Holy shit.
Jacob came home last night with a tattoo.
Just below the neckline where a t-shirt would fall on the centre of his back.
Angel wings. Symmetrical wings and if you look hard, scrolled within and difficult to discern are all of our initals. Baby included. JTF, BR, RB, HJ and OC. You have to know they are there, that's how well they were incorporated into the design. Mind-blowing.
I'm stunned. He's managed to eschew all forms of body modification all these years. Never had pierced ears. Never a need for anything and now this. Holy wow. It's beautiful.
I have tons of tattoos and am down to five piercings from seven and he's always told me if I had remained plain vanilla I would have been just as beautiful. But I didn't get any of it to be beautiful, I did it to mark days. To remember things, to be different. I did it to prove that I might be sweet and proper but I never forget who lies within. The expressive one. The freak. I think body art is beautiful.
Oh, fuck me, emoting all over the place today I am.
He got it because he is complete now, he said. I can't think of a better reason than that.
Saturday 30 September 2006
Friday 29 September 2006
5:17 AM
5:17 am on July 13 was when Cole died. They let me in to be with him. I watched him slip through my fingers for the final time and I wanted it so badly I thought God was going to come out of the sky and push me right on through the ground into hell for those thoughts.
And I talked to him. Jittery, random sentences that flew out of my mouth. Everything I ever wanted to say that I didn't get to say because our twenty years together didn't end so well. I asked questions I will never have answers to, again. He wins.
I'm sorry.
You treated me like dirt. What did you expect me to love you with, when I had nothing left?
He's good to me. To the kids. He looks after us.
Why didn't you just let me go?
Why did you have to hurt me?
I hate you.
And I cried. The tears just rolled down my face with great big fat blubbery sobs following and I sat there and watched the clock and I didn't look at him until 5:17. That's when I looked at him and said:
I love you.
And that was the moment he died.
And now every day I wake up at 5:17 am. And I'm one hundred percent convinced that he's haunting me using time as his weapon. Because Cole would do that.
And I talked to him. Jittery, random sentences that flew out of my mouth. Everything I ever wanted to say that I didn't get to say because our twenty years together didn't end so well. I asked questions I will never have answers to, again. He wins.
I'm sorry.
You treated me like dirt. What did you expect me to love you with, when I had nothing left?
He's good to me. To the kids. He looks after us.
Why didn't you just let me go?
Why did you have to hurt me?
I hate you.
And I cried. The tears just rolled down my face with great big fat blubbery sobs following and I sat there and watched the clock and I didn't look at him until 5:17. That's when I looked at him and said:
I love you.
And that was the moment he died.
And now every day I wake up at 5:17 am. And I'm one hundred percent convinced that he's haunting me using time as his weapon. Because Cole would do that.
*Ghostwriter.
Hi internet,
This is Jacob. Bridget is still sleeping but she left the window open so I thought I would write for her. Last night I took my wife on a surprise date. First we stopped at the drugstore and bought a ton of cough drops. Then I took her to see Jackass Number Two to cheer her up. She laughed so hard and didn't cough too much. When we came home we had some cake. Bridget loves cake. She was in bed before 9 and is still sleeping now at 7 am so I'm hoping she feels much better today.
Yours truly,
Jacob.
*(What I found when I woke up. I think I'll just leave it as today's entry. TGIF.)
This is Jacob. Bridget is still sleeping but she left the window open so I thought I would write for her. Last night I took my wife on a surprise date. First we stopped at the drugstore and bought a ton of cough drops. Then I took her to see Jackass Number Two to cheer her up. She laughed so hard and didn't cough too much. When we came home we had some cake. Bridget loves cake. She was in bed before 9 and is still sleeping now at 7 am so I'm hoping she feels much better today.
Yours truly,
Jacob.
*(What I found when I woke up. I think I'll just leave it as today's entry. TGIF.)
Thursday 28 September 2006
The gauge, it reads empty.
Hell, I can't even cop to being beautiful on the outside at this point, the usual safety net I keep in place because I'm normally a freaking mess on the inside and yet you'd never ever know it.
I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.
Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.
Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.
Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.
The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.
So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.
Drama queen indeed.
I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.
Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.
Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.
Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.
The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.
So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.
Drama queen indeed.
Radiant Bridget.
