Wicked true.

 Oh my God. I think I prefer days where being in pajamas is optional and I can throw logs on the fire until they're all gone and then let myself be hypnotized into the ether. This rare alternative now smacks of cruelty and charge as I stand in front of the fridge at two-thirty this afternoon in my work dress, stilettos on, ipad case under one arm, stabbing at some cold rice and chicken while propping the fridge door open. I don't have time to heat it up, don't have time for more than a couple of bites because someone had an emergency meeting and then one ran super-long and so help me, I told Caleb if I wasn't home before the mass exodus of traffic hits the ninety-nine, just after dark at suppertime, there will be a reckoning the likes of which he's never seen before and will never ever forget.

(Spoiler: We made it. It's four thirty-nine and he has volunteered pajamas and brandy and take out. I have declined in favour of pajamas, pot roast, broccoli and diet Dr. Pepper.)

Besides, third fucking set of meetings* in a little over a week and I don't need to be there. He just wants something to look at when he's bored and someone else is talking, wants to stir the pot with Lochlan by taking me away for the whole day and wants to liven up his life for it is so quiet now without the two-thousands techbro music, cocaine and Russian prostitutes, all ordered and then written off by corrupt former frat-boy bosses anxious to live the Wolf Life. 

It makes me laugh. Caleb now lives with a women who buys living lettuce and sews her own aprons, who has a long list of lovers and he is weirdly not even at the top. I hate techno, cocaine AND Russian prostitutes (or from anywhere, for that matter) and as I've said before, if you're going to write something off on my watch better make sure you qualify.

I feel like I was designated Caleb's conscience when I was still in Grade 5 and he's been running flat out ever since, unaccountable, unchecked. 

Except he's an old man now, quick to anger, quick to be placated. 

What do you think, Bridget?  

Suddenly I'm being taken seriously? Right. I bite the end of my pen so they can see my sharpened milkteeth and spout off a bimbo reply. It's on purpose and it gets the polite laughter and Caleb's eyes flash so dark I am shocked as I return my gaze to my agenda. 

He wraps it up fairly quickly and I am steered, by the arm, stilettos on snow and gravel, back to his car. It's a short-term lease. So am I. Limited mileage (HA) overpowered (WAIT NO) and ridiculously overpriced (HAHAHA YEAH). Sparkly paint job (INDEED). He loves it. He swears under his breath but doesn't throw me in the seat, instead waiting patiently for me to get situated and then he closes the door gently. I already had my punishment. This is merely payback.

Once home he disappears to his study upstairs and I find my flannel pajamas. Going to wear them to dinner and start a new fashion trend. Crank up the heat and find Lochlan, who pours me a glass of wine and asks how it went. Caleb returns just at that moment and we grin at each other. 

Mission accomplished. Four trips into the city, two pair of ruined stilettos and one very good deal now done. He owes me so big now I can probably rename the moon. Taking them all with me when I do. The sad part here is the dumber I act the more they let me get away with (the lawyers, not the boys).

 *(nothing to be alarmed about. We were offered a price for some real estate Caleb has held for a long time, one he didn't plan to sell but seriously for that sort of figure I would hand off my soul again but in playing it cool and being all super nostalgic and wistful about it in the end we walked away with far more than the original offer and I'm still forever pinching myself when I'm rolling high. Get it? High-rolling? Ha.)

Perfecting strengths (and I never looked back with the same eyes again).

(Movements change first, then the narrative that you file away without fail, then finally the emotions come on board and when that happens you will feel so much better. 

August promised me this and I understood him and look forward to my efforts ringing with reward. It's such a slow process. I have a tendency to be so destructive it's bloody unreal. He said I need to stop expecting things to change overnight. I don't. At least I didn't think I was. Maybe I am.)

I did it right. Breathing didn't work and so I called in the biggest support and the first person I go to and then we did distracting, physical things and then I had some focus in dismantling all of our muddy gear, muddy trucks, ruined shoes, freezing fingers and then it felt satisfying to look at the photos we took and talk about plans for the next time and with that the contentment settled in and I felt a huge reprieve from the endless panic as of late.

