Life has changed.

It's weirdly disconcerting to go over to Ruth's house, and have her call her cat to come and visit and get used to me by saying Come see Grandma. 

Lochlan almost hit the floor. 

We will be tasked with feeding said cat while she and her husband are on their honeymoon and she wants the cat to have a lot of time to get used to me, but the hard part is the cat won't come near me at all. 

Maybe it's the shock vibe emanating from Lochlan as he realizes that his once ten-year-old girlfriend has a grandchild, even if it has four paws and is velvety-soft. Of course not that his early twenties daughter not only got a pet but is getting married soon. Very soon. In a blink soon.

LMAO. 

Also Ruth and I invariably end up piled on the couch trading memes. Same as ever.

Manic pasta dream girl.

I made Fettuccine Alfredo and garlic naan for dinner last night. I made a metric ton of it. Everyone was full and pushed off from the table after an hour or more, scattering to the four corners of the house to enjoy the heavy rain and a second glass of wine for those who indulge, and water or ginger ale for those who don't. 

But then every single one of us had absolutely bonkers nightmares. Mine were ludicrous, ranging from trying to make a toy shop owner laugh so that she would let me leave, to beating a delayed preteen to death because he made an inappropriate move on me, as I was trying to use the bathroom in a derelict building that I had run into to escape the whole toy shop experience. Every single person I touched in the dream melted where I touched them. I hit the kid with a metal pipe and his whole head caved away like it was cheese dripping off a barbecue grill and I woke up angry and scared. Then I heard the dreams of the boys. They were different and weird and some were worse. 

We are never eating Fettucine Alfredo ever again. What the fuck.

Tart.

 I found a decomissioned WINDMILL in...uh...second here..

WAINFLEET for sale. Wainfleet seems lovely but in a way like I would still be that newcomer with the harsh Maritime-Canadian accent* twenty years after moving there. Or that every building would give you a mini-history quiz as you walked into it and if you fail you get electrocuted at the front gate. It also looks like it floods a lot, often, actually and is almost four hours by car to London. Maybe too far? Maybe not far enough. I don't know. 

Plus the actual blades are missing from the house and I don't know if I would find that charming or not, as I would much prefer to go to bed at night with the soft thwup-thwup-thwup overhead to lull me to my dreams. 

Lochlan gave me a few names of towns I should look in, he said they actually would be enjoyable to live in and they aren't so remote as to become a daily hardship. 

But what isn't a daily hardship at this point, if not life. It's not like I can find Chef-Boyardee at the store. We have four kinds of poptarts in this town. I have to order almost everything online anyway, wouldn't it be better if they drop-shipped it to me from a plane to my windscarred island near Scotland or off Ireland or whereever the grass looked greener before I packed up all my toys and realized it isn't? How many kinds of poptarts do you think you can buy on Anglesey? 

(The answer is it doesn't matter. Duncan found them all on Amazon. Apparently also at Target just across the border since we don't have Target in Canada any more either. I just need to pick my flavours now holy magnolia.)

I think we should stay in Canada, Lochlan reiterates. Not like I get to pick in the end, anyway, right so I just daydream. 

But look. You would see the Devil coming from five miles away if we lived here. I point to a renovated Friary on the Western border with Wales. You could make a gun turret out of this tower. 

Or you could just be Rapunzel, there. I miss your hair. 

I don't.The pixie cut is hilariously easy and I hate washing my hair. When it's long it's never ever down and it's heavy. My head feels so light and free. 

Lochlan had Daniel buzz off all of his curls so that we would match. Lochlan looks so young with his flippy ends and close-crop, no beard and pale-green button down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos out and proud. His cargo pants are threadbare but he still wears them three days out of each week and his leather shoes are so soft he forgets he's wearing shoes and leaves them on in the house until given a reminder. 

What if I miss your hair, Locket?

It'll grow back. 

Exactly. Then you can be Rapunzel. And I will be the bad guy. 

You're not the bad guy, Peanut. 

Maybe I am. 

You just always bite off more than you can chew. 

Yeah.

And then you choke. 

Okay, you can stop now. 

*( Fun fact: after weeks and weeks of trial and error it appears Google still and forever cannot decipher my accent. Hilarious.)

In my dreams the Devil is nowhere to be found.

I didn't make it through Lent, unfortunately I gave up something I needed and I didn't realize it until I had a craving that was uncovered late last night. 

I stayed up to read. I've been doing that a lot lately. My doctors have said part of my sleep issues is that I use the bed for everything. Eating. Watching movies. Reading. Having long conversations and longer naps. Looking at my phone. Drawing. Watching the birds outside the window or the fire inside. Sex. Everything but sleep, unfortunately and so a line was drawn and everything but sleep and sex has to be elsewhere. 

Or sometimes sex can be elsewhere. 

Caleb came downstairs just as I was nodding off at the last page of my chapter and pushed his head against mine from behind the big chair with the lamp where I curl up to read. He kissed my temple and told me to come up and nap with him. 