No lapdances this post, folks.
Not so much glowing with pregnancy as I am glowing with the heat of a thousand suns. Last night I ran the mother of all fevers, to the point where Jacob woke me out of a sound sleep with medicine to bring it down because he said the bed was so hot he woke up. He made me drink gatorade, stripped off my camisole and pajama pants and sat up with me for hours.
This after he had to do everything anyways, coming home from work with groceries and finding me halfway across our bed, having been sick with the shakes and chills all afternoon. Bless his heart, he got me the rest of the way into bed and got dinner and bedtimes achieved with a flair that only Jacob has. He brought me flowers.
And my mother calls from home and tells me she's on penicillin for the same cold/flu and maybe I should go back to the doctor. I point out I see the doctor once a week.
And the kids are still coughing so much I'm keeping them home again. Well, that and the fact that I'm too sick to walk to school four times today (8k total) so we're in, we're down and we're going to get better or die trying.
Not so much glowing with pregnancy as I am glowing with the heat of a thousand suns. Last night I ran the mother of all fevers, to the point where Jacob woke me out of a sound sleep with medicine to bring it down because he said the bed was so hot he woke up. He made me drink gatorade, stripped off my camisole and pajama pants and sat up with me for hours.
This after he had to do everything anyways, coming home from work with groceries and finding me halfway across our bed, having been sick with the shakes and chills all afternoon. Bless his heart, he got me the rest of the way into bed and got dinner and bedtimes achieved with a flair that only Jacob has. He brought me flowers.
And my mother calls from home and tells me she's on penicillin for the same cold/flu and maybe I should go back to the doctor. I point out I see the doctor once a week.
And the kids are still coughing so much I'm keeping them home again. Well, that and the fact that I'm too sick to walk to school four times today (8k total) so we're in, we're down and we're going to get better or die trying.
Wednesday 27 September 2006
Unbreakable.
(Uh-oh, the second half of this became the requisite porn post. I'm not sorry. Very sweetly I will make no apologies.)
Someone is losing his mind.
Jacob has been mostly around for all of two difficult pregnancies and he's forgetting all the rules, which usually begin with:
1) bring deep fried food and orange juice. Cake is a plus, but then again, when is cake not a plus?
2) hold the hair! Who cares how much I'm sick, just don't let it get in my hair.
I'm not a doll (ha), and I don't need to be treated with kid gloves but when I feel really great and I want to do things, I have to talk him into everything, because he thinks I should lounge around swaddled in blankets and have people bring me things all day like a princess would (so where is all the deep fried food I requested? Hello!). He absolutely forbade me to wear my high heels outside anymore (Notice I said outside because oh, he doesn't mind if I wear them indoors). In case I slip or something.
Remember he's stepped in to be there during such very private times you wouldn't believe it. You have to have faith in someone when I felt so comfortable with him from the moment I first met him and he put his arm around me on that hammock and kept me safe through that entire night when I was out of it. It was definitely something bigger than both of us.
God was busy playing matchmaker, and we were slow.
And then through being pregnant with Ruth when he would bring me smoothies and the very first time he stopped by and I didn't answer the door, he came in anyway and sat down on the bathroom floor behind me and pulled my hair back so that I could just keep throwing up even though I tried to wave him away and fight off his arms and when I lay down on the floor because I was too fucking sick to crawl he picked me up and carried me to my bed and kissed my forehead and he sat on a chair in the corner and worked on his university papers, writing with his pen, papers and books balanced on his knees, while I slept and woke up only to be sick, and he would drop everything on the floor.
He got nothing of me then, except my worthless company, and still he took what I had to give him and I loved him for it. The best parts were given to Cole, who would come home from work and get to hold me and make love to me and take what he wanted and still expect me to pour his coffee in between dry heaves. Brutal. Do you know Cole never even called during the day to see how I was? Bitter one, indeed. Broken and fucking bitter.
The second time, with Henry, Jacob signed up for pretty much the same deal as Best Friend, only things were so far downhill from life the first time he was resigned to believe I had signed up to be tortured, that I truly was a masochist, and that my life wasn't turning out at all how it was supposed to. That part was true. This time Jacob had his hands full. He kept a one year old Ruth entertained almost every afternoon, and tried in vain to get her to nap by singing power ballads and Christmas carols to her and in between that he would come in and rub my back while I lay on the tiles, so much sicker the second time around that I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. The drugs barely helped.
