On becoming the Baroness.

Got a lot of things straightened out today, most noteable a recent underlying threat to the new permanent peace that threatened to shelve the entire deal. Caleb has lawyers. Caleb is fixing. And true to form the price is that I suck it up and attend his yearly Halloween costume party.

Which I will now that I have crawled out of my shell long enough to eat some lunch, hug my husband and PJ too and be sociable enough so that my beloved friends were able to talk me into it, though, really they will leave before I do and have no real idea what it's like after that.

Attending the party is not the price. Nevermind what is. We've been over this before.

One year later, the party is not for me but instead is a toast to the new business collective. I am unmedicated and not planning on doing any drinking whatsoever. I need my wits, we'll be on Satan's territory as a group, one of those rare and special circumstances he calls "fun'. Perhaps it will be.

Though...

No, I'll leave it there. I'll try to remember to bring my shoes home, and call that enough, okay?

Snap out of it.

I don't feel like going to a party tonight. I don't feel like smiling. I don't feel like getting dressed. I don't feel like taking a shower. I don't feel like talking. I just feel like staying in bed with the covers up over my head and listening to the rain only because I think I can hear it on the tin roof at the back of the house but it's probably a placebo-sound because I can look out the window and see it falling.

See it...falling.

August, I'm keeping this flannel shirt. It reminds me of your friend. As do you. Thank you for keeping watch.

Time to change has come and gone
Watched your fears become your god
It's your decision
It's your decision

Overwhelmed, you chose to run
Apathetic to the stunned
It's your decision
It's your decision

You feed the fire that burned us all
When you lied
To feel the pain that spurs you on
Black inside

No one plans to take the path that brings you nowhere
Here you stand before us all and say it's over

Headphones and white and black striped tights today. No one will bother the freak on the bench. This is the space in which I exist, between the four elm trees that frame my house and here in the park between life and death. Between sadness and euphoria, between normal and so not normal it hurts.

That's me.

So not normal.

This is all wrong. Everyone being here for me, it's wrong and it's what he did in an effort to oh, gee, finally make me better. Make her happy because you won't like her miserable. It wasn't right then and it's not right now. And I don't know which one of you canceled my efforts to have these removed. Maybe I should thank you, I expected to show up and have to sit on the ground but there they were, the benches that represent arms that won't hold me anymore because I killed their hearts dead dead dead. I killed my own and then in some sort of murderous, euphoric glee I killed a few more.

Then I woke the fuck up and as usual I'm playing freak girl in the park while everyone else goes about their lives, totally fucking oblivious to me save to say, wow, she's pretty. It's too bad she dresses like a clown. It's too bad she has all those words tattooed all over her body.

It's too bad you're so fucking narrow-minded, too, but beggars can't be choosers and my mind is wide, baby. Wide enough that the little short-term memories fall out easily and the long-term ones dig deep. So deep they leave huge bloody gouges down the side of my head and my hair is all matted and black and maybe it's not the tights that make them stare. No, it's probably my brain falling out of my head because it's so big now and it would explain why my ears and my mouth don't work now doesn't it?

I did nothing to help them further the cause of tightening to support net around me because the only person who will be saved by that is already dead. Pretty but totally fucking dead inside and that can't change because dead is permanent.

Three, four, better lock the door.

Good morning. It's 8:45 and I have already had breakfast with the devil and a ride in the gorgeous little silver 350z. All that and I still have coffee here to finish from the gigantic stainless steel glass I like to nurse until lunchtime.

I'm at the loft at my beautiful desk doing absolutely nothing because no one is in until at least nine for most of the places I have to call in confirming final details for the party Friday night. I need to look after this mostly because Caleb likes the organizational part of my brain and because a woman's touch is always appreciated and yet I am the only woman he trusts.

Not sure if that's a comfort or a curse, come to think of it. But I will rock the doll dress and the high heels and smile sweetly and speak only when spoken to and allow him to parade me around like the final rose of the season while all the while plotting to stick this sharp and lovely letter opener in his back.

Hey, a girl can dream. Besides, if it came down to a fight to the death, I would most certainly lose, as he would shed his mortal trappings and rise to his full height, which is whatever the hell he wants it to be. Satan has that gift. So instead I will permit his objectification with a little of my own, and keep it incredibly clear that he only gets away with this shit because I let him and he is just as vulnerable to my charms and my whims, should I ever invoke them in his presence.

