Hand still hurts but the emails. Holy cow.

I'm alive, contrary to the breathlessly bitter and excited emails asking me if I'm dead (yet). Sorry to disappoint you. I'm a little bit coked out (it's a JOKE. It's codeine, not cocaine), pain-riddled and busy. Ruth and Lochlan's birthdays are this weekend, Friday and Sunday respectively. We have no shortage of ridiculously traditional festivities planned, and the boys have been so incredibly proactive in helping to cook/wrap/fetch/bake/decorate it's been unreal. 

All the while we are missing Ben with a fierceness I don't remember from before, as he's always been on tour or in rehab this time of year anyway. I never said fall was a good time for everyone, but in this house spring, summer and winter can cause problems too, you know. 

(All of this planning and preparing will keep her busy, they said.)

And maybe they were right, because the words and directions come slowly but I direct them in a dance that sees us ready to roll almost a day and a half early, and we are finding the joy in simple things like working together and putting new twists on old favourite traditions. If you don't you die, I guess. Maybe this is the point. You just ride the rollercoaster of feelings into oblivion and then on the sea of glass you look back and it will be profound and stunning how beautiful everything truly was, even the hard parts. The ones that made you sad or afraid. All of it by design.

Guess who got her cast off this afternoon?

My hand and wrist hurt like the dickens and are useless and my skin is molting. Apparently this is normal but it looks and feels almost worse. The doctor was so very proud that I didn't saw it off over the summer or charm someone else to. 

I must be losing my powers, along with my mind.

Jesus paint swatch.

Ended up buying a huge teak bench yesterday after finding a forty percent off sale and out-talking a fast-talking owner of a little import furniture shop who was anxious to make money but also aware that if he prices things too high his inventory is going to sit. 

We both came out really happy with the transaction and the house looks more West Coast and less cobbled-together prairie farmhouse every day. I'm going for a fusion of the two. I don't really actually care but am going into fall looking at shit I hate and changing it. This was for the front hallway, which has somehow had a radical makeover without actually making many changes at all. Works for me. Not like I spend any time in that room, it's just a place where I drop my keys in the wooden bowl and then kick my shoes off and leave my bag on a hook with my favourite scarf or wrap. That's it. Sometimes I need to go put shoes away or mop the floor or collect half a dozen hoodies left on hooks. But it's the first thing I see when I come inside if I use the main doors (which I never do, I come in the side door and up three steps into the back side of the kitchen, from a long hallway with a bathroom and the butler's pantry. So I want it to be homey. Case in point, the back hallway is painted a beautiful shade of burnt orange because it just needed to be warmer. I don't know but it works and it works very well. The whole area down there is natural wood trim with lots of light from very tall windows and yet it's shaded by the huge trees around the edges of the driveway. 

I don't know, I like the bench, is all. And fall makes me think of reinvention in a way spring never has. Maybe if I put up new curtains this fall will be different. Maybe if this room is a different colour shit will hurt so much less. Maybe I'm coming down from these pills and feeling too much again and decorating is just a strawman topic for today.

Sun but cool. Perfect.

 My phone doesn't want to charge overnight anymore and I keep waking up to it on 43%. Huh. Two nights in a row. I've done some things and changed some things (and some cords) and we'll see what happens tonight.

In any case, it's a sunny Saturday and they let up a little to see what happens with me too, as I am only charging to around fifty percent and my software, well, it's fucked. I am by the pool writing, since I can't watch videos on my phone. I'm shopping on Shein, which is somewhat hilarious but it's addictive to scroll through seven hundred thousand dresses, even if they're not Valentino, which is all Caleb wants me to look at if I'm shopping. I've never chosen one proper. He picks them. He'd be horrified to know I have an account on this website but I already got a dog travel basket for the truck and a pair of gingham shorts that were a little big but very cute and breathable for the heat so a win on both counts. I think I spent twenty-five bucks. 

