I'm here. Don't worry.

And here I thought my hand was going to be the thorn in our sides this fall.

Bah, today is a massive setback 9for my surgery patient) but I think we can get back on track. I don't know how I went from all-capable to a little blubbering mess the minute things get scary but apparently it's PTSD. We'll just add it to the big list and maybe eventually someday I can take a big long breath without going right back to holding it forever. If you're a praying sort I could use a little for someone here but at the same time we have a houseful, no, a pointful going up. When it rains it pours, I guess.

See tree-pee. Oh. (LOLLLLL)

 Oh God. We've reached the t-shirt with flannel shirt or just a waffle knit shirt time of year for the boys, one of the upsides to fall, along with scented candles, long-burning fires and flavoured hot chocolate. Also I like sweaters and the leaves changing colour and the endless rain and cool stillness at last. The trucks are always clean thanks to the rain and the leaves have lit up the neighbourhood, a muted palette of rich warm tones that oddly make me feel like I'm getting somewhere. 

Also weirdly, people who were born and raised here seem to be allergic to rain and so I never see a soul who isn't part of the Collective. Gone are the days of heading down to the beach only to find boaters picnicking and using the driftwood house to change, or nodding to people as we go for slow strolls with the elderly dog up to the mailbox. Even our early grocery runs are deliciously absent other people, which is the whole point of going before sunrise. 

But the rain seems to magnify that. It's kind of weird. 

Also Schuyler in a pale-blue thermal long-sleeved t-shirt with a matching pale blue cotton mask is more than enough of a treat for the day. He was outside with the arborist who has come to see about a few of the trees in the orchard. Schuyler likes to learn this stuff so he went out there with Lochlan, and they both laughed out loud when I pointed out the trees were also changing colour..to black. 

They might be worse than dead. I have a feeling we're going to lose a bunch of trees out there but all good things come to an end, or so Dalton said as an idiom without thinking this morning and then I watched as he visibly cringed. 

No, they don't. I said softly. 

Bridge, I'm sorry-

It's fine. Please don't worry about watching your words. It's been too long. I try to remind them but they also cringe when I do it, as I repeatedly would tell them I was going out to deadhead flowers or kill some time. We're all stuck. It's like a group black hole sometimes. 

Dalton's babysitting this morning. At least while the trees are dealt with. I don't know if they're going to cut them down today but we'll know more shortly. I hate losing trees but I do like watching Schuyler. Hahahah. Which is funny because he absolutely PALES next to Lochlan, who is all smoldering-sunset-orange, freckles and pure fire this morning against a backdrop of red and gold. 

***

ALSO: I got a hydrojug! Not a sponsored post or anything. I saw one in the background on a tiktok of all things and the creator let me know what it was and I ordered a bunch for everyone here and wow. It's a water bottle that holds 73 ounces. It has a big handle. You can use it with a straw or not, and the top seals shut if you have to take it somewhere. You can also get sleeves for them that have crossbody straps and they come in a million colours and designs. I never ever drink enough water and this is the first day and I'm already a third of the way done and it's not lunchtime yet. Love this thing. 

The only downside is it does weigh five pounds when it's full so that's a lot but just think, you get to lift weights all day too. The website is Thehydrojug.com. I don't know if the ones on Amazon are legit but I ordered ours off the actual website. I didn't make it clickable because whenever I do that people accuse me of trying to farm out my blog for profit, something I've never ever done, not even once. Even when I was well and poor and people wanted me to post amazon wish lists or whatever. Just no. Don't even worry about that. But if I find something neat, I like to share it and then everyone can also tell me they already knew. So there's that. 

If you need me I'll be peeing.

I AM a requiem Pokemon.

 More surgery for the end of the month for my patient and then hopefully that's it. We're seeing the light at the end of the tunnel though, that will be for one tiny thing but otherwise the mend is on. I can play nursemaid to my heart's content, though I also bit off too much and had a micro-meltdown this morning, which Ben talked me out of and then we went grocery shopping, really fast so we could be home by eight. 

Right, eight this morning. We were there, waiting outside, before seven. 

There's no people this way. 

(Fun fact, there's also very little in the bakery section! This was why we don't go on Mondays.)

Ben carried everything from the truck to the kitchen in one go. 

He did not use the hand rails at all. Sometimes I wonder about this man, who trashed his body living a life of excess and then some who becomes a walking miracle a little over a year after having his brain injured beyond what they thought a man could endure and still come back from.

