Can I phone it in this morning and do a solitary karaoke entry instead of publishing my explanation for yesterday's bitterness that is still present? Thanks, I appreciate it ever so much.
Jacob's been singing Circles as he walks around in....circles around the house getting ready this morning and he just belts out the bridge. I love it when he sings, it means he's content or at least not one hundred percent unhappy.
I've lost all that I wanted to leave
I've lost all that I wanted to be
Don't believe that there's nothing that's true
Don't believe in this modern machine
The modern machine
No, I can't phone it in today? Well, don't blame a girl for trying. I almost wrote that I hate to be a tease but that would be a lie, and so to tease you I'm going to go get all my work done first while I wallow in the mood and then hopefully I'll have time to tell you what happened yesterday that left me so bitter. There's a dulled edge (called time) to the sharpness of yesterday's revelations and so it's a bit easier today to process all of it.
Oh and for fucks sakes, if there's a chance in hell that my neighbors who live 3 km east (down along the river beside the pretty tudor-style house with all the ivy on the gate in the summer)read here could you PLEASE stop shovelling down to the concrete, there's just enough film remaining to freeze each night and make your section of the sidewalk a virtual skating rink and I really don't want to be in the snow and the traffic is too heavy for me to move to the street. Or find some salt, sand, kitty litter, anything. There's little room left on my body that isn't bruised now from falling in front of your house.
Or perhaps it's a game now. But ha! I'm going to go west tomorrow. So screw you, OCD neighbors!
Thursday 4 January 2007
Wednesday 3 January 2007
I hate therapy.
Right now I think I hate just about everything else, too.
Except my children. I'm going to go out with them and play in the snow now because every second word I write stabs me in the head. If I'm outside no one can call me either, so consider yourself told.
Except my children. I'm going to go out with them and play in the snow now because every second word I write stabs me in the head. If I'm outside no one can call me either, so consider yourself told.
Cancelling the noise.
Does it have to start with a broken heart
Broken dreams and bleeding parts
We were young and world was clear
But young ambition disappears
I swore it would never come to this
The average, the obvious
I'm still discontented down here
I'm still discontented
Up before the sunrise and out into the cold hushed air I went this morning, in my technical tights and fleece, plugged into my zen player and ready to burn off excess energy in the dim light of the beginning of this day. I hate Wednesdays, I don't sleep much. It's Big Therapy day, in which the whole team and Jacob is present and they all look at me so expectantly as I speak and I get angry so easily because it's the one time I can be in a room with four men, and I have their undivided attention and I can't do a thing with it.
A spark ignites
In time and space
Limping through this human race
You fight and crawl your way back home
But you're running the wrong way
Oh yeah, except get better. Good girl, Bridget.
The future is a question mark
Of kerosene and electric sparks
There's still fire in you yet
Yeah there's still fire in you
But my god, the run felt so good. Right up until that part when I wiped out on a freshly scraped sidewalk and bruised the hell out of my hip. Running after that really sucked but at that point I was only fifteen blocks from home.
I keep cleaning up the mess I've made
I won't run away
I can't sleep in the bed I've made
More later if I survive my appointment. Blah.
If we've only got one try
If we've only got one life
If time was never on our side
Then before I die
I want to burn out bright
Broken dreams and bleeding parts
We were young and world was clear
But young ambition disappears
I swore it would never come to this
The average, the obvious
I'm still discontented down here
I'm still discontented
Up before the sunrise and out into the cold hushed air I went this morning, in my technical tights and fleece, plugged into my zen player and ready to burn off excess energy in the dim light of the beginning of this day. I hate Wednesdays, I don't sleep much. It's Big Therapy day, in which the whole team and Jacob is present and they all look at me so expectantly as I speak and I get angry so easily because it's the one time I can be in a room with four men, and I have their undivided attention and I can't do a thing with it.
A spark ignites
In time and space
Limping through this human race
You fight and crawl your way back home
But you're running the wrong way
Oh yeah, except get better. Good girl, Bridget.
The future is a question mark
Of kerosene and electric sparks
There's still fire in you yet
Yeah there's still fire in you
But my god, the run felt so good. Right up until that part when I wiped out on a freshly scraped sidewalk and bruised the hell out of my hip. Running after that really sucked but at that point I was only fifteen blocks from home.
I keep cleaning up the mess I've made
I won't run away
I can't sleep in the bed I've made
More later if I survive my appointment. Blah.
If we've only got one try
If we've only got one life
If time was never on our side
Then before I die
I want to burn out bright
Tuesday 2 January 2007
Cruel and gentle things.
Progress, as Bridget moves onward and upward, purging herself of the best and the worst memories to make room for new ones that don't involve monsters and mistakes.
She said I tried to mind my own business
But that sad look on your face was a challenge to my faith
Made me wanna chase the dark out of your room
So she smiled and said hello; little did she know
He would take over her soul and never never never let go
He was fine before he met her
Eyes like faded jeans, soft and blue and he had seen
Everything, and he had been everywhere
Til he turned his gaze away, longed to see it every day
Heard a voice inside him say you'll never never never be the same
I'm pulling out my CDs this week, a sort of ritual performed each new year to remind me that my own personal soundtrack never stops playing, it just advances and recedes like a lyrical tide to give me strength and soothe my wounds, to lift me up and drag me out. Listening to music I haven't heard for a long time helps me categorize these memories, because I don't have to suppress it all anymore.
My brain is a virtual HMV store, arranged by artist, alphabetically. Feeling music, because there is so much I don't hear and that's a travesty.
This morning I pulled out Volcano, my favorite Edie Brickell album, and one that has seen it's fair share of memories made.
Jacob passed it back to me over coffee once upon a time, here in this city several months after he moved here, which would have been around the time I left Cole very temporarily and with no regret and was promptly returned to him, soundly rejected by Jacob who was married by this time and struggling just to keep his own head on straight.
That would be the new years eve that Cole lost me in a snooker game. He lost me to Jacob and Jacob took him up on his offer simply to teach him a lesson, but he wound up learning one instead. We were set up and we took it and ran with it anyway, our mistake. All the way to Jacob's house, shortly before midnight. We went inside and he turned off the porch lights. My eyebrows went up, because up until that moment I hadn't considered the gravity of the situation. We had all been drinking, a night long planned, complete with all-night babysitting by Cole's mom.
I'll teach that asshole to treat you this way.
