Not drawn that way, just bad.

I know you've got it in your head, I've seen that look before
You've built your refuge turns you captive all the same

I'm trying to talk to you about important things and life things and you're all so incredibly concerned about PJ's bed instead.

 It's that time of year again. The last time of the year. The time I make giant impossible resolutions to do things like eat way less sugar (two cups on average per bowl of Shreddies (if it ain't white, it ain't right, I say when it comes to a sprinkle of sugar versus a straight pour.), and get back in shape because I stopped running and basically can't get up the steps from the beach without great ragged breaths so my lung capacity is ridiculously tiny now. Drink less. Worry less. Be less fragile. Be less victimish. Less quiet. Be less me and more Fake/Together Bridget. Be someone, anyone, just not this.

Be better? Be less worse. Be easier for everyone. Be.

But really you should be more concerned because fuck Disneyland, PJ's bed is the Best Place on Earth.

(Granted, I've never been to Disneyland. Never needed it after the things I have seen. The whole world is an amusement park, FYI, complete with the bright lights and the seedy underbelly. Just look around you.)

PJ's bed is the stuff of dreams. Sometimes he's still in it. Not awkward. Dreamy, I told you. We sorted ourselves out years ago. I may have thrown myself directly at him, overhand no less, after Jacob. After Joel. Sometime before Ben. Things happen and I was foundering for someone to hold on to.

In the end he decided he wanted me as a friend and we all briefly wondered if maybe he was gay (because no one turns down a Bridget, are you mad?) but he's not. He just loves me too much to fuck with me like that. Which is oddly the best gift I've ever received. My Christmas gift to him this year is a trip. A big trip so he can see the world and then decide if he wants to keep his as small as it is now. He is not obligated to be here. No one is but PJ is different. PJ is trust on two legs and absolute faith incarnate.

He's also an amazing lover. Ladies, fucking line up here, to the left. But so help me God, if you hurt him I'll kill you.

Happy New Year in advance. We're making bacon and maple butter sandwiches for breakfast and then putting away Christmas for another year. Then I need to start getting ready, beginning with painting my toes bright red (expressly, specifically forbidden) and then finding a dress that shows off my Neamhchiontach tattoo* (also not allowed unless he specifically requests that it is visible) for Caleb's little 'intimate' party tonight.

I almost choked on my own breath when I saw him use that description on the invitation. He's invited a sparing handful of us down to his place. It's too cold for the boat but the flames of hell flicker high in the Boathouse, let me tell you. From a distance it looks like it's on fire, I bet. That's because it is. Or it probably will be, by tomorrow. New Years isn't a celebration, it's an endurance event.

Don't feel bad for me, though. I go willingly enough. I go with my eyes open, hoping for Different. Hoping for New. Hoping his resolution includes less Bridget, but let's face it. He isn't PJ. He doesn't have the strength of character. He's weak to his own desires.

Kind of like me.

*(People think I skip around and many have questioned this tattoo. I explained it years ago.)

Solid state, Bitches.

Hours spent offline: 28
Kilometers driven to procure new hard drive: 78.
Money spent on said hardware: 300.68
Value of having fixed it by myself: PRICELESS.

Granted, I've had tech support (Lochlan) on the phone for like, five hours straight because I forgot to format it first but I'm good to go now. And he made me replace it myself because he's weird like that. Oddly proud compartmentalized happily within completely parental.

I mean, he still folds my soft tacos for me up from the bottom and then in on the sides so all of the filling doesn't wind up in my lap because it did once, when I was nine or so and people thought I had pooped my pants when I hadn't.

Until yesterday when the hard drive in my five-year-old secondhand Macbook died and I hadn't done a backup in about three weeks. Then yes, I figuratively shit my pants.

But I fixed it myself. And it's fucking SNAPPY as FUCK.

Go Bridget!

(Snort.)

Full Ganzfeld/No spoilers.

Of course he made me take down that entry. With more death and dismemberment threats, ironically.

***

Nothing, and I swear nothing beats lying in PJ's bed in the pitch blackness listening to Bathory's Twilight of the Gods through my new headphones. It's warm and comfortable and akin to a sensory deprivation experience. It's also exceedingly rare and mostly used for sanctioned escape from the world. It's my new pantry, maybe. A place where I am perfectly safe but can lock myself away from everything until I can get my head back on straight. An emergency rubber room.

Now with metal.

And the rest of the jersey sheets we've abandoned living here because it's so mild.

