Evil definitely didn't die tonight and probably won't any time soon.

Yesterday was crystal shopping and Newfoundland fried chicken and a run to donate some stuff that was languishing unused, like redundant snowboarding gear and jackets. So many jackets, some brand new. Also winemaking supplies as we just do small gallon batches now as it's a smaller footprint that way and easier to control quality outcomes. 

Productive for a long week. 

And last night was my movie choice so of course I picked Halloween Kills. 

Save for any of the scenes inside the hospital and that fucking Tommy (who still can't act, after watching Anthony Michael Hall in thirty years worth of movies) it was perfect, though the back and forth between James Jude Courtney and Nick Castle playing Michael left me clearly understanding who was who by the way they walk. Nick is larger and walks with purpose in a menacing way. Jude looks like he's finessing every move, a serial killer Sinatra and it's distracting and almost amusing save for the fact that everyone's screaming. 

A solid 9/10. Poor Haddonfield. They never can catch a break.

Duncan fell asleep during the absolute loudest of the screaming, his head in my lap and Ben followed shortly thereafter against Lochlan's shoulder just as the plot was going into overdrive. I didn't even feel tired once.

Nothing to report.

My phone woke me up to let me know the Queen has Covid. But of course she's going to keep working because God forbid she take a damn day off. At 95. After 70 years ruling over the monarchy. 

I wonder if that's how I know I'm royal. Because I think I got Covid over Christmas and still hosted a big holiday. Don't worry. I was the last to get it, as everyone else was sick first even as I tried my best to stay safe and make people isolate and stay away (MY KINGDOM MY RULES) and still it didn't work and it's not like we can get tested or could have been tested because my province said no tests for the public to use at home and if you've been fully vaccinated just stay home and get better. So we'll never know and sometimes Schrodinger's plague is nice because we can just weaponize denial, as always.

It's Sunday but Jesus didn't come. He probably has Covid too and that's fine. We weren't going to visit him today because Sam is still off and we go to support Sam moreso than anything else and Sam ministers to the point so thoroughly that no one feels the need to worship offsite. Also the sun is shining but it's supposed to rain so I had hopes of that cozy weekend continuing ad infinitum. It would have been so lovely. According to the weather it still is supposed to be awful overnight and that pleases me as when everyone is off and home and tucked away it's when I am at my happiest. 

I had a wonderful day yesterday. Tattoos and burgers and random dance parties. The tiniest of walks with the dog, who can't go very far and I slept in an extra couple of hours and today I feel a little more in control. 

That's so nice. Sounds dumb but if you only knew me.

Okay but-

(This is your Bridget on four hours of sleep. Thanks, August. Well, I mean hell yes, thank you, August.)

What are you doing? 

Researching brain tumors. 

Why? 

The headaches, Locket. And now my eyes are super-sensitive to light suddenly and they burn by the end of the day and I'm waking up every morning with headaches again. 

It's stress. 

It never stops though. And I look up 'eyes sensitive' and I have like every symptom on this list. I'm dizzy all the time, my hearing is gone. My eyes hurt. My head hurts. My eyes have gotten much worse over the past few years. My whole mood has gone to shit. Look at this-

I'm not going to dignify your whim this morning, Peanut. You're fine. You've been saying this for decades and we've just had a long bout of stress-

Some of the tumors are slow-growing, you know. Someday you're going to find out I was right. 

So what should we do? 

I need a head transplant. Clearly it's the safest option. 

Where do we find another Bridget-head? 

At the cheese farm. 

What? 

Long story I told Dalton about a cheese farm and how it was the best place to raise herds of cheese free-range. But now I have to add a patch of back-up heads. I wonder if they need full sun-

Oh my god. Tell me all about it. 

Over dinner. It's a very long tale. 

But if you can remember it it means no tumor. 

Hope you're right. 

5 4 3 2 1.

Where is he right now for you? 

I don't know. Maybe a little snappish. I lick sugar off my fingers and turn the page of my book as he gets up to go make us coffee and croissants. I brought over a whole tray of chocolate ones. If I leave them at home PJ will just eat them and then lament the comfort level of his jeans waistband. The bed sways gently on the ropes. The big gooseneck lamp on this side is casting a warm light on such a dim rainy day and I've been here since fiveish. I couldn't stay home. Couldn't be outside. Didn't dare duck into Caleb's wing or anyone else's for that matter and I couldn't get Lochlan to wake up enough to understand the gravity of my panic in a meaningful way. He spends his life sleeping with one eye open and after a fashion he will eventually crash. Don't we all. I can't fault him for that. I have a whole team here and I need to be more proactive in utilizing it. 

August comes back with a coffee cup and saucer, placing it on the night table. He doesn't bring me a second croissant. One is lots. I'm getting spoiled and I'm getting the third degree too. He's got a gift for being charming and stern at the same time but in a totally different way from Caleb. 

Thank you. 

Chocolate in the sheets. 

I'll strip the bed before I go. 

Leave it. I like your perfume. 

I'm not wearing..oh. I get it. He is snappish too but out of loneliness, not from a lack of privacy or understanding. 

He's in here. I tap my head. It's dark and I locked the door. So you can sound the alarm, I guess. 

I'm not going to do that. 

How come?

He's under control. 

For the moment. 

Sometimes it's by the moment that you live. By the day. Like the program. 

They should have one for this. 

They do. 

It doesn't work for everyone. 

No, some people just don't have the luck with it. 

That's me. No-luck Bridget. 

You can have some of mine, then, to see you through. 

You have some luck today?

You're here, so yes, I definitely do.

1,2,3, let's burn.

What a week. I did nothing except let my anxiety run free, unchecked. Now I know what Lochlan would go through when he would give me free reign to run the fields between shows or walk the beach for hours in the moonlight, something I miss dearly but we can't really do it here. The breakneck staircase sees to that. Caleb wanted to build something safer. An elevator. Or carve out some of the backyard, losing real estate to make for a more gradual decline but we decided that was too super-villainy (even for him) so we did not. 

I opted not to do a lot of things. We didn't grocery shop. We could live for months on what's in the house and the deep freezers and sometimes it's good to just not. I opted not to worry about paperwork. I actually did some taxes, today in fact. I put on Ateez really loud (this week I like Answer best) and organized all my paperwork. I made a huge sloppy martini with three olives and then I made no apologies to go along with it. I swore at Lochlan and he laughed in my face, lovingly. 

You're too sweet for me. I put my hands against his cheeks.

I think you've got that backwards. I get a kiss on the nose for my trouble. Couldn't get rid of him if I tried. I stopped trying years ago. 

But it did end okay. Caleb did the fending off. The attack. The guarding. The vicious showing of the teeth to the world and I came in at the back, holding up the lantern, showing it was only me and people would do whatever I needed. It was a long week but I asked for help and I got it. I loathe doing it and I did it because Lochlan asked me too. Hoping this coming week will be better. Have to burn those pajamas first.

I couldn't do today so I put on fresh Hello Kitty pajamas, poured a hot cup of coffee, brushed my teeth and left my phone on DND. I sent Caleb out in front of everyone who came at me, aggressively or otherwise and I hid like a small child in a basket of clean laundry while the wolf did my bidding against the dark. Sometimes you need a wolf instead of a magician. Illusions are better than everything else but trust me, results are good too. He is a Devil in the streets too, you know and so who better than to fix everything I broke while in my panic of getting used to living differently. A new hole opened and we have to remember to go around this one too and some days..

You just forget.

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.