What are you talking about?
You're staying here with me tonight, princess.
Right. You took me home. I'm yours for the night. Make him pay, Jake. Make him pay by having me.
Stop it. Just be quiet.
I'll do whatever you want me too.
There's a word for this, Bridget.
Extraordinary?
Pathetic. I'm not going to touch you. You're not the prize. The prize for me is teaching him a lesson.
It's because you're married isn't it? Jacob, who is ever going to know? This is sanctioned, it's permissible.
Not by me, it isn't.
So you don't want me?
Oh, I want you. Bridget, I have wanted you forever but it isn't going to be this way.
So why am I here? Fuck, I need to be far away from both of you.
I told you, you came home with me and you're spending the night and I'm going to show Cole a thing or two about treating you the way he does. I'm sick of it. Come in out of the hall and we'll get some tea.
I don't want any, thank you.
He put on the stereo. Our eyes met just as the announcer started counting down the final 10 seconds to 2005.
Auld Lang Syne came on. True to form, my eyes welled up, standing there in the middle of Jacob's tiny living room, staring up at him.
Bridget don't cry over this song. It's a song about times that have long passed. We're in the here and now.
Maybe that's not why I'm crying.
Happy New Year, beautiful.
It won't be for me, but Happy New Year, Jacob.
Have hope, princess.
I'm running low on that particular commodity right at this moment.
He put his arms around me and kissed my forehead (lord) and held me until the song was over. Then he smiled and asked me if I wanted the bed or the couch. I just kind of looked at him, surprised.
What is it?
We've done this before, Jacob. We can just share the bed.
Right and that wasn't a good idea before, either, Bridget. Just pick one.
Could I have the bed? It's warmer in there.
Sure, princess. Let me get some blankets first and I'll be out of your hair.
We're going to sleep right now?
You're half shot and I'm headed that way. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll take you out for breakfast before I bring you home.
All business. I'm standing in his living room, his for the night and he's worried about whether or not I'm eating, goddammit. I just nodded. It's Lochlan all over again.
He walked me to the bedroom door, kissed the tip of my nose and told me if I needed anything, just to holler. I closed the door and took off my dress, hanging it in his closet and got in bed with my camisole and undies. For some reason I didn't want to sleep that naked so I got out one of his organic undershirts and put that on too. It was huge on me but so soft. I slid between the sheets of his bed and it smelled like him. Out in the living room, I heard him put a CD on the stereo. The one I had with me when we left that had been a belated Christmas present from Jacob. A copy of Edie Brickell's Volcano that he knew I wanted. The music was familiar and I was asleep in moments.
I woke up at 3 am, not knowing where I was, terrified.
Jacob was sitting in the chair in the corner watching me sleep, an expression on his face I could hardly describe, it was a mixture of anguish and longing. He wasn't moving, he was just sitting with his elbows on his knees, still dressed in jeans and a plain white button down shirt with another of those soft tshirts underneath, bare feet, hair messed up as if he had been tossing and turning instead of ever sleeping. I sat up.
Jacob. What's wrong?
You make me so crazy, Bridget. Being near you, touching you, talking to you. It drives me crazy and I don't know what to do about it.
He was so distraught, I flew out of the bed and put my arms around him. He held on to me so gently and then he pulled away with a confused look.
Why are you wearing my shirt?
I was cold, I'm still cold. Will you lie down with me?
Oh, God, Bridge, I can't do this. You're wearing pink underwear. Oh my God.
I'm only asking you to be here. Not to do anything but be here.
Sometimes that's the hardest part.
His voice was thick with desperation, but he didn't talk anymore. We climbed back into his bed and settled in with our arms around each other, my nose to his chest, his breathing on the top of my head, blankets up over our heads.
Jake?
Yeah, princess?
Are you really going to sleep fully-clothed?
He took off his shirt and jeans and left everything else on, tshirt and boxers, and settled back down against me. And he sat up again and rubbed his eyes.
Princess, this is a bad idea.
Sleep, Jacob, just sleep with me. Please.
He lay back down and pulled me even closer. We were breathing the same space now and he held me so tightly against him. More than once that night we lost our way and began kissing each other and at one point he had me flat on my back, both hands hooked under the hips of my underwear about to pull them off and he stopped. At one point he had the tshirt I had on yanked up over my breasts and he licked one of my nipples and then he stopped. At one point he pulled my hair back and kissed my throat and pressed his body against mine but then he stopped.
I woke up around 5:30 am, completely tangled in his arms and legs, his face turned into my shoulder, arms locked around me, his hands clasping me to him almost exactly the same way we had woken up the last time we slept together, in the hammock.
I'm beginning to love sleeping with him at this point. Even if very little happens. Even if it all feels so unfamiliar and is heavily laden with guilt and grief for a life I was deliberately throwing away.
He opened his eyes when I shook him awake and smiled at me bitterly. He said quietly that he knew now that I wasn't so much a prize won but a screw turned and that Cole had succeeded in hurting him worse than anything I could ever do or say to Jacob, he had dangled a forbidden need in front of Jacob and it was about to be yanked away again.
Oh God, there's that look again. The one that speaks volumes, that says Jacob will die if he doesn't get his way, and he pushed me down onto my back again and pushed up my tshirt and kissed my belly and then right down my thighs and I wanted to scream. I thought for sure he was going to give up and just take everything I was offering him right there. Instead he stood up abruptly, pulled his jeans back on, shrugged into the infamous moss green blazer and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look less distraught.
Which failed.
I got up and put my party dress back on and tried to fix the smudges of black underneath my eyes. I gave up and just scrubbed my face raw instead. I dreaded going home.
My God, you look so pretty.
Is that pretty cute or pretty pathetic, Jake?
There were eleven missed calls from Cole on my cell phone when I turned it on. Jacob had turned it off sometime after I went to sleep the first time. I didn't question him, I just followed him outside and got into the truck beside him and we found a diner far outside of town and took a booth and drank coffee in silence, both of us pushing hashbrowns around on our plates half-heartedly, not sure how to keep going forward but knowing we had somehow crossed an imaginary line with each other and we couldn't continue down this road.
The guilt that was crushing him was absent in me, I was still angry with Cole and in shock that Jacob once again held me all night long.
Don't forget your CD, princess.
Thanks.
We didn't say any more words to each other during the meal. I ate nothing. Then Jacob let out a long shaky sigh and suggested he drive me home.
