Cardinal sins.

 Oh, hiiiii. 

I spent all day yesterday trying to convince the boys to go to the last-minute next-week show that Behemoth is playing because Archenemy is opening. And Napalm Death. But I was so excited about Archenemy, even though I thought it was a bit of a strange pairing. 

But who cares! Metal shows are back, right? I went looking for a song to play while PJ asked if I was okay, that I never liked Archenemy much before and I was like, are you the mad one here? 

And then I realized I mixed them up with Antimatter. 

Oops. 

My brain is completely fried.

Personal (finance).

Today I'm snarking on the Financial Post while the Devil tries to quell his laughter at my outrage. I've been reading it since I used to read the paper copy of the National Post. I know it leans right but it's well-laid out and has some decent sections, like the part where they detail whether or not Very Rich families can retire based on how they manage their money. Like all media right now, none of it is grounded in reality but I've been reading this one column for twenty years and it still makes me laugh. Now I just read it online.

They always seem to land on a family with three or five rental properties, bags of cash pouring in every month and fully defined golden pension funds. It's just plain horrible. How will they ever manage? 

Indeed. Just how.

I used to try and do the math using my numbers in place of theirs. I never came out on top. No one gave me five stars for my retirement plan, instead maybe a loaf of bread as I looked hungry. 

None of that is Lochlan's fault. He was trying so hard to make a life for us but he counted and continues to count life in terms of days instead of years. Loch doesn't have time to look ahead, he's always looking over his shoulder, making sure he has my hand. Making sure I didn't drop the bread, that my coat is zipped up and that he has my hand. That I'm not crying (or bleeding). That I can keep up. That we have a place to run to, sine we've always running from somewhere. 

Danger is always hungry and cold. Danger means never sleeping or taking precious minutes to worry about the future. Lochlan would get a score of five full stars on his retirement plans because all his money is stuffed in a fireproof safe hidden away In Case. In case he needs it. In case we have to run. 

He is one of the reasons I keep the Devil so close. Not because I ever wanted to but because the Devil has to pay for this five-star future now. He promised and I continue to hold him to it. I take the money and I stuff it everywhere and I don't worry about returns or plans or anything now. The numbers look good and one of these days Lochlan will see that.

Evil lives on. In the form of shoddy filmmakers and not in the form of my beloved slasher dudes.

Sorry, I spent all day waiting for the postman and then all afternoon decking out my twelve-year-old pressure washer with a new pressure hose and tips and a cord because I have maintained it and looked after it well but it is also as big as I am and so sometimes it got cranked around and bashed up as I tried to wrestle it around things and over things and down the path, as it were. It conked out a quarter of the way into my spring cleaning last month and so I ordered parts and sat back to wait and hopefully I put them on right (after fifteen minutes of swearing) and now I have to wait for a boy to carry it outside for me so I can test my connections, lest the whole thing blow up the minute I pull the trigger. It is a dream machine and so I'm not giving it up anytime soon but I do think keeping it in the garage is a better idea than keeping it in the appliance room in the house. That's just dumb because it's in the lowest level so you have to lug it up the stairs, down the hall, across a porch, patio or walkway and down more steps. I can't do this myself, why can't I just wheel it out from the garage? 

Because, says PJ, who lost a lot of gear by keeping it in his truck/garage/shed and so now everything of value comes in. Power tools in the work room. Also downstairs. The only thing in the garage are Jeeps, freezers and plant pots and cheap stuff. Fertilizer. Bags of soil and grass seed and shovels and acoustic garden implements because they are too dirty to bring in. The two lawnmowers are out there but the weed wackers come into the house. So dumb. 

We're dumb. This is dumb. If I can't lift it let me roll it. 

(Now I have Wings going through my head: Let me roll it to you)

I ordered more things for the wedding. We are quickly running out of time but the dress is back and it fits Ruth like a dream. She had her last fitting last week and then we went to Marshalls where I wanted to buy everything but as usual bought nothing. They had Longchamp, Gucci and Valentino bags. They had so many pretty things. I couldn't do it. Hahahaha. Ruth went nuts and bought a few summer dresses and I just watched and poked around. Maybe I'll go back. Maybe I won't. Who knows? 

I watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre last night too. Couldn't sleep so I sat up between the boys with my ipad and my airpods and I tried not to jump too much when I got scared but really, and since it's been out for a good long while now, would someone please tell me why Hardesty automatically went to the orphanage AKA Mom's house when last we saw Leatherface he was outside on the street? Also why a direct rip of Laurie Strode and Michael Myers multi-decade delayed showdown? Why a shotgun that can hold a whopping two shells? Why why why? Why in the hell were people so goddamned dumb and why was the guy with the truck so smart and then also so dumb? Why does everything end in a fistfight? Why did the killing start in seconds with nary a hint of inbreeding or lore or anything substantial before they phoned it in with 'naive influencers show up to party wooo!'. Maybe I'm getting old. 

The one saving grace? Leatherfuck (as coined by the only smart-ish character there) has learned to throw his chainsaw like a discus. Not sure why it stays on, as the safety trigger means if you let go it turns off but his is SURPRISINGLY UNSAFE and the chain continues to turn as he whips it fifty feet across the room at our poor hapless victims. 

Gawd. 

The last good one was the one with Jessica Biel. TWENTY YEARS AGO.

Doing it again.

 I got Lochlan to bring the kiln outside. It is packed full of wheelthrown bowls, greenware that's not going to get any drier so may as well get on with it. This is the ninth time I've used the kiln and I have so little to show for it so yesterday I threw for four hours, three of which were on a bat with a loose bolt, and the last successful hour on the wheel without the bat. Throwing on the bat means you take the whole bat off with the piece to dry and you don't have the stress of trying to get the item off the sticky wheel. I have tricks. It's easy, but on the wheel direct I murder the sides of my hands so not sure how this will work going forward. Maybe the bats for big pieces and the wheel for little ones. Who knows? 

It's supposed to rain this afternoon but just a little so I am tempting fate as always. 

In the meantime, I had a decent-ish sleep, it's Friday and I'm plotting a few errands, plus Ruth and I are headed for her final dress fitting before lunch. So hard to believe. She can bring the dress home and then no more trips to the bridal shop and the only thing to figure out is finalizing the food plans and a few odds and ends.

I'm drinking kettle-coffee which is just coffee made with instant from a jar like when we go camping or the power goes out, and I'm going to have a bagel, I think, with cheese, since it's going to be an on-the-go kind of day. I threw away the keurig because I wore it out, and also I added at least twenty dollars a week to the grocery budget which is just dumb to me. And it wasn't all that good anyway. And even though I just cut my caffeine in half the best thing about kettle coffee? No GRINDS. I hate grinds. No mess. No cleanup. No refilling water. No counter real estate gone and no more hassle. I'm not fussy on coffee anyway. Gas station coffee, whatever, I'm here for it. 

Netflix's biggest fan.

 Watched Into the Woods, Red Dot and Intrusion on Netflix (so far) this week. Starting Prey now. Trying to heal my back and learn how to be a little more productive. I can get my list done and then I crash and I haven't had the want to paint in months, trying to throw on the wheel is tiring due to the cleanup routine, and drawing just doesn't work at all so I watch movies and if they don't have subtitles I can work with yarn or do some mending or sewing. Everything is a herculean effort but I'm trying. I sort of went off the grid this week too. I talked to Bailey and the birds and no one else. I talk the dog constantly. I talk a little to Lochlan and a little to Ben and PJ but not much else. 

For the record, Into the Woods you can skip. Red Dot is nonstop jumpscares that end in a Babadook-style parable on grief and Intrusion is rich people games and wives who go from noticing absolutely nothing to suddenly being expert private investigators so maybe we are zero for three. I keep trying, but I'm also saving the good ones (like the new Texas Chainsaw) for movie nights so these are almost just rest hours. That's fine. Not every movie has to be great, not like I'll run out of options, right?

It's spring too, so I'll have to fire up some anime movies and throw in a couple of Bollywood musicals since those are always uplifting. A good foil to all the horror.

New week, new me.

