apologies, but I know it's temporary. Kind of like drugs. You get a few hours of feeling great and then you go back in your hole. It fucking sucks.