This morning Lochlan played and sang Slightly Defect Hands and then Into the Fire and I brought my coffee over and sat with him because he sounded so beautiful. 

We had a great night, truth be told. Watched all the shows we're all keeping track of. Went up and had a long hot bubble bath together followed by s'mores and brandy in bed by the fire and then we didn't sleep all night. He wanted a second inspection of me, the first being a cursory check for catastrophic wounds and this one merely for imprints and bruising. 

He didn't find a thing and I'm not sure if he struggled with that. I know I would, as it's easier to find a concrete reason to hate someone who could be devouring the love of your life versus treating her gently, which implies love and only serves to catalyze jealousy into the opaque green glass of Lochlan's eyes, fusing him into a frustrated stasis. Caleb loves doing this and is playing with him, though when called on it denied it up and down. All it will serve to do is keep me away from him, and he won't be Saturday Night anymore for a long time. I don't fuck with that, sorry. Not going to put Lochlan through that. I follow his feelings in this case and leave my own at the door.

The night was unspeakably perfect. We have a routine and it's beautiful and by the time the sun rises the whole world is blooming with new love built on top of the original and it's so overwhelming I can't even describe it today but it's almost as if we have to rip each other to shreds in order to find our way closer to each other. Everyone says it's because of history but I always feel like we're trying to strip each others' skin off in order to fuse our veins and even our bones together into one.

(He starts in on Suddenly. I think I might burst.)

You can't do that, Peanut. 

Hush. Keep singing. I love this. 

Follow your own heart. 

I am!

You know what I mean. 

Right. Keep playing. Please.

Love you, Peanut. 

I love you too, Locket. 

God, I'm so tired. 

Me, too.

Can you reach me here in the silence?

 The rain is screaming down from the sky, sheets of misery to wrap around our chilling bones, the wind its easy companion as they swirl and dance across the bluffs, ruffling the leaves on trees, swaying branches with their tendrils of struggling winter.

 I watch all of this from Caleb's windows. Up at four, the ever-present tiny early welcoming committee of one for the sun, waiting for the sky to change from cloaked to exposed. Saturday nights are for the Devil, as of late and then the early hours are for the wolf he becomes and then the later morning hours are for Jesus, but that's only if I go down and fire up my ipad in order to listen to Sam's recording. 

Except this morning I woke up in a blind panic, nightmares crowding in, heart racing off into the dark like the scared animal that it is, cold water rushing in to fill the space. Salt stings, waves roar and I can't hear anymore at all.

Caleb is there but he doesn't know what's going on, why I'm swallowing my breaths with choking sobs, why I'm fighting my way out of his arms. The only thing I've got as I dig through an empty box of tools is breathing so I press my nose against the glass, staring at the ocean and I breathe in through my nose as far as I can fill my lungs and then I exhale through my mouth, fogging up the glass, obscuring the view completely. When everything outside goes away completely I turn around and try and extricate myself as fast as I can.

Okay please don't fight me but I can't breathe and I need to leave here and find out how to fix it. I can't do it alone I can't do it with you either. 

He pulls me in with one hand against his warm skin, arm around my back, hand against the side of my head so I can feel his heartbeat. He starts to sway to an invisible song and he picks his phone up with his left and struggles out a message and then he grabs his pajama pants and puts them on before resuming his sway. He kisses the top of my head. 

Shhhhh. Just count the beats. See if you can match them. 

My heart hammers away and his is barely elevated but a challenge is a challenge and I am off and running, focusing in on the quiet thumps I can feel against my head. He's using affection, distraction right off the bat and it's a rare but becoming wildly more frequent tender display from a man who gets everything he wants by force.

Lochlan is there before I can count to ten. Suddenly I am a sandwich.

Let's dress warm and get out for an explore, Ben says. Don't know where he came from. He must have followed Lochlan. Caleb nods against my head. 