Two showers later and my nails are still caked with dirt, fingers pocked with thorns from the roses and raspberries, palms with blisters from a wooden-handled shovel with a very sharp edge on the metal spade-shaped bowl and the best, shortest and yet heaviest shovel we own in order for me to wield it properly. I moved just over three-quarters of a cubic yard of soil myself yesterday and now, due to the impending storm coming tonight and tomorrow, I have to get it finished, when I would much rather have a long sauna and a short swim, put on pajamas, order a crappy west-coast pizza from somewhere and eat it in the dark while watching scary movies. 

Garden Jesus didn't show up yet today but I think I met him anyway in the form of a woman who stopped to talk to me in the seed aisle at the local small hardware store and we struck up great and long conversation and then I left thinking about it all day. It was focused on children growing up and then self, afterward. It was based around identity, before and after and on enthusiasm and making one's own decisions and it was almost as if Skateboard Jesus (remember him?) found a different form and perhaps a different approach, and came right back, to make me think. 

Life feels good right now. I wrote in my gratitude journal last night. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner (we love our starchy pastas in this house) and I drank enough water. I felt like I had accomplished along but my bones winged and hawed in misery as I tried and failed to get comfortable enough to sleep. This morning the house is quiet, though there is a big bowl of chocolate eggs on the table, and the laundry machines send a quiet hum through the floors beneath me. I have the countdown coffee on, as there are four or five keurig pods left and we are limping to the finish, here and then it goes in the trash and will not be replaced. 

I bought a jar of instant. Fuck it. 

I want to finish all of my projects and this week I'm going to work on finding the energy to do just that.

Facing inward.

Ben has taken to sleeping on the side of the bed with the door closest to him, and Lochlan has taken to holding my head cupped against his neck like he's always done, affectionate to a fault, rubbing his fingers through my boy-haircut but never actually letting go, content to breathe in tandem with me, content to not have me out of reach, or rather out-of-arms. It's a defensive mechanism that serves as a visual reminder but doesn't do any more to keep me safe or to keep Caleb from glowering nonstop. 

We still lock the door at night, but Ben serves as a volunteer extra-measure of security. It also keeps me from leaving to wander the halls when I can't sleep. Now I have to lie there and count the stars on the ceiling, if I can see the ceiling. Or count the freckles on the Lochlan as usually I'm looking that way. Ben's a whole cage with two arms that surround us both and he's so content to just be close and watch the clouds and sip tea and talk books and movies, whereas the Ben of the mid-2000s had to be flying/driving/running somewhere/doing something/someone and he never slowed down for a second. I really love mellow Ben but then again I always have and I often reach up and tug his too-long black curls now, as he has let them grow out to like four inches and they just start flipping and he looks so young again, save for the dark circles under his eyes and the habitual frustrated expression. 

Lochlan and Caleb are ignoring each other. It's new to me. It's not new to them but Caleb's still on his best and Loch has chosen not to waste his energy when he knows he's got the upper hand and the rights besides. 

And again it's not a bunny-year as no one replaced the costume and no one wants to give out eggs when we don't feel like celebrating life after death or spring or anything really. We're saving our energy for May, which is proving to be a packed month, and we're saving our resolve for this impending threat too which rings hollow but is probably still somewhat true.

Hit first (come away bruised).

The world hasn't ended, Mo Grá.

Give it time, Neamhchiontach. 

I meant by your hand. 

I don't repeat myself, Neamhchiontach. 

There's not going to be any push here-

There certainly is if you do that again. Part of a healthy relationship includes not freezing the other person out for some ridiculous ceremonial display. 

Sam asks us to observe certain things as a test of faith-

The only thing I have faith in is you, Bridget. 

A ten-year-old looking the other way. 

Sometimes. Sometimes looking back. And not ten anymore. 

I had to grow up fast. 

And I pay the price for that, and I'm trying to do the right thing by giving you everything you need. 

Then give me space when I ask for it. 

That's the one thing I'm afraid I can't give you. 

Or the world will end. 

Mine does when you ask for time away. 

Then you need a hobby. Besides terrorizing Lochlan. 

I think it goes both ways.

He wouldn't harm a soul. 

Then that's the difference between us.

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.