Build the ark, I'm coming for you.

Ben isn't doing cocaine. He's all about the self-disparaging jokes these days, and yet they take a while. He thinks slower than he used to. The words, the thoughts and plans are all there in his head but his head healed a little thicker than it was before, he says, and so it takes a little longer for everything to come out. 

I always always tease him when he says this, as he has always been thick-headed. Stubborn. Aren't we all. 

And we have have as many bad days as good, here on the point. The barometer is never just for me, though I can be as quiet as they can when things aren't just right. Only I can't fake it along through the hours. I just get more and more wound up, fingers clenched, teeth clenched, miserably tight and miserable indeed and then I explode or I melt, depending on the issue and everyone gets to see everything and I get to keep nothing to myself. 

It's healthier but I hate being the bad guy. 

And so does Ben but Ben is in survival mode. For those who say it's nice to retire before sixty with a catalogue the likes of which he has, for those who say more money is so lovely and that rich people shouldn't complain, for those who do nothing but snark before me from their faceless keyboards, words stabbing my tattooed skin like daggers, drawing endless blood, endless rivers of black and the floods carry us all away, I can only say one thing. 

Fuck you.

8:03/4:31 (we're the worst).

Caleb is at the bedroom door. 

I have something for you, Neamhchiontach. 

Lochlan looks up from his book. We are hibernating today. Having hygge (which is the danish word for fun, if you want to be technical). Clean pajamas, a small fire that we let go out because it got so warm we opened all the windows instead, and breakfast for three, in bed, and I lost a fork and Ben went looking for it which made us all howl with laughter. Then...um...new sheets and more clean pajamas because fork is a similar word to, and sometimes used as, another word that makes sense in the bedroom and then I catnapped and now I'm starving. I have closed the windows because the sun is headed for the cliff of horizon and it's time for another dark cold night and I even checked the sunrise and sunset times and it feels like we aren't getting anywhere here. A few lights on and both boys are now reading. We're unplugged, an acoustic BLB. Off the grid. Well, the lights are electric and so are our hearts but that's it, today. 

What is it? 

He holds out his hand and drops it low. It's a carved lepidolite heart. 

How did you know? 

I was reading up. This one is for restlessness and anxiety. 

Where did you get it? 

I went to a little shop that sells all the crystals. 

Ohhhh and you left me home? 

It was near another store where I was already running errands so I thought I would take a look. 

I love it, it's beautiful. Thank you! 

If you have a list I would like to help you collect them all. 

Like Pokemon? Lochlan calls from inside. 

Hush, you. 

Gotta catch em all, Ben laughs in that slow, infectious drawl he does now. 

Hey man, I read that crystals are taking over the world. Caleb is defensive but light.

I told you! Well, not really but they're so pretty. 

Yes, I like the display in the hall and since you work hard to keep the decorating as woodsy-masculine as you can it's good if you can have something to remind us all that a beautiful woman lives here too. 

I didn't know you cared, Diabhal! Lochlan is in hysterics. 

Shut the fuck up and try harder, Lasraichean, Caleb all but sings it over my head, in through the door. 

And I laugh and hold the cool stone up to my cheek. That was a term of endearment, meaning flame. They're comfort-sparring, today.

Shall I put it with the others? Caleb smiles. So pleased. 

No, I have to cleanse it and then charge it first. 

This is...oddly complicated. 

Not really. They work best when they are cleaned, renewed and charged up with power. 

And how do you do that? 

Either put them in soapy water, sunlight or moonlight and then put them on the white plate with the carvings for a day or two. 

Oh, I see. Then their power is...unleashed? 

I mean, kind of. It's hard to explain. 

Works for me, Lochlan grins, still determined to tease Caleb any chance he gets as he ducks between us. Going to get Chinese food. Need anything else? 

Rain, I call after him. 

Huh? Oh, that day. Ha. You. Lochlan points at me and winks and then he's gone and it's just me, the rock and the devil and a really sleepy Ben nodding off into his pages. 

Thank you again. 

Drink later? 

Maybe tomorrow or the next evening. I have plans tonight.

What rock do I get for loneliness? 

