Rift.

I didn't want to face the world, the weather, the week or the news and so I stayed where I was, maybe for the first time ever, and for that I was rewarded with a bite mark right through the top of my ear. I don't know if he could help himself, I just know that he did, but I am small and all gristle, no meat, according to Caleb and so eventually I was thrown back and Lochlan was so impressed. SO. Impressed. He decided it didn't need stitches or professional medical care but he cleaned it really well and dipped my whole ear in iodine and then put antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in a big bandaid, folded over and now my balance is off. 

Good, he said. Serves you right.

I didn't bite my own ear, I remind him. 

Oh, I know.

Jesus, George.

I didn't bother recanting my entry from yesterday as this is my diary, not theirs and I won't be doing this one either, because of reasons and instead of editing I ended up saving my night from within the arms of the Devil even as we rolled over into Sunday morning. I saw every hour marked. My anxiety was bad in the night but he kept me pressed hard against him, in his lap, my arms around his neck, knees raw by the bitter end as I need a little leverage as he's...umm..on the big side of life, and no, I'm not going to let loose and let him drive as much as I can hold him back or I'd get my lobotomy all right but they're not supposed to conducted from the neck to the top of the head, like a stick through an apple at the fair. 

Which is truthfully how I feel to him, most times. Like he's Bridget with her violently-executed sweet tooth and I'm that fresh glossy candy apple waiting to be bought for only a dollar (midway staff price) and that's why they were my fruit servings every damn day of the fair. 

Oddly, I don't hate them now. Bring me one and I will drop everything, devouring it on the spot. Sort of like Caleb did to me, but luckily I only have one barest imprint of his unique bite, and he had enough mind to not fuck up his own Christmas plans by sampling the princess, especially when the desperation and insanity makes her extra-sweet, no sir. 

I think he may have moved George though. George doesn't feel so hot right now.

He's still there breathing down your neck, except he has to do it through his nose, because I took his mouth away.

Jacob's standing on the patio, right at the edge by the waist-high wall that now keeps the bottom garden delineated from the patio itself. It used to just end and become grass but Emmett and Ransom helped transform it into some sort of palace gardens and now you have practically walk a labyrinth to get anywhere. 

Or parkour. 

(There's a vision.)

We unintentionally chose matching coffee cups AND black clouds this morning as I woke up with a rager of a headache, crawling down the centre of the bed in order to let Lochlan and Ben sleep in. I need coffee, an aspirin and a super-hot shower. I need a lobotomy. I need to have not woken up today considering how yeah, we're in the fifteenth year of this and I think I have it under control but then I see you and I don't. 

I don't. 

I thought I did but I don't and you don't deserve this. No you don't. You don't deserve to take any more of my life when you wouldn't let me keep yours in return. 

You're selfish, Jake. 

He turns to gaze at me, amused smile behind his cup as he takes a sip. Am I now?

Yes. You won't go and let me get on with my life. 

There's room for me. Just like there's room for Ben. And Caleb. And August. I'll keep going, Pigalet, if you want. 

 I didn't know ghosts could be jealous. 

Then you missed the last dozen-something years of Cole screeching in my ear. Sitting on my back. Making me carry him everywhere in spite. 

Where is he now? 

I have no idea where you hide him, Princess, but I hope I don't end up there too.

(Like pieces into place).

Please when it comes time for someone to steal my life story make their movie (MY movie) make sure you get Taylor Swift to direct. Because Jesus. 

She just destroyed Lochlan in ten minutes flat, though it started after about three minutes in and the glassy-eyed stare, stubborn jaw set and vocalized irritation at being forced to watch Taylor Swift videos at six in the morning because apparently the one we watched the other day, with the fun wedding and Miles Teller (I bet you think about me) wasn't the right one. 

This one is called All Too Well.

By ten minutes in the glass had broken and the tears were starting a slow path and by twelve minutes Lochlan was RUINED. 