***

I didn't talk about Christmas. Ben did a magnificent job singing in church late on Christmas eve. I struggled so hard to stay awake. Sam kept looking at me during his sermon and smiling at me gently and I finally just put my head against a shoulder and closed my eyes.

I did much the same thing yesterday during The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies. We saw it in AVX/Atmos and while glorious, the moment I stop moving I fall asleep. I managed to only doze off once and fought through it so I wouldn't miss anything and I wasn't disappointed. It was beautiful. The fight on the ice was my favorite part and I cried. Oh, how I cried. It was very metal. Go see it if you can. Besides, I'm pretty sure that the only reason I didn't check out completely during the movie was that the AVX seats are so high I have to brace my legs against the chair in front of me in order to recline it and so no. Sat straight up the whole time.

I wish Cineplex would fix that. The cheap seats are far more comfortable but we no longer watch movies with the serfs.

Oh my God. I'm KIDDING.

***

The total lack of meaningful posting on my part has nothing to do with any of your conspiracy theories and everything to do with the fact that at the last minute August came out to spend the holidays with us and I'm not done talking his beautiful face off yet. I'm not done hanging out in the crook of his arm and I'm never ever going to be done listening to his accent heal my heart up nice and tight.

He isn't done loading up on the kind of endless affection one can't get anywhere but here on the point and no one will ever be done wishing he would come back for good. Except then things would be hard again but watching him shut down Joel and then Caleb too is oddly satisfying. I'll spend the week trying to absorb him and then begin a pointless campaign to keep him close and fail and get all strung out all over again but in the meantime he's home with us and that's all that matters.

It's early in the morning and his first gift to me is an admission I never wanted to know. It sent me to the garage where I stood in the dark calling softly for Jake. I didn't want Joel to hear me, but I had to take the chance anyway.

He finally shows up. The dust motes all around him from the windows into the dark make him look like he was buried on a shelf all this time. He looks faded but alert. And sad.

You're finally getting better, I haven't seen you for a long time.

I don't even tell him that every day I want to come here and summon him. That every damned day still hurts like a hot poker through my heart with every breath. Guilt doesn't affect ghosts though. That's one of the perks.

Caleb said that the night he came to the camper he was going to kill me afterward and hide my body in the woods.

Why did he say this?

He said it would have been better for all of them. Better for him. Lochlan would have been blamed for it and I wouldn't have been there to fight over anymore.

Bridget, I think you're in over your head here.

But he didn't do it because in the middle of everything he decided that in case maybe he can come back that it would be nice to keep hurting me throughout my whole life. That I would be his darkness and depravity and that he would just hold Lochlan at bay with threats, fill him with doubt, keep him down. Hurt him worse this way.

That's not okay, Bridget. I think it's time you sound the alarm.

I haven't done that after every single thing he's ever done. Why would I do it now?

Because he gets away with things.

He didn't get away with murder.

Yet.

He won't kill me. He's had every chance there is. He loves me too much.

Is that what you want to call it?

That's what I have to call it.

Then go back to your pretty little delusional life, Princess. You seem happiest there.

I'd rather stay with you.

Then push him just a little too hard and let him fulfill his destiny.

But do you think Lochlan will get his soul back if I do that?

Yes, but he'll have no use for it if you're gone.

Just fast, I'm up to my elbows making turkey stock for soup.

 Caleb would like me to clarify that the swing was not my Christmas present, it was just something he noticed that I needed. So he had one made and installed for me. He also noticed that Henry needed a new skateboard ramp so he had a better one sent to us (also not a gift). It came on a flatbed truck and they used a crane to get it off. Henry's been outside ever since. With Andrew and Keith. I worried briefly about helmets for the adults but then nope. They pay their own dentist bills. Henry's wearing a helmet, however. That's part of the deal.

The old plywood ramp that Lochlan made for Henry has already been dismantled and put in the stack of scrap wood in the garage. It had BL + LM carved into the side and I'm pretty sure adolescent Caleb hated that every time he saw it.

Loch said, No matter. I'll carve it into this one too.

I pointed out it might ruin it if he did and he shrugged and said So what?

Something for the girl who has nothing.

My gift from the Devil this year is the news that he's turning the electric fence back on.

I should be happy he told me.