Cocaine, Ben says and he starts laughing again, awake after all.

 It's snowing again. 

*#@%#$&@*!.

매 순간을 치고받아!

Things toasted until they're burnt, martini olives, k-pop and doom metal playlists that alternate between the two, velvet hair ties and Ozark. 

Sam is rapid-fire. Fast. Okay, name the perfect day. 

It's raining like crazy. Lochlan and I wake up, make love, have a long hot bubble bath and then make eggs and toast and coffee. Then we paint for a little while and then go for a walk on the beach, pop into a little restaurant for chinese food. After we get home again we change into dry clothes and watch a movie and then make love again and go to sleep by ten. 

Specific. 

It happens around once every five or six years, just by chance. It's the best day ever. 

I'll make a note of that. I think Matt would be up for it. Sam laughs. Now, a barometre on today. 

I still hate the snow and I'm worn down and I hate this time of year anyway but daylight brings perspective that I don't seem to possess at night hence the drinking, and everything will be okay. 

The drinking. Address this. 

I honestly don't think the three martinis I had this week, spread out across seven days are cause for alarm. 

What would be?

Three a night. 

Definitely. 

Though, having a second is not the end of the world. 

But can you not have any for a week? 

Yes, but I fear the unchecked anxiety will just kill me faster, to be fair. 

To be fair you're not taking your med-

I HATE the side effects. Sam, you know. (Really hard to not full-on whine here but I tried.)

Which is worse?

Side-effects, every time. 

We can keep looking-

I said I was done being a test subject and I meant it, Sam. 

I understand. 

Keep going with the questions, this is fun. 

Favourite song. 

Right this second? The Real by Ateez. 

Hahahahaha that's amazing. 

It's a banger. Just like my life. 

Sam smiles but it's not his practiced, professional smile. It's full-on, with teeth. 

What's happening?

Sam is dissecting my brain in real-time. 

And? 

Sam turns to Lochlan. You're right. It's full of cotton candy and glitter. 

Better than wet clouds, like sometimes. Lochlan smiles back. No teeth though.

Chum deureogayu/춤 들어가유.

George wouldn't let me shovel the sixty million feet of snow we got today so I'm inside spooling up the dance party and making hot chocolate for when everyone is finished and comes back inside. This is oddly one of my favourite things, when there are gloves, hats, jackets and boots flung damn near everywhere, with puddles of snow melting on the floor. 

I hate the snow proper, though, don't get me wrong. It makes me claustrophobic. It's exhausting to get rid of, and it makes it hard to go places, emergency or otherwise and I think fewer people understand that then I would like but that's neither here nor there today and our driveway is completely shoveled. Can't wait until it's fifty percent longer by Easter or whenever the snow is gone and the work begins. 

I want to run though. So bad and the treadmill doesn't cut it. Ben sped it up all the way and then a little more still and I was running flat out and it's just not the same. He put on a video of a jaunt through the mountains of Switzerland and asked if that was better. No, of course not. It will pass. I just need to stay distracted. His eyebrows go up. 

Oh, I can distract you. 

Oh, really? How's that? 

Jump off. I obey his order. No point slowing the machine down and making a graceful exit when one can fly off like a maniac. Someday one of us is going to die playing on this thing and it will probably be me. I already chipped a tooth on it because my timing was off. It's a death trap and it's only good for bad weather or total boredom. It's actually good for nothing, come to think of it. Speed. That's it. 

I did a front walkover over Lochlan's chair last night and misjudged my spatial awareness level for the night and had to be rescued as it were so I'm not really up to running hard anyway. I think I stretched my back and my hamstrings further than they've ever been and now they are adventurers for life. 

I should know better than to be trying acrobatics without a sufficient warm up. Lochlan never ever let me miss the full warmup even if I was still eating dinner. More than once I did stretches with a pizza crust between my teeth, admonishings from Lochlan to put it down or finish it already so I don't choke. I would take my sweet time finishing, just to make him crazy. 

Okay, I'm off. I turn back to laugh at Ben. I stuck the landing, anyway. Now I wait for the distraction. 

Oh, you are the distraction. Wait til they come inside. 

Why? 

