Well, shit.

I don't think I'm staying on the new-new meds. After three short days I'm waking up with a terrible headache that takes half the day to go away and it takes me all day just to wake up, and I'm on half a dose. The doctor told me dosages go up to 400mg. Hahahahahaha. I'd be in a coma on that prescription. My pills are 5 mg and I would sleep all day. I hit snooze four times before Lochlan got annoyed, mostly because my phone cord is threaded under his pillow so I can have my phone close since I wake up first. 

Or rather, I used to. I think those ones are not for me. The hypomania is exceedingly productive, the sleep isn't real if it's drugged but if I get super-worn down I can pop one at night, right? Which is what they told me not to do. Also holy shit they make my legs go like a marathon runner winning in their dreams. So no to that. The hangover and exhaustion and weird fog isn't going to fly for this poor sleeper. On to the next idea, which Lochlan says will be a good head start across the lawn and a line of boys with tranquilizer guns disguised as Nerf water guns. 

Cool. 

In other news I think I found a bra. Hahaha.

Top heavy.

Ben and I had a swim race today. The rule is three laps across the longest part of the pool and no touching the bottom during said laps. Winner gets to choose a sexual favour. The game is rigged and I cannot keep up with someone who is almost two feet taller than I am with arms the length of my legs. I also have a lot of strength but am a surprisingly weak swimmer and so guess what I get to do tonight?

Maybe get my revenge with teeth. Maybe no teeth. I haven't decided. 

I ran out today for a couple more errands, I almost need the reassurance that I can still drive and I can, I just concentrate a little more fiercely so that I don't zone out, and I keep the cold air on and the music off. Supposedly once I get used to this medication after a few weeks things will be easier on it. So far so good though. 

And I'm looking for summer bras today online. Which, well, always a treat since the sizing is so fucked up. I have my measurements and they aren't helping. Nothing is actually all cotton or all organic or bamboo and it's all synthetic or has uncomfortable looking straps or weird colours and I'm here refusing to give up. Caleb offered to send a shopper out. I told him I'm fine, it's buying a bra, it's easy and he just laughed because I can make anything difficult. I also reminded him that he does not need to provide for me and he said of course he does, and not to be ridiculous. 

That's my middle name. Ridiculous. But I am picky about clothing, especially uncomfortable clothing and now I'm wondering if I should take them up on the offers of surgery and have a reduction so that I can skip wearing bras forever. 

Except I won't and we both know it.

Also I heard the best description today of a book I was wanting to read, which I won't name here because I'm on the fence now, because the description called it struggle porn and I am still laughing.

I'll be over here online shopping if you need me.

Eighteen months.

A weird first day of summer, to be sure. 

Woke up very early but not early enough. I rushed to do my morning chores and then headed out for a long-overdue dental checkup and cleaning. Surprise. I have a huge cavity. Nice. Getting it fixed in a week. They did a gazillion xrays. I will glow in the dark tonight. I let my insurance pay for most of it and then I headed down the mall to the grocery store to stock up  on caffeine-free cans of pop and ice cream sandwiches (HA DID I MENTION THE CAVITY) for the BOYS for the summer weekend to come. 

When I left the grocery store and was loading my Jeep an older lady was staring at my tattoos which makes me somewhat irritable but whatever. She got into her car and backed out without looking, into a vehicle that was passing behind her. WOW. Huh. It's like karma or something. I manifested that moment. Or maybe I didn't but it teaches a valuable lesson about rudely gawking at people. 

Then I unpacked all the groceries, checked the garden and drove out to see Ruth. There was nowhere good to park and I finally shoehorned in a spot just off the main road and walked back to her little neighborhood. We hung out with her cat and watched the sun play off her numerous plants and then I decided to join rush hour traffic home. Hilarious. A long day, but very doable by my new completely legal drugs that finally work or something, cross your fingers. No mania but a lot of weird punctual-panic and eh, I'll get used to it eventually or it will go away. 

And now we're having dinner and then some ice cream sandwiches because yeah. First day of summer. Maybe a late-night swim in the pool. Maybe a backflip off the cliff. Maybe nothing. Maybe bed at eight. I don't know yet but I am tired.

Seroquel Tuesdays.

Okay, the title is catchy to my brain, and this is only one medication of many I am on. I have three doctors, four specialists on tap (globally) and a host of psychoanalysts, psychiatrists and well-meaning boys who are well-versed in all of this to look after me so please, no armchair comments since you don't know the full regimen. 

Or story frankly. But this one is the tranquilizer gun. This one is new because Bridget was out on the roof cleaning windows. Bridget was painting trim on a shed at eight at night. She organized the inside of every drawer and cabinet and closet and brushed and trimmed the dog and made dental appointments for everyone and hauled out fans and spring jackets and cleaned boots and sneakers and baked cookies and froze chopped green onions for the rest of the year and-

Right? I'm so manic it's wonderful. So productive. Fucking crazy. Hypo, unfortunately and I'm glad I got it all done and then I outed myself and now come more pills to stabilize everything in the in-between. We want a perfect blend of less anxiety and also less frenetic activity so I will keep you posted.