But he is creepy and inside my brain and did really well in the Impress Bridget category. He had a swing installed in the orchard. It's weathered grey but new and it's securely tied to one of the bigger trees which is in better condition than the rest and it's a very thick board with two ropes with big knots tied underneath each end and it only holds one on purpose and is only wide enough for me besides and maybe Ruth if she is so inclined. I like to have alone-spots. I like swings. I like flying up to try and touch the clouds any chance I get and I like childhood adventure of the simplest kind.

The electric fence is reinstated because the orchard is on the far western side of the property, down a slope underneath the boathouse and the stables. More secluded and vaguely wild and he would prefer that nothing is able to sneak up on me.

I can understand that. My hearing isn't great (understatement).

Try it out, he says. Smiling genuinely, as he only does when I am little.

I grab the rope and turn and sit down. The board is sanded smooth and weatherproofed. The ropes are soft but strong. I put my arms up high and begin to sway.

Would you like a push?

Yes, please. 

He walks around behind me and gives me a gentle shove and soon I am soaring into the grey rainy day, holding tight, the tree creaking softly as I try and pump my legs to get past the cloud cover into space. I can't do it quite yet but now I have the means. I have a chance. I could touch heaven if I tried.

Presence.

Oh my GOD.

This is great. I walked in on Lochlan and PJ sorting out their arrangement for Mr. Heatmiser, a song from the movie A Year Without Santa Claus. Which, if you haven't seen it, you should, for it might scar you for life.

Of all things.

I'm Mr. Green Christmas
I'm Mr. Sun.
I'm Mr. Heat Blister
I'm Mr. One Hundred-And -One
They call me Heat Miser
Whatever I touch
Starts to melt in my clutch.
I'm too much!

Such a dramatic rendition too. It's outstanding. I don't think I have to point out who is which but Lochlan really poured it on for the second half of the song.

PJ broke in at the end and pointed out that he read my entry from yesterday and that I alternately fueled his nightmares and crushed his dreams. Lochlan cut back in and said I might be losing my wi-fi access for the holidays because some songs just don't need to be sung. But he looked so helpless when he said it I started to laugh and they began the song all over again.

Not sure if he was giving up on trying to censor me at last or is satisfied that I didn't tell you everything.

Let's go with both. 

***

Caleb messages me bright and early which is why I wound up walking in on the boys singing. Otherwise I would have slept for another couple of hours and missed all the fun. Ben is still asleep. This surprises no one. No one at all.

Santa left a present here for you. I think you should come open it. 

That typo fits perfectly. 

What typo?

'Santa'. 

Bridget..

Well it DOES. 

And then he goes to radio silence until I show up. That's how he works.

The first part, unnecessary but I started it. The second made me cry when I wrote it.

Make them laugh, it comes so easy
When you get to the part
Where you're breaking my heart (breaking my heart)
Hide behind your smile, all the world loves a clown

Oh, well, let me just cover my smile with both hands.

I think I'm getting sex for Christmas.

Also for days that end in y (because I'm a raging addict and it's one thing no one's ever going to try to fix, I promise you that).

And that isn't anything new. Some of you seem so damned surprised that we manage so easily. So let me get some things straight. Because you have so many questions and some of them a a bit over the line even for me. But I understand the curiosity too. I was once a norm and it was so brief you might have blinked but I tried my best and then I went, yeah, fuck it and here we are.

Yes, we sleep in one big bed. Well, no, not all of us. Geez! Though Sam and PJ are both so cuddly when they sleep I could easily..wait, what? It's a California King size bed, which means Ben almost fits into it and Loch and I still sort of perch on the side together but we're used to sharing a twin bed in a forty-square-foot camper so there you go.

Okay it was slightly bigger than that. Maybe forty-five. Sixty?

No I don't mind sleeping hot.

Have you met Lochlan? Or Ben?

(Hey, it's entirely possible. They both have performed for money.)

We don't tuck in blankets so my toes can stick out the bottom and I don't burst into flames. Sometimes that means I wake up freezing because the blankets are all over on the floor somewhere.

Neither man moves a lot when they sleep though. They say it's me.

It probably is. I'm a total thrasher. Loch says it's like greasing up an octopus and then trying to squeeze it really hard. He tells me one of these days he's going to hold me too hard in a dream and I'm going to shoot out of his arms into the dark and stick to the wall on the other side of the room. The first time he described this I laughed so hard coffee came out my nose and it hurt.

Ben just rolls his eyes. Ben can barely stand to touch anything while he sleeps, which is bullshit because I've told the stories of precisely how many times we went camping pre-children and he would bring nothing but his charm and then sleep in our tent and I would wake up wearing him on my back and Trey would laugh and decided that Ben wanted me.