I don't want to go home.
Well, I don't want to be around you right now, princess.
Oh my god. Fine, get mean. That helps, Jacob.
You're killing me.
You're married, how can I have this effect on you anymore?
Yeah well, I can get unmarried. You seem to be having trouble with that.
Jacob, don't be like this.
Be like what, Bridget? I just had a heartbreaking night in which I almost exploded because I wanted you so damn bad, a night where I thought I was going to go half-crazy every time you moved in your sleep. What sort of romantic dream will you make this night into inside your head so that you can live with what you do to me? It's terrible. All of it. Cole wins. I fail, and you're so fucked up you don't even know the difference between right and wrong anymore. I'm disgusted with all of us but the little voice inside my head is screaming for you and right now I just want it to stop, and I want you to go away.
Fuck you, Jacob.
Oh, fuck you too, princess. Now shut up and eat something so we can leave. Christ, you're too thin.
If you think being mean will make me stop loving you then you're mistaken, preacher boy.
If I thought you would ever love me enough to do something about it, then I'd try anything at this point. This isn't mean, princess, it's frustration talking.
It's mean. You're making me cry in a fucking truckstop in the middle of nowhere because you held me in your arms all night and you want me and I want you but I don't want to leave Cole.
Bridget, you can't have both of us. And I don't understand why you stay with him. He's bad for you.
Maybe you're bad for me.
Maybe I'm the only thing that's good for you but you can't see that and I don't know why you can't see it after all this time.
Then maybe you should just take me home.
Fine, put on your coat.
He stood up, threw some bills on the table, and took my hand, walking too quickly for me, I had to rush to keep up. He drove me right to my front door and I went inside alone and Jacob roared off. I walked up the steps and reached out to open the door when it flew open from the inside, Cole meeting me on the threshold with a smug, angry face, but a look that also screamed relief because I came back. He told me the kids would be brought home after his mom took them out for lunch and then he asked me how my night went.
And he didn't believe me when I told him.
I didn't fuck him, if that's what you were worried about.
Oh, no worries, I was well aware that I would pay for my Judas kiss either way. Even with lies of omission.
And I paid for it, in spades.
Jacob called later on, exchanging some terse words with Cole. Cole wouldn't even let him talk to me.
And Jacob never forgave himself for whatever way he imagined that Cole made me pay for that night. But he remains protected because whatever he came up with most likely wasn't half as bad as what actually took place but I would never put him in the place of having to feel any worse, he's paid his price just like I have.
But somehow, something Jacob gave me in that one night in which we struggled with ourselves and with each other made me find the hope and the strength he had wished for me. And I hear it now when I listen to songs I heard then.
Nothing hurts right now. Even pulling memories out of the dark and bonking myself over the head with my own foolishness, for the first time it doesn't ache. Listening to songs and thinking about difficult moments and somehow I'm not bleeding.
She said I tried to mind my own business
But that sad look on your face was a challenge to my faith
Made me wanna chase the dark out of your room
So she smiled and said hello; little did she know
He would take over her soul and never never never let go
He was fine before he met her
Eyes like faded jeans, soft and blue and he had seen
Everything, and he had been everywhere
Til he turned his gaze away, longed to see it every day
Heard a voice inside him say you'll never never never be the same
I'm pulling out my CDs this week, a sort of ritual performed each new year to remind me that my own personal soundtrack never stops playing, it just advances and recedes like a lyrical tide to give me strength and soothe my wounds, to lift me up and drag me out. Listening to music I haven't heard for a long time helps me categorize these memories, because I don't have to suppress it all anymore.
My brain is a virtual HMV store, arranged by artist, alphabetically. Feeling music, because there is so much I don't hear and that's a travesty.
This morning I pulled out Volcano, my favorite Edie Brickell album, and one that has seen it's fair share of memories made.
Jacob passed it back to me over coffee once upon a time, here in this city several months after he moved here, which would have been around the time I left Cole very temporarily and with no regret and was promptly returned to him, soundly rejected by Jacob who was married by this time and struggling just to keep his own head on straight.
That would be the new years eve that Cole lost me in a snooker game. He lost me to Jacob and Jacob took him up on his offer simply to teach him a lesson, but he wound up learning one instead. We were set up and we took it and ran with it anyway, our mistake. All the way to Jacob's house, shortly before midnight. We went inside and he turned off the porch lights. My eyebrows went up, because up until that moment I hadn't considered the gravity of the situation. We had all been drinking, a night long planned, complete with all-night babysitting by Cole's mom.
I'll teach that asshole to treat you this way.
What are you talking about?
You're staying here with me tonight, princess.
Right. You took me home. I'm yours for the night. Make him pay, Jake. Make him pay by having me.
Stop it. Just be quiet.
I'll do whatever you want me too.
There's a word for this, Bridget.
Extraordinary?
Pathetic. I'm not going to touch you. You're not the prize. The prize for me is teaching him a lesson.
It's because you're married isn't it? Jacob, who is ever going to know? This is sanctioned, it's permissible.
Not by me, it isn't.
So you don't want me?
Oh, I want you. Bridget, I have wanted you forever but it isn't going to be this way.
So why am I here? Fuck, I need to be far away from both of you.
I told you, you came home with me and you're spending the night and I'm going to show Cole a thing or two about treating you the way he does. I'm sick of it. Come in out of the hall and we'll get some tea.
I don't want any, thank you.
He put on the stereo. Our eyes met just as the announcer started counting down the final 10 seconds to 2005.
Auld Lang Syne came on. True to form, my eyes welled up, standing there in the middle of Jacob's tiny living room, staring up at him.
Bridget don't cry over this song. It's a song about times that have long passed. We're in the here and now.
Maybe that's not why I'm crying.
Happy New Year, beautiful.
It won't be for me, but Happy New Year, Jacob.
Have hope, princess.
I'm running low on that particular commodity right at this moment.
He put his arms around me and kissed my forehead (lord) and held me until the song was over. Then he smiled and asked me if I wanted the bed or the couch. I just kind of looked at him, surprised.
What is it?
We've done this before, Jacob. We can just share the bed.
Right and that wasn't a good idea before, either, Bridget. Just pick one.
Could I have the bed? It's warmer in there.
Sure, princess. Let me get some blankets first and I'll be out of your hair.
We're going to sleep right now?
You're half shot and I'm headed that way. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll take you out for breakfast before I bring you home.