Also? I realized this morning that I hate mango. Absolutely hate it with a passion. 

In other news, the rain returns tomorrow, and along with it, the ghosts.

Jesus, childproofed.

It's Sunday, October 3 and the boys have turned on the electric fence, upgraded all the semi-awful lighting on the property to bright white LEDs so now when you drive down to the gate after dark it appears you are approaching a prison compound but when I complained about things such as ambience or aesthetic I was informed it was not up for discussion. 

So many bears, PJ barks. This is safer.

(But for over a decade it's been generally fine, though we did add a lot when we bought the point.)

Then I realized other things have happened as well. I suddenly don't know any of the exterior door codes. The knives are gone. My favourite sewing scissors are gone. They've added motion sensors in areas of the house that didn't have them before. 

Ah. I get it. It is a prison now. At least until closer to Christmas, right?

Also not up for discussion. 

Lochlan looks so grim. But he also looks mildly relieved that he's organized all of this up front instead of playing catch-up every year, and I'm suddenly happy for him if he feels a little bit of comfort from that thought. 

Did you move all of the meds? Also there are scissors in the bathrooms upstairs. 

Got them. 

Did you move the alcohol? 

No, PJ finished what there was. 

Oh. That explains his mood. 

He hates this time of year, Bridget. So do I. 

I bite my tongue not to say it and he watches me make it bleed.

Having trouble delegating (and also I can still juggle with my cast. Hurray!).

Autumn is a minefield and I keep stepping on them all, blowing myself to kingdom come and then when I hit the ground I yell I'm fine, barely getting the words out before I step on another one. 

Last night for the very first time in a long time Lochlan poured a drink for me and put it at my place at the table as I came in with take out. Don't worry, PJ drove/babysat. I feel like I am the bandage and if I don't hold everything together we're going to bleed out. At the same time people are tapping me on the shoulder going By the way, here's another challenge/difficulty/problem. Good luck and I have to juggle or I can't hold on to everything. 

Everyone always says Just drop it. We'll pick it up. Don't worry. Nothing's going to go wrong. Let someone else do it. But I always feel if I do that then everything ends or everyone will leave or if I don't have control over this one thing I won't have control over anything, you know? 

You need to talk to someone, Sam says. I can help but I'm too close. We're all too close. 

No strangers, I snap as I grab for a falling sweater. Someone left it on the porch so now I have to wash it. It might have been me. I don't remember, I'm too tired. I just need some rest.

How do you organize an outer space party? You planet.

This was a request in-house. I don't know why. 

My complaints, I present to you:

1. When a very-long dead person is wished a happy 459th birthday on social media. Firstly, they don't have social media so they'll never see it and also, they never would have made it to that number anyway so what is that even all about?

2. Artists talking about their upbringing/qualifications. It's always "Daddy encouraged me to paint in the gardens and then I spent my post secondary travelling around the world taking random art programs that no one can actually afford before he gave a large donation to the gallery that now bears my name where I freelance paint. Anyone can do it! Thanks Daddy." These revelations are almost always given in pleasant, quiet voices in a room that costs more than my life.

3. Makeup tutorials that have a catfish headline like I'll teach you how to apply a winged eyeliner that won't budge! and then the video is ninety minutes of spackling their face with eight different liquid skin uh thingies followed by at least forty-five minutes of painting in a wing in stages, with tape and baking (?) and primers and architects and mentors, with a steady hand and uncreased lids, followed by a smug It's easy! Like and subscribe! OH MY GOSH. I'm going to die without this skill. Apparently the mudding and taping is part of why it works so I guess I'll sit this life out. I really am a boy.  Though Ben can do eyeliner perfectly.

4. Packaging. My pocky sticks are in a box that's sealed in plastic and then inside the box every ten sticks are wrapped in yet another round of plastic packaging. I don't know what the answer is but I think it begins with a plan for feeding the pocky sticks individually through a big straw from the pocky factory straight into my face. For the environment.

5. The one tik-tok with the "husband hack" (BARF>) that shows a man drive up to Starbucks and hold his phone out where his wife? Presumably? on speakerphone yells "I want a *insert eighteen-step complicated not-a-coffee-anymore order* and then he smiles smugly at the camera. Okay. FIRST. If your coffee order is that complicated that your spouse can't remember it that's...food for thought. And B) If you start a request with "I want a-" like a toddler with no fucking manners and you don't say please, thank you or sorry (at the very least, for an order like that) then FUCK YOU and BE NICER to servers/baristas/everyone. DON'T BE SUCH A DICK. Arghhh. Pet peave. I never met so many rude people as I did at the coffee shop where I worked.