And yet I survived, he helped me keep at least a little of my smile, my sweet disposition. And now, this third time around so far it seems a little easier because he's here all the time now. But I'm not always so sweet. Which I continue now to throw in his face daily. For I do not want to be sweet sometimes. I don't want to have any of that. I want to be fucking depraved. You only think I was kidding when I said I would be his whore.
Are you really as tough as you think
you blink and you're over the brink
you bleed but the blood runs pink
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
You're not quite as tough as you thought
you bought the American rod
the very seed that you thought you shot
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
So you should have seen his face last night when I pitched a glorious all-out petulant tantrum because he really wasn't willing to pull out the strobe light (which! he bought! for me!) and crank the stereo up to twelve so we could have a little fun because I was finally feeling right at the right time, a critically choreographed chain of events that might possibly not happen again any time soon. The hell? And I'm so rusty after having spent most of August perfecting a lap dance so mind-blowing he forgot what to say when he answered the phone a full two hours later when I nailed it.
(Psst, Jake. When you pick up the phone, say 'Hello'.)
So now!
Honey! I feel terrific, and I'm so horny right now the balusters are looking promising. I know you'll be sorry if I start ripping apart the banister to get a little action around here.
I could barely get him in the mood for all my trying. And I'm usually frighteningly good at it. I have a way of kissing him that makes him too hard to stand up comfortably and he won't have it much, these days. I've been a mom for a long time but of course it's different this time, this is his baby and he's going to have a hard time reconciling his sex kitten wife with the mother of his children, I can see it. He wants to go the tender route, I want to remain mildly depraved. I like depraved.
Up until we got a positive test he was completely satisfied, albeit a little surprised that he could get a lap dance just by looking at me the right way. Bringing home a strobe light (!) and a better stereo for our bedroom sort of cemented his whole lottery-winner attitude. Possibly the funniest wedding present I've ever seen. He was finally. into. it. Yes.
Freaky is my middle name as much as Rebekah. He knows it and now he's been denying me something I want the past few days and that's..well, that's just not acceptable. He's going to have to get over that right now. Yesterday. Please?
The good news is, I think I've figured him out...almost. He just takes a lot longer to get into it, and it takes him an extra hour or two to start the hair-pulling, desperate, slow, unbearably languid, complete sex that I crave from him. Fine, it just adds a couple more hours to the fun. We have lost entire nights of sleep together over the past few months. It feels so good to be touched by him I can't even believe it. Maybe he's one of those touch-healers by default. I wish it worked on the dry heaves. They interfere with everything that's good.
And I don't think either of us really mind the extra time it takes to visit heaven. I know I don't. There's things to remember about being pregnant. Like if you're able to grow a human being for nine months then you're probably able to handle some serious sex with a capital S. And I really like the part of the night when he forgets to treat me like I will break and has a little fun. A little thorough, hard-edged fun. Yes. More. Please.
Please, Jake.
And he sure enjoys the hell out of his nightly lap dance. I wore out a CD. My favorite one, ten thousand days. I'm hoping I don't wear out iTunes now.
And finally with his consent, after much petulance and sighing took place, I got my wish. Last night I think I reached some sort of limber zenith. He was fucking stunned.
I wore his cowboy hat, pulled very low, I let my hair down, falling in waves to my elbows, coaxed my eyelashes to extreme lengths and after adding a cute new pair of pink boyshort undies that he bought for me and entirely too much candy-pink lipgloss, I wound out on his lap in his office chair with everything I had. I played a song for him, nice and loud, three times. He almost made it through the final chorus on the third go round, before I found myself stark naked, wearing nothing but that cowboy hat and a big smile, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, fingers tangled thoroughly in his beautiful blonde hair, discovering his talents. On the receiving end of his generous gifts, only for me. I thought we were going to break the chair. Reluctant my ass. I started out in control and I wound up so not in control. Just the way I like it.
He tries so hard to resist me but it's insurmountable.
I, however, am not.
Someone is losing his mind.