We drove for a few hours and then walked trails in the pouring rain. It was incredible. I am tired and wet and cold and now I feel alive.

Isn't it beautiful? I took this picture just before we made the trek back.

Hush, hush, darling.

Doing my best Gwen Stefani this morning, belting out the lyrics to Don't Speak while I knead more bread because the bread that rose so beautifully yesterday ended up having the parchment fused to the bottom and I couldn't steam it off nor would it peel off so I ended up shaving the whole bottom of the loaf off with a bread knife and then I sliced it so it's messy but delicious toasted with cheese and I guess that's the main thing but for sandwich bread I need something a little more solid. I threw away the rest of the parchment. I actually hate the rye flour and I want to use it up. What I love about rye I guess were the caraway seeds crunching between my teeth but I didn't even get those at the store because they didn't have any so I make it without them, though sometimes with dill and it's okay but not spectacular so back to the regular white bread because fuck this shit.

At least I tried, though I feel as if being adventurous these days is choosing a weird movie to watch or making strange recipes. We've bought all the weird fruit at the store and the weird vegetables too and watched everything that Netflix, Disney, Amazon Prime video and crunchyroll have to offer, or so it seems and I've resorted to sitting in my kayak on the beach in the rain reading under an umbrella. I learned I didn't grow up on turnips, they may have actually been rutabagas. HI MOM. AGAIN, THANKS FOR THE LIES. I learned I tie my shoelaces backwards (blame Lochlan, he taught me) and I also learned that I can happily buy Nike Air Force One Lows without special-ordering after all because my feet are so small in Nikes I'm practically in the toddler range. Size 5.5. I bought ones with an aurora swoosh and I'm thrilled, only it's muddy so I can't wear them outside until it dries up a bit. 

I have eaten my way through every mango (hate them) and Pomegranate (LOVE THEM) in the big weekly fruit basket from Ben's team. Beginning February 15 he will be returning to 'work' as it were, finishing anything he didn't completely finish and opening up for offers for new work. He will be six months out from his accident and is virtually unscathed at this point with only fractional issues now that I would easily notice but you will never catch. The relief is crushing here for us for that but his medical team said it was the fact that he had a whole team of helpers and supporters so there were no 'days off'. Sam credits God, Caleb credits himself for...holding back (ASSHOLE) and Lochlan says Ben is so much stronger now than every before because he didn't break, and that's sort of like Bridget, isn't it? 

I appreciate the comparison but I'm not strong at all. I haven't had a single day this week that I haven't resorted to bratty, spoiled and positively helpless tears over some completely normal thing because I don't know how to deal with big things or normal things, come to think of it and so I sit in the kayak on the rocks and read my book and wait for the waves to come and take me somewhere new. Somewhere where everything I think of is a good idea and everything I attempt is successful and there are no setbacks, glitches, events or bad news and maybe the sun comes out the quiet the swells so I don't paddle with my heart in  my throat. It used to be painful but it's not anymore, I'm so used to it and I don't like that feeling much either. 

It's as if they don't have my size, and I'm not that big so it should be easier, shouldn't it?

Really fighting this transiting of Pluto in Capricorn.

Making rye bread and drinking coffee all day today. Watching tv. Waiting for the rain.

What a fucked-up day.

Sorry, had a sick day. Woke up in terror and panic, calmed down a little, went to a few meetings, did a few chores, threw three big pots of chili on the stove and then grabbed myself a cookie and sat down to start Violet Evergarden on Netflix because I promised Henry I would watch it and that was last spring. 

It's so good. And I needed a few hours to just do nothing. Need a few more, I think and maybe a better wake up tomorrow because today I woke up with a bad headache and felt sick and then just lost it, as I couldn't put anything in their spots and couldn't see around them, everything grew together to be this big hulking obstacle and I did what I'm supposed to do, I woke up Lochlan and told him I was struggling right out of the gate and he pulled me down against him and talked me right around everything, putting feelings in drawers, kicking doors shut  on memories as he went and by the time I handed him his teacup half an hour later things were better for me by far.