I don't feel like swimming this morning and prefer to watch Lochlan and Dalton do backflips off the diving board, something they're not allowed to do technically but Henry-with-the-fresh-haircut (and beard trim!) is still sleeping upstairs in his room in the main house and Ruth moved out a while ago but comes over on her days off to swim and hang out and raid the pantry and see all of us, especially her little brother. They're so close, I worry for him but he seems happy and he goes with anyone and everyone who heads out to visit her. She and her fiance have a lovely huge bright apartment in town and they're so happy. It's weird but I'm getting used to it, save for a few stunning moments here or there where I feel like I can't catch my breath. I guess this is normal but it feels so strange.

It's been a pretty quiet week overall. I got sucked so hard into A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara that you might never see me again. I'm in love with the characters and it's brilliantly written so far, and I'm only fifty pages in. All of the boys read it and cried and grew closer than ever before and now I need to see this magic for myself. 

So off to read and laze around and hopefully someone's ordering a pizza for supper.

Short and toasted.

For day three of the burn we retracted the whole roof of the pool enclosure in order to swim in the rain, like the old days, temperature of the water jacked to almost-bathtub appeal and every time I stop treading I fall asleep so I only lasted fifteen minutes or so. That was very early this morning.

I want to take Henry for his haircut this afternoon. He can drive. I don't even technically have to go.

I'm eating my tomatoes as fast as they ripen. Once they're orangeish I bring them in to finish to a full red on a bright windowsill somewhere. And then I just eat them. That's how good they are. The apples from our apple tree were crisp and sweet, the grapes from the vineyard are perfect and taste like Welch grape jelly. The potatoes are buttery-fresh and delicious and the pumpkins and sunflowers are HUGE. The only thing lagging now are the cucumbers which are almost dill-pickle sized and so good enough for me. I was actually worried and considered not planting any due to the fear of having to make a huge batch of pickles again this year when we don't go through all that many and I gave away so much I can't expect people to take more. 

So yeah. This is manageable. 

Lunch is dumpling soup from the korean place I love. If I'm awake. If not mine will get eaten. They always say they will save it for me. Then conveniently there wasn't enough.

Burning, day two.

Apparently from across the room, with music playing Hold her for a while becomes Haloperidol. 

Who knew? I thought August was answering an earlier question, since I can't fucking stay awake to listen for a response anyway, he was trying to keep Lochlan in the room, as Lochlan HATES this and disappears, leaving everyone else to deal while he heads off somewhere to drink his fears away. Or maybe ponder where else he can run off to, where I might not follow, as I haven't failed to follow him yet and maybe he just wants to get away. 

This city's cold and empty No one's around to judge me-

Still wondering what The Weeknd did to cash all his chips in on one old flame. What was he so ashamed of save for coming back after leaving, probably. The music industry is built on broken hearts. I should know. Speaking of which, the theory goes that I literally threw myself off a psychological cliff after watching Ben go over the side. In support. In defense. Who knows? It's happening and eventually I guess it will stop but it's an extreme stress reaction to what he's going through. 

(As ever. I will side with Ben until the day I die. He's the best friend I ever had. Sorry to everyone else but you know this and you can drug me to hell and back but some things just happen.)

So I still don't have an answer from August but gosh the DREAMS. EPIC.

Burning (wo)man.

What are the side effects? 

They've given me Haloperidol or something. It's not Ativan. I keep falling asleep and falling off a cliff in my dreams, jerking awake. Like every fifteen minutes. If that's not a side effect then I think I need something better because this sucks. 

Erectile dysfunction.

Caleb's eyebrows go up and he stifles a laugh. Anything else?

Sudden death. 

This sounds like a poor choice. 

They do what they think is right. This is a team that Everett handpicked to try and work with my own doctor and the Russian doctors too. Since I won't leave. Asher is a hawk. When I sneezed he all but leapt out of his chair, colliding with Lochlan, who was up as I opened my eyes. He'll beat anyone at attentiveness but he's so tired he willingly gave me over to Caleb and Asher is all but a footnote in the day now as Caleb has been leaving messages for people in the know all over the world to try and see if there isn't something better/different/more expensive we can try. 