Remember that time in the back of the truck? 

Yes. (Oh my God. Found it.)

Thought maybe for old times sake.

You thought for old times sake we should freeze our asses off? 

Yes. Yes I did. He laughs slowly, picking up speed. Just like my run, right out of my mind.

Where can I move where there are still seasons but no weather bombs, domes, tornados, fires, snowstorms or earthquakes?

The snow keeps coming and this just makes my plea for a baby plow/4x4 for yard work that much more interesting. I could just order one but that's no fun. I like it when they do it on my behalf. Hell, not like I'm having much luck this week. I tried to order a custom G wagon for Caleb in robin's egg blue and I got precisely nowhere. I tried to do some taxes and got nowhere. I tried to get motivated and got nowhere. I keep finding the mornings drag and the afternoons rush by and I did buy something today, so there. I ordered a labradorite sphere. I'm hella excited. It looks neat. If all goes well I'll go back for a lepidolite bowl or maybe an agate one or maybe both but that's for another day. Look, a girl has to have something to do when it's snowing this much and there's nowhere to go. 

We're not even going to talk about the necronomicron infection (oh do I mean Omicron? No. Je refuse.) I think at least 4 of us have. 

And we're definitely not going to talk about Schuyler's eyeliner today because some of us might spontaneously combust. Oh my Lord the fire is turned up to seventeen with that one. 

(The fire measurement being the dial on a gas fireplace in my house but whatever, he's making his own fire today.)

I told you there was nothing happening and now I'm going to go make four shepherd's pies.

Arcane, indeed.

Why don't you love who I am?
What we could have been

 

Tuesday is a slow-motion weekday today, the first true day maybe. Ruth came over and we took a long walk around the neighbourhood, Henry and Lochlan hovering just enough on the icier sidewalks but then forging ahead, deep in conversation far out of reach. The rain is heavier now and I'm glad it held off. 

 

Caleb remains behind us. Walking steadily. Not looking up. Ears tuned keenly forward but adding nothing to the conversation. Ruth is stronger than he is and they both know it and so he is charming but guarded now that she has come into her own. The older she gets the more favourites she plays but she also does not forget or look coldly on her time being raised partially by him too. The rest she knows and we just don't talk about it, but she understands I keep no secrets from her or her brother and the tension with Caleb will forever be a tangent presence. 

I'm reading Dave Grohl's biography and I'm struck by how he glosses over major formative aspects of his childhood in order to wax platitudes on the other side and how that's exactly what we all do once we are past the hard parts. It's a coping mechanism and an eroded emotion. It's water under the bridge you burned. It's the way it's done and you just hope to do better with your own children, only they are still attempting to raise me together as a pack and rarely does that work, if ever.

Green light red light (yellow light, blue).

This morning I am back to business, trying to get quotes for the kiln outlet, trying to order Caleb the vehicle I said I thought he should get and he agreed, trying to begin year end tax forms and trying to pull the whole house back together in one day and at some point this morning Lochlan put his hand on the top of my head and told me to spend the week doing Nothing with a capital N because everything is delayed/shut-down/not in a rush anyway. 

Huh. I mean, okay. If I haaaaave toooooooo. I already caught up on all my chores (laundry up to date, living room is cleaned and my art studio is rearranged to be more user-friendly and the floors have been done. All of them. Everything.), no one's answering the phones at the two different electricians I called for quotes, Mercedes told me the chips are scarce and they'll let me know about ordering the vehicle I want for Caleb and did we want to look at their preowned inventory? (no, thank you we can wait or we'll move on) and why would there be tax forms out? It's January fucking third. 

I cough and Lochlan says see? He's mildly concerned. I have a really bad cold suddenly not really I was sick through Christmas and it's worse now) and I have resorted to carrying around my Victorian embroidered handkerchief with a few drops of thieves oil on it or I can't breathe at all here. I'm big on natural remedies because I hate chemicals but I also hate this feeling so I'm counting down the hours until the Nyquil coma. That's the best part of being sick: the five or sick hours of oblivion that stuff affords me. I don't know what's in and I don't know if I care. I just want to feel better so I downloaded a show no one else wants to watch (Emily in Paris, season 2) and I have my afternoon all planned.  

