Not long.

I was digging out rubbermaid bins from the storage room yesterday. The storage room sort of doubles as the control center of the house. The alarm box is there, the modem, router and printer all live in there and if you keep walking (it's very narrow), at the back of the room I have neatly stored holiday decorations in bins as well as a good stack of moving boxes (Lochlan conjured up a nomad in me I can't seem to get rid of) and an entire bureau full of DVD and Blu Rays. Or is it Bluerays? I don't know, I'm not down there to look.

Anyway. I was backing out of the room with a bin in my arms and managed to smash into the alarm box with my right shoulder. It hurts something awful now, I have the biggest most colorful bruise and I'm pretty sure it chipped a bone, which means I have an orphan unattached bone shard floating around under my skin that will probably work its way around and stab me in a vital organ.

I was telling Lochlan about it when he asked how I got the bruise. I have no filter, I ended with a dramatic reenactment and death scene and everything.

How do you even come up with this stuff? 

Well, what if it does? 

I'm sure you'll know if that happens. 

Well, I had a bit of a headache earlier so I think it's going straight for my brain. If that's its master plan just know that I love you. 

Midweek Jesus (Because Sam was adamant that I not call this entry 'Hump Jesus')

Did Christmas change or just me?

We spent the morning decorating the church. Sam humored me and let me put the radio on over the PA, which meant I turned it to 105.3 FM, which is Vancouver's all-Christmas station. Deep and Crisp and Even, indeed. Eighty full percent of the time it'll make your ears bleed. But twenty percent of the time you'll be knocked off your feet by Elvis or Frank Sinatra or someone really good so when Ali & Theo came on, I begged Sam to give me the other mic and we could karaoke our way through trimming the tree.

And by golly, he was game. 

(He does a good Ali to my Theo, that's for sure. Then Kelly Clarkson came on and he just TOOK THE FUCK OVER. Go Sam!)

It made short work of the rest of the boxes. Singing does that. He was also game to chuck the remaining multicolored trashed decorations from years past and buy all white decorations with the modest holiday budget increase he got from head office this year.So everything is red and white, rustic and understated and woodsy and beautiful.

He had to rip the microphone out of my hand though, as usual I will tell you I freaking hate karaoke and then close the place down.

Now I get to decorate the point. I've got the all-clear. December starts on Friday, after all.

Places you didn't think you'd miss so much, but you do. Like people.

The best cup of coffee I've ever had in my life came from a little hole in the wall place called Vietnam Village in Corydon Village proper,  just up from Daly Burgers, a place we adored but tonight was a date night, just the two of us.

We ate our meal and then the coffee was made and brought to the table to brew. In a few moments the owner came back and showed me how to place the filter upside to one side and give the coffee a stir, as he had poured a layer of condensed milk into the glass before placing the drip on it.

It wasn't as sweet as you might think, only rich and wonderful. I think I'd have a future as a bulletproof coffee fan, if only not for this amazing creation that outclassed butter-stirred coffee by an easy mile.

I think it was as much the surroundings as anything. It was a hot summer evening and the sweat rolled down my back inside my sundress while Jacob played with his truck keys, watching me. We were the only people in the restaurant, because it was almost too early for dinner, but almost too late for me to be drinking coffee. We people-watched through the window, a breeze from a nearby fan not quite reaching us, until I finished the glass. Jacob went and paid our bill and then we stepped out into the prairie night, as anonymous as the rest of the world, but just as visible too.

The world needs more princesses.

We flew Mark in for the weekend. Daniel and Schuyler got coordinated tattoos. All the way down their forearms in each other's handwriting: Schuyler's says I won't let you down and Daniel's says I will not give you up. They're lines from Freedom! 90, the song by George Michael.

God, they're so adorable it makes me want to cry.

Cue an endless dancefest, because why the heck not?

The lovefest continues today too with Prince Harry and Meghan Markle announcing their engagement. Squee! A royal wedding is on the horizon this spring. I love weddings. The bigger the spectacle the better, though not for me personally. I preferred small intimate ceremonies. Sometimes no ceremonies. But I'm a raging monarchist and I'm SO EXCITED.