Jacob has been mostly around for all of two difficult pregnancies and he's forgetting all the rules, which usually begin with:
1) bring deep fried food and orange juice. Cake is a plus, but then again, when is cake not a plus?
2) hold the hair! Who cares how much I'm sick, just don't let it get in my hair.
I'm not a doll (ha), and I don't need to be treated with kid gloves but when I feel really great and I want to do things, I have to talk him into everything, because he thinks I should lounge around swaddled in blankets and have people bring me things all day like a princess would (so where is all the deep fried food I requested? Hello!). He absolutely forbade me to wear my high heels outside anymore (Notice I said outside because oh, he doesn't mind if I wear them indoors). In case I slip or something.
Remember he's stepped in to be there during such very private times you wouldn't believe it. You have to have faith in someone when I felt so comfortable with him from the moment I first met him and he put his arm around me on that hammock and kept me safe through that entire night when I was out of it. It was definitely something bigger than both of us.
God was busy playing matchmaker, and we were slow.
And then through being pregnant with Ruth when he would bring me smoothies and the very first time he stopped by and I didn't answer the door, he came in anyway and sat down on the bathroom floor behind me and pulled my hair back so that I could just keep throwing up even though I tried to wave him away and fight off his arms and when I lay down on the floor because I was too fucking sick to crawl he picked me up and carried me to my bed and kissed my forehead and he sat on a chair in the corner and worked on his university papers, writing with his pen, papers and books balanced on his knees, while I slept and woke up only to be sick, and he would drop everything on the floor.
He got nothing of me then, except my worthless company, and still he took what I had to give him and I loved him for it. The best parts were given to Cole, who would come home from work and get to hold me and make love to me and take what he wanted and still expect me to pour his coffee in between dry heaves. Brutal. Do you know Cole never even called during the day to see how I was? Bitter one, indeed. Broken and fucking bitter.
The second time, with Henry, Jacob signed up for pretty much the same deal as Best Friend, only things were so far downhill from life the first time he was resigned to believe I had signed up to be tortured, that I truly was a masochist, and that my life wasn't turning out at all how it was supposed to. That part was true. This time Jacob had his hands full. He kept a one year old Ruth entertained almost every afternoon, and tried in vain to get her to nap by singing power ballads and Christmas carols to her and in between that he would come in and rub my back while I lay on the tiles, so much sicker the second time around that I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. The drugs barely helped.
And yet I survived, he helped me keep at least a little of my smile, my sweet disposition. And now, this third time around so far it seems a little easier because he's here all the time now. But I'm not always so sweet. Which I continue now to throw in his face daily. For I do not want to be sweet sometimes. I don't want to have any of that. I want to be fucking depraved. You only think I was kidding when I said I would be his whore.
Are you really as tough as you think
you blink and you're over the brink
you bleed but the blood runs pink
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
You're not quite as tough as you thought
you bought the American rod
the very seed that you thought you shot
with dirty second hands
dirty second hands
So you should have seen his face last night when I pitched a glorious all-out petulant tantrum because he really wasn't willing to pull out the strobe light (which! he bought! for me!) and crank the stereo up to twelve so we could have a little fun because I was finally feeling right at the right time, a critically choreographed chain of events that might possibly not happen again any time soon. The hell? And I'm so rusty after having spent most of August perfecting a lap dance so mind-blowing he forgot what to say when he answered the phone a full two hours later when I nailed it.
(Psst, Jake. When you pick up the phone, say 'Hello'.)
So now!
Honey! I feel terrific, and I'm so horny right now the balusters are looking promising. I know you'll be sorry if I start ripping apart the banister to get a little action around here.
I could barely get him in the mood for all my trying. And I'm usually frighteningly good at it. I have a way of kissing him that makes him too hard to stand up comfortably and he won't have it much, these days. I've been a mom for a long time but of course it's different this time, this is his baby and he's going to have a hard time reconciling his sex kitten wife with the mother of his children, I can see it. He wants to go the tender route, I want to remain mildly depraved. I like depraved.
Up until we got a positive test he was completely satisfied, albeit a little surprised that he could get a lap dance just by looking at me the right way. Bringing home a strobe light (!) and a better stereo for our bedroom sort of cemented his whole lottery-winner attitude. Possibly the funniest wedding present I've ever seen. He was finally. into. it. Yes.
