One breath apart.

I woke up with a start in the still-dark hours, time granting me one more hour of my own misery within which to drown, hands stretched out to help me pushed away by the sheer weight of the memories pressing in like waves, their cold tendrils of thoughts unfinished washing over my skin. 

Lochlan is standing in the doorway with a single cupcake, lit with a lone birthday candle. 

Wish the fucker a happy birthday and let's get on with our goddamned lives. 

He brings me the cake and I blow the candle out, carefully. Then he takes the candle out and we divide the cupcake in half, eating it for breakfast, leaving crumbs in our bed. He kisses me before I am finished and I laugh but it ends in a sob and suddenly I can't speak. 

Here's to the fifty-one you didn't get, Preacherman, Lochlan says spitefully, stretching out on his back to look at the ceiling while I finish my half. I nod to myself in the dark. Jacob's fifties would have been incredible as he finally got the respect he wanted so badly in his thirties but between his good lucks and unconventional ministering style it was hard for people to take him seriously, though once you knew him it was exceeding easy to balance him on a pedestal so high you could no longer see him for the reach, and then for the sun. 

I figured out why you're stuck, Peanut. I am finished my cake now, licking my fingers and thinking about ghosts who take up so much space in my life even filling it the way I have still leaves these wide open spaces and they're all holes, today. 

Why is that? My hands are beginning to shake. 

Because. Lochlan leans toward me, leaning on one elbow. He is the only man who ever fucked up your life and never came back to try and fix it.

I am surprised. He's not wrong. Lochlan came back, making sure he always had a hand in my life, that I've never been too far out of reach, Caleb came back to try and atone for his sins, and Ben changed every single face of his entire existence in order to be who I needed him to be.  

But Jacob just left. It's the biggest betrayal of all and I don't know what to do with it. 

Jacob leans in and whispers in my ear. He just wants to look good and make me look bad by default. 

And I laugh and choke on icing and tears as a shiver runs down my back. 

He's not wrong either. 

Too bad he doesn't get a say anymore.

My grief is a teenager now (Part I).

I'm unstoppable
I'm a princess with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today
Unstoppable today
I'm unstoppable to-

I was picking out notes and trying to sing. I think I'm so brave but then I can't finish it. I can't hear it anymore. I can't believe it's been fourteen years and even though I've promised everyone including Jacob that I won't mark it as an anniversary anymore my blood is electric in my veins. My head is pounding in time with my heart and I will go to my own grave in absolute awe that Jacob chose nothing over everything. That leaving his life unlived would be better than living it with us. That his decision was the best he could make for everyone involved and that I wasn't worth it. I know damn well Henry would have been worth it but we had such big doubts and it seemed so unlikely and-

I know. I promised. 

So did he though and look where I am now. 

I look around. The note has long since ended and I'm still holding the key down. I let go and turn to look at Ben, dozing in a chair, head in hand. Coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him. I abruptly jump up and run. Through the living room, down the steps, out the patio doors and across the lawn. 

I hear shouts and I try and speed up. Ben is no longer faster than me but the rest still are. The grass starts to dip now into the slight incline and I am twenty feet from the edge, ready for the rush of flying without dying and then I hear a new note in the din of voices. 

MOM! 

And I stop in my tracks and turn around just in time to see Henry running for me and just in time for Caleb (in the lead) to crash into me so hard we both go down in the grass. 

Fuck. You stopped so fast, Bridget. Oh my God. 

My teeth feel loose. My nose is bleeding and he's got me in a sudden vice grip as he pulls us both back up and Henry is there and suddenly I have to answer to this beautiful child who deserves more than he ever got from both of his parents. 

Mom. You can't do this. 

Swim with me. I need to. I just need the cold. I need to touch the clouds.

It's five degrees. 

Just come with me. Just once. Please.

He stares at me, Jacob's expressions in his face. The same annoyed surprise. The same impatience. The same kind and generous understanding. 

Only once, Mom. 

That's all I need, Henry Jacob. I wipe the back of my good hand across my nose, leaving a streak of red.

On three, then, and he took my hand, wiping off the blood, then gripping it tight and counting.

(I was an impossible case.)

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know

The name of the game

 

I am fielding a lot of early questions about the track listing on the new ABBA album. I don't know if I know any producers who usually strongarm an idea or a theme, do I? I do and I'm not naming names but HEY, did you know there's ALSO a new Slipknot song out today? Right! There is and it's a barnburner of a song so there you go. SO MUCH NEW MUSIC. Don't ask me any more questions. It doesn't matter who I know or who you know, the point is, we're all in this together. 

(My favorite ABBA song is not actually Gimme Gimme Gimme (A man after midnight). Sorry. It's the The Name of the Game. It's the closest kin to any Fleetwood Mac that I was literally weaned on. Angeleyes. Knowing me knowing you (God, That one HURTTTTTS so good.))

But yeah. Thanks for the comments. You're all great.Who doesn't love ABBA and want to bend over backwards to help bring them full circle here? 

***

Fun fact: Jacob's favourite ABBA song was She's My Kind of Girl. It's so Beatles. No one ever was surprised by that. Hardly anyone knows that song though.