You wouldn't think it was a Monday, and no, I didn't get any more tattoos, though Mark touched up a few spots on my knuckle tattoos. He tends to come out about once a year for a vacation and we make him work. He said my knuckle tattoos aren't holding up that well and I reminded him that duh, they're now a year old, plus I do the lion's share of cleaning, cooking and wetwork, as it were. He laughed at the description and pointed out that maybe the lion should do his own share and then he'd still have the honor of having his name inked on my left hand, LOCH, though before Mark arrived it mostly said lu l because that's all that was left. But I am fixed up and reclaimed and ready for my wedding invitation as a citizen of the commonwealth.

Wait, what? I can't go? That's fine. I'll watch it on Youtube and I'll be there with bells on.

Medium, mystical Jesus.

What are my birth cards? 

He's watching me with fascination from his bed. I'm struggling to get dressed under the spotlight. I brought my church clothes with me because I don't want to miss it two weeks in a row. He doesn't mind. He's not making any move to get ready, so far. I fight my stockings, clipping them in a crooked fashion. No one besides Caleb is going to see them anyway and when we get home after lunch I can change.

The Tower and the Chariot, I believe. I'm a bit rusty though. 

And what do they represent for me. 

Sexuality, violence, control. Bravery, danger. 

You're kidding. 

Actually no. I'm not. You are indicative of an unstoppable force. No matter what the obstacle or the cost. 

Jesus. He thinks about it while I button my dress. He thinks some more while I put on my over the knee socks (church is cold) and then while I button my tall boots. He thinks while I put my jewelry back on and when I stand in the doorway waiting for my dismissal.

How do I change my fate then, Neamhchiontach? 

You can't. That was Lochlan's point when I was young.You act outside of it and you'll still come back around. You just fight it until you can't anymore, I guess. 

What does that mean for us? 

There is no us. My fate doesn't include you. 

And I'm gone, running flat out through the rain from the Devil back to God. Back to Sam. Back to Lochlan, who isn't going to church either, I bet. He doesn't go all that often, since the church and Lochlan share a mutual distrust of each other. It's no surprise, as the church has no use for spiritists and they have no use for the church.

Telling fortunes, telling truths.

He turns, checking behind us, always looking over his shoulder. Never believing he isn't going to look just this time only to see the past catching up with us, as it has been stalking us all along. Only by laying down huge swaths of fire has he been able to throw it off, force it back and cover our tracks in the process.

Close your eyes, Bridgie. It's so bright and beautiful, I don't want you to love the flames the way I do. He presses my head tightly against his chest with one hand. I don't want you to see this. 

And I don't look. This is one thing curiosity doesn't try and override, like everything else. I screw my eyes shut tightly and press my face against the flannel of his shirt. I can feel his heart pounding but it's strong. I feel safe. I feel the heat from the flames but I'm not afraid here, in this place with him.

Did she tell you your cards? 

Yes, but I think she lied. 

What are they? 

The Wheel of Fortune and the Magician. 

She didn't lie, Bridgie. 

But you're the magician! 

I am. It's fate, Peanut.  

What is the Wheel for then? 

It means our luck is going to change. Big time. 

I hope it doesn't. I want everything to stay the way it is. 

It can't. 

What are your cards? Did you ask her?

The Star and the Strength.

What do they mean?

It means I witness perfection and resist the urge to improve it. At the same time I have to keep the balance of power  of nature in check. I can't force things or relax them. When I figure out how to combine them I will realize my true self. Or something like that. I'll be lit from within. 

Aren't you already? 

You can see this. I don't know it yet. 

Do you believe her? 

She's just a messenger.

Oh. Well then now what?

We stay close together and live our lives as predestined. 

But can't we change them? Our lives? 

Sure, you can act out of turn or live counter intuitively to your intuition but that isn't a good idea. It's better to stick to your path. It has your name on it. 

But what if I didn't?

Then bad things will happen. Why risk it?

Somewhat fixed.

