Jesus complicated.

Sam and I had a karaoke session in his car all the way down the highway to early church this morning, singing along with Wings. Let Me Roll It indeed. By the third go he had all the words down, and by the fourth we were both sick of it and switched to Fleetwood Mac.

And I got another lecture, because he covered for me and he was pissed that I flouted his grace in favour of making a cheap grab at shocking the whole household, as if PJ is an easy mark, lesser somehow.

He's not but everyone is also right in assuming that he's a safe bet, he's easily let off the hook whereas virtually anyone else would be subject to a huge blowup.

And I know what's wrong with me. I know what's wrong with this, but I maintain if there's going to be a fuckup, PJ is definitely the lesser of all evils. I had offers from as far away as Jay. No one wants me with Jay.

And yet Sam is wondering why PJ in the first place? Why not himself?

Because August was busy (August is also angry with me. Seems to be contagious.)

I wasn't busy, Bridge. 

You're a direct threat. 

Lochlan regularly invites me-

Right. He does. I don't. 

I'm harmless. 

No, you're not. And I tell the truth. You're as dangerous as they come. 

More than August? 

Yes. 

Why is that?

Oh, look, we're here. Looks like a full lot today. Ready for your closeup, Preacher?

Hide or lie.

He poured me a stiff drink for breakfast. A Bridget-double, which is one and a half. I drink it like a shot to feel the warmth and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand so that I look tough. I put the glass down on the counter and turn just as he whispers Showtime, baby. 

He pushes me backwards without looking, as I stand behind him without anyone realizing I was there, because Lochlan threw his coffee mug overhand at PJ's head upon coming into the kitchen.

Christ, Padraig. Keep your fucking hands to yourself!

Or maybe keep better track of where your wife is, at any given time. PJ reaches back once more, grabs me by the arm and pulls me out beside him. Lochlan turns pale.

At least I can actually protect her. PJ further risks his skin in this game. Besides, she's my ride or die. Better off with me than virtually anyone else on this point. 

But Lochlan ignores him. Did I hit you with the mug? 

No. I shake my head.

Who's your ride or die, Peanut? 

You are. 

That's my girl. 

She wasn't in any danger with me, but maybe you better talk to Caleb, as she left his place in a hurry and I just ended up being the boomerang. 

I know. PJ. Thanks. Lochlan is still looking at me.

And that's how I escape any sort of retribution in this house. They actually thank me. And then I'm dismissed. He winks at me and with a flourish he is gone. Proper thing, too. If he had continued to needle Lochlan, eventually Lochlan would have turned his ire and attention back to PJ and it would have ended with a quiet brawl on the floor in which they really really want to hurt each other but at the same time, they don't and it's difficult and complicated and nevermind because PJ's already gone. I said I'd take the fallout for my actions and I do, right up front.

Caleb wasn't putting me in danger. He made a comment about me being a party favour so I left. 

And confirmed his assessment. 

Hell yes. 

PJ's had a little too much good luck this year, don't you think?

Sure, fine. Next time I'll go to Duncan. 

You're angry with me. 

I needed you and you disappeared. Again. After you promised you wouldn't. You said you wouldn't break any more promises to me but you weren't there. 

I could say the same for you when you promise to stay put and then I end up sleeping alone. Apparently my ride or die is Benjamin! 

I open my mouth in horror. TAKE THAT BACK! 

STAY THE FUCK PUT! 

FINE! 

FINE! 

He laughs suddenly with tears in his eyes. Jesus, Peanut. If I could pin you to the floor anymore I would. Caleb said you were sleeping. Sam said you were doing fine, every single time I went looking for you everyone assured me I was being a helicopter husband and that you'd be around in a minute but you never showed. I really wish you wouldn't fuck with PJ. It's a conflict of interest. His loyalty is to your well-being, not your flesh. 

I've got news for you, then. My laugh is bitter because I know better.

His eyes flashed brightly in warning but in that flash I was gone too.

In the next Harry Potter movie I'm starring as Hegemony Grifter

(Who wants a Saturday morning crash course on Manichaeism? Not this girl. I get enough of it on a daily basis.