That's it. PJ wanted me to write a complaint thread. Here you go, buddy. He thought I would be mad about the bad joke theme-week he started but I love it. The title is my contribution, today.

*~*Bonus edit: Sam's joke: Atheism is a non-prophet organisation. He'll get a re-do since that's a pun and not a joke,e xactly.

From no time to breathing space just. like. that.

Today is slightly better in the way of very good news and we're back on track. Sometimes I am surprised by how helpful and hands-on people are. By how being nice and thanking people and asking for help they will deliver and it touches me. Maybe people think I am fragile or difficult or need to be coddled. I don't know but I appreciate it as I advocate on someone else's behalf. Either way, SHIT GETS FIXED ON FRIDAY. Thanks to life, which is full of surprises. Like surprise surgery! But not for me. Anyway. Fairly minor. Easily repairable but things that also couldn't wait, even a week and so thank you for the crossed-fingers and the prayers. It helped. A lot, I think. 

***

Wearing my Jesus Loves You yellow ringer tee and a big long cardigan with pockets that I made years ago. Flared jeans from the early two-thousands. All my rings. Socks and my around-the-house clogs that I can wear outside but that also don't leave marks on the wood floor. I run into the devil and he does a double-take.

Cute shirt. 

You've seen it. 

I know. I like you in yellow. 

I don't know if I do but I like the shirt because it's soft. 

You haven't changed, you know. 

Oh, I have. I am old and jaded and hard. 

That's what you think.

Jesus knows. 

He does. And I think he would agree with me. 

Jesus Bro? 

Jesus Bro.

Shakey mother (fucker).

Long day. Bad day. Don't really want to talk about it but you know when something is tough for someone you love and you try to support them and you think it will go smoothly and then it doesn't at all?

That was today. I kind of understand how they feel now. They will never understand how I feel, though.

Bruce Springsteen peaked in high school (I am leaving but the fighter still remains).

(Also I figured out the random extra spaces that show up when I'm reading for clarity are from the part of the cast around my thumb hitting the space bar so that's why they're there, sorry. I know it's distracting and I try to grab the ones I notice.)

I am just a poor girl
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

Lochlan was playing the guitar and it sounded a little bit familiar. I thought it was The Boxer and I was really looking forward to the Lie-la-lie part and the diction of the final verse but he stopped when I got to the end of the first verse with its changed pronouns, eyes wide. 

Wow, that changes everything, when you do that. 

I can make anything sinister. I can make it all wrong and no one can fix it. That's my superpower, I guess. Just fucking things up. 

This morning is Monday and we're due a thunderstorm after lunch so we are organizing outside chores really quickly and sorting out the space between now and Thanksgiving, which apparently is a couple of weeks before Halloween and I always forget due to the sheer number of former Americans in this house. 

(And the sheer fact that Halloween is a literal and figurative nightmare now.)

I am paying bills and we're delegating the months chores on the big chart and Ben's place was divided up by all of them but now that he's back (he's back he's back he's back) it's only mine that have to be covered and I still persist in doing a ton of things so very few things need to be switched up. We have the menu set and we're starting to pull together anniversary plans for Daniel and Schuyler. Lochlan and I didn't actually celebrate this year. You know, five whole years married. It still seems disingenuous somehow. Like we're cheapening decades of being together so we've decided to just mark the day quietly and not make a huge fuss. But with Daniel and Schuyler we're coming up on ten years for them and this is a very big deal. And so we have three big dinners and two holidays and Christmas is only a dozen weeks from now and...

JESUS CHRIST.

 I need this cast off so I can get things done, so I can hold on to the edge of that hole with both hands as long as I can before letting go, so I can fight off ghosts, memory fires and strange bedfellows with both hands. So I can hold my laptop up in front of my face and fend off the shame of new readers who just show up and think they're going to read the whore show and then get angry when I go in deep.

Sorry, not sorry? There is no genre here, just Bridget. Maybe Bridget IS a genre. A type. A thing. Whatever. Superpowers. Music. Hurt. Fuck off.

***

What song were you actually playing this morning? 

Streets of Philadelphia. 

Oh. Crazy. 

The crazy part is that you gave a very sophisticated guess.

Wonder who gets credit for that?