Did you miss seeing the white, plain blog from last night? Lucky.

Okay. This design is hella minimalist but at least everything works. The sharing buttons are back (! I don't know how) and the header isn't missing, though it's not quite there yet. Patience, people. I have the technological skills of your average newborn. Ruth even gave me some pointers yesterday and then told me to google some tutorials, realizing that she didn't have the kind of time required to teach me everything.

Sigh. I will make it look better eventually but it's readable and that's really the main point here.

Yes, I know the blog is broken.

Stay in the shadows
Cheer at the gallows
This is a round up
This is a low flying panic attack

Oh I fucked up now. In an effort to switch back to Firefox (yes, roll your eyes. He said switch to Chrome, so I switched to Chrome and then he said switch back to Firefox so I switched back because I always wanted to be like the cool kids) I realized my blog looks narrow and outdated (I started it fifteen years ago when 'aesthetic' wasn't a word anyone actually used) and hey, I'm only running a fever of a thousand degrees, sneezing lava on people, and unable to keep anything down or...in, as it were, now's a perfect time to start fucking with HTML.

Did I mention I don't know any HTML?

Right, so I *think* the blog is wider and more pleasant, though it depends on who you ask. If you ask Chrome it's all the way across the page. Ask Firefox? Naw, fam. Ask safari and it's somewhere in between. My header is now missing because I managed to resize it but then couldn't reupload it. Firefox crashed but saved my work so now there's nothing there. Whoops. And I know I checked off to have share buttons for twitter, etc., at the bottom of each post and yes, it's still checked off but are they there? Nope.

And my tech-guy who knows everything about everything won't help me. Why? Oh he's mad that Duncan and I went down to Duncan's den to play Xbox (yes, who DOES run out of Netflix? We did, that's who) and I got very dizzy so I dragged myself to go lie down. I couldn't go far away (Duncan was babysitting, you see and why give the hen to the fox if you're so concerned) and I didn't want to crash in Duncan's room so I picked Dalton's (he wasn't home) (at first) and then Dalton came home, found me fast asleep in his bed, apparently stood there for a good fifteen minutes debating what to do before saying hell, no and going upstairs to get Loch.

Apparently Duncan had gone to his own room to sleep too and Lochlan thought I was with him when confronted with a closed door when he came looking for me, and didn't both checking the next room, where I was. Because that would be too easy.

Yes, I'm still stuck on the fifteen minutes thing too. Debating what? Do I even want to know? These are the things I think about while changing beds, as I pulled maid duty in spite of still being sick. That is the price I was given for borrowing Dalton's bed for the evening. The price I pay though will probably be much higher.

I'll get the header back up when I figure out how. Wish me luck, I think I'll need some today.

Too sick to write anything good today. Was going to put up an interlude of Lochlan juggling fire batons but the compression to Blogger is garbage and I can't figure it out. Maybe tomorrow.

Blah.

Today was a strange departure as I have the flu. But so does Duncan and so we tucked ourselves into warm clothes and watched movies on Netflix all day in the kitchen (oh, don't worry, there's room for  a TV up on the wall, a woodstove, a wraparound couch and three easy chairs in my kitchen and no, that's not the eating area, that's in the big open section between the island and the stairs. That's where the long table is (it seats twenty people). The formal dining room is down the hall between the back staircase, PJ's wing and the foyer. Someday I'll just post the floorplans. It's hard to describe.

This would be called a breakfast nook but it's bigger. There's so much space here. In any case, Duncan kept the woodstove going and we cooked hot chocolate, tea and soup on it while he dozed in between while I (wide awake naturally) managed to clear the entire mending pile in a day.

Then PJ came home. Power out? 

I don't think. I don't know, why? 

You two look Amish. You're sewing and he's cooking on the stove. 

What about the television? Clearly we have power.

Not necessarily. Even the most devout to their belief can be swayed by the magic of Netflix. 

I don't know why you like Netflix so much. Not like there's porn on it. 

Bridget, there's more to my life than porn. 

There is? 

I mean, there could be, if I wanted there to be, I mean.