Happy Ostara.

I climbed out of my fog yesterday and had a great day. I played in the muddy gardens, went through three pairs of garden gloves, put out and set up two hoses, helped prune and stack grapevines in the vineyard, unwrapped and pruned the tiny olive trees, marveled at the buds on the cherry and pear trees and counted all the buds on the rosebushes and tearoses. The bee balm is multiplying already, the larkspur has come up along with the poppies and the ivy seems lush and plush again suddenly. The Japanese maples have huge buds and the grass is even coming back, at last, though slowly. We cleaned up for around two hours en mass and then ended the day with a feast of Chinese food and television. We finished Lucifer. We made plans to finish Lost in Space and then begin the new season of Ozark. We enjoyed the sun on our faces and the good back pain that comes from hard physical work and we look forward to getting the garden planted and underway soon.

The wedding plans tick along too. This week we have a couple of things to do, namely Ruthie's dress fitting for alterations and possibly shopping for shirts for the men. She's requested an unusual colour scheme and yet it's extremely flattering to the skin tones among us so no problems there. She is the furthest thing from a bridezilla but she also has a tiny vision in mind and we intend to make it happen for her. I'm excited. So excited but also loving coasting on the decided lack of anxiety. It's great. When it's not a pure fog it's absolutely great and working. 

Winter is done. Just when I gave up on hating the darkness at four in the afternoon and the endless damp cold, it's done. Again. I love it. I'm looking forward to Easter and my birthday, and the wedding. 

And we're having slow lake-Jesus today because coffee at a lake in the mountains is better than coffee in church. A million times better. Sorry Sam (he doesn't blame us truth be told).

Maybe coffee would he- no, it probably wouldn't. You're right.

I feel like a dull pencil. Too blunt to write purposefully but still good enough that eventually I will be sharper and in the meantime no one is going to throw me away. But a hopeful pencil, with stories and dreams I want to write but I just can't because I am too rounded to use. Too dull to be able to put to paper any of the words I thought I had, blurred by the moment and now I forget. 

I am pushing through. Maybe it will get better? Maybe not. Who the hell knows? This the halfway point of the whole trial of it anyway so we shall see. 

*yawns* 

Christ.

Recycled.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Our Padraig is having a wonderful time. He's almost already drunk. He's had three meals and it's only two in the afternoon and the rain is pouring down so hard and that, coupled with the three-degree wind and darkness has made us cancel our plans to go and carouse about town tonight to celebrate being Irish as only a few of us actually are. 

Kidding. We had zero plans to carouse, as it were. 

I am busy throwing mugs anyway. Not throwing them on the wheel, actually throwing them. At the fence, which is cathartic as nothing I have ever seen before except then I have to go and pick all the shards up and put them in the recycling clay bucket and make them back into clay. As long as they haven't been glazed you can do that and apparently I am the QUEEN of weak handles on cups, which shrink and crack a month later and ugh, the learning process coupled with my OCD-perfectionism (DIAGNOSED, in case you're easily annoyed) is just about ruining this whole thing. I ground the edges down with a file and now it's a drinking VESSEL, just not a MUG. 

It's fine, everything's fine. 

*picks up shards*

I get to start drinking at five. 

As soon as you've eaten, says my minder. He makes the rules, I follow them. 

*throws perfectly good mug this time, just for emphasis on the 'follow' part.*

The Sunlight Protection Act.

 If you've tried to reach me and haven't gotten a response (or a block, HA) it's because for the past little while I don't have access to my email. Lochlan won't let me have it. I post remotely from my blog post link from blogger (really glad I set that up that first time I took a trip and wanted to post from the road without logging in, per se) and haven't really acknowledged any readers as of late. I haven't even posted every day, as of late, truth be told and things are as ever. Though after many attempts to stop taking these pills I am given them now and it's an illness to be cured or maintained, not an experiment and yet the joy vanished with the anxiety and I'm trying to figure out how to live in this unfamiliar place where nothing inside my head can get a rise out of me suddenly, and I can poke around and find the panic but then I drop it and it's gone again. 

In other words, bear with me. It isn't like we haven't done this a million times before, Dear Reader, which is why I'm not too concerned. Eventually I will have the energy to rebel or something with trigger something else and we'll be back on the rollercoaster you know and crave. 

Gee, can't wait. 

(See? That's the reaction you get out of me these days. Like they shot me with a tranquilizer gun and then shook me awake so that I can still respond in conversation. Not less than eleven different people have remarked that this shit may be too strong. Hahahaha you think? And the talk was that the dosages WILL BE RAISED.)

In other news, my current province (British Columbia) saw our premier waiting for the United States to make the first move on leaving Daylight Savings Time always-on due to trade and cross-border logistics and since the senate or congress or whichever you use voted unanimously to adopt permanent Daylight Savings Time (hilarious name for the act, by the way. I fucking DIED at the gravity of it all) I think, Mr. Horgan, that it's time to make our announcement too. And never again will I have to turn on lights at three in the afternoon. That alone is worth cheering for. 

I will get back to my emails soon. I'm hitting all my progress points, or so they say. Baby steps and all.

Annnnd this is why I ordered not one but two extra glass doors because we already have to replace one from where Lochlan shoved Caleb right into it, and now I still have a spare. I'd put a laughing emoji here but it's not funny.

Do they ever learn? Or change? Do I? No to all of it.

I thought I made it out alive.

Neamhchiontach. 

Caleb's breath is warm against my forehead. His head is bent down against mine and I am frozen in place. Wanting so badly to run but wanting to stay, too. 

Ten days interest is going to cost you. He says it softly, voice breaking on the cost part. Every day that goes by means you're going to pay dearly. 

His birthday was on the third and we celebrated as a big family. As always. As always, it wasn't enough.

