Potatoes are starchy gold. Fight me.

Right in my face and I didn't even see him come out. He put his hands on the arms of the patio chair I was curled up in, brought his head down until we were nose to nose and smiled bitterly at me. 

You can't..stop me from loving you. That's what my life is devoted to, Neamhchiontach. 

Then Caleb pushed off from the arms of my chair and walked quickly back inside. 

Tell us how you really feel. Lochlan yells toward the house with the chuckle and I shoot him a look that shuts him up. We're no longer allowed to bully or roast anyone when they're struggling, no matter with what. 

Peanut-

That counts and now you need to apologize. 

If I go chasing after him he's going to think I'm just being possessive and he's going to go on the defensive. 

Then text him. 

Fine. Lochlan studies his phone for a minute, sends a message and then tosses his phone on the table. 

Better, Princess?

Oh, you're in a mood tonight. 

The Devil just came outside and tried to ruffle our feathers and you want me to not be in a mood?

Right. I don't. 

The next thing you say better not be that he's harmless. 

I shake my head. It wasn't going to be. We know that better than anyone. I just want to change the subject. 

You just want to live on your potato farm by the sea. 

I do. 

That's a wonderful goal, Bridgie. I wouldn't have expected it from you. 

What did you expect? 

I figured you would get stars in your eyes from all of the trips and gifts and I'd become the brunt of jokes for a completely different reason than he has.

I still get the gifts and the trips and the stars though.

Yeah, not sure how you pulled that one off. 

I learned from a master thief. 

That's grifter. I just take opportunities. Not stuff. 

Is it diff-

It is. 

Honest? It's boring.

A huge victory for me in that I've earned another three months at my current dosages, as it's working and it's 90% miracle, 10% doubt at this point but also my doctors are loathe to fuck with it, lest it trigger a return of the narcolepsy. Mine comes and goes depending on the rest I do get, stress levels and of course medication and so I try and manage it but it still gets the best of me and I'll have several months of fighting just to get through a sentence and then other times I feel like I could make it through the week without a single bout, but since it's a lifelong chronic condition I'm happy just to keep it quashed as far down as I can and no one wants to wake the beast, so yay? 

Yay. 

(Because I won't take those drugs. they've tried but I'd rather fall asleep than run at a million miles an hour.)

I was gifted a three-month bottle of pills and now I'm good.These ones keep me from being nervous about every little thing and they keep me from finding my ghosts. I'm pretty sure those two things are closely related but what isn't? In any case it's really nice to watch Lochlan take good care of me. We cook for everyone, we spend a lot of time checking for the first signs of life in the garden, we beachcomb for hours at a time. I am not allowed on my computer, someone opens a window for me. No email, no news anymore, no nothing. It's lovely. I paint and I sculpt and I take a lot of long walks, some fast, some slow, I keep my hands to myself, stay wedged in between Ben and Lochlan most of the time now and I feel like maybe that's why Jake isn't around right now, because he doesn't have to watch over me because I've stopped running. Stopped letting the Devil love me, stopped looking for Jake or Cole, stopped crying, stopped feeling, stopped breathing so hard, stopped wishing I could go at least halfway but not the whole way (just enough to see), stopped being Hard To Manage. 

Lochlan's having a good vacation. I am easier. Things are great. 

The problem is, and this is what I keep telling everyone, it's not default. This isn't the way things are or they would already be this way. This is my artificial pharmaceutical dreamscape and it ends when I get to the bottom of the bottle or whenever they change the dose and I won't even remember to care that I was busy looking for Jake before they distracted me with these pills. At least I can do that now. Care, not look, I mean.

But the boys deserve a break and so I'm trying to give it to them. 

And I am no longer unique or special.  

Fuck me.

Rain drops and last rites.

This morning I am ticking off my list. I fixed the Keurig. I fixed the CD changer in the vintage Jeep. I fixed the vacuum and I fixed my face a little. We went for a walk and saw a dead robin. She was pale and powerless, just off the walking path way up the hill on the school road. I wanted to collect her and give her a proper safe burial underneath the hemlocks where the roses grow unchecked but Lochlan wouldn't let me touch her. I'll go back later when he is busy and I'll wrap her in the Chanel scarf I hate and she can be buried it in. She deserves better than to be left at the side of the road.