***

Also I don't know but these drugs are just perfectly balanced and Bridget's on a cloud. A good cloud, not a black one. Not under it, on it. Not too cold, not too soft. Not too high. Goldie, Loch's. Ha. Okay, that one's debatable, but let's just say the hole is all the way across the room and I haven't fallen in it. Maybe they just needed to give Lochlan a little more credit and a little more time to prepare. By them I mean me, of course.

Over (size).

We are snuggled in the great room this morning in front of a roaring fire. I can't get warm, it seems, though we have the heavy blanket around us and hot tea. Coffee was over hours ago. It usually flows seamlessly into Lochlan's tea time though so don't worry.

We're reading gift idea lists for the people in your life. They are everywhere on the internet. Just everywhere. And they are so, so bad. It's like they were written by an AI that was tasked with learning about humans via adventure books from the early twentieth century.

For example, suggestions that appear near-constantly on every list for men between the ages of birth and oh, a hundred and fifty years are whiskey stones, an axe, a cheap pocket knife in a case with a handy belt loop and field notes, with a space pen. Sometimes drones, woolen scarves and a plasma lighter appear. A moka pot. A backgammon game, but for travel.

It seems the robots think men are huntsmen. Highly literate ones, at that.

It's okay though. Every list for women in her....ah...middle ages includes a watering can and an electric milk frother. A shimmery scarf with butterflies and an icing-decorating set, but in timeless stainless steel.

It's all so.. tone deaf. And I can't tell you exactly how many whiskey stones we own, for a house that's fully half in recovery, but apparently also filled with generic huntsmen, but there are a lot. Like mountains of them.

***

(Want to know what men really want for Christmas?? 

No, Jesus H. Not that. I mean for gifts. That they can open. In mixed comp- FINE, in front of their grandparents. 

A blanket. The next year a snugglie. Then an Oodie the year after that. Something large, warm and very soft and comfortable. Something they can burrito in. 

These are what they love. I promise. And they must have several different kinds of warm and cozy for different activities so that's why this will serve you for years.)

In Lumine Luce.

Right across my throat, a beautiful necklace with tiny glowing golden letters set in enamel? Ceramic. Gold chain. An early, singular Christmas present, and I struggle with my latin. 

Shine with knowing? 

Shine in the light, Peanut. 

I knew I heard the phrase before. A kiss on the nose after he said it and I was in the spotlight, high up in the centre of the big top, as I swung across to my platform to wait for him to come to me and we would perform our aerial routine for eleven very long minutes (for us) and in a blink (for the audience). 

I smile. I remember the gut feeling just before and then when he said that suddenly the light made that feeling go away, and all I could feel was his warmth. And then for real as he grabbed my arms as I abandoned my trapeze and I never heard the gasps, never saw the wonder and disbelief even as we did the pretend miss and he would go to one hand. He would have held on to my bone, leaving marks in the smooth whiteness. I never once thought I was in danger. Now I see that I was naive. Now I know I can never perform again. It feels like my hand will never be strong again and that's a new sort of grief, even as I made my peace with my age, responsibilities, centre of gravity and life choices. I knew I could still do the routine, however, and suddenly I'm aware that I can't. 

I love it. I breathe. I can have this memory forever. It's not going to fade. It's not going to be forced from my brain for my own good. It's not going to be twisted or ruined by time. 

I love you, he says in return with the same urgency. Forever and ever, Peanut.

A movie of convenience.

Right this minute things are okay.

I finished my wine last night. PJ made it into a sangria for me since it no longer tasted good and was room temperature when I like my drinks icy-cold. I watched Hustlers, and am a little stunned by it today. How simulated sex and a few pasties got an R-rating. Maybe it was the drugs? Maybe the swearing? I don't know. I didn't think it deserved an R unless you're a kneejerk conservative but then why would you be watching a movie about strippers, drugs and crime? 

I was impressed by Jennifer Lopez though. She was FIERCE. I was gobsmacked by all the girls insistence on not relying on anyone else only to be ruined the minute the industry dried up as they had used their independence seemingly only to buy big apartments, canvas Gucci bags and Louboutins. 

Which had the sugar baby in me screaming at the screen, Jesus Christ. 

(I have those things. Louboutins are overrated and uncomfortable. Coated-canvas bags are crap and I know they're one-season bags and aren't supposed to last years but for the prices they fucking should. Big-city apartments aren't worth it, trust me and goddamn, women, if you want to be independent, invest.)

It was miserable. They also seemed to have people on tap to look after their children twenty-four-seven. Also, men aren't that stupid and bartenders aren't that blind. So the montage of drugging the drinks of the guys wouldn't have even been a thing, considering they went to the same bar over and over. 

Maybe they took liberties in the name of entertainment but honestly I guess I liked the slow-motion shots of J-Lo entering every room and not a lot else. I find it hard to believe that it's a true story because the only thing truthful about it was that men will pay a lot for company, in the end. For example right now, I am writing this and Caleb thinks I am writing him an email, with links, for my Christmas list. 