I struggle out of his embrace, tears streaming. My voice is caught in my throat, choked out by sudden insolence. Just pretend it's a year we aren't together and you'll be fine. I wipe my cheeks, trying to find the rage to replace the fear. Trying to be stubborn and hold my ground when it's an avalanche. He holds firm and I give up my fight, waiting for the dead (or the living) to rescue me. Not wanting to rescue myself. I don't want to be the bad guy in my own story. I just want him to stop keeping score. I'm not a game. There are no points to be had, here. He lost before he knew he was a player but he refuses to concede.

Supervillains (and Vanity Flair).

I just read the most terrible, downright...obsequious article and honestly, does it make any sense to frame your subject in such a way, so..transparently when the other articles in the same publication consist of a list of books we all should read and a list of face products we need to try? 

Just...GOD. 

Fucking hell. "Time flies around her in a nonlinear fashion". Dear sweet Christ. Someone begged for that assignment. On his fucking knees.

***

I actually hate the internet today. Be warned. Between seeing that Putin bombed a maternity hospital (you're never more vulnerable than when giving birth) and pretty much, oh, everything else I'm going to disappear into the only true equalizer (and my all-time best lover, Netflix) and live out the rest of my days watching nice things happen on the screen and just pretend it's my life.

***

Please, Neamhchiontach.

Five weeks to go. Easter is exceedingly late this year and Caleb has already had more than enough of Lent and my plans to see it through. He's gone from pouting to openly protesting to worrying to threatening and back around to moping. I guess those are his Five Stages of Disbelief. 

I'm not concerned. He will live. No one is writing articles about him. He's rich but he's not that kind of rich and he's also one of the rich who doesn't advertise it so you won't find articles about him in the newspaper or local magazines because by the time he had any money (all of it new) we had Benjamin and we all made an effort to keep Ben's tiny island of privacy as quiet as we could. Even Caleb, who was just starting out and back then Cole was the millionaire, though it was never millions, and we kind of knew Batman but he wasn't (and still isn't) exactly in the fold. 

***

Should I buy the Swiss village outside of Golden? Six houses, the perfect place for a commune, truth be told. 

If you're a billy goat. Lochlan laughs. Besides, it's not near the water. 

Oh, nevermind then. 

I know vaguely where Golden is but I wasn't actually paying attention. We haven't made it past Chilliwack, honestly. After living in the Prairies for so long I have no desire to be away from the sea ever again.

On not spending enough time alone.

Today was taken up with ferrying Ruthie back and forth to her car repair appointment (next city over) and having her come to the house in between to hang out while she waited out emergency repairs. I was tired but the moment they called to say her car was ready I started missing her again. It's very hard when she leaves but I'm getting used to the feeling of sadness in a way that makes it easier to cover with the pride I feel for how well she is doing out in the world. 

So now it's time to make dinner but I didn't have time to paint door trims today and that's fine. I'm only responsible for one door so it's easy. Maybe I'll add flowers on the inside trim. Just for fun, but probably not because if there is one thing I have learned it's to keep it plain, neat and neutral. 

In other news we ducked into an old favourite restaurant last night for a last-minute date night. Showed our vaccine passports, found a big booth in the back and ordered wine and pasta and just savoured being out. Not cleaning up takeout garbage. Not rushing home because it couldn't get cold. Not thinking about a thing, including the usual frowns I get when out and about due to the tattoo suit. Not that I truly care but I do hate the attention but I left the house in a t-shirt and leggings, expecting drive-through food. 

It was so nice, though, just to sit and sip wine. It really set the mood for the rest of the week. Maybe it's been too long since we've done that and we should do it more. Lochlan agreed, with that smile he reserves just for me.

Mellow(drama).

This morning I am playing the fun game of Are these side-effects or am I having a heart attack? and I'm honestly not concerned so probably side-effects. It's going to be so sad and pointless if I'm wrong. 

In the meantime I have shipped the remaining vodka back to my former friends at great expense to make a point, in spite of Caleb's efforts to not rock any boats (this after changing doctors) and received a lovely call whereby a voicemail was left acknowledging his (not Caleb's) distaste for the current 'situation' and complete understanding for my actions as a result. It won't do anything in the long run aside from denying myself my favourite imported vodka but you know what? I don't care. This war is bullshit. 

I have give up McDonalds and we all know how hard that is. Unless they withdraw from Russia. Who do I call?

It's going to be sad if this is my very last post though I'm fairly certain this is not a heart attack and just a muscular ache from scraping the door frame for painting prep or lifting boxes of bottles. Or side effects. Because THOSE aren't driving me nuts.

Wish me luck. I need a finger oxygen meter thingie. Maybe I'll order one on Amazon (gosh are they doing sanctions? If not I am fucked) and it will ironically arrive ten minutes after I die.

And I wore heels today! First time in ever.

 I was so sick last night and then I slept fitfully and was out the door at six-thirty this morning for (distanced) meetings and I have to make four pans of meatloaf for dinner but I think Lochlan is going to call a change and take over or let everyone fend because I don't think I have any steam left for anything. I still feel sick though I did have breakfast and lunch, a croissant and some coffee at the meeting and then dumplings on the run (living dangerously) and I did have an orange when we got home and now some tea to try and settle my stomach but I don't know. It would probably be wiser not to eat anything tonight and see how it goes. I did get my chores done this morning and then some, lots of extras in there but there are always things that need to be done, for sure. 

Food poisoning?

I don't know. We all ate the same things and everyone else was good but it sure felt like it. 

They have iron stomachs, Bridge. You...don't. 

I know. Hopefully it's gone. I feel better today. Just weak. 

Well, take a break and do nothing for a day. 

(*Snort*)

Don't snort at me. 

It wasn't 'at' you, PJ, it was a generalized noise. 

Same difference.