And he is the hard ass, usually. It's tough to get him to cry. The bar is high for music (unless it's particularly nostalgic. Anything newer doesn't rock him) and stupidly high for videos but there he goes and he's still shaken and it's been an hour now. I don't know. It's still dark. I have an ulcer I think that might be new and the coffee went bitter from the sombre mood here now as we wait for some life and some light and someone to realize that could have been us but maybe those stars that we watch finally aligned just a little bit and I'm almost regretful that we are older and worn-smooth, eroded in that sort of twenties-passion that looks so beautiful on celluloid and hurts so bad in reality but at the same time I love to watch a story be told and that's the best part here. 

I know, he says. Maybe you should direct your own film.

Some many folks asking: My favourite tiktokkers (? is that the word) are MaiaKnight, Jrizsea, chantyb97, and Yurilamasbella. Oh and Stalgia! And no you can't have my username. Ha.

Oh God, I'm ordering champagne and some assorted necessary supplies for a party here, just before Christmas and maybe all through and after it too, possibly spilling into 2022 because we deserve a clean slate with nothing already written on it, crossed out, hastily erased and covered with scratch marks. 

Glossy, shiny and new. 

We are throwing a joint party this year for Ben's birthday and Andrew and Christian's anniversary. Ben will be fifty-three, Andy and Chris? Married three years. Makes it easy to keep track, if you ask me and no, none of them are having champagne. That's for me because I find it physically painful and somewhat exhausting to plan parties. 

It was Ben's idea, Ben who never liked to be written about and no longer wants to be the centre of attention, having turned from a brash ego-driven bull in a china shop into a humble, exceedingly thoughtful young man who can dial in a room with a word, for it will be so softly spoken. Who might never take the stage again but will send you a recording for your song (and thank you for thinking of him). Who wants to celebrate love all the time and puts no hierarchy on us anymore, even as we try and hold it up for ourselves. 

Who went with me all over town today, while I tackled my big list of errands, things I needed to get but never bothered to tackle but yet another state of emergency has weirded me out so I gassed up the jeeps, got the pets caught up on food supplies and stopped to see Ruth. I did some banking and bought my mother's Christmas gift and some art prints from a local artist here in the neighborhood and then we brought home a surprise lunch for everyone. He helped me check the attic and put out the bird feeders (I got sad looking at the birds in everyone else's yard.) and we sorted recycling and then he painted my nails while I showed him tiktoks. 

And he laughed a pure Ben-laugh every time. 

He let me paint his nails to match and we did our household chores together. 

It was a really good day. I think the party will be pretty low key. My only thought is to fill the hot tub with melted brie and get a breadstick as tall as I am and eat my way through the new year. 

Ben thinks this is a fine idea.

TGWLTG, redux. Forever, maybe.

Hey, Bridgie, stay there okay. I'm coming to you. 

He's unnaturally loud and strict suddenly and I turn very slowly. It's dark. I'm wearing my glasses which are actually shit for distance but I persist. But I know by the sound of his voice what's up.

Where is it?

Between us, coming down along the garage. Look at the door. 

I look at the door. It's white and brick and then it's half gone, the light sucked into the velvet darkness of a black bear's fur. 

He's only a baby. Aw. I exclaim out loud. I'll make no effort to blend in and the bear comes toward me for a breath before veering off toward the upper woods of the front yard. Had he made a left at the studio to go through the orchard I might be dinner. Lochlan is circling it on the outside, trying to shush it along but also making sure it moves to the right and goes up away from me. Honestly he missed his calling as he could have wrangled the big animals at the circus. Sadly by the time we got there the big animals were being phased out.

Bye, bear. I say it softly. He made no noise. I would have walked right into him on my way to the back door, following Lochlan back to the light of the house from where we had ventured up into the legacy gardens where the darkness is already thick to see the stars. It's nice not to have to wait until ten at night to see them but seeing a bear instead means Lochlan will leave the floodlights on around the clock now until at least Christmas, when he forgets the thrill of being so close to nature and returns to the thrill of WANTING to be close to nature..