The appointments were unscheduled, necessary and done with absolute manipulation in order to get things done. Go in wide-eyed and ignorant and ask for the moon. Before you know it you're sitting in an office signing things. Perfect. No time to stress. No waiting at all. We got lucky though, because the lack of planning on our part obviously does not constitute an emergency on anyone else's part, as the saying goes and things are running smoothly again. 

But yeah, somehow it got better, even though I could have been more restful or more productive or whatever, sometimes the day just gets away and that's fine, as long as the morning is resolved. That was scary and I'm glad it passed. 

And PJ has negotiated the best deal in the history of tax preparation. He sent me a clip from a porn film and said he can do that, if I'll do his taxes. I sent him back a warning that he can't sexually harass the person he hires because it's against the law and he poked his head into the kitchen ten minutes later. 

Is that a yes, then? 

It's a mayb-

No, Padraig. Lochlan glares. 

Fine, you can come too, PJ rolls his eyes in mock exasperation and Lochlan laughs.

For the record. For the wolves. (For the hoard! she yells from the background)

I am almost a week late on this, but The Thunder Rolls has a fourth verse and it reallllllly sucks that hardly any of the covers feature it, for it is the resolution of the song itself and if you're going to sing a story-song but leave out the highly rewarding conclusion then you are doing a disservice to all of us, to yourself and to the fucking song. 

It goes like this: 

She runs back down the hallway
And through the bedroom door
She reaches for the pistol
Kept in the dresser drawer
Tells the lady in mirror
He won't do this again
'Cause tonight will be the last time
She'll wonder where he's been

We need closure, guys. You can't have a swashbuckling, violent, lightning-strike filled song and not finish it. But this most recent attempt (The band is State of Play) gets credit for the band part of the video, especially the singer who looks like PJ (!!) but not for the guy with the fauxhawk who would have flat hair in that much rain, thanks. But damn, that last verse is the part we need, and not a cheesy video recreation of the first three verses that we don't need to be hand-held through. I hate those. I refused to do one once in a video and they changed the whole thing to make it super symbolic/esoteric instead and it went on to become the most successful video the band ever did. Just saying. Don't dumb down for your audience. The ones who need it will never appreciate it and the ones who don't need it will resent you forever.

So it looks like Overscene's cover reigns supreme because they do the fourth verse by default. I love that. Kudos. But Garth's original is still the GOAT.

****

Guess what time of the year it is? Right. Not BC day  or Groundhog day or Valentine's Day approaching, but tax time, and the negotiations to do them, because I am trustworthy and obviously discreet and so this is apparently my burden. My titan is a huge walking T1 form, I guess when I'd rather be Jaw.

(We're caught up on Attack on Titan! JESSSSSSUSSSSS so many episodes. I never thought we'd finish but here we are, now waiting for weeklies.)

(Also look up the Jaw titan. Definitely the coolest.)

Caleb came to me early this morning. Name your price. 

I am BUSY and I don't want to think about taxes. I am busy singing Keep the Wolves Away and plucking at the guitar. It hurts my fingers. Ben promised nylon strings for this little backpacker guitar a thousand years ago and it still has metal ones. Since Caleb's here I'll change some of the lyrics on the fly just to stick it to him good. But after his stand n' glare I put the guitar down and think for a minute.

Three of everything from that online shop. The stationery one. Including the Sailor pens. All the pens. That's how serious I am.

He calls my bluff. Of course he does. That it? 

And a cash bonus. 

Have a figure in mind?

Fifty. 

Fifty dollars?

Fifty thousand. 

For the taxes for the whole point? 

No?Also you can write off your tax preparer. 

I know she would like me to. 

Ha.

How about we just do this house, and August if you like and I round it up to a whole number.

Sixty? 

One hundred and fifty. 

I wonder if two weeks straight of solid taxes is worth an average years income. 