That or I'll be asleep facedown in the grass for the rest of the week in which case everyone has promised they will bring me inside or something. They'll probably use me for lawn dart or paintball practice first though. I would. 

(OMG, I'm KIDDING. Kind of. I'm very nervous to take this. Wish me luck. Also wish me sleep. There is never any sleep.)

My army, their world.

I just wanted to drop in and proclaim a Happy Father's Day to all of the honorary dads here on the point. 

To all of the hunkles who dropped potential one-night-stands, drunken ragers and epic seats at NHL games to come and play Speak and Spell with Ruth and Henry, to the men who had their hair, nails and makeup done, complete with photoshoots by Ruth and who tore up a large percentage of the backyard when requested to by Henry so that the Tonka Trucks could DO THEIR JOBS, who followed boyfriend new-drivers at a safe distance (only the first couple of times) and who have waited up with me when the kids went to parties. To these hunkles who insisted their brains and muscles actually came from the carrots, beets and green beans the kids didn't want to eat, but did and then spend thousands of miles and dollars over the years taking us out for ice cream since somebody ate all their beans and now gets a reward.

To the men who gave the kids' friends the third degree but played chaperone at pool parties and junior high dances and to my army who provided an easy, impenetrable wall of protection for me and my children when I (and they) needed it most and who still tell endless stories always with a good theme that teaches a specific lesson and to the ones who taught them Pythagorean therum when mom had given up in tears because 'they do it differently now', thank you. 

Happy Father's day. Thank you for loving the children as though they were your very own, for keeping them safe, for keeping them happy and entertained, and for teaching them how to be good people and for keeping to my rules, when I said one bowl of ice cream a day was enough, and you agreed even when you wanted another. Thank you will never be enough to repay you all for this twenty-plus year commitment to two kids who are literally the luckiest on earth to have you all. And their mom, who is the luckiest of all to have you, and know you have my back.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Take out kings.

A good Saturday is when you sleep in until nine (I only actually slept from five until nine), get up, have a hot shower, have McDonalds coffee for breakfast, buy a bunch of crystals, a new pair of Birkenstock Boston clogs (black leather, on sale since it's summer for $130) and then manage to mow a third of the backyard before they realized it was me, then they finished the mowing and we went to our favourite Indian restaurant for dinner, where the owner's son not only told us we deserve to be there but I ate my body weight in pakoras, keema naan and chickpeas and now I am in pain and really full and damn, what a good day.

On a bed of rosemary and lemon balm. Like a chicken breast. Just wrap me in foil and throw me on the grill.

I had a very bad dizzy spell at the grocery store this morning, between the muffins and the deli counter. I gripped the handle of the cart very hard and it passed as quickly as it came on. So I of course ignored it and then later I am standing at the top of the concrete steps, on the side that is open to the garden below and not on the railing side, and it happened again! This time I wavered mightily and managed to save myself from falling into my precious rosemary and oregano bushes but it was a close one and Lochlan watched it happen and I mentioned the earlier incident and now he won't let me do anything at all. 

He was already miffed at Caleb's hope that I might change my mind and extremely chuffed at my insistence that Lochlan and Bridget aren't a decision or an option, we're a brand. A lifestyle choice. Two kids running headlong into bad decisions and epic romance through so many decades now we are practically cojoined. 

I was hoping I'd have more than a few days of you to myself, though. He looks concerned. Me too. I've been fighting some awful side effects with so much success lately. This is not something I need. After a quick trip up to the house to check my blood pressure (129/91) he ordered me to do nothing so I called Daniel who brought his polishes over and now I have confetti glitter fingernails to go with my blue toes. 

I want to look good in death. 

Or something. 

Lochlan keeps finding ways to check on me and it's sweet. Ben is sleeping the rainy day away so he isn't good at keeping watch under those circumstances and I really just want to help make dinner and then go to sleep for a few hours. Maybe an Ambien but I probably won't be allowed to have one in case it simply hastens this slow death of mine. Maybe he will allow it so I get some sleep for once and live to see another day. Cast your vote and we shall see. 

Just kidding. You only get a vote if you live in my house.

Very important, useless conversations.

I have been back now for over twenty-four hours and I've caught up on laundry and boys and stories and even painted my toenails robin's-egg-blue and have all my plans ready to devote to a long weekend full of firing and glazing and firing and maybe some gardening, though I popped out today and planted more tomatoes, peas and sunflowers everywhere I could fit them in, so there isn't much left to do now but wait. 

The brief getaway was much needed and though it was short we accomplished so much. And no I wasn't drunk. Borjomi is just a brand of sparkling water and it's oddly addictive and I can't buy it here so I get it when I can. It's also a place, where the water comes from but I didn't have time to go there, sadly. 