This is exactly what it looks like. PJ cockblocked Duncan and so he got shut down.

I made a move to get up last night from where I was jammed in the corner of the couch between PJ and Lochlan. Duncan wanted to show me something and PJ actually barred me from getting up.

Tomorrow. PJ tells Duncan. It's late. 

Lochlan keeps reading and didn't say a word. 

I see. Duncan's face twists into a sly smile. Got your ride or die back, eh Bridge?

I'm busy staring at PJ, who has somehow claimed the night with confidence and it takes me a minute to reply. No, he's right. I'm on my way to dreamland in a minute anyway, if it's okay if it waits til tomorrow?

Of course. He leans in, is careful not to jostle Loch, elbows PJ hard in the ribs and kisses my cheek. 

Oh, sorry, Padraig. Didn't see you there. So close. PJ laughs and rubs his side.

I talk quickly. Goodnight Dunk. Love you. I'll come down and wake you in the morning. 

Holding you to that. He backs away, pointing to me. Don't be too late. 

It's Wednesday tomorrow. I'm up before the moon disappears. 

Love you too. He winks and is gone and I turn back.

PJ what was that?

I need some space to find my bearings again. 

You don't have to shut Duncan down. 

Maybe I do. 

Not your job. 

Lochlan looks up, sideways at me, then at PJ. Should I get out of the way so you too can fight to the death?

No, you can be the voice of reason though. 

Lochlan sighs. Padraig. Leave her be. She's got her own mind. 

I know. PJ sighs. It's just been a while since things have been normal. 

Both Lochlan and I burst out laughing. Normal? Us? Here? PJ's face falls and I apologize quickly. We're not laughing at you, just the idea that we have any normalcy here at all. 

You know what I mean. 

Yeah. On that note. Goodnight, Padraig. I kiss his cheek and climb out from behind him on the couch. Tomorrow is an early day. 

Lochlan snorts and kisses PJ's cheek too. She's right. And it's normal for you to go to bed alone. He mock-glares at PJ and PJ puts his hands up. 

I tried. 

You gave it your best. 

Jesus, Bridge. Don't agree with me. It makes it worse. 

Jesus H. Rainclouds.

Blue skies finally and the sun goes down in around an hour. During the warmth at the end of the storm we did the Christmas lights around the front of the house (only the eaves and high lines of the houses have the lights left up all year round. Doors and porches and railing no because they get abused and it's better to clean it all up for the spring/summer/fall. Except today it all went back out and Lochlan didn't even seem that nervous to have me up a ladder (albeit a stepladder not the big one) and attaching lights to the porch rafters. 

Until the wind came up stronger than ever and then suddenly he said he had things to do and we could finish it later on, that all we had left was the door and so that's good until the weekend, we got the bulk of the lights done. This was neat because he usually freaks out and tells me to get down, that the wind is too high, that he knows it was a bad idea, that he isn't okay with me being up high or helping him and he shouldn't have listened to me when I talked him into it. The king of doubts, always, second-guessing as an art-form here. 

The rain is coming back so I will put a fresh towel under the leaky studio door (South-facing, all the exposure, should have fixed it but we didn't get to it this year and now we have to wait for it to dry out) and then go get yelled at by Caleb, who is even less impressed than the rest that I am up a ladder doing lights without a brace on my hand or a net, for that matter and yes, it figures. Leave Lochlan in charge and look what happens. 

So now there'll be a fight, but honestly I'm not letting Lochlan take the blame for this. It's mine. He tries his best.

And everything, it changed overnight.

(No church this morning! Sam called it in due to the Pineapple Express. We can't even see through the rain and no one on earth is going outside today so he published some writings yesterday and has gone viral in the church because at least thirty people have viewed them so far. We are very proud and also happy he didn't make us go outside in this freaking deluge to see Jesus, who probably slept in too. Actually I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Matt, naked, asleep, under the rain pouring against those glorious skylights in the boathouse. If you know, you know and you don't leave until you absolutely MUST.)

