Too today. May it be short and sweet.

Can you imagine. It's 2022 and some poor public health officials had to announce they were banning DANCING. I mean, what in the Footloose-bullshit small-town decision is that? But at the same time I don't go clubbing but when I did, let me tell you. 

I might have died for not being able to dance. 

Dramatic but true. And now I have to go watch Footloose again but honestly I am completely caught up in Hometown Cha Cha Cha now and so it's going to have to go to the back of my list.

(I'm for mandates if it keeps people out of the hospital. All for them.)

Also I called the shop and the parts are in and they are working on my Jeep now. Do I believe them? I want to. Hopefully my luck is now turning a tight circle. I hate not being in control. Maybe it'll be ready before the end of the week. I lament how lucky I am, as someone told me a story last week that they read about someone who worked in a forge and if you fall into the molten metal crucible they actually have a pole and will push you under, out of kindness/mercy since if you survive there will be little left. 

That horrified me and it stuck with me and I felt selfish and bougie for complaining about one of my cars being in the shop too long. 

Henry pointed out that I'm allowed to have problems, I'm allowed to vent or be stressed. Since I am mindful of others' hardships it's not vacuous tone-deaf complaining. He's smarter than I will ever be, that's for sure and that's all the gratitude I need for today. 

At least I can dance. It's like a Wednesday without the hump as we are over it.

Shhh. I think they forgot.

 Do you want oatmeal or a bagel for breakfast? It's not lost on me that PJ is doing that thing where you give your toddler the choice between two things and then they feel like they're calling the shots because otherwise they would just say they don't want anything or they want something that isn't available. 

Oatmeal, I guess. 

Big coffee?

Biggest you can find. Please.

He puts back the mug he had pulled out and finds the big BB8 two-hander for me. It's pouring rain. I did not want to leave Ben and Lochlan snoozing with the fire burning out and the sound of the heavy downpour against the windows but PJ and I have a longstanding coffee date in the kitchen every Monday at six-thirty where we go over my planner and sort out the week. This week maybe groceries but probably not. Hopefully my Jeep will be back (LONG STORY). Maybe someone will buy me dinner tonight. Maybe the rain will stop in time for a long walk and hopefully the house will magically clean itself but I drew the short straw for the week so the floors are mine to do. Maybe it won't be so bad. I want to glaze some pieces too to fire next week when the weather is better. I found the actual Olympics app where I can watch skating while I paint and I want to see Ruth on her day off as well. 

Also I need to make a big beef stew for tonight because it's also my night to do dinner but here is my ever-present keeper right-hand man, my unintentional but fiercely loyal ride-or-die fake husband/nanny to help like he never stops doing. He even managed to get rid of Caleb last evening with some completely intentional ego-blows that sent Caleb off to his wing because he had some paperwork he wanted to look over. 

Tax time hasn't even hit yet. Suddenly no one's dispersing forms until Feb. 28 and filing isn't open until the 22nd, I think and I'm not in any rush for once. 

That's where we are on a Monday, anyway. 

Barefoot in the yard.

On the slack line since it's still daylight after supper and it's nice out, two things that haven't happened simultaneously in MONTHS and I'm not letting the chance slip by, like my skills have since I'm not permitted to set this up near the pool or the garage. Ours is on a stand, about five feet off the ground and it's not like I could put it up anywhere else as the stands are well-anchored and the grass is soft when I fuck up. My focus is completely absent, my centre of gravity is missing after having children, I think and my drive outweighs my desire in spades as I want to retain the talents without doing the training. I need the training so here I am, daily when I can. My strength is waning horribly. Lochlan keeps his up. I get tired walking up a second flight of steps lately, further possible confirmation that I did get the virus before Christmas and have simply managed to white-knuckle through it the way I do through everything else. 

Neamhchiontach.

Ah. Distractions. 

What? I yell, thrusting my arms out to the sides. I can pretend I've got this, but only if I don't fall off. 

You're supposed to have a spotter so you don't breaking your little fucking neck out here. 

Lochlan knows where I am. 

The hell he does or he would be here or have sent me out with you. 

If you stand that close to me I can't do anything-

If you fall and land on your head you'll be doing even less. 

Nice. 

He's got his arms out like I am a cat in a tree, ready to jump. I ignore him and try to concentrate but it's pointless so instead I tuck my arms in and do a dramatic swoon, falling right where he was hoping I would. 

Oh. He smells like cedar, coffee and cilantro. Nice. He puts me upright, on my feet. 

See? Safe. 

With the devil? I highly doubt it.

If I could go back and change one thing it would be anyone stalling on a Netflix series before it's finished. Making me start it and wait months to finish.

What would you like to do today?

Dream-plans or actual plans?

Start with dream plans, then and we'll go from there. 

I want to buy those huge shearling couches and put them in place of all of our couches and beds. Every room. 

Okay, actual plans. Caleb laughs his rakish chuckle upon seeing my dream plans turned out to be fairly harmless but not achievable because shearling is too hard to clean so I would never actually do it. Not with a black cat in the house, anyway. 

