We celebrated Ben's birthday last weekend, on Sunday, not Saturday because he was working downtown and couldn't extricate so at the last minute we moved the whole thing to the next day and had a lovely celebration. This was part of my Saturday-frustration but I wasn't about to blame him for anything other than being a workaholic.
He is forty-seven now and does not want to be detailed here day-to-day. He's mellowing and would sometimes like to fade into obscurity and sometimes not. It varies depending on his moods but he is happy, healthy, loved his presents and his speeches too and ate almost half the cake in one go. I make two now, since one is never enough, but that's probably too much. He's as mercurial as anyone and worse when he doubles-down on a project. I can't pull him away and we both wind up irritated by just about everything. Him by my whining, and me by his endless working.
***
Ransom. Architect. Here doing some work on the house because apparently it's not good enough so they're doing so major renovations. Like, MAJOR ones. Last time I checked it was my house but even Lochlan (you thought I was annoyed you should see him) pointed out my standards end at a 100-foot-square camper and I can't see past the end of my nose to understand things like flow and usable space and multipurpose areas. That I settle for nothing and am too happy about it. That I should try harder to live the way I want to live and not the way I remember it.
This is total bullshit. Someone just wanted to throw my OCD into overdrive because it's not bad enough. Let's just rip the side of the house off and have crews in here all through the holidays.
But that's not the point. The point is that every morning now when I come downstairs Handsome-Ransom is in my kitchen looking at plans with the boys and he'll look up and greet me with much attention. We grin at each other and he'll watch me go and pour my coffee to the point that he usually has to be prompted to return to his conversation.
Just what I need. Another man.
***
Caleb just bankrolls whatever they want as long as they frame it being for my benefit.
This will give you a little more privacy.
I'm fine.
Neamhchiontach-
I said I was fine. (Just don't look too closely, large parts have been blown clean off.)
He sighs. Where's Ben?
Good question!
You're more than welcome to stay here while the work is completed if you'd like the quiet or if you're having issues with Ben-
Who said I was having issues?! FUCK.
Ben's right. Your ire ranges from white-hot rage to insolent emotional immaturity.
I'm...emotionally immature?
Very. Yes.
Do you know how that comes to be?
Bridget-
No, really. Do you? Because my brand of it comes from trauma at a young age. Do you remember what that was, Diabhal?
Shocked into silence, he turns and leaves the room. The conversation is over. I need to go find Ben anyway to find out who authorized them wrecking this stupid house to try and make it better. The only way we could make it better would be to fix the people who live in it. Namely me.
He is forty-seven now and does not want to be detailed here day-to-day. He's mellowing and would sometimes like to fade into obscurity and sometimes not. It varies depending on his moods but he is happy, healthy, loved his presents and his speeches too and ate almost half the cake in one go. I make two now, since one is never enough, but that's probably too much. He's as mercurial as anyone and worse when he doubles-down on a project. I can't pull him away and we both wind up irritated by just about everything. Him by my whining, and me by his endless working.
***
Ransom. Architect. Here doing some work on the house because apparently it's not good enough so they're doing so major renovations. Like, MAJOR ones. Last time I checked it was my house but even Lochlan (you thought I was annoyed you should see him) pointed out my standards end at a 100-foot-square camper and I can't see past the end of my nose to understand things like flow and usable space and multipurpose areas. That I settle for nothing and am too happy about it. That I should try harder to live the way I want to live and not the way I remember it.
This is total bullshit. Someone just wanted to throw my OCD into overdrive because it's not bad enough. Let's just rip the side of the house off and have crews in here all through the holidays.
But that's not the point. The point is that every morning now when I come downstairs Handsome-Ransom is in my kitchen looking at plans with the boys and he'll look up and greet me with much attention. We grin at each other and he'll watch me go and pour my coffee to the point that he usually has to be prompted to return to his conversation.
Just what I need. Another man.
***
Caleb just bankrolls whatever they want as long as they frame it being for my benefit.
This will give you a little more privacy.
I'm fine.
Neamhchiontach-
I said I was fine. (Just don't look too closely, large parts have been blown clean off.)
He sighs. Where's Ben?
Good question!
You're more than welcome to stay here while the work is completed if you'd like the quiet or if you're having issues with Ben-
Who said I was having issues?! FUCK.
Ben's right. Your ire ranges from white-hot rage to insolent emotional immaturity.
I'm...emotionally immature?
Very. Yes.
Do you know how that comes to be?
Bridget-
No, really. Do you? Because my brand of it comes from trauma at a young age. Do you remember what that was, Diabhal?
Shocked into silence, he turns and leaves the room. The conversation is over. I need to go find Ben anyway to find out who authorized them wrecking this stupid house to try and make it better. The only way we could make it better would be to fix the people who live in it. Namely me.