And I realized I was hungry. Not because my stomach growled but my heart did and he said if I loved him I wouldn't freeze him out like this, so long, so abruptly, and it hurts his heart to even look at me and he needs to hold me, needs to feel needed and as he said this my ego swelled right out of my head and for a brief moment I held all the power over him which is a feeling I would sell my soul for, as it's fleeting and rare. 

I said it was fleeting because I was pulled to my feet, book hitting the ground and I was steered upstairs to his room, door locked behind us, steered down the hall, another door, another lock and I was pushed down, stripped and turned over and I was not about to give up that power so fast so I cried out. 

Gingerbread! 

Nothing, he isn't listening. His hunger is so much greater than mine and I don't want to have it be like this. Not like this. I hate it like this. 

Wenceslas! Diabhal, please. 

But his ears are suddenly deaf, like mine and he says something dismissive that I miss and he is inside me and I was fighting him but I can't now, pinned into the blankets like a Riker frame, a fluttery little moth stuck inside a window glass, looking out at freedom, looking at the reflection of her own death. 

I stop fighting and go numb, curling inward, letting my wings rest. He hates this more, and it's the only strength I have left, to deny him any reaction at all. Any response. Any reaction. He slows to a crawl and then turns me over and is back inside me. 

Neamhchiontach, look at me. Tell me you love me. Every moment hurts. Does he care? Of course not. 

I stare at the wall. 

Harder and I cry out involuntarily. Stop it. Stop hurting me. A sob escapes and he slows, more gentle now. 

I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. 

Liar. 

I can't help this, Bridget. It's what you do to me. 

Don't blame this on me. 

It's how I feel when I touch you. 

Like a monster?

Yes. Exactly. 

You can stop it. 

Not after so long.

Then you need to fix that because this is the past. This is where we're supposed to be better than what we were. 

I'm never going to change, Bridget. Not as long as you're not with me. Full time. 

Then you'll always be the bad guy, and you'll never get what you want. 

There isn't a chance anyway so none of this matters. 

Then maybe you should go. He hates that suggestion, and he covers my whole face with his hand. I can't breathe. He ramps up hard again, violent driving into me and I squeal into his fingers, tearing at them with my own but he doesn't stop until he's finished. Then he gets up and lets go of my face and as I take a huge breath, ready to light into him, so angry and betrayed that he breaks his promises time and time again, he tells me he needs a sixty-forty time or the world as we know it is going to end. I turn back onto my stomach, skin stinging from his harsh touch and I ignore him. He's not going to negotiate from this place of the enemy. 

The world ended in 2007, I point out, muffled against the sheets. 

Caleb swears and walks out. I hear the shower and I race off to my dreams, to meet my ghost. He's always a safe haven even if he did leave me here with the monsters forever.

Promise you anything.

Got tickets to Nazareth today. Happy, happy girl.

Will I feel this way until the day I die. (This isn't really a question as there's no proper punctuation, is there?)

Today is still the crushing ennui mixed with a low-grade panic to run, peppered with the seeds of self-doubt as the anxiety ebbs and flows just enough to leave me questioning everything again, but also since I don't care I'll just continue on. I still feel like if something out of character occurs or any wrench is thrown into the gears I will lose my shit but otherwise it's all just okay. The gratitude is present, just behind and underneath the grace, as always and the sun has come out for a while to warm our hair while we start gardening and maybe don't talk quite so much. That can wait for the rainy days, or the days we work closely together in a quiet environment and for now it's good just to exhaust our muscles and bones, allowing our blood to drown both in a pulsing river of activity and effort. 

That's a mouthful, Lochlan says thoughtfully. He's impressed that the Devil is far but dismayed to find the ghosts so close. Is it better the other way around? I don't think so but then again, it depends on the day. It depends on the day and the bravery of our dear Princess. 

Sometimes I can handle either or both. Sometimes I can't manage breathing and opening my eyes at the same time. 

Sleep would help. Some restorative adventure would help. Some less-frightening alone time would help. I was ridiculously worried that everything would go to shit while the boys were away and that's carried over and I haven't quite let go of it yet but I will. I made my list. I did my breathing. I'm trying to keep up with all of my tasks to help myself and yet it feels so solitary and overwhelming I'm not sure how to proceed half the time so I just plow ahead even when it feels yucky or weird. It's akin to the feeling in the Prairies when the boys had moved already and I stayed behind to finish the sale of the castle and pack our most precious things. And I'd sit in the garage and sing along with the CD player and wish I was anywhere or anyone else. 

Sam says that Lochlan is the anchor but Jake was the rudder. 

Why can't you be the rudder now?

I'm trying but you fight me at every turn.

Me too, Pooh.

Everyone is home safe and sound, just in time before the wind ripped the sky off and blew our brains out, leaving them to be diluted in puddles of torrential rain. I'm rarely afraid, listening to the wind, thanks to growing up in the land of hurricanes (Maritimes) and then living in the Prairies where the storms were as fierce as the flatness of the land. Here the big wild storms are somewhat muted in comparison, but this one was such a banger I yelled at Schuyler for not latching their gate, so I listened to it bang against the fence until at least four in the morning, when I finally fell asleep and I also counted the shingles on all the houses and garage and outbuildings this morning, as you just never know when a storm is going to result in a call to the insurance adjuster. Last time we got a new roof. This time all is well. I will check attics in a month or two, as is my seasonal routine. 