Besides, our couches are all comfy and old and broken in hard. Whenever I sit on a brand-new couch anywhere I am stricken by how terrible uncomfortable it is. 

Maybe velvet, then. Velvet is never a bad choice for anything.

I can get behind that. 

Perfect. I'll make a list. 

Honestly if this were winter anywhere else a long drive down the seashore then back through the countryside/woods and then a hot dinner and a glass of wine and a movie but this is the west coast and it's going to be sunny and upwards of ten degrees and so it's all seashore all the time and then probably steaks on the barbecue for dinner and then we'll wrap up Lost in Space (hate it) and Lucifer (love it so much) and then finish getting hooked on Hometown Cha-cha-cha. We haven't even started the new season of Ozark yet but apparently we need to finish the rest first. I already bailed on Arcane. I just wasn't in the mood but at the same time it was interesting. I don't think we watch enough television and then I lose momentum. 

I relay all of this to Caleb and he points out I can always spend the weekend with him and it would be more to my liking. 

Oh I bet it would. More to his, I think he means.

Barometers.

Struggling with big pictures, small victories, optimism, faith and delibilitating self-doubt today. 

Yep, sounds like a Friday to me. Many good things, many bad things, many normal everyday things that are like mountains in the way of my path moving forward and all of it is just average to everyone but still a mountain to me. I understand perspective and I understand stress. I understand my anxiety and how it manifests as fear and I understand the sun on my face will fix fully half of it and a good nights' sleep the other. Hopefully I can pull off one or the other, if not both. The sun and sleep, I mean. I can't pull my face off. Well I could and underneath is a tiny shrieking mouse with nowhere left to hide. 

On the upside we have nachos. There's a new season of the English speaking Love Is Blind (as much as I loved the colombia version it was also a culture shock I never made it past and found it so distracting. Not even in a bad way, I just felt like they were all bad actors in the end) and Daniel and I have a sound plan to get hooked on Netflix K-Dramas this weekend if it kills us. 

So see? My mind is a rollercoaster and I'm not taller enough to qualify to ride the fucking thing.

The ghosts are all home. I gathered them up into a squad. I keep my eye on them. I childproofed my brain so they can't get into any trouble and within the chorus of laughter I learned it wouldn't work.

It's from Etsy. That's all I know.

I just noticed that Lochlan spent all of yesterday walking around with my big soft yellow scrunchie around his wrist. I look terrible in yellow, but I can't be deterred because it makes me think of spring and so every year or six I buy a soft yellow sweater and this year I knew better but PJ got me a huge pack of velvet scrunchies when I said I was never cutting my hair again and I constantly have it tied up in a knot or a big messy bun on the nape of my neck and the yellow one turned out to be that perfect shade of Easter-pale yellow I adore. 

Don't picture it with grey/white/blonde hair though. So awful. And don't picture it with red either. Even worse. But I took it off yesterday when we went to unplug the kiln (EVERYTHING WORKED) and it caught on my sleeve and flew to the floor and Lochlan bent to pick it up, and knowing I didn't want to put it on right that moment as my head was cold, the sun had already set and I put on my beanie to go across to the studio and so he put the scrunchie on his wrist and it remained there until the morning when he took it off and left it on the bathroom counter. I have a huge basket of scrunchies there. Every color and pattern you can imagine but mostly velvet or corduroy. Satin falls right off. I hate scratchy fabrics and twill for scrunchies. They have to be soft. I chucked all my hair sticks and claws and forks and combs and clips. All that's left is a small tin of bobby pins and this huge basket. 

Not that you asked, but those gestures of his are the ones that give me oxygen when I feel like I can't breathe at all.

Production princess.

I lay in bed with the pillows over my head while Lochlan performed the mother of all pep-talks this morning. He was determined to make sure that I got up today since I didn't really on Monday or Tuesday for that matter. Well, I went and had my shot on Monday morning but since then it's been a fog, a benign February malaise and a struggle to get moving. 

But I can't resist a reaction to his performance any more than he can ever resist giving one and so, lured by the promise of good coffee and some hot eggs and toast, I went and took a long shower. The rash is mostly gone. My arm is itchy. It's still sore and I have a headache stupidly swollen lymph nodes but I'm up now, with clean hair, dressed in warm leggings and a hoodie and a knitted hat, because my ears are cold and I can't make it stop. 

I went out with him and loaded up the kiln. First glaze firing at home. I'm so excited. He hates the setup and wants to see and easier, more permanent setup than wheeling it out of the studio, but for now it still works and on rainy days I will build while on sunny days I will fire. The worst weather will see me rest and while all of this goes down my mind floats a mutiny through to the open sea, easily passing through the rapids to where the fresh water meets the salt and wind, sails tattered, boards battered, nerves shot to hell. 