All business. I'm standing in his living room, his for the night and he's worried about whether or not I'm eating, goddammit. I just nodded. It's Lochlan all over again.
He walked me to the bedroom door, kissed the tip of my nose and told me if I needed anything, just to holler. I closed the door and took off my dress, hanging it in his closet and got in bed with my camisole and undies. For some reason I didn't want to sleep that naked so I got out one of his organic undershirts and put that on too. It was huge on me but so soft. I slid between the sheets of his bed and it smelled like him. Out in the living room, I heard him put a CD on the stereo. The one I had with me when we left that had been a belated Christmas present from Jacob. A copy of Edie Brickell's Volcano that he knew I wanted. The music was familiar and I was asleep in moments.
I woke up at 3 am, not knowing where I was, terrified.
Jacob was sitting in the chair in the corner watching me sleep, an expression on his face I could hardly describe, it was a mixture of anguish and longing. He wasn't moving, he was just sitting with his elbows on his knees, still dressed in jeans and a plain white button down shirt with another of those soft tshirts underneath, bare feet, hair messed up as if he had been tossing and turning instead of ever sleeping. I sat up.
Jacob. What's wrong?
You make me so crazy, Bridget. Being near you, touching you, talking to you. It drives me crazy and I don't know what to do about it.
He was so distraught, I flew out of the bed and put my arms around him. He held on to me so gently and then he pulled away with a confused look.
Why are you wearing my shirt?
I was cold, I'm still cold. Will you lie down with me?
Oh, God, Bridge, I can't do this. You're wearing pink underwear. Oh my God.
I'm only asking you to be here. Not to do anything but be here.
Sometimes that's the hardest part.
His voice was thick with desperation, but he didn't talk anymore. We climbed back into his bed and settled in with our arms around each other, my nose to his chest, his breathing on the top of my head, blankets up over our heads.
Jake?
Yeah, princess?
Are you really going to sleep fully-clothed?
He took off his shirt and jeans and left everything else on, tshirt and boxers, and settled back down against me. And he sat up again and rubbed his eyes.
Princess, this is a bad idea.
Sleep, Jacob, just sleep with me. Please.
He lay back down and pulled me even closer. We were breathing the same space now and he held me so tightly against him. More than once that night we lost our way and began kissing each other and at one point he had me flat on my back, both hands hooked under the hips of my underwear about to pull them off and he stopped. At one point he had the tshirt I had on yanked up over my breasts and he licked one of my nipples and then he stopped. At one point he pulled my hair back and kissed my throat and pressed his body against mine but then he stopped.
I woke up around 5:30 am, completely tangled in his arms and legs, his face turned into my shoulder, arms locked around me, his hands clasping me to him almost exactly the same way we had woken up the last time we slept together, in the hammock.
I'm beginning to love sleeping with him at this point. Even if very little happens. Even if it all feels so unfamiliar and is heavily laden with guilt and grief for a life I was deliberately throwing away.
He opened his eyes when I shook him awake and smiled at me bitterly. He said quietly that he knew now that I wasn't so much a prize won but a screw turned and that Cole had succeeded in hurting him worse than anything I could ever do or say to Jacob, he had dangled a forbidden need in front of Jacob and it was about to be yanked away again.
Oh God, there's that look again. The one that speaks volumes, that says Jacob will die if he doesn't get his way, and he pushed me down onto my back again and pushed up my tshirt and kissed my belly and then right down my thighs and I wanted to scream. I thought for sure he was going to give up and just take everything I was offering him right there. Instead he stood up abruptly, pulled his jeans back on, shrugged into the infamous moss green blazer and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look less distraught.
Which failed.
I got up and put my party dress back on and tried to fix the smudges of black underneath my eyes. I gave up and just scrubbed my face raw instead. I dreaded going home.
My God, you look so pretty.
Is that pretty cute or pretty pathetic, Jake?
There were eleven missed calls from Cole on my cell phone when I turned it on. Jacob had turned it off sometime after I went to sleep the first time. I didn't question him, I just followed him outside and got into the truck beside him and we found a diner far outside of town and took a booth and drank coffee in silence, both of us pushing hashbrowns around on our plates half-heartedly, not sure how to keep going forward but knowing we had somehow crossed an imaginary line with each other and we couldn't continue down this road.
The guilt that was crushing him was absent in me, I was still angry with Cole and in shock that Jacob once again held me all night long.
Don't forget your CD, princess.
Thanks.
We didn't say any more words to each other during the meal. I ate nothing. Then Jacob let out a long shaky sigh and suggested he drive me home.
I don't want to go home.
Well, I don't want to be around you right now, princess.
Oh my god. Fine, get mean. That helps, Jacob.
You're killing me.
You're married, how can I have this effect on you anymore?
Yeah well, I can get unmarried. You seem to be having trouble with that.
Jacob, don't be like this.
Be like what, Bridget? I just had a heartbreaking night in which I almost exploded because I wanted you so damn bad, a night where I thought I was going to go half-crazy every time you moved in your sleep. What sort of romantic dream will you make this night into inside your head so that you can live with what you do to me? It's terrible. All of it. Cole wins. I fail, and you're so fucked up you don't even know the difference between right and wrong anymore. I'm disgusted with all of us but the little voice inside my head is screaming for you and right now I just want it to stop, and I want you to go away.
Fuck you, Jacob.
Oh, fuck you too, princess. Now shut up and eat something so we can leave. Christ, you're too thin.
If you think being mean will make me stop loving you then you're mistaken, preacher boy.
If I thought you would ever love me enough to do something about it, then I'd try anything at this point. This isn't mean, princess, it's frustration talking.
It's mean. You're making me cry in a fucking truckstop in the middle of nowhere because you held me in your arms all night and you want me and I want you but I don't want to leave Cole.
Bridget, you can't have both of us. And I don't understand why you stay with him. He's bad for you.
Maybe you're bad for me.
Maybe I'm the only thing that's good for you but you can't see that and I don't know why you can't see it after all this time.
Then maybe you should just take me home.
Fine, put on your coat.
He stood up, threw some bills on the table, and took my hand, walking too quickly for me, I had to rush to keep up. He drove me right to my front door and I went inside alone and Jacob roared off. I walked up the steps and reached out to open the door when it flew open from the inside, Cole meeting me on the threshold with a smug, angry face, but a look that also screamed relief because I came back. He told me the kids would be brought home after his mom took them out for lunch and then he asked me how my night went.