Freaky is my middle name as much as Rebekah. He knows it and now he's been denying me something I want the past few days and that's..well, that's just not acceptable. He's going to have to get over that right now. Yesterday. Please?
The good news is, I think I've figured him out...almost. He just takes a lot longer to get into it, and it takes him an extra hour or two to start the hair-pulling, desperate, slow, unbearably languid, complete sex that I crave from him. Fine, it just adds a couple more hours to the fun. We have lost entire nights of sleep together over the past few months. It feels so good to be touched by him I can't even believe it. Maybe he's one of those touch-healers by default. I wish it worked on the dry heaves. They interfere with everything that's good.
And I don't think either of us really mind the extra time it takes to visit heaven. I know I don't. There's things to remember about being pregnant. Like if you're able to grow a human being for nine months then you're probably able to handle some serious sex with a capital S. And I really like the part of the night when he forgets to treat me like I will break and has a little fun. A little thorough, hard-edged fun. Yes. More. Please.
Please, Jake.
And he sure enjoys the hell out of his nightly lap dance. I wore out a CD. My favorite one, ten thousand days. I'm hoping I don't wear out iTunes now.
And finally with his consent, after much petulance and sighing took place, I got my wish. Last night I think I reached some sort of limber zenith. He was fucking stunned.
I wore his cowboy hat, pulled very low, I let my hair down, falling in waves to my elbows, coaxed my eyelashes to extreme lengths and after adding a cute new pair of pink boyshort undies that he bought for me and entirely too much candy-pink lipgloss, I wound out on his lap in his office chair with everything I had. I played a song for him, nice and loud, three times. He almost made it through the final chorus on the third go round, before I found myself stark naked, wearing nothing but that cowboy hat and a big smile, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, fingers tangled thoroughly in his beautiful blonde hair, discovering his talents. On the receiving end of his generous gifts, only for me. I thought we were going to break the chair. Reluctant my ass. I started out in control and I wound up so not in control. Just the way I like it.
He tries so hard to resist me but it's insurmountable.
I, however, am not.
Tuesday 26 September 2006
30-second update theatre.
Kind of like 30-second bunny theatre, which we adore.
Because I don't want the last few entries up there but I hate the delete button. I really do. So here, have some drive-by updates, if you want more info on any of the following just leave a comment and I'll address it shortly:
-Me working- Not going to happen.
-Jake's firefighting side gig -still on. Nice. Impressed? Not so much.
-Baby name -oh, but you must guess. Carved in stone within seconds. And surprisingly conceived on our. wedding. day. Wow. Due mere days before my birthday. Double wow.
-Canadian iTunes-so not happy with. How hard is it to make the damn music available internationally? FUCK!
-Strobe light-I have one. You know you want to hear more. <---poooooorn.
-The cold from hell -rages on. Woe.
-House -not winterized, see above.
-Tool CD-wore it out. Must buy a new one. See strobe light note, above. (shhh!)
More later. Including porn.
Because I don't want the last few entries up there but I hate the delete button. I really do. So here, have some drive-by updates, if you want more info on any of the following just leave a comment and I'll address it shortly:
-Me working- Not going to happen.
-Jake's firefighting side gig -still on. Nice. Impressed? Not so much.
-Baby name -oh, but you must guess. Carved in stone within seconds. And surprisingly conceived on our. wedding. day. Wow. Due mere days before my birthday. Double wow.
-Canadian iTunes-so not happy with. How hard is it to make the damn music available internationally? FUCK!
-Strobe light-I have one. You know you want to hear more. <---poooooorn.
-The cold from hell -rages on. Woe.
-House -not winterized, see above.
-Tool CD-wore it out. Must buy a new one. See strobe light note, above. (shhh!)
More later. Including porn.
Haste and a mgnifying glass.
Let me get this out of the way.
I have some friends for sale.
Mostly all of them, okay all of them wonderful, loving, caring, slightly undomesticated males who can't manage to clean a dish or a shirt but have the art of barbecuing and women down to a science, save for one.
Me.
I love them, I really do. But I don't like to be second-guessed. Especially now.