Best burn ever, I point out and he smiles, medium-blues concerned but full of warmth for me. He was afraid I would leave so I didn't. Any other moment I would have run for the hills to spite him. 

But not today, Satan. 

Literally.

Ha.

The most fervent adjurations.

No one's around to judge me

It's six in the morning and I have my pink poncho and jeans on but bare feet. Twelve degrees and the heater won't come on in the gazebo but I have a hot cup of really good coffee and my ipad and I'm trying to work out the piano for Blinding Lights so it sounds legit but Garage Band keeps freezing along with my fingers. I can sing but the piano is off and I want to get it sorted without cheating by looking for the music online. 

Still sounds like a typical bedroom-teen girl cover though. I can't bring soul to this. Not sure I have it anymore anyway because in that moment where I thought they were going to let me go I threw it overhand to Caleb and he caught it and changed his mind when I blinded him with it. When he looked deep inside and saw that I can't go, can't be away, maybe that I am drowning in the night and I trust him for sure. Maybe the Weeknd was right. 

Except this is an acoustic cover and I'm using a loose arrangement I found on Youtube. Ben had a better one but he's gone. 

I see August coming across the wet grass. He has his own coffee and he's got shoes on. Guess he went to my house with his better coffee and I wasn't there because I'm here. Hope he knows the Devil is watching from his desk two floors above us, behind the glass of the Riker frame I put him in, a perfect specimen I'd like to preserve. He keeps escaping and I keep pinning him back until he realizes his place.

Lochlan is sitting in the kitchen and the patio doors are all wide open, shuttered into the pocket so the whole house is outside now, letting in the frigid air. Reminding us fall is right around the corner and soon my ghosts will be in season perfectly.  Regular dead guys, now with spooky touches for the holiday, maybe with dry-ice smoke and sound effects. I don't know what would make them spookier than they are to the living. Maybe they'll surprise me more often, or something. Maybe they'll be more obvious to the boys. I don't know. Nothing surprises me anymore. 

We can try medication. There have been advances-

The ghosts wait for that too. They're there but it's the goggles-effect. 

What do you want us to do, Bridge? 

Come listen to music with me, and forget about all of our problems for a while. 

We made a promise, Bridget. 

Then keep it and sit with me for a bit. This song is perfect.

The headless horsegirl.

(Everyone's talking at the same time here so I didn't bother trying to distinguish.)

I showed up at the meeting ready to call everyone out and they showed up with a casual intervention for me, the little girl dragging her ghosts like helium balloons down the dark path in the woods. Lost, crying, so far behind the boys because the rocks are hard to walk on in too-big, hand-me-down sandals. I couldn't keep up. The ghosts bump against the dark, bob against and underneath the lower branches, giving off a pale glow in the dim moonlight. It's a dime-moon, Lochlan said. I wished it was a penny-moon and then it would be round and full and warm. This is blue. So blue.

I got ambushed.

How about you come too? A two-for-one. You would not be treated together, of course-

I'm not an addict-

Bridget, we've discussed this at length, and furthermore we don't just treat addictions. You know this. 

Can I bring them? I gesture to my balloons. 

No. 

Then forget it. 

Bridget- Caleb looks like he might die of fright. What an exquisite expression on his beautiful face. 

What, so I pack the ghosts away and head off, talk to people, agree with everything and I come back and the ghosts leak out and go right back to following me around? I'll keep my money and just stay here so they don't get mad at me for wasting all that time.

Oh my God. Lochlan buries his face in his hands. 

How long has it been, Lochlan? 

Lochlan stares at Everett. What are you talking about? She doesn't do this with me. 

She does it with everyone. You're just not paying attention. 

Ben laughs right off. Didn't even hesitate. I nod. Ben knows. Pretty sure I went first and then he threw himself off the edge after me. He's my evil twin. He's the good one. He's the only who actually gets it sometimes. 