And he didn't believe me when I told him.
I didn't fuck him, if that's what you were worried about.
Oh, no worries, I was well aware that I would pay for my Judas kiss either way. Even with lies of omission.
And I paid for it, in spades.
Jacob called later on, exchanging some terse words with Cole. Cole wouldn't even let him talk to me.
And Jacob never forgave himself for whatever way he imagined that Cole made me pay for that night. But he remains protected because whatever he came up with most likely wasn't half as bad as what actually took place but I would never put him in the place of having to feel any worse, he's paid his price just like I have.
But somehow, something Jacob gave me in that one night in which we struggled with ourselves and with each other made me find the hope and the strength he had wished for me. And I hear it now when I listen to songs I heard then.
Nothing hurts right now. Even pulling memories out of the dark and bonking myself over the head with my own foolishness, for the first time it doesn't ache. Listening to songs and thinking about difficult moments and somehow I'm not bleeding.
Monday 1 January 2007
Point with no exclamation.
I know, I said nothing about therapy yesterday.
Because I quit again.
And if I don't make it
Know that I loved you all along
Just like sunny days that
We ignore because
We're all dumb and jaded
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
Don't say it.
I walked out less than a third of the way into the morning's festivities and around 15 minutes after that I noticed Jacob's shoes under the table where I sat staring into a cup of coffee in the window of our favorite little lunch spot downtown. I didn't look up, instead I picked imaginary fuzz off the lap of my vintage coat and tapped the toes of my boots slowly on the floor. I was gearing up to be lectured to like a runaway teenager but instead he held out his hand and asked me if I was ready to go home.
I spent about four hours anticipating the fatherly ultimatums, the inevitable lecture, the request for some cooperation, and instead I got a very wonderful kiss and I was held and he asked if I was planning to continue to take the medication.
And like a child testing their boundaries I said I might, that I wasn't sure.
He confirmed a surprising new lack of boundaries by not commenting on that and said that we needed to start packing because Friday morning is going to start very early and that the trip couldn't have come at a better time. I looked at him and asked him if this was running. He said it was nothing of the kind, instead it was simply a coincidence and that if we just hold our breath long maybe the hiccups in our new year will be over soon, that he's got to try something new because forcing me to go and sit there and be ripped apart in the name of healing isn't helping at all.
It took me forever to meet his eyes, and what I saw in them wasn't disappointment, it was relief. Relief that barely begins to ease my own guilt at letting him down because I can't get my head on straight. He told me to throw away my guilt, that we're just going to hold on tight and if I have a bad day, then it's a bad day and if it's good then the world is a beautiful place and now we're going to see what time and love is going to do for fragile miss Bridget. In my waiting for the other shoe to drop I didn't notice Jake had both feet already firmly planted on the floor.
He's a trained counselor. This is a highly unorthodox and unusual step for someone who has such a close interest in my health and happiness, for someone who is such a stickler for going by the book, for being proactive and aggressively trying to righten the world using a single hand. He's jumping with his eyes closed, which says more than I ever dreamed, maybe he trusts me after all.
He's giving me back my control and I'm floored by how this feels. It feels good. It feels normal. It feels a little risky to go in this direction right this moment, but that speaks louder than any words I could write about it.
When you mix light and dark your goal is to wind up with medium, and that's what I'd like. A happy medium.
Because I quit again.
And if I don't make it
Know that I loved you all along
Just like sunny days that
We ignore because
We're all dumb and jaded
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
Don't say it.
I walked out less than a third of the way into the morning's festivities and around 15 minutes after that I noticed Jacob's shoes under the table where I sat staring into a cup of coffee in the window of our favorite little lunch spot downtown. I didn't look up, instead I picked imaginary fuzz off the lap of my vintage coat and tapped the toes of my boots slowly on the floor. I was gearing up to be lectured to like a runaway teenager but instead he held out his hand and asked me if I was ready to go home.
I spent about four hours anticipating the fatherly ultimatums, the inevitable lecture, the request for some cooperation, and instead I got a very wonderful kiss and I was held and he asked if I was planning to continue to take the medication.
And like a child testing their boundaries I said I might, that I wasn't sure.
He confirmed a surprising new lack of boundaries by not commenting on that and said that we needed to start packing because Friday morning is going to start very early and that the trip couldn't have come at a better time. I looked at him and asked him if this was running. He said it was nothing of the kind, instead it was simply a coincidence and that if we just hold our breath long maybe the hiccups in our new year will be over soon, that he's got to try something new because forcing me to go and sit there and be ripped apart in the name of healing isn't helping at all.
It took me forever to meet his eyes, and what I saw in them wasn't disappointment, it was relief. Relief that barely begins to ease my own guilt at letting him down because I can't get my head on straight. He told me to throw away my guilt, that we're just going to hold on tight and if I have a bad day, then it's a bad day and if it's good then the world is a beautiful place and now we're going to see what time and love is going to do for fragile miss Bridget. In my waiting for the other shoe to drop I didn't notice Jake had both feet already firmly planted on the floor.
He's a trained counselor. This is a highly unorthodox and unusual step for someone who has such a close interest in my health and happiness, for someone who is such a stickler for going by the book, for being proactive and aggressively trying to righten the world using a single hand. He's jumping with his eyes closed, which says more than I ever dreamed, maybe he trusts me after all.
He's giving me back my control and I'm floored by how this feels. It feels good. It feels normal. It feels a little risky to go in this direction right this moment, but that speaks louder than any words I could write about it.
When you mix light and dark your goal is to wind up with medium, and that's what I'd like. A happy medium.
Superhero moments.
"What's the frequency, Kenneth?" is your Benzedrine
Butterfly decal, rear-view mirror, dogging the scene
You smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
You wore a shirt of violent green
I never understood the frequency
You wore our expectations like an armored suit
I couldn't understand
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
I couldn't understand
You wore a shirt of violent green
I couldn't understand
I never understood, don't fuck with me
I'd like to know what the sign is that I should be looking for when I wake up with a song stuck in my head every day for weeks on end. A song I haven't heard in twelve years.
Life can be strange.