All of them anxious for caution, for hesitancy. All of them also dealing with not knowing how bad things were for me at home. They kick themselves for not stepping in, for not doing something. For tearing Jake down instead of backing him up when he pressured me to leave Cole. Romantic rival, indeed. Don't think it isn't lost on them now that he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't help me, but maybe if they had backed him up it would have been easier.
And now Jake falls under their microscope. Jacob, the good guy. The minister, for heaven's sake. The one guy who could rip up a block of concrete with his bare hands but doesn't and won't, earning him the Friendly Giant/Preacher Boy nicknames. He would never ever hurt me. But still they're skittish. If we argue now they crowd in and attempt to do damage control, offering time away, space, moral support. Poor Jake. More eyes are on him then ever before and it's Cole's fault. Because they refuse to ever let things get so quietly out of control ever again. And now, of course telling them all that we're growing our family leads to judgments and comments and flack that I don't appreciate because it PUTS DOUBTS IN MY HEAD. The speed at which we've tried to find a routine, a normal family life after a monster of a miserable season leaves them gasping for air and I can't help that. I have to do what I want to do. For the first time it gives me a little control back and I like that. I don't frankly care how many heads are left spinning in our tiny, rippling wake. Don't fucking question me now. I'm only beginning to find happiness I should have had before and they're hellbent on wrecking it all.
Jacob is thrilled with the scrutiny. He's an open book, ready to share his own life, his philosophies, his loves with anyone who asks or ventures an enquiry. He doesn't mind the guys pressuring him to stay the straight and narrow because he will, he does. He only finds it ironic in this new day's light. He wants me to be surrounded by good people that I can count on. He believes that if people are accountable for their actions then they do better and he loves the fact that even good people always have room for improvement, himself included.
What he doesn't like, is the queue of guys standing in a line behind him ready to step in to his shoes should he (and he won't) fall. Oh no. Haven't we been through this already? Two separate occasions recently found me on the wrong end of deep conversations, ones that ended with lofty goals, promises I didn't ask to be made. Feelings I never wanted to know existed.
Bridge...if things don't work out with Jake...well, you don't have to be alone.
Oh my God. How noble, honorable, and really above and beyond the call of duty. Assurances from me that I won't be alone, and I won't be - I have my friends. My family, my kids. I wouldn't touch another friend if my life depended on it. I love these guys like brothers. I loved Jacob like nothing else. Can't they see the difference? And if they think it's easy to fall in love with and try to make a new life with a friend who knows every moment of your history then they are sorely mistaken, it's so much harder than we expected.
We didn't understand how much time we would spend re-examining old wounds, fighting old fights and forgetting that we're supposed to be lovers now, saying things you can say to friends, but should never say to people you have to go to bed with. And Jacob, standing in Cole's shoes, now knowing exactly how people view me. Seeing how people think about his wife, what sort of things they imagine and ways they try to get close to me and it's harder than he thought it would be, but still a place he would trade with no one, ever again.
I'm apparently a blessing, an ego trip and a curse all at once.
It's really fucking hard. And made harder, unintentionally by well-meaning friends who wind up with the harsh lights on them, too.
What the fuck? Were you my friend or are you just here because you want to get into my pants too? There's no fucking lineup! Go away! And take your fucking opinions with you.
I feel disillusioned, chaotic, betrayed in a totally different way. Then everyone steps back but it's too fucking late for that. It's out there and you can't stuff this one back in. Oh no. You let it out and it grew and now it's too big to hide it anywhere but in plain sight and I can never look at them the same way ever again and that hurts very badly.
It does.
I am not flattered.
What appeared to be such a proper, normal average life out here in cowboyland has become nothing more than a sordid, deceitful soap opera and it features me, the reluctant starlet. The lights are so hot. I'm shaken by what all these revelations have meant to my life as it stands now. Honest, pure love, personal safety, security and the price is that I'm brutally restrained into an insular environment in which I am always safe because I'm never out of reach and the numbers of people I have access to are now limited, a small number, because of the damn trust.
This is a price I can pay because I've lived both sides now and I would choose this in a heartbeat over the way things were before. The funny part is I expected it to feel claustrophobic and it doesn't. It doesn't at all.
When my friends learn how to deal with their feelings, I'll welcome them back into my world but until they do, I can't handle it. Jacob thinks I'm being harsh, surprisingly. No, I'm just exercising some long-overdue self-preservation. The icing on the cake, only this time I didn't ask for dessert. So I have to push away the beloved plate of cake and politely refuse, for now.