I am better this morning. I woke up and went downstairs for coffee, Ben's faded Ucluelet sweatshirt down to my knees, covering my hello kitty pajamas because it's cold in the mornings on the skin and I'm not a robe-person, I'm a boyfriend-sweater-stealer. 

PJ has the kitchen the way I like it this morning. My tiny fairy lights are plugged in, my iTunes Christmas playlist is on low, Matthew Thiessen's voice easily lulling through In Like a Lion (Always Winter) and I can shift gears here, finally. Coffee is ready and waiting, all I have to do is press a button, and PJ himself is in and out. His cup and his phone are on the table. A plate is beside the sink and I hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back down the hall a minute later and grins when he sees me. 

The bird's early again. 

Have to give the cats their meds. 

I can do that. 

No one says you have to get up early. 

I'm programmed. It's going to be decades before I can sleep in naturally again. 

I know the feeling. 

Ali & Theo spool up. My alltime favourite (Where are you Christmas?) and then I remember after that is another Relient K that I love, I Celebrate the Day. The boys are pretty cool with morning Christmas music from the middle of November right through until New Years Day and I love them for it. 

We got nachos for nine last night at the new Mexican place down the road (so. good.) and watched a movie on Netflix (Red Notice. A good ride, though Ryan Reynolds plays himself, the Rock plays himself, and honestly Free Guy was too recent for me to be ready for another. I want Ryan to play a psychopath so badly.)

Oh. Another Ali & Theo. Let it Fall. I can't wait to see if they record another Christmas song for this year. I hope so though every year so far is a gift. Theo Tams is a gift. A much unappreciated gift but his tendency in music is not what I would have expected. I wish he would skew Folk, honestly I do. 

Where was I? 

Does it matter? I am still medicated up to my eyebrows so maybe it doesn't. No credibility here. Thank God I have a team since I can't legally sign for anything right now or enter into any contracts. Maybe it's nice. I'm only responsible for seeing that Henry eats some fruit here and there and I book his haircuts at his favourite barber for him. He gives the best hugs and he also doesn't mind the Christmas music. 

Oh. Eisley's Walking in the Air. It's been on this playlist for a whole decade and I still get goosebumps from it, but thankfully today my tattoos are not raised anymore. That's my sign to zone out, relax, calm down and distract. That's my sign that I have pushed too far.

Did I tell you I finally got into my newest Stephen King book? It's called Billy Summers and it's an incredible mashup between the early beautiful pages of Doctor Sleep and...Joyland, of all things for style (curiously both are from 2013) and I freaking love it. I didn't love the series on Bill Hodges, and I was afraid it would be closer to that but it's not, it's legit. 

(Did I ever talk about A Little Life? No, and my apologies because I promised to, but honestly that was roundly squashed early on, as I sped through it (it's a big, painfully difficult read and it's so so beautiful) and the boys watched me while they bit their nails. Caleb threatened actual, permanent violence if I did a deep dive review so I did not so whatever I've said so far will have to stand. He knows I discuss my childhood here, my teenage years, my early-adult years and everything up to Henry's birth and then Caleb's eventual return. He does not want to see a dissected list of his crimes transgressions, as there's no statute and he still has wiggle room for a defence? Explanations? Proof that since he's still here with us so how bad could it have been? 

I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore. It's Christmas.

You know when you wake up and the outlines on all of your tattoos are raised and you can't breathe and you have a headache and your nerves are shot, anxiety is through the roof and you clench your teeth so hard you fear they'll break earlier than later? 

And Lochlan (well, not for you probably) takes your head in both his hands, keeps you tight against him and whispers in your ear to take deep breaths and talks about taking a walk on the fairgrounds late at night as the cleanup is finished but before they turn off the coloured lights in favour of the security flood lights? Once everyone leaves and it's quiet. Once the day is finished and the time is our own again, the long walk back to the lot where our camper is, and we can have a late dinner and a long sleep. 

And I won't wake up feeling like this.