Life is good, too. Love is grand and Jacob is feeling better this morning, trading in his feverish chattering for a drawn and weary face this morning when I brought breakfast up for him. His fever broke sometime around 2 am with a whole litany of incoherent ramblings and I had to get up and pull him back onto the bed because he was half on the floor and he pulled me back into his arms because he wasn't burning hot for once and he kissed my ear and slid his hand down between my thighs and promptly fell asleep again. I think I pulled something. He weighs eighty pounds more than I do.
Happy New Year indeed. There's absolutely nothing better right now than sipping a hot cup of coffee and watching a giant hunk of a guy walk around the house in his waffleweave long johns. We keep smiling at each other like stupid fools.
And I'd kiss him but he keeps sneezing. He did warn me once that he has a lot more snot than I do. And you know something? He really wasn't kidding.
Butterfly decal, rear-view mirror, dogging the scene
You smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
You wore a shirt of violent green
I never understood the frequency
You wore our expectations like an armored suit
I couldn't understand
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
I couldn't understand
You wore a shirt of violent green
I couldn't understand
I never understood, don't fuck with me
I'd like to know what the sign is that I should be looking for when I wake up with a song stuck in my head every day for weeks on end. A song I haven't heard in twelve years.
Life can be strange.
Life is good, too. Love is grand and Jacob is feeling better this morning, trading in his feverish chattering for a drawn and weary face this morning when I brought breakfast up for him. His fever broke sometime around 2 am with a whole litany of incoherent ramblings and I had to get up and pull him back onto the bed because he was half on the floor and he pulled me back into his arms because he wasn't burning hot for once and he kissed my ear and slid his hand down between my thighs and promptly fell asleep again. I think I pulled something. He weighs eighty pounds more than I do.
Happy New Year indeed. There's absolutely nothing better right now than sipping a hot cup of coffee and watching a giant hunk of a guy walk around the house in his waffleweave long johns. We keep smiling at each other like stupid fools.
And I'd kiss him but he keeps sneezing. He did warn me once that he has a lot more snot than I do. And you know something? He really wasn't kidding.
Sunday 31 December 2006
The long kiss goodnight, or goodbye 2006. Forever.
For my final post of the year, I could have copped out and written down my resolutions for 2007. I could have detailed the previous seven out of eight New Years Eves, which is what I originally sat down to write about, spent with Jacob in attendance (except for one) and a maddening record of forehead kisses, ones I held an exemplary disdain for.
Hell, I could write about that one year we all drank too much and Cole lost me in a game of snooker. What fun. I think I'll save that story for another day. Maybe tomorrow.
Life was a confusing blend of pure comfort and total awkwardness when Cole and Jacob were in the same room and we all refused to acknowledge it but put ourselves in our familiar places year after year, seeking out the same pain all the while hoping for some magical promise that the year we were starting together would be different at last.
Bridget and Jacob survived long enough to see that promise find the light of day, and Cole will not.
Everything is going to be okay.
Jacob said that to me back in April and I still believe him.
Very early this morning I looked outside and the steps and sidewalk were shovelled and I saw Ben's truck pulling away. On the porch just inside the door was a big bag of our favorite coffee beans and a note to us. An apology and a hand given because he knows how sick Jacob is, because the grapevine is alive and well in this small-town neighborhood wrapped in a big city shell. And Caleb sent a very long letter and all the presents back to us again because he said he was trying to find some way to continue to give me everything on Cole's behalf and oddly I believe him, if only because he had the guts to do this even after Jacob humiliated him spectacularly, without meaning to be quite that mean.
No, that doesn't mean anyone has been forgiven, it just means I'm in a generous mood. Or maybe they were, for Bridget's sugar daddies rarely seem to drop the ball.
Before this year went to hell I had some very close friends who love me in their own ways, fucked up as they might be and I love them right back, like I loved Cole when he hurt me. Misguided as it all is, and sordid and messed up, these are my friends. They just have no clue where all the boundaries went. It all blew up and we're all going to start over. All of us. Together. Well, not really, but the enemies have somehow turned back into acquaintances and may well re-earn their friend status if they can keep their own perversions in check.
Hell, if I can do it, maybe they can too.
The outcome was predictable
Our banditos were despicable
Of blood we lost a dozen litres
A small price to pay for las senoritas
The town mayor was happy but his face was glum
The maidens numbered only one
But there weren't seven brides for seven brothers
I knew I had to get rid of the others
This morning Jacob struggled through his opening remarks and had to leave the pulpit mid-sentence, unable to breathe, leaving his lay minister to finish the service and to read the sermon Jacob had prepared, because Jacob was sitting in his office doubled over and attempting not to cough. I found him there around 1 pm and drove us home and made him more soup. He is tired of soup and unwilling to slow down any more than absolutely necessary but I'm forcing him to stop and rest, at last.
He's too sick to kiss me, for fear of my struggle with pneumonia returning because I'm rundown. He's too sick to make love, too sick to play, too sick to lie awake and talk late at night, instead sleeping lightly, feverishly, talking in his sleep and waking often. He has relented and has resorted to just holding me close to him and being here. He's more miserable from the lack of affection than from the sickness itself, frustrated and miserable.
In a few days he'll feel better and he said he wants to take me out for a decadent night of dinner and dancing, a delayed celebration of the promise fulfilled, and maybe possibly a few perversions of his own.
It's a huge promise, but I'm just as happy to stay in tonight and have a very understated evening at home with my family. I've been to more than my share of champagne-swilling, fireworks-watching, auld lang syne singing, celebratory black-tie New Years parties and I don't think I want to go to any more of those.
But the promise remains.
One that tells me 2007 is going to be better. A normal year, just once. Happy. Contented. Appreciated. Pain-free. Commonplace, even. Oh, bring it, please, God.
Love is stronger than justice
Love is thicker than blood
Love is stronger than justice
Love is a big fat river in flood
Would that be too much to ask or have I earned it?
Is this a promise that will be kept?
I guess 365 days from now, I'll have my answer.
Happy New Year, everyone.
And I really hope I don't get a forehead kiss again. I hope we're past that now.
It all ended so happily
I settled down with the family
I look forward to a better day
But ethical stuff never got in my way
And though there used to be brothers seven
There other six are singing in heaven
Hell, I could write about that one year we all drank too much and Cole lost me in a game of snooker. What fun. I think I'll save that story for another day. Maybe tomorrow.
Life was a confusing blend of pure comfort and total awkwardness when Cole and Jacob were in the same room and we all refused to acknowledge it but put ourselves in our familiar places year after year, seeking out the same pain all the while hoping for some magical promise that the year we were starting together would be different at last.