I had a debriefing by Sam and then by August too, I ripped out all of my earrings (every last one) and I'm having my medications adjusted again. We are slow and steady, though I had two panic attacks this week and I couldn't get control of either so odds are more medication will be in my future. Chemical Bridget is a necessity, not a preference, trust me. Things were getting weird and I did this willingly. As long as I hear the right reasons I will agree with you. As long as it's for the right reasons I will agree to it. 

I still do not have my phone, I don't have email. I don't have television. I do have the ipod for music and I have my fifteen puzzle and my fidget ring (it's from myconquering and it's the best. I actually have five from here. Not an ad, just a rec) and I'm not for want of things to do, I'm just trying to take it easier than normal. Apparently I go way too hard. 

Ha. 

Me? 

Of course I do. That's how I roll. And if anything, I fight the lethargy and low-key motion sickness by going super hard and that's where I falter. It's just a bad idea. But not doing anything seems worse. 

I went for a walk with Caleb. Down to the sea where I couldn't hear him all that well but I tried. It was better as we walked back toward the stairs so that's when we had our brutally honest heart to heart and we're going to take it one day at a time and see how things go. 

For how long? 

I don't know. A few months, maybe a few years. 

Do you want me to leave?

Do you want to leave?

If you want me to I will. 

No, but I understand if there's nothing to stay for. 

My friends are here. You are still here. In whatever capacity, it's better than being away from you. 

This isn't a healthy response. 

You sound like you just left August's chair. 

I did, matter of fact but that's not the point. What we never go back to what we had? What if I simply move on?

Then I will wait for you until I die. And then beyond. 

Will you haunt me like your brother does? 

Yes. But probably more often. Would that be okay with you? 

Caleb-

Don't worry. I'm not the type, in case you're worried. 

I nod, suddenly unable to speak for the lump in my throat. 

You do care. 

Of course, I choke out.

Then I will stay here for the rest of my days. In case you change your mind.

Yeah, whatever. I ran.

 I'm so tired of hanging on
To everything I thought we had. I was so wrong
There's nothing left here to fight for, we've both been bled dry
Stop wasting time, yours and mine, cause God knows we tried

I don't wanna hold you back anymore, no
And you don't wanna live with the guilt of leaving me behind, oh
You know I'd be lying if I said that we were meant to be
So let's just move on and say goodbye to you and me

It was after I choked back a third glass of Borjomi that I looked at Caleb level, eye to eye and said I needed a break, that it started now. That he could fly home without us, that we were going for a few days in Montauk before returning to the West Coast, and that he didn't have to try hard anymore because there will be nothing to try for. And my heart was breaking the whole time because all I can picture is him falling backwards off a building in slow motion but that isn't a likely end to this love story and instead I know he will shore up his resources and begin a new campaign the moment I get home.

So here I am, home at last and I haven't seen him yet. Haven't seen him since Brighton Beach where I found the best way to spend all that money (on rent control of all things), that he could put something good out into the world and keep it that way and we would call it even. The most recent thing, that is. Not the whole of our history. That's a different weight all together and it's not going to be fixed by filling Bridget up on potatoes and sausages (oh my God SO GOOD AS ALWAYS) and I had a few furtive glances at Coney and an empty promise or two to come back in the fall and then the fairy tale slipped into the sea and real life returned. I did a favour for a friend, as it were, because I promised. 

I should have stayed away.

Harder than it seems.

My peonies started opening today and the poppies were gone in a flash. Too late, too wet for them but also they were too crowded and I had put a cage around the plant for the winter and then forgot to take it away when the growing began in earnest. It's fine. It was a small cheap plant that I was stubborn about and it's spectacular some years and ugly others. 

Like me. 

I have an enamel fifteen puzzle I can't solve. Ha. You'd think it would be easy. My fingers are down to the bone sliding tiles for hours and I can't do it. It's worth the twelve dollars and the boast that it's from the thirties. Pretty sure it will be ninety years before I can solve it, truth be told. I'll be like a hundred and forty something and blathering on about this little puzzle that fits in my dress pocket and is the stuff of kinder, gentler nightmares. 

Lochlan holds me while I sleep, which is the best way and so the nightmares have to go through him first, and so I know he is exhausted, catching some and setting them on fire before they can reach me, others he dilutes in seawater to make them less sharp, some he lets slip through his fingers gently into my brain and others he bricks into a room, covering the door and they'll never see the light of day again. He's always been so good at keeping the monsters away, there's only one he can't read, one he doesn't know what to do with. 

We're working on it though. 

I hold him while he sleeps, softening the alarm, anchoring him to me through the night so that he can find the light of day, keeping him focused and reassured that we're doing good. We're okay. We'll be fine and we'll be stronger afterward. It's been a multi-decade mantra and we are superhumans at this point but then why do I still feel like wet paper in a strong wind? 

What's written on you? 

My whole heart. 

It's such a long read. 

With no ending. 

It will be happy though. The fortune teller said so.