Duh.

God. Are we this awesomely dysfunctional?

Yes. Yes we are. 

Since he stopped drinking he needs to sleep like a vampire. I think it's psychological. he says it's pathological and waggles his eyebrows and says he's just waiting to pounce but then he falls asleep instead because...so....comfortable.

Tea hurts when it shoots out one's nose too.

But for the record, since this seems to be the most-asked question and I'm only going to answer this once. Yes, they take turns because trying to do it all at once with both is a little too much for me. I'm more fun-sized than full-sized. Five feet tall to Ben's six-four. We tried it once. Exactly once and never again. There. Happy now? We tried it with other people (shhhhh the Devil) and it just doesn't work. I can't. Just no.

(I said Trey back there. Holy shit. Been a while. That's what we called Cole. Long story, but aren't they all?)

************

I'm going to buy a fifty pound turkey today. I'm pretty sure it will come with pop-off wheels, a pull-up handle and maybe built-ins. The wishbone will be so big we'll be able to turn it into a swing to use to try and touch the moon. The wings we'll use to fly to heaven to share leftovers with the boys.

I can't wait.

My sea of dreams.

This world has turned to dust
All we've got left is love
Might as well start with us
Singing a new song
Something to build on

He brought me back down slowly, carefully, shaking ever so slightly, his hands wrapped around my upper arms. I am bathed in sweat and firelight and he smiles. I can see the fire reflected in his brown eyes. He drops his arms to my waist and pulls me in close. He lets out a long breath and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

I love my goodnight kisses. They always start as a kiss and end as a personal hazmat situation. I was explored over every inch, inside and out. Ben is easy to rile up and tough to calm back down. Sleep? What's that? Except that he was tired and when he fell asleep finally it was flat on his back, hands on his chest and I was relegated to sleeping in the fire.

I don't mind, though the fire made a little disgruntle or two about sleeping dirty, as he calls it. I didn't care, I couldn't keep my eyes open either. It was two in the morning. Lochlan wrapped his hands around my back and fell asleep on his side, his mouth against my forehead, nose in my hair, arms locked tight against my shoulderblades. He will sleep until five and then wake up as he always has in a long-developed habit to start work before the gates open, except that there are no gates and he doesn't have to leave and so he will crawl onto me and my breath will evaporate with the darkness, his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me up against him, whispering things in other languages, cutting into my eyes with his curls and my skin with his nails until he drops back beside me and falls asleep again until a more reasonable hour, never once letting me get more than an inch away from him.

Ben's hand reaches out to hold mine as I drift off again, my arm flung out behind me to bring him along.

The fire dies down as the sun came up but we don't notice. We don't care.

I'll be your fire when the lights go out.

Maybe it was all too much
Too much for a man to take
Everything's bound to break
Sooner or later, sooner or later

You're all that I can trust
Facing the darkest days
Everyone ran away
But we're gonna stay here, we're gonna stay here

I swear to God Ghosttown is the first single from Madonna that I have truly loved in twenty years. Not since Take A Bow have I been so happy to sit and press repeat. My inner twelve-year-old who wore out her copy of Madonna's very first self-titled album is so incredibly happy to hear this, you don't even know.

But you want to know about my evening.

That's why I started with the song. PJ kept me in Fireball and eggnog, just barely level until Lochlan got home and then he handed me off and went out to dinner with the rest.

Lochlan started to lay into me about eating something and getting straight and I finally told him to stuff it. That I'm not a child. That if I miss a meal what's the worst that will happen? Ooo. For fucks sakes.

He stood there trying not to laugh at me because I'm being very serious while I waver all over the damn place. Then he smiled and said he had something to show me. He dialed through his phone music and turned on the speakers in the living room. Then he turned off the lights, put on this song (he knows how to bring out Twelve, she hides until he does certain things, you know) and we had a slow dance. Just us. Me and him. Like the bad old days only it felt like home. It felt like it used to when things were easy.

I thanked him for being the king of easy listening and he corrected me and said pop, and I said No, you can't be the king of pop. That's Michael Jackson and he's dead too. 

After that we just shut up and kept hitting repeat until Matt got home and broke the spell. By then I was straight. Straight and hungry.

Lochlan said I told you and made me a peanut butter sandwich. Also like in the bad old days. I hate peanut butter. HATE it.

I ate it anyway.