Even though I probably never will again.

I save them for Ben. Ben is headed to his own meeting today and then will meet us for lunch after he gets the children fed and back safely to school. We have reservations at 'the' restaurant. Caleb's favorite one, that one we were asked to leave after a food fight broke out quite purposefully last time.

I am ready this time, Benjamin. Waterproof mascara and everything.

It happens every time. They all become blueberries.

We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams.

Joel has come to rescue the day.

Probably a bad idea.

Joel is truly the adult equivalent of the friend you call when you want to skip school and venture to an uncharted territory in which you will bravely face teenage danger and possibly break stuff.

What I mean is, in that regard, he's worse than Ben.

Hard to believe he was ever in charge of my head. Or maybe it all makes sense now. In any event, if we ever conquer the tension between us, he could totally be a close friend. But sadly and because we are adults who act like teenagers, I hardly ever get to see him anymore.

But here he is with Vietnamese takeout for four (because I'm not stupid, Ben and Daniel are home too) and a full rehash of all of the action last night from the Leafs winning their first game of the season. Because like a comforted idiot, I was busy watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And it was glorious. When I was a kid the Oompa-Loopas scared me something awful. But I've been since scared by worse so instead I found it hilarious. It was on late and so it was eleven again before Ben and I made it to bed, where I turned the electric blanket up all the way and forgot to mention it. I sort of roasted my husband and he didn't sleep and so today has been reduced to puttering around a bit, making a few calls, filing some papers that have been up on the fridge too long and basically waiting for something to happen.

Joel's here to see that something happens. Most likely we will finish lunch, go outside and stare at the trucks for a little while and talk about the weather and then soon enough Ruth and Henry will be home from school with their fall pictures and chaos will resume and we'll invite Joel to stay for an early easy dinner and then Ben and I will take the children to the rec centre for their swim lessons and then home in bed by eight.

Unless there is something wonderful on television again.

Most likely there will be.

Damn, I wish I was your singer.

Oh dear lord. Apparently talent is not available through transmission of bodily fluids because I absolutely cannot sing anywhere nearly as well as I did on Rock Band. No way. Uh-oh. I will stick to playing the violin and the ever-obsequious groupiedom, thank you muchly for coming out and wasting time on me. You're all very good sports for putting the deaf girl in the booth.

Ben got what he wanted for the song anyway. I can't say I'll ever listen to the finished product unless they work some inane amount of magic on it, I sound like a hardcore chipmunk doing her best impression of Sophie B. Hawkins. With a head cold.

On the upside, the studio? My brother in law bought it. For my husband and his friends. Which is interesting to say the least.

Night nights.

Black cherry and Butterscotch.

I have candy sticks from the sugar village in those two flavours today. I'm saving them for work tomorrow. Nothing major, just have a few final preparations to attend to for Caleb's big costume party this weekend and I want to make sure that everything is in place so I don't spend the entire first week getting organized. Trying to work while unorganized just erodes what's left of my brain.

PJ's trip to the candy store and subsequent peace offering was warmly welcomed. I invited him to stay for lunch and we pulled out all the stops, eating Mr. Noodles and sharing a half a box of cheese nips. Which are really gross. Like goldfish but with a greasy aftertaste. So of course I couldn't stop eating them and now I'm vaguely unsettled. Maybe tea later will help. I'll try to fit that in around the coffee, of course because I had a cup yesterday afternoon and at ten last night I could still answer questions coherently and that NEVER happens. So the coffee stays so that I can have a life because Ben is a night owl and really sometimes that's when he appears out of nowhere and wants to spend time with me. By that time of night I am mostly toast. If he could just fly out of bed at six every morning without swearing he would be the awesomemest husband ever but beggars can't be choosers and choosers can't be choosey, sometimes.

I'll take Ben snarly and sleepy in the morning. He's freaking adorable. Especially on the days when the first order of business is washing the dog's butt. Oh yes. We're all glamour all the time here. Which is why PJ was mad at me in the first place. I refused to indulge him and drop a name. I don't do that. Probably never will. He wanted back up in a conversation and I feigned total deafness instead. Which sent my message loud and clear, ironically enough and he eats crows made of candy today as a result. Again, glamorous to a fault.