According to you, yes. It's like watching someone turn themselves inside out. 

Then have a professional do it. 

No. I would rather do it myself and take my chances up against the government than bring in an outside party. 

Right so that's pressure on me.

You don't break any rules.

Of course I don't.

That's why I need you. Everyone else wants to gamble.

(They do! They say to claim everything, to hide as much income as you can and then hope the government doesn't notice for seven years. Then they get you to sign on the dotted line saying they're not responsible if the goverment does notice. It isn't worth it and you shouldn't do it, I think. Earn the dime, claim the time.) 

Fine. 

Settling for one fifty and a big haul from your store, then?

Yes. I am dejected, defeated and burdened now. My voice is flat, my face expressionless. I fucking HATE taxes. But now I can go around and negotiate a price for everyone else and that's always fun because I go easy on them and they give me everything I ever wanted and then some.

There will be a bonus, as always.  He dangles it over my head like raw meat, dripping blood into my eyes.

Your bonuses are usually dangerous.

The way you like them best.

7:49/4:56 (The girl who loved).

Today is busy but feels lighter somehow. The light creeps in so much earlier than before, lingering later, like a good Devil with a bad habit, hanging around a halo that will never fit, even if he uses violence. I don't feel as if winter weighs as much as it did yesterday. We've caught up on floors and bathrooms, everything is clean. Changed the beds today. Ruth's car appointment. A whole heaping ton of laundry and I made lunch for Henry who is buried in schoolwork and has hardly seen the light of day. I gave all the animals their nail trims and burned some incense to try and bring back the heady bonfire smell that was all over Lochlan when he came to bed last night and I died a thousand deaths trying to keep up with him besides. That's our foreplay. Smoke. Fire. Sparks and ashes. Flame and char. Best smell in the whole world after fresh cold salt.

Today was sunny and clear and cold. We opened all of the windows and chased away all of the ghosts. We found a new routine in an old day and challenged ourselves to be-

You can do it. Sam is encouraging and leading, almost. Just think of something optimistic. Like that little magnet that says Today I will be a bird with a french fry.

I can't do it. I'm not an optimist, I'm an alarmist. The glass is never half-full of half-empty even; it's always too close to the edge and about to fall off and break. 

Today I will...

That's it. Come on. 

I will be...

You can do it, Sweetheart. 

Today...I will be a black bear with Bridget's severed head!

THIS is why you need therapy. No one says shit like that. 

It's a better visual than a fucking FRENCH FRY-

Not really. 

Well, I think it is.

The best laid schemes of Bridget and men.

It's Monday! Burns night. I am ready! Scotch eggs, neeps & tatties, garlic rolls, sausages, the good whiskey and the best Scotsman ever, who hasn't needed a visual prompt for years, and shouts the refrains of his favourite poet over the roar of a bonfire in the pouring rain and snow with the wind at his back like a ferocious beast and he holds back the dark with style, let me tell you. It's a magnificent sight to behold and for some reason the dark seems darker, the wind more fierce and the food always always tastes better than usual, that's for certain. Tonight he is doing The Banks O' Doon and Tam O'Shanter, (and never To the Devil) as he likes to switch things up a little but he will most likely fly by the seat of his pants as Lochlan always has and always will.

Since I have a lot to do and the boys are prepping the bonfire now I will go and start in, as the night comes quickly still these days but at least the sunrise does too. Happy Burns Night and remember, starting tomorrow we can really begin the countdown to spring in earnest, the same way we do everything around these parts.

Bye Petunia.

 Nope. Dogs went to someone else. Ben took them to another really good friend who is between dogs because even though they are beautiful girls, I couldn't do it. Have to put my dog (and my fear, apparently) first but Paul understood completely and the girls are safe with our other friend. Just yeah, not a big dog person, probably never will be and the whole 'look at them as small horses' didn't work at all. A dog is nothing like a horse. 

I get credit for trying though and I did welcome the chance to work on the dumber fears. I told that to Ben and he said he'll set a peat fire later.