(Okay, maybe men are a little naive but not to the extent they were in that movie and before you say Bridget you wouldn't know, trust me. I danced. It was brief but I fucking know. Being a sugar baby is much preferred, though actually not a whole lot different in the end. You're still purchased company, but at least the faces are always the same.)

Liars and leaves.

There's around four hours left of sunshine in our universe until probably June and SAD has hit me in the face, knocking me to the ground, yelling stay down as I try and struggle back to my feet. I have finished Christmas shopping (BE JEALOUS) and put away all of the Halloween decorations. I won't get the Christmas decorations out until December first because otherwise I resent them long before the year turns over into a new one so I no longer plan it out for the minute Remembrance Day has been observed and tucked away. 

We finished the garden cleanups just after lunch, a task that would have been so much faster if not for Lochlan and Caleb attempting to gang up on PJ who was letting me do stuff too. I was digging out leaves from around the plants and cleaning up beds and pulling out dead canes and weeds as I went. He said it saved his back. It didn't save mine, and I was glad to stand up and stretch and he would move in with the rake. The big garden now has a fresh cover of leaves for winter and the rest is fine. We wrapped the delicate lime and olive trees. We don't worry about anything else. 

When they started shouting PJ waited until they were finished and then pointed out She sleeps better when she's been outside DOING THINGS and they didn't know what to say to that. 

My cast is rigid. I can do stuff. It's like having a flat shovel on one side with my fingers poking out the top and my thumb in it's resting bitch place in a separate hole. Kind of stupid if you ask me but the design mimics a hand at rest. 

(It'll be EIGHT WEEKS TOMORROW PLEASE SOMEONE COME TAKE THIS OFF)

So he, of many broken bones in the past, knows exactly what I can and what I can't do and when he figured I was completely worn out, jacket off, sweaty t-shirt, red-faced and filthy he declared we were finished. We even did the front up by the gate and everything. There's only a few leaves left to come down and we'll let them and I came in, stripped by the back door and went upstairs for fresh clothes, choosing a fleece one-piece number with bear-ears that I somewhat live in now that it's cold. Ben said it made my ass look cute. Lochlan laughed and said what ass? but then tried to make up for it as he is right, I have nothing back there, and I remarked that he needed a matching one and then I could tease him as they aren't supposed to be flattering. It's literally a bear costume. 

And then Netflix sent me an email and asked me if I wanted to see a movie I searched for a couple of months ago. Hustlers with Jennifer Lopez. I do, actually, thanks Netflix. That can be my rainy afternoon rest. I earned it! I earned the martini that's going to go with it! THREE OLIVES THIS TIME, PADRAIG.

Pacific Ghost Trail.

We did indeed drive out into the valley to our super-secret stargazing location, discovered by accident on a drive a few Christmases ago. We were at kp4 heading to a lovely 5 or 6 number and all signs seemed good but then by the time we got there everything shifted away back towards the East, dropped to a solid, unyielding 3 and we knew the night was a dud. 

But was it? I danced down a dirt road in the starlight. We stopped for late-night burgers and fries on the way home and we had a good time, out after dark, which seems like such a rare occasion these days. 

Everyone is still asleep this morning even though it's Halloween-day. 

There are leaves to rake. But instead I took the dog for a long way and then warmed up a muffin and had another cup of coffee under the watchful eyes of PJ who is fulfilling his initials this morning, still in pajama pants and his favourite Opeth t-shirt and he swears he's only on watch until Lochlan wakes up and then he's going back to bed.

Niche Bees.

 I slept last night despite the vague stomach ache from half a jar of smoked olives. Or maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was Lochlan's incredibly dark and beautiful acoustic rendition of Kryptonite on the front porch long after dark. 

You called me strong, you called me weak
But still your secrets, I will keep
You took for granted all the times, I never let you down
You stumbled in and bumped your head
If not for me then you'd be dead
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground

 

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there and holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might
Kryptonite

 

Today we're going to harvest the seeds from the pumpkins we haven't given away and we're going to drive way out into the valley tonight where it's dark to see if we can see the Aurora. It's been so long since I've seen them with my own eyes. I need a miracle and they seem like a good choice.

Okay. That's it. Last round of doctors and surgeries and bullshit and we're down to a week or two of meds and a few days of healing. PJ and I walked in with relief and the weight of a thousand hearts on us seemingly all at once and we had a shot of vodka each and then he made a chart for pills and I had a very fast cry and then pulled my shit together, onwards and upwards. 

I didn't even sleep for five minutes last night so I'm glad this is behind us now and we can heal our patient and get rolling again on life. This weekend is Halloween. The Aurora Borealis are going to be visible and it's supposed to be clear skies besides! Jacob's birthday is coming up but I don't feel stressed about that at all, maybe the distraction was good even though I would wish it on no one, not even Caleb and this is a strange life indeed. 

PJ's put a plate of smoked olives, cheese and crackers in front of me since I wouldn't eat breakfast and then I'm going to go out and rake some more leaves. I got some really great blister bandages and have good vodka so it's a celebration of sorts, I guess, maybe, as we are that pathetic and that grateful, today.