Have you ever needed someone so bad,
Have you ever wanted someone
You just couldn't have
Did you ever try so hard
That your world just fell apart
Have you ever needed someone so bad
And you're the girl I gotta have
I have some friends for sale.
Mostly all of them, okay all of them wonderful, loving, caring, slightly undomesticated males who can't manage to clean a dish or a shirt but have the art of barbecuing and women down to a science, save for one.
Me.
I love them, I really do. But I don't like to be second-guessed. Especially now.
All of them anxious for caution, for hesitancy. All of them also dealing with not knowing how bad things were for me at home. They kick themselves for not stepping in, for not doing something. For tearing Jake down instead of backing him up when he pressured me to leave Cole. Romantic rival, indeed. Don't think it isn't lost on them now that he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't help me, but maybe if they had backed him up it would have been easier.
And now Jake falls under their microscope. Jacob, the good guy. The minister, for heaven's sake. The one guy who could rip up a block of concrete with his bare hands but doesn't and won't, earning him the Friendly Giant/Preacher Boy nicknames. He would never ever hurt me. But still they're skittish. If we argue now they crowd in and attempt to do damage control, offering time away, space, moral support. Poor Jake. More eyes are on him then ever before and it's Cole's fault. Because they refuse to ever let things get so quietly out of control ever again. And now, of course telling them all that we're growing our family leads to judgments and comments and flack that I don't appreciate because it PUTS DOUBTS IN MY HEAD. The speed at which we've tried to find a routine, a normal family life after a monster of a miserable season leaves them gasping for air and I can't help that. I have to do what I want to do. For the first time it gives me a little control back and I like that. I don't frankly care how many heads are left spinning in our tiny, rippling wake. Don't fucking question me now. I'm only beginning to find happiness I should have had before and they're hellbent on wrecking it all.
Jacob is thrilled with the scrutiny. He's an open book, ready to share his own life, his philosophies, his loves with anyone who asks or ventures an enquiry. He doesn't mind the guys pressuring him to stay the straight and narrow because he will, he does. He only finds it ironic in this new day's light. He wants me to be surrounded by good people that I can count on. He believes that if people are accountable for their actions then they do better and he loves the fact that even good people always have room for improvement, himself included.
What he doesn't like, is the queue of guys standing in a line behind him ready to step in to his shoes should he (and he won't) fall. Oh no. Haven't we been through this already? Two separate occasions recently found me on the wrong end of deep conversations, ones that ended with lofty goals, promises I didn't ask to be made. Feelings I never wanted to know existed.
Bridge...if things don't work out with Jake...well, you don't have to be alone.
Oh my God. How noble, honorable, and really above and beyond the call of duty. Assurances from me that I won't be alone, and I won't be - I have my friends. My family, my kids. I wouldn't touch another friend if my life depended on it. I love these guys like brothers. I loved Jacob like nothing else. Can't they see the difference? And if they think it's easy to fall in love with and try to make a new life with a friend who knows every moment of your history then they are sorely mistaken, it's so much harder than we expected.
We didn't understand how much time we would spend re-examining old wounds, fighting old fights and forgetting that we're supposed to be lovers now, saying things you can say to friends, but should never say to people you have to go to bed with. And Jacob, standing in Cole's shoes, now knowing exactly how people view me. Seeing how people think about his wife, what sort of things they imagine and ways they try to get close to me and it's harder than he thought it would be, but still a place he would trade with no one, ever again.
I'm apparently a blessing, an ego trip and a curse all at once.
It's really fucking hard. And made harder, unintentionally by well-meaning friends who wind up with the harsh lights on them, too.
What the fuck? Were you my friend or are you just here because you want to get into my pants too? There's no fucking lineup! Go away! And take your fucking opinions with you.
I feel disillusioned, chaotic, betrayed in a totally different way. Then everyone steps back but it's too fucking late for that. It's out there and you can't stuff this one back in. Oh no. You let it out and it grew and now it's too big to hide it anywhere but in plain sight and I can never look at them the same way ever again and that hurts very badly.
It does.
I am not flattered.