The good news is there actually is a little glamour in the day, planned for later. We're going to the studio and Bridget is going to sing. Truth. It will be recorded I mean, and you might even hear it eventually. See if it winds up anywhere special. And no, it's not a Christmas album, though there has been talk of that as well (Fuck, guys, I'm kidding. Holy.). Just something that was slated to be done once a certain level of private loyalty was achieved. I think we're there now, and I'm ready.

Wish me luck and tape the glass, boys. I'm going in.

Ben has promised to hold my hand.

Decisions carved into granite and flesh.

And I won't live your weak wicked lie
You pull me in
I'm one step behind

Show me where it hurts
And I will make it worse
Are you holding on?
Keep holding on
Dilated eyes
Shine for one last time
Are you holding on?
Keep holding on

Every year when it grows cold I lament the amount of hours I didn't spend reading in the front porch. There's now three chairs and a table there, and with eight ripply-glass windows with their crisp white curtains it's a cozy, sunny spot to curl up in for a few hours to process some stories. Only I didn't really do it much this summer and now summer is over. The tiny white lights will be on perpetually through the winter now, if only to lend a little magic to the distended winter regret that settles over the neighborhood once the last of the leaves fall.

The leaves are making things treacherous. Yesterday I slipped and slid down the wet pavement until I made it to the stairs and the railing was wet so I hung on for dear life and by the time I made it to the concrete room I was breathless, filthy and sure I would never make my way back without a cracked ankle or broken skull. I can't wait until the ice returns.

I ducked into the room and turned and for the first time, I closed the door behind me, giving the rusted mechanism a spin with pointless flair, for it hardly budged. I turned around and wiped my dirty, dripping fingers on the front of my coat. Then I tried to smooth my hair, pulling a lock from the corner of my mouth. And then I met his eyes.

He was sitting, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, equally filthy hands and feet but pristine blonde hair and wings as always. He watched me with love, with curiosity.

Why are you here, princess?

Where else would I be? It's an anniversary.

You didn't come on our wedding anniversary.

I don't acknowledge that one.

I see.

What's wrong with me, Jacob?

What do you mean?

Why did you leave?

Bridget, they'll be looking for you, especially today.

I'll go back in a while.

You should go back now.

You should have stayed.

I was not strong enough there. Here, I am.

Then come back now.

It doesn't work that way.

Change it. I need you.

What's wrong?

It's time to come back. I'm done with this game. I don't like this game.

What's happened?

You aren't there for me.

What else?

That should be ENOUGH FOR YOU! Don't you love me?

I do. So, so much.

What a sight we must have been. I'm standing again, screaming at him and he has tears spilling out, down his cheeks, helpless against my rage. Like all of them. It takes me finally getting mad and fighting back for them to see, for them to really see what they do to me.

I can't do this anymore, Jacob.

So let me go and you don't have to come back here anymore.

You're coming with me.

Bridget, I ca-

YES YOU CAN!

I reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt.

And I connected.

I connected.

He was warm.

He was real.

He was alive.

His hands came up and he froze and then he put his hands on my arms and he pulled me into his embrace and I rested my head against his chest, throwing my arms around him. His arms locked around my shoulders and I let out the breath I held. I let it out so slowly my lungs were aching with the effort. And then I began to sob, because I wasted so much time and he was here all along and he wasn't dead and they didn't listen and I was right and now I have to admit to him that I really screwed up, like so badly, like he didn't already know and somehow he has to understand that now Ben will have a bigger part of the equation because I really love Ben and I wouldn't let him go even if Jacob comes back and he's going to have to understand and it's all just pouring out and I doubt it made any sense at all and then suddenly there were other hands on me, hands pulling me away and back into the warmth and shaking me just a little and I opened my eyes and there was Ben, and I was so relieved that he found us and he knew too and everything was going to be good again and Bridget wouldn't be sad and I threw my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life as my heart popped and stretched and grew out of the black stitches that were holding it together and it hurt so badly and he held me in surprise and then he burst the balloon and I was plunged into black once again.

You were crying in your dream. It's okay now, everything's going to be okay.

It's so easy to make promises that someone else will have to keep. I just stared at him for a moment and then I got up and went to run a shower, hot as Hades, knowing he would not be far behind. I stepped into the claw foot tub, standing under the spray, and I watched the dirt run off my fingertips in black sandy rivulets, circling down into the drain along with any shred of hope that I can ever bring Jacob back to this place, back into my life that has changed so drastically since he left I hardly recognize myself, let alone anyone else.