So I don't think it was the storm as much as it was my latent anxiety about everyone returning before the storm began. The plane was on time (a first) and the mood was tired and so everyone is sleeping in this morning. It's almost noon. Lochlan was just happy to be home, I think. Happy I didn't look to the devil for comfort or company and instead used Dalton and PJ like big brothers. I traded off orders to get food and we watched a ton of movies and gained weight and we caught up on the chores and some more spring cleaning and we're ready to roll, I think, or close to it. 

I'm having more tiny flashes of anxiety but it seems liveable. I think I am predisposed to suggestion and so when the doctor pointed out I can increase if shit goes south I instantly started waiting for that to happen. Has it? Maybe a bit. Or I am metabolizing it really quickly even though it's supposed to be an extended-release sort of medication. Either way they won't need to get the tranquilizer gun out for me but they should still put their shoes on and linger near the door, just in case. 

Jake laughs when I say that. He remembers this feeling well.

Gale.

Today is a quiet day. I'm working on sanding and painting a little cabinet with a glass door that I found at a junk shop. I'm painting it white and I'm going to keep my crystals in it. It's not actually little but it will still fit nicely on the shelf by the window going up the front staircase and it will keep things more secure. 

Ruth and her fiance came by on their way home from an appointment. They stayed for half an hour and played with the dog while they tried to cement their plans for the remainder of the day. I felt vaguely obtunded and dull. I didn't sleep well last night at all. I couldn't get warm. The dog wouldn't stay put. I've already added a blanket under my pillow that I can wrap up in if it happens tonight again. 

The rain is supposed to start in earnest in the next two hours. So excited for a dark stormy day. I'm going to finish Red Dot and maybe start the House of the Witch. Apparently it's leaving Netflix soon so I need to figure it out. 

Hanging out with the dog. By myself. Henry's asleep. Haven't see the Devil yet. Dalton is here keeping an eye and everyone else is out. The wind just picked up like crazy. I guess the storm arrived sooner than I thought it would. 

*Yawn*

Today I bought another gazebo and a privacy trellis for the guest garden suite so that if someone ventures outside they aren't in full view of the driveway since it wraps around now and then I let Daniel cut off all my hair for me into a cute little shaggy pixie that made me weirdly happy. I have very expressive features and a very small head and I grew out my hair over most of last year and hated it long even though I always say I'm going to grow it long it's such a hassle and it's thick and heavy and I wanted it just...off. Daniel did a great job and I gave him a huge tip too. Mostly I was stalling because I don't want to put the gazebo together at all and I just want to materialize but we will work on it next weekend maybe. That will be fun. 

In the meantime tomorrow is a rare day. We're supposed to have rain and wind and Dalton and I both drew the laundry card so we will fold the laundry and get it all done and returned to the right rooms and catch up. Nothing else needs to be done. We're way ahead overall for spring by many weeks. I even got my potato seedlings to plant in a few weeks. Normally I'm not even thinking of any of this until my birthday. 

Loch and Henry went out and picked up Japanese food for dinner. We had tofu yakisoba and gyoza and spicy chicken while we watched Moonfall. Gosh, it was so exciting and so pretty. I loved it. Would have watched it all night but tomorrow there are things to be done so everyone needs an early turn-in. The boys have a project (sadly not the other gazebo) and I am going to play ghosthunter. In my pajamas because I won't be going outside. 

But first, a good nights sleep.

Daydreaming about running away.

Found a house on Purplebricks tonight and it's only around eight hundred thousand pounds. It's in Bodmin, a four-hour drive west from London and it looks like a pretty place. I could be invisible anywhere, truth be told, as long as I know where to get things like..wait, nevermind. Watch batteries, vacuum belts and kids' snowsuits used to be the triple-threat, once I knew where to buy those things in a new city I had it all figured out. 

Now there's Amazon and forty other online places and the internet so it's not so hard to find what I need. 

This is a four-bedroom rural two-story with greenhouses and a sunroom and a kitchen with a very big aga stove and it looks bright and quiet and peaceful. It looks nice. No imposing historical architecture, no glaring modern twists, just a slightly shabby and light-filled home that is cheap, probably because of the location. It might be a little too invisible and so I will resume my search. I still think if I'm going to do this is should be an island so I can literally as well as metaphorically cut myself off from the world proper, misanthrope as I am, and live out my days knitting by the sea, death metal in my headphones, heartbreak in my bones. 

The Devil hovers, hungry as if for a bone, soaked by the blood of the past, baptized by the rain at present, unsure of a certain future. If I show him this house he'll just buy it and keep it, just in case. He's done that before. So I won't say too much about it and I'll come back to it in a few weeks and decide then.