Bridget and Jacob survived long enough to see that promise find the light of day, and Cole will not.
Everything is going to be okay.
Jacob said that to me back in April and I still believe him.
Very early this morning I looked outside and the steps and sidewalk were shovelled and I saw Ben's truck pulling away. On the porch just inside the door was a big bag of our favorite coffee beans and a note to us. An apology and a hand given because he knows how sick Jacob is, because the grapevine is alive and well in this small-town neighborhood wrapped in a big city shell. And Caleb sent a very long letter and all the presents back to us again because he said he was trying to find some way to continue to give me everything on Cole's behalf and oddly I believe him, if only because he had the guts to do this even after Jacob humiliated him spectacularly, without meaning to be quite that mean.
No, that doesn't mean anyone has been forgiven, it just means I'm in a generous mood. Or maybe they were, for Bridget's sugar daddies rarely seem to drop the ball.
Before this year went to hell I had some very close friends who love me in their own ways, fucked up as they might be and I love them right back, like I loved Cole when he hurt me. Misguided as it all is, and sordid and messed up, these are my friends. They just have no clue where all the boundaries went. It all blew up and we're all going to start over. All of us. Together. Well, not really, but the enemies have somehow turned back into acquaintances and may well re-earn their friend status if they can keep their own perversions in check.
Hell, if I can do it, maybe they can too.
The outcome was predictable
Our banditos were despicable
Of blood we lost a dozen litres
A small price to pay for las senoritas
The town mayor was happy but his face was glum
The maidens numbered only one
But there weren't seven brides for seven brothers
I knew I had to get rid of the others
This morning Jacob struggled through his opening remarks and had to leave the pulpit mid-sentence, unable to breathe, leaving his lay minister to finish the service and to read the sermon Jacob had prepared, because Jacob was sitting in his office doubled over and attempting not to cough. I found him there around 1 pm and drove us home and made him more soup. He is tired of soup and unwilling to slow down any more than absolutely necessary but I'm forcing him to stop and rest, at last.
He's too sick to kiss me, for fear of my struggle with pneumonia returning because I'm rundown. He's too sick to make love, too sick to play, too sick to lie awake and talk late at night, instead sleeping lightly, feverishly, talking in his sleep and waking often. He has relented and has resorted to just holding me close to him and being here. He's more miserable from the lack of affection than from the sickness itself, frustrated and miserable.
In a few days he'll feel better and he said he wants to take me out for a decadent night of dinner and dancing, a delayed celebration of the promise fulfilled, and maybe possibly a few perversions of his own.
It's a huge promise, but I'm just as happy to stay in tonight and have a very understated evening at home with my family. I've been to more than my share of champagne-swilling, fireworks-watching, auld lang syne singing, celebratory black-tie New Years parties and I don't think I want to go to any more of those.
But the promise remains.
One that tells me 2007 is going to be better. A normal year, just once. Happy. Contented. Appreciated. Pain-free. Commonplace, even. Oh, bring it, please, God.
Love is stronger than justice
Love is thicker than blood
Love is stronger than justice
Love is a big fat river in flood
Would that be too much to ask or have I earned it?
Is this a promise that will be kept?
I guess 365 days from now, I'll have my answer.
Happy New Year, everyone.
And I really hope I don't get a forehead kiss again. I hope we're past that now.
It all ended so happily
I settled down with the family
I look forward to a better day
But ethical stuff never got in my way
And though there used to be brothers seven
There other six are singing in heaven
Saturday 30 December 2006
Stormbringer.
We're snowed in.
This is awesome. The kids have three movies to watch, Jacob woke up with the worst cold he's ever had and I'm tired. Just worn out. He's going to work from home in his flannels and I'm going to spoil him with chicken soup and later we're going to pile on the couch and rot out our brains.
I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Saturday. I don't even have to shovel, it's still snowing too hard.
This is very cozy.
Yes, there's lots of cake left. Emergency provisions and all...
In this life I'm stubborn to the core
In this life I've been burning after more
We both know what these open arms are for
You're everything that's fair
In this life, you're my only one
This is awesome. The kids have three movies to watch, Jacob woke up with the worst cold he's ever had and I'm tired. Just worn out. He's going to work from home in his flannels and I'm going to spoil him with chicken soup and later we're going to pile on the couch and rot out our brains.
I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Saturday. I don't even have to shovel, it's still snowing too hard.
This is very cozy.
Yes, there's lots of cake left. Emergency provisions and all...
In this life I'm stubborn to the core
In this life I've been burning after more
We both know what these open arms are for
You're everything that's fair
In this life, you're my only one
Friday 29 December 2006
Bridget's game face.
(This post got lost and should be listed before the last one, if you're wondering.)
I've had a busy morning.
First I drove down to the fire station and gave away all the cases of wine and assorted new bottles of vodka that found their way into my house over the holidays. Whatever was open I poured out. Alone.
Because I'm trying.
Then I went to therapy. Alone. Which is great. It's my confessional, only I'm not given a gamut of counted sorrows to run, instead I'm forced to confront everything I hate about myself and everything that scares me. So much fun.
But the alcohol is gone which means the anti-depressants make their welcome return.
See look! I said welcome. I'm trying.
Then I hit the doctors office, alone, for my IUD. Why? Because nothing else works. I can't keep track of anything and anything Jacob can get his hands on will of course, be sabotaged or debated until it's meaningless. He can't talk me out of an IUD every night so it was the next logical step. Because vasectomies in this province carry year-long waiting lists and he doesn't want one and the simple fact that Jacob has not fathered any biological children is making the urologist hum and haw anyway so it's not something we're going to explore any further, frankly.
Hell, I'm just trying to keep the peace for a little while. My doctor warned me today that couples who have difficulty coming to some sort of agreement when it comes to how many children to have often wind up unhappy and divorced as a result. He knows our struggles, knows our history and frankly I know we're in danger and it's from far more than just deciding on one more baby. Far more.
But we're trying to fight for it.
Surprisingly, couples therapy went better than anything else. My proactiveness was duly noted and I got my verbal pat on the head and appreciative murmurs from everyone in the room and then we proceeded to dissect Bridget without benefit of painkillers, which hurt like hell, like it always does. There's a pain I now look forward to because it's become my replacement for the pain I felt with Cole. I can simply carry it around and lavish it onto a new aspect of my life. I dove right in today and was the first to agree with the assessments levelled on me that I'm playing with fire.