Fun.

Hello red brick road, where Bridget's wolves ceaselessly howl (liberties taken, Mr. John).

About two weeks, possibly three depending on the weather. Caleb has his hands in his pockets and he's hunched his shoulders in close, as if to deflect an imaginary, impending blow. 

When am I going to have some peace and quiet?

When it's perfect. When it's the way you wanted it to be in the first place.

I have to learn to watch what I say. I made a brief squawk about his car being in the wrong place when I went to back out of where I park when I'm going to be going back out because it was too close and I really had to go back and forth for a bit to get past PJ's jeep which is always in the right spot. Both of my jeeps and PJ's Jeep go in front of the garage or in it, plus the little space on the left is mine for when I come and go. Caleb parks beside the side door. Lochlan and Ben park their trucks up along the side nearer the front door and Duncan, Sam, Matt and Daltondrive down past the house to our actual parking lot between the side fence and the Boathouse. Ruth's car is no longer here much at all, she used the little spot on the left too, and Henry is soon to get a vehicle and he'll share that spot so it's a bit tight sometimes. 

Especially since we're all homebodies now who hardly ever leave. 

By choice. 

So when I complained about his car being two feet closer than usual, Caleb called fucking Ransom again and he's having the driveway extended up around so you can cut left or right at the fountain and drive back around and out. I lose a tiny bit of my pointless and very dark front yard. I will not lose a single tree in the woods though and they will redo the little grotto into a proper garden courtyard. I am oddly fine with saying goodbye to the yard and of course they will redo all of the landscaping in order to have it look like it's always been that way and WATCH ME PARK RIGHT AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PORCH STEPS NOW MUHAHAHA. There will be room for their vehicles or delivery vans to drive past me and things will be great. I no longer have to go in the side door unless we are grocery shopping and then I don't drive often anyway. Lochlan does. Or Ben but only if it's clear and bright out which is never anymore.

Plus this will absolutely eliminate the eight treacherous stone steps leading up to the front walkway, to more stairs. 

I am all for that. And it will be paved in the same brick pattern as the rest of the driveway so super luxe and stupidly expensive and I still don't have to pay for any of it. Perfect.

When can they start? Let's get this over with. 

I'll make a call. I want it done before I trade in anyway. 

Oh really? What are you getting next? (The A7 hasn't performed well over the past few weeks, especially in the rain and he's not going to keep it).

Not sure yet. Maybe you can help me choose. 

I would love to do that.Why me, though? Lochlan's the gearhead. 

You're very practical but also fun. 

(Yeah, story of my life).

This is the golden age/I think I'm gonna make it after all.

 Euphoria's goooooone it's time to move ooooonnnnnnn

This is my brain. Flailing wildly between U2's New Year's Day, a plaintive, seminal New Year's song from forty years ago (WHAT THE FUCK) and Switchfoot's New Year's Day, a fun rollicking hooky song that's only seven years old. 

This is normal. This is me. Either sad or crazy and never sure which power to harness and which one to ride out. 

What are you doing?

I yank off my headphones just as ABBA's Happy New Year starts (it's a playlist I made, okay? Here we are, me and you, feeling lost and feeling bluuuuuueeeee). I am disappointed at being interrupted in my epic once-a-year early morning routine where I finish off the final half-bottle of champagne and sing my heart out in the library where no one can hear me. This isn't a performance, it's a ritual.

The static makes my hair do fucked up things and Caleb laughs. 

Ice cream?

It's eight in the morning. I doubt anything is open.  

Maybe I brought a selection home and it's in the freezer. 

I stand up, never taking my eyes off him, putting down my headphones, my phone. Moving slowly.

He moves to make room for me to leave the room and join him. It's a fake-out. I book it to the door and he blocks me and then turns and runs down the hall to the kitchen, grabs a spoon from the drawer and heads out the back door. I am left behind. Winner picks the loser's flavour is the rule. GREAT.  

His resolution was to be kinder to me so he chooses coffee flavour since it's early. I am mollified and content. I have brain-freeze too but no one notices, or maybe no one really cares.