Bridget-

What? It's fine. I'm just tired. I'm just worried about Ben. 

It's not going to work this time, Honey. Oh, August has woken up and is Designated Bad Guy. 

What isn't?

Your daydreams. The denials. Sorry, Baby.

So what happens now? 

You come home when you're strong enough. 

No, I need to get my cast off in a couple weeks. Lochlan and Ruthie have birthdays and-

All of that can wait until you're home. 

You think this is magically going to work.

We have to try.

It won't. I hold my chin up. Defiant. Eyes brimming but I'm not going to cry. Too angry. 

It's only a month or so.

I can escape. 

Actually you can't-

Can I have visitors? 

At the halfway point, yes. You remember that, Bridget. 

Yes. 

So you're okay with this-

Nope. And just so we're all being honest, I'll be bringing them with me. 

The boys?

The ghosts. 

Keep her here. We'll think of something else. Caleb, oddly. First to crack.

There isn't anything else. Lochlan. My logical song.

If she's this unwilling it won't work. Remember Joel. Schuyler remembers.

Lochlan thinks for a minute. Without breaking his gaze on me. He finally starts nodding, faster and faster and then he looks at Caleb. 

Yeah. No, she stays for now. I need to think. 

Ben is the connection, Everett reminds them, I'm not sure if she won't end up on a waitlist if she doesn't go with us. 

It's fine. Caleb has already dismissed him. Just focus on Ben. 

Oddly, to my right, Asher lets out a sigh of relief. I see Duncan's shoulders drop and even August loosens up a bit. PJ won't meet anyone's eyes and Lochlan trembles. It's barely there but there. I can see it in his fingers and his chin.

Okay. Then I will deliver Ben safely back into your collective arms before Thanksgiving. Everett nods and heads out, leaving us to reel and draw back, flourish and crank.

She's not doing well enough, Loch. August says quietly. It's like I'm not even here. 

I know. Lochlan says. Like I said, let me think.

(Don't leave me lost here forever).

Just as a fun aside, I never quite forget that rehabilitation is a business, as Everett is back, this time for Ben, having boarded a jet yesterday late morning, because the amount of money it costs means his personal plans can be easily changed so he packed and showed up and he's calm and relaxed, the exact sort of corporate mindfulness the company portrays as it makes you every promise you ask for. Without hesitation.

Personally I think for the amount of money that has been spent on getting Ben clean and keeping him that way there should be a lifetime guarantee of his squeaky-soapiness but instead I just write another cheque and off he goes. 

Not that I'm complaining about the money-part. It's not my money, and I would spend every last dime for that guarantee but no one will give it to me. 

Everett will spend the weekend here getting Ben organized, packed and stabilized for their flight south back to the land of five-star accommodations, nature walks and painting. Ben will gain forty pounds and remember where his place was in my fairy tale since it appears he has forgotten. 

Don't worry. This is normal, they say. 

There's nothing normal about this fairy tale but it's mine. 

When do I get him back? 

Everett smiles. This is the difference between this home and most. Most say don't come back until things are different. You set a time limit and want him back no matter if he's ready or not.

Why wouldn't he be ready to come home?   

Why would he use again when he's been clean so long, Bridge? Fear. Uncertainty. It shows us where to focus this time, and maybe since Ben's brain injury it's a good time to reevaluate everything in a new light.

I nod. What else am I going to say? 

Let's talk about you for a moment. 

As I turn I sweep the ghosts into my shadow so Everett can't see them. Of course.

How are you doing?

Great. Never better. Just worried about Ben, that's all. My white knuckles behind my back are being squeezed so hard by Jacob I almost cry out but I manage a glassy, controlled smile to show I've got this. 

(When in reality Ben and I are a team. One falls, the other falls off a cliff to help.)

Bridget, I think we should talk tonight at the meeting. Everett has agreed to attend the meeting to help steer the inevitable accusations. The blame, doubt and the weird helplessness that ends in fists and shouts. Tonight will be no different, I'm sure.