Yes, I know that. Old habits die hard and fire brought forth Jacob, now, didn't it?
He is having no luck losing his good-boy, savior-complexed, hands-tied bystander image. For some reason he holds back. Maybe it's because he can't believe his wish to hold me in his arms brought with it all this other...stuff that's going to take up so much space he can hardly hold on to me anymore.
Why is life more complicated now than it was before? Maybe it just seems like it is because I'm writing it all down now and working on it, instead of pretending it doesn't exist. That is a world of difference, doing it. It makes me see it all and I don't like what I see and I want things to be better.
Onward and upward. We left the office, not in tears, but in love. Somehow the worst, most honest revelations tend to kickstart a fresh new morning, a proverbial proving ground from which we seem to take three steps forward. We did it this morning and we'll do it every morning until the past recedes again and until we can do it without trying to bring each other down. Because when I stop and look at Jacob I love him. I don't see or care about anything else, I just see him and I love him and I want everything else to just go away now.
I told him that and his eyes welled up and he said,
Now you finally know what happens every time I look at you, princess.
I've had a busy morning.
First I drove down to the fire station and gave away all the cases of wine and assorted new bottles of vodka that found their way into my house over the holidays. Whatever was open I poured out. Alone.
Because I'm trying.
Then I went to therapy. Alone. Which is great. It's my confessional, only I'm not given a gamut of counted sorrows to run, instead I'm forced to confront everything I hate about myself and everything that scares me. So much fun.
But the alcohol is gone which means the anti-depressants make their welcome return.
See look! I said welcome. I'm trying.
Then I hit the doctors office, alone, for my IUD. Why? Because nothing else works. I can't keep track of anything and anything Jacob can get his hands on will of course, be sabotaged or debated until it's meaningless. He can't talk me out of an IUD every night so it was the next logical step. Because vasectomies in this province carry year-long waiting lists and he doesn't want one and the simple fact that Jacob has not fathered any biological children is making the urologist hum and haw anyway so it's not something we're going to explore any further, frankly.
Hell, I'm just trying to keep the peace for a little while. My doctor warned me today that couples who have difficulty coming to some sort of agreement when it comes to how many children to have often wind up unhappy and divorced as a result. He knows our struggles, knows our history and frankly I know we're in danger and it's from far more than just deciding on one more baby. Far more.
But we're trying to fight for it.
Surprisingly, couples therapy went better than anything else. My proactiveness was duly noted and I got my verbal pat on the head and appreciative murmurs from everyone in the room and then we proceeded to dissect Bridget without benefit of painkillers, which hurt like hell, like it always does. There's a pain I now look forward to because it's become my replacement for the pain I felt with Cole. I can simply carry it around and lavish it onto a new aspect of my life. I dove right in today and was the first to agree with the assessments levelled on me that I'm playing with fire.
Yes, I know that. Old habits die hard and fire brought forth Jacob, now, didn't it?
He is having no luck losing his good-boy, savior-complexed, hands-tied bystander image. For some reason he holds back. Maybe it's because he can't believe his wish to hold me in his arms brought with it all this other...stuff that's going to take up so much space he can hardly hold on to me anymore.
Why is life more complicated now than it was before? Maybe it just seems like it is because I'm writing it all down now and working on it, instead of pretending it doesn't exist. That is a world of difference, doing it. It makes me see it all and I don't like what I see and I want things to be better.
Onward and upward. We left the office, not in tears, but in love. Somehow the worst, most honest revelations tend to kickstart a fresh new morning, a proverbial proving ground from which we seem to take three steps forward. We did it this morning and we'll do it every morning until the past recedes again and until we can do it without trying to bring each other down. Because when I stop and look at Jacob I love him. I don't see or care about anything else, I just see him and I love him and I want everything else to just go away now.
I told him that and his eyes welled up and he said,
Now you finally know what happens every time I look at you, princess.
Deepest blue.
Nights like these make life worth living a hundred times over. Jacob was home in time for a late supper and went to read a book to each child separately as he does on days when we've had few spare moments to give to each individually.
He never came back. I went looking for him after he had been upstairs for over an hour and found him stretched out full on Henry's bed, the tattered story of Rip Van Winkle (how ironic) opened face down on his chest, one arm around Henry, who was snoring in tandem with Jake's deep breathing, arms flung out in total trust, one across the pillow and one right across Jacob's face. I took just one moment to reflect on how alike they are in appearance, all eyelashes and blonde curls. Reluctantly I had to wake up Jacob, he moves so much when he sleeps I could see him landing on the floor, a sea of matchbox cars, hurting himself and waking Henry up.
I shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes so sleepily and I told him maybe he should go to bed.
Come with?
Not yet, Jake. It's only 8:30.
So? You have better plans?
Maybe. Peace, quiet, and writing?
Sure, but sex and cake and a warm bath would probably be nice.
Maybe I can have both?
Huh? Cake in the bathtub?
No, a half hour of writing and then bed?
Done, princess. I'll wait for you up here then. Wake me up if I goof off again.
Okay. Be up soon.
I don't have the heart to wake him up again. He was asleep before I wrote the end of one sentence because I snuck back upstairs to look.
He never came back. I went looking for him after he had been upstairs for over an hour and found him stretched out full on Henry's bed, the tattered story of Rip Van Winkle (how ironic) opened face down on his chest, one arm around Henry, who was snoring in tandem with Jake's deep breathing, arms flung out in total trust, one across the pillow and one right across Jacob's face. I took just one moment to reflect on how alike they are in appearance, all eyelashes and blonde curls. Reluctantly I had to wake up Jacob, he moves so much when he sleeps I could see him landing on the floor, a sea of matchbox cars, hurting himself and waking Henry up.
I shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes so sleepily and I told him maybe he should go to bed.
Come with?
Not yet, Jake. It's only 8:30.
So? You have better plans?
Maybe. Peace, quiet, and writing?
Sure, but sex and cake and a warm bath would probably be nice.
Maybe I can have both?
Huh? Cake in the bathtub?
No, a half hour of writing and then bed?
Done, princess. I'll wait for you up here then. Wake me up if I goof off again.
Okay. Be up soon.
I don't have the heart to wake him up again. He was asleep before I wrote the end of one sentence because I snuck back upstairs to look.
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