Seconds later, Ben stepped into the shower, naked, gloriously beautiful with his tattoos in contrast to his pale skin, and put his arms out, stepping under the spray, shielding me from the needle-sharp barbs of hot water.

Ben, what if I told you Jacob was still alive?

Then bring it on, Princess, because you talk in your sleep and I already know how this will go down.

Rambling through my nightmares, unconscious and fearful, it never occurred to me even once that they are still conducted out loud.

Promise me you'll always remember you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

~Christopher Robin to Pooh

Benposta and the curse of touching Cole's girl.

Tomorrow.

(Ohnoyetpleaseinsuchagoodmood)

Hit like a ton of goddamn bricks because I have things to do. Five loads of laundry. The house is a mess. The children are battered, fried and done and Ben is back on track after yet another magnificent stab at falling apart and failing. Because that's what he does when things go wrong and Bridget was doing terrific, all things considered and then some fucking idiot asked me what the date was and I looked at my blackberry and the world stripped away, the sky peeling back from it's neat edges, trees sucking back into the ground, a layer of dust settling over what remained, with black crowding in where the blue once was.

October 24th is tomorrow.

And I've already got a run-date and a lunch-date and a gallery-date and a movie-date. And that's just tomorrow! The week has been filled up, appointments and plans made and cross-checked and coordinated because last year we cleared the week and I didn't manage so well, but that was the first one. This is the second and so that makes me a veteran of enduring the Hard Days of anniversaries where bad things happen out of the blue. Like Jacob leaving, the week before he jumped from a high building because he was a magnificent fucking hypocrite and a coward.

Nothing brought more clarity to me than going into that house and seeing the shrine of a bedroom and sitting down to hot soup for lunch and knowing that I was still here, living, breathing, laughing, crying and where is Jacob? Locked in a concrete room in my insane little head because I don't know what to do with him and whatever is left of his ashes in the box which didn't wind up in the ductwork of my house isn't him so that doesn't even count and there's a marker by the ocean at the house but that doesn't count either so he's just trapped where I can hold his memories and none of them will leak out and they are safe but dammit, I'm the one enjoying his mother's soup and homemade bread and asking her about her garden and taking her to have a girlie day with Ruth at the hairdresser.

He shouldn't have left but he did and I can't help that. I can only help the big firecracking idiot Benjamin who threatened to take a drink every second we were there until Jacob's father got a hold of him. I don't know what was said but Ben came out of that day white as a sheet and on his best, and he renewed his position with a fortification that he must have checked out of the library because you certainly can't buy the sudden resolve that he was drenched in any more than Lochlan thinks he can charm the universe into presuming that he is the one running this circus.

You aren't paying attention. I run it. It's my show and I finance it with money from my brother in law that I get in exchange for things you don't want to know about. I know no one is thrilled I'm going back to work for someone I repeatedly have to unleash my lawyers on, but that's all part of the game and the game is maybe something I play because self-preservation is all or nothing, same as it is for Benny. There are no more secrets. There is nothing left to do with my love except to swing it around overhand and see who I can clock with it. I knocked Ben right out, apparently and he's been seeing stars ever since. But he hung on, down to the minute-by-minute and managed to white-knuckle Lochlan's bullshit and Caleb's smug ruggedness and he came home straight and narrow and incredibly upright, where he sagged into Nolan's arms at the airport and then I found out how afraid Ben is that every time the circus passes a Hard Day mark he waits for me to upend the tent and run off with some other clown. Because I've done it. Because I've ruined everything before. His solution is to make everyone hate him while he dies of fear.

As you can imagine, it's not very productive and almost assuredly counterproductive but Ben is Ben and he is slow to change.

JUST like BRIDGET.

There never seems to be anything BUT change anymore and we're attempting to force routine and permanence and we get burned repeatedly. Ever seen a circus tent go up in flames? I have. It goes up fast and it burns so hot. Permanence has come whether we rushed it or not. Routine will follow. Ben is planning to get a vacation loan to hang on to this library-borrowed strength until he can find some more ways to keep it going and me, well, I'm back in town so the circus is once again on.

All day, every day, half-price on weekends.