The rain stopped but it won't be replaced by the sun. The landscapers were here to drop off a fresh mountain of soil for the gardens and I'm really not sure if I should get out my gloves and shovels or run to the store and get some toy trucks so we can play in it first. Maybe both. Play and then work, which is never how I do a thing, now, is it?

We're going to cook tonight. The weekend is over. Cinderella turns back into a mouse or however it was that that works and routine returns to the point after a brief respite from everything. My medication is being doubled, starting this week and I may miss it all anyway.

We ate outside tonight. First patio dinner of the season. I did not find all the chairs yet.

Sunday night and I'm sitting on Lochlan's knee at the corner of the big glass patio table eating nachos from our favourite Mexican restaurant with extra jalapenos, licking my iodine-stained* fingers and reading guitar reviews out loud from the musical instrument shop we frequent. 

My favourite was for a Jimmy Page edition double-necked epiphone: 

Pros: Stairway!!

Cons: This is heavy!

(Most people try to sound cool or nonchalant when they're writing reviews. This was the first one that was just straight-up honest.)

(*I lost a fight I didn't know I was in, against some surprisingly sharp picture-frame glass from the early eigthies. Almost severed my damn fingers.)

Tiny lessons.

Dear Future Self: Always check and make sure your locking nut key is in your Jeep when you leave a repair shop. Fate woke me at three am and I tossed and turned and woke up at six and went out to check and SURE ENOUGH it wasn't there. 

Big Sigh. 

Called the shop and they had it (a BLESSED MIRACLE, I SAY) and so I took another vehicle in for service when I picked it up, this time in and out in a cool thirty-five minutes and now I've paid my dues to the universe and I'm fucking done for the week. The madness continues but the will does not. It's time to watch some horror movies and rest a little. It's Friday, Bitches and I did more before ten this morning than most people do in a month. 

(Yes, I checked the other truck for the key before I left the lot. HAHAHA I'm not STUPID, right?)

Texas Chainsaw weekend for me. Bye.

Just. Well, look at the 'character' properties first. Those are always the best ones.

Yesterday was an even MORE wild ride that began with sex and groceries with Ben (in THAT order, no less) and then I don't think I actually was on the point until three in the afternoon again as I had a sudden burst of manic energy that saw me tick off a bunch of languishing appointments and chores that I was ignoring thus far. I still have a few left but those will play out over the next few weeks, and that's fine. The doctor returns on Tuesday and this morning was my first massive anxiety wake-up, as it's always worst on the way to sleep and first thing and then the courage comes with the dawn. When I jumped on the scale the scale told me my heart rate was 170 and I believed it. A second try registered 74 so that's probably more accurate but I do feel like I can let today cave in because I was Productive yesterday and that's all people care about. 

Also stop tightening your fucking OIL CAPS SO TIGHT THEY BREAK. That alone added over an hour to my trials of Wednesday the twenty-third of March. FFS. It's not hard. Also the replacement better be metal or I'm going to be pissed off again. 

Today I get to Netflix and laundry. Tonight is steak stir-fry on rice with peppers and onions. In the meantime I am waiting for Henry to wake up (he's in his final two weeks of fine-tuning his graduation project wtffffffff) and browsing Purplebricks for my next house. Purplebricks is a huge time suck in my life right now, I spend hours looking at listings. 

And I'm going to try to go back to posting every day. I have the go-ahead. Everyone's super happy with my 'progress' or something, as apparently my personality before was too much or too stressful.

This makes me sad.

Drama in real life.

Yesterday was a wild ride. Did I tell you I broke my toe? Dropped my phone on it and boom, now it's black and purple and it looks a little like it's been lying on Mount Everest for a few decades and I'm so fascinated I keep showing everyone. They tell me not to drop my phone. Uh. Okay, right. Will do. 

Hopefully it will be back to it's normal colour soon or I will arrange a service at base camp for it, I guess. 