What appeared to be such a proper, normal average life out here in cowboyland has become nothing more than a sordid, deceitful soap opera and it features me, the reluctant starlet. The lights are so hot. I'm shaken by what all these revelations have meant to my life as it stands now. Honest, pure love, personal safety, security and the price is that I'm brutally restrained into an insular environment in which I am always safe because I'm never out of reach and the numbers of people I have access to are now limited, a small number, because of the damn trust.
This is a price I can pay because I've lived both sides now and I would choose this in a heartbeat over the way things were before. The funny part is I expected it to feel claustrophobic and it doesn't. It doesn't at all.
When my friends learn how to deal with their feelings, I'll welcome them back into my world but until they do, I can't handle it. Jacob thinks I'm being harsh, surprisingly. No, I'm just exercising some long-overdue self-preservation. The icing on the cake, only this time I didn't ask for dessert. So I have to push away the beloved plate of cake and politely refuse, for now.
Have you ever needed someone so bad,
Have you ever wanted someone
You just couldn't have
Did you ever try so hard
That your world just fell apart
Have you ever needed someone so bad
And you're the girl I gotta have
Monday 25 September 2006
Me, too.
Apparently I don't have enough to do today.
I wasn't entirely honest one post down. Hell, I'm not really honest with myself, why would I be honest with my journal? It's one peg down from the way I feel I should respond, and so again, I have talked myself into it.
I'm not sure I'm happy or excited about this baby.
In reality, its different. In reality I'm pretty fucking terrified.
And that isn't fair to Jake.
I wasn't entirely honest one post down. Hell, I'm not really honest with myself, why would I be honest with my journal? It's one peg down from the way I feel I should respond, and so again, I have talked myself into it.
I'm not sure I'm happy or excited about this baby.
In reality, its different. In reality I'm pretty fucking terrified.
And that isn't fair to Jake.
Me.
A lot of people have pointed out that I haven't talked about how I feel.
Gee, that's all I do in here. It's my place to put all the dark things so only light surrounds me in the real world. Those dark things have a place they can fester here and I can go off and be happy.
But how do I feel about the baby, you ask?
I'm cautiously happy. I'm a superstitious soul, scared to say too much, or do too much. I haven't felt well enough for it to even sink in. Before, thinking about having a baby that was half of me and half of Jacob left me with warm fuzzy sunshine-infused glowy love feelings and not much has changed. I can hardly believe it. My whole heart jumps fifty feet out of my body when he walks into a room, the fact that we've ever even made love or kissed each other and not had to do it in the dark away from prying eyes makes it simply sweeter.
I don't even have to go into the fact that the whole blonde haired goodness multiplied is going to make the most beautiful baby ever.
Honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm going to promise that this journal won't become a baby clock or a permanent record of how many time Bridget throws up every day because, well, I wouldn't come here either if I did that.
So instead. I think...
Yeah...
I think maybe it will become..the porn blog.
Oh I'm kidding.
An all-porn diet here would be just as annoying. So perhaps a little bit of everything. And a lot of that man. Because damn. Jacob gets hotter every single day. Okay so yeah...pooooooorn.
Gee, that's all I do in here. It's my place to put all the dark things so only light surrounds me in the real world. Those dark things have a place they can fester here and I can go off and be happy.
But how do I feel about the baby, you ask?
I'm cautiously happy. I'm a superstitious soul, scared to say too much, or do too much. I haven't felt well enough for it to even sink in. Before, thinking about having a baby that was half of me and half of Jacob left me with warm fuzzy sunshine-infused glowy love feelings and not much has changed. I can hardly believe it. My whole heart jumps fifty feet out of my body when he walks into a room, the fact that we've ever even made love or kissed each other and not had to do it in the dark away from prying eyes makes it simply sweeter.
I don't even have to go into the fact that the whole blonde haired goodness multiplied is going to make the most beautiful baby ever.
Honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm going to promise that this journal won't become a baby clock or a permanent record of how many time Bridget throws up every day because, well, I wouldn't come here either if I did that.
So instead. I think...
Yeah...
I think maybe it will become..the porn blog.
Oh I'm kidding.
An all-porn diet here would be just as annoying. So perhaps a little bit of everything. And a lot of that man. Because damn. Jacob gets hotter every single day. Okay so yeah...pooooooorn.
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