You made it! He exclaims triumphantly when I return to the house after heading back to the studio solo,  checking to make sure the cycle is complete and the kiln is now beginning the long impatient cooldown cycle before I can open it. The rule is a hundred and fifty degrees, no sooner. A rule I agree to because it's a time saver in the long run, and because any hotter and you risk ruining the whole load. 

I did. I get a kiss on the hat (forehead-adjacent) and a huge smile from him. First one all week.

Today the arm is more sore and now decorated with a pinprick rash, and my throat and head hurt so bad I've drunk a whole container of grapefruit juice in a day. Ben is telling me to sleep, Lochlan wants me to stay awake, Caleb just wants to see the meds keep coming so I don't bolt or hide or turn myself inside out. I wanted to sew some things and I wanted to watch a movie but I don't have the energy for either. I feel like I've lost control of my life and the only way to quell the panic comes in the form of a fistful of pills from Lochlan (or PJ or Caleb) every eight to twelve hours and then I have a little respite.

Or I'm allergic and the rash is from that and not the booster shot and I feel kind of dumb, as we seem to be a few short weeks away from dropping all the mandates, all the passports, all the requirements and I still think I want to be a recluse but then I also want to go to a concert or hell, eat a Monte Cristo in the booth at my favourite spot that makes them, since they add turkey and it's real turkey, not lunchmeat-turkey but I also liked grocery shopping at seven in the morning and I liked the excuse of just staying in. 

Maybe I should live in my bed. The hermit-starlet. The reckless recluse. The grieving little monster, always. 

Someone asked where I was and I suppose I should answer but I wasn't sure if they meant physically, emotionally or spiritually so maybe I shouldn't answer at all? 

Physically I'm lying in bed watching Vogue's 73 questions (every now and then I catch up) and the Olympic figure skating and playing Christmas Mansion 3, still hoping that by next Christmas my village is ready at long last. I should have started this game last April instead of after Halloween but I persevere. 

I'm so jacked out on pills I can't feel a thing. It's good, this. The alternative is feeling too much, too deep, too hard and I can't. Not strong enough. Will never be strong enough and I hate that things change. Just when you get comfortable. Just when you think you can take a breath some part of your life, your comfort-mechanism gets yanked out of your heart and there's a huge hole. A huge one, so big you fall in every time you take a step forward and you climb out and try again and the sunsets hurt and the sunrise is so hopeful until you remember and death is a horrible thing but it's the only certainty, ever and here it is again because I got too comfortable, I guess. 

I'll be okay, I just might not post or I might post all the time. The only promises I make are to those around me, as always. I was already in a hole of sorts. This fashioned a lid for the hole and I was already inside and it took days to crawl out. I pulled my sweater around me and went for my booster shot and they played Lady and The Tramp in the waiting room for fifteen minutes afterward but I couldn't think about it. They gave me another sticker and now my arm is sore. I've lost five pounds from ignoring everything Lochlan tries to get me to eat and I just want to know when this won't feel so awful. 

Don't worry. It wasn't one of my precious boys.

They said it was a phase.

(I used to call him Trey but that seems too familiar any more.)

Cole and I are lying on our backs in the gazebo, watching the clouds rolls in, bringing the wind and the rain post haste. My coffee cup is near my left hand, forgotten and cold. Bitter, like me. Bitter, like my bones pressed against the damp boards in an ache of February the likes of which I've never seen. 

Cole is quiet. I took away his mouth. Left some of the good parts so I could still see that his face was trying to break into a smile when he read my shirt this morning. 

It's pink with holographic pastel rainbow balloon letters. It says I LICKED IT SO IT'S MINE. I only wear it as a pajama shirt thanks to my hard rebound back to black and so it's paired with navy fleece joggers from Gap that shrunk somehow so Dalton gave them to me to wear and they fit perfectly.

Cole reaches over to me and touches my face as I close my eyes against the brightening sky. I don't flinch anymore when he does that. Right now I think if I could go back I would have met him eye to eye, hurt him right back, made sure he knew how it felt to be treated the way he treated me and taught me that was love. The way he let his brother continue to terrorize me even as I asked him if we could move away, if we could start over, if we could somehow get away from him and yet he followed and then they all did too, just to keep an eye. New cities every ten years, new streets to remember, new lives to fill and here he is, lying next to me on a cold hard floor touching me while I fight to make something hurt so I don't cave in. 

Bridge!

A voice from the right and I lift my head, looking through Cole to see Lochlan on the patio. His face. Can he see him too? Do I have to explain why Cole doesn't have a mouth? 

Come inside. No one's with you? Fucking hell. Come now. 

(Like a dog. Here, Bridget. Good girl.)

Cole laughs silently (I can tell by his eyes) and I push him off the cliff. He leaves the grey sweater behind and I stand up, pulling it up around me in the sudden chill, hit the button on the heater that still doesn't work to turn it off and obediently go inside, making sure that the rain soaks up my pants from the grass. Hitting every puddle, taking my sweet time, making him wait while I try to remember what I did with Jake. I think he's in the freezer. That or in the loft above the garage.