I have nine other toes, right? yes, of course I do but the smallest ones are the runts and they are fairly useless and also hilariously misshapen. Everything is micro on me. Especially my hands and feet. So I'm surprised my phone didn't miss by a mile but nope, toe-smash city. 

In other news I also witnessed a crime this week. Fun! Especially since it was something in my own neighbourhood and while minor, it was completely unnecessary and glaringly obvious to the point where I do believe the world has lost it's collective mind, and also yes, I made a report and now get to wait and see if anything plays out. 

I hate that but I also know who did it and don't plan to let them get away with it because they're fucking batshit and they need to learn a lesson here. 

God. Just do the right thing. It's not hard, people. I can figure that out and I only presently have nine useful toes! 

I will provide updates soon if anything comes of it all. 

Happy Ostara.

I climbed out of my fog yesterday and had a great day. I played in the muddy gardens, went through three pairs of garden gloves, put out and set up two hoses, helped prune and stack grapevines in the vineyard, unwrapped and pruned the tiny olive trees, marveled at the buds on the cherry and pear trees and counted all the buds on the rosebushes and tearoses. The bee balm is multiplying already, the larkspur has come up along with the poppies and the ivy seems lush and plush again suddenly. The Japanese maples have huge buds and the grass is even coming back, at last, though slowly. We cleaned up for around two hours en mass and then ended the day with a feast of Chinese food and television. We finished Lucifer. We made plans to finish Lost in Space and then begin the new season of Ozark. We enjoyed the sun on our faces and the good back pain that comes from hard physical work and we look forward to getting the garden planted and underway soon.

The wedding plans tick along too. This week we have a couple of things to do, namely Ruthie's dress fitting for alterations and possibly shopping for shirts for the men. She's requested an unusual colour scheme and yet it's extremely flattering to the skin tones among us so no problems there. She is the furthest thing from a bridezilla but she also has a tiny vision in mind and we intend to make it happen for her. I'm excited. So excited but also loving coasting on the decided lack of anxiety. It's great. When it's not a pure fog it's absolutely great and working. 

Winter is done. Just when I gave up on hating the darkness at four in the afternoon and the endless damp cold, it's done. Again. I love it. I'm looking forward to Easter and my birthday, and the wedding. 

And we're having slow lake-Jesus today because coffee at a lake in the mountains is better than coffee in church. A million times better. Sorry Sam (he doesn't blame us truth be told).

Maybe coffee would he- no, it probably wouldn't. You're right.

I feel like a dull pencil. Too blunt to write purposefully but still good enough that eventually I will be sharper and in the meantime no one is going to throw me away. But a hopeful pencil, with stories and dreams I want to write but I just can't because I am too rounded to use. Too dull to be able to put to paper any of the words I thought I had, blurred by the moment and now I forget. 

I am pushing through. Maybe it will get better? Maybe not. Who the hell knows? This the halfway point of the whole trial of it anyway so we shall see. 

*yawns* 

Christ.

Recycled.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Our Padraig is having a wonderful time. He's almost already drunk. He's had three meals and it's only two in the afternoon and the rain is pouring down so hard and that, coupled with the three-degree wind and darkness has made us cancel our plans to go and carouse about town tonight to celebrate being Irish as only a few of us actually are. 

Kidding. We had zero plans to carouse, as it were. 

I am busy throwing mugs anyway. Not throwing them on the wheel, actually throwing them. At the fence, which is cathartic as nothing I have ever seen before except then I have to go and pick all the shards up and put them in the recycling clay bucket and make them back into clay. As long as they haven't been glazed you can do that and apparently I am the QUEEN of weak handles on cups, which shrink and crack a month later and ugh, the learning process coupled with my OCD-perfectionism (DIAGNOSED, in case you're easily annoyed) is just about ruining this whole thing. I ground the edges down with a file and now it's a drinking VESSEL, just not a MUG. 

It's fine, everything's fine. 

*picks up shards*

I get to start drinking at five. 

As soon as you've eaten, says my minder. He makes the rules, I follow them. 

*throws perfectly good mug this time, just for emphasis on the 'follow' part.*