They let me turn on the exterior Christmas lights last evening. The crazy colourful midway ones I wouldn't let them take down, that span at least eight kilometres in length because absolutely everything is covered and you can see our point from space? Yeah.

Sorry (not sorry).

In other news, Caleb earned himself an icy shoulder by pointing out that things have shifted once again, and didn't I see it? First we've boarded up and demolished the concrete rooms in my brain and then we shut out the ghosts in favor of more room for the living. Things are improving. I was able to navigate this time of year without completely falling apart so let's move quickly through the stages here and go back to keeping the drama within the Collective relegated to who gets me on which night.

Which...honestly? Horrified me that he even went there.

Because I don't.

And just no.

Fuck off, Caleb. I used his name for effect. Formal. Distance. No beloved nicknames for you today, asshole. Because a) don't neatly wrap up your dismissal of someone I will love and miss forever, equally as if he still breathed and b) don't highlight my own deviant behavior as if it's a bonus or a treat for you. Don't gleefully benefit from my pain. Fuck you indeed.

And then true to form, I promptly came home and went to PJ's room since I didn't want to disturb Lochlan who is exhausted from being tense for the past while. PJ woke up easily, held the blankets up for me to crawl in and said No funny business, Bridge. I'm an old man and I can't afford to lose any more friends. And then he promptly pulled off all of my clothes.

SO HAPPY.

(These posts, albeit being from a broken stream of consciousness where I'm not detailing every moment of the day make me sound Bipolar. Surprise! I'm not. We're home and I need to tell you about something. I'll still be in my dark hole dealing with ghosts and their presences and absences but with new music, because...priorities.)

You guys. I found them.

Since the jet had wi-fi, I lost three hours mindlessly surfing and something I always do when that happens is to see if Deepfield ever surfaced after the two perfect albums they put out, the last of which was over six years ago.

Well, guess what? I found a reference to Baxter Teal on an instagram feed from some radio station saying his new band was going to be appearing.

The name of the band is Gravesend. They have an EP out and yep, it's him with a bunch of other guys from other decent bands, but they re-did Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. And it's incredible. As usual the only social media they seem to have is a half-assed Facebook page but I already bought the album on iTunes and damn. Dead and Gone is amazing. Forty seconds into it even PJ was leaning over my shoulder saying Who is THAT?  

Hopefully there will be more from them. Soon.

(Since someone's going to ask, what did you do the other two hours of the flight, Bridget? I'll clear it up early. I ate. Caleb had that plane well-stocked. I ate my way to Lake Tahoe and back. Happy now? I am. First time I've tasted food in forever. Usually I have no use for it.)

(Also note: there are two albums by Deepfield Gravesend on iTunes. Ignore the Celebrity EP. It's so terrible I don't even think it's them, oddly. If it is it should be pulled and burned or rerecorded or something.)

Winter circus.

We're heading out now. We have a two-hour drive, and then a five hour flight and then another hour drive and then we'll be home. Home to see why August didn't come out, home to see if Gage survived alone with the dog. Home. Home where Jake never lived in life but haunts in death in a way I can no longer explain. He's there, I just can't see him. I wonder if I'll stop feeling him in the same gradual way.

I hope not. Death shouldn't be about having to forget to cope with the absence. I don't like this empty hole. Life is a series of distractions and in between that hole digs against me, leaving a painful wound.

Death is a catalyst for change, Bridget. He brought Lochlan back to you. He brought Ben back to life. He brought me to a better place. He brought you your army back. 

Caleb says all of this against the top of my head. I am almost asleep. We packed up last night and then settled in by the fire for one last drink. It won't take long to wrap things up here, a place that is quickly becoming shelter in even the quietest of storms, like this entire week.

Mmmm. He did. 

I'm grateful to him for this chance. I will always credit him for this. 

Credit me. He bailed. 

What if he was never real? What if he was just an angel sent to bring us all back together as a group? 

That makes me a sacrifice. 

No.

Yes. Always the lamb to slaughter between all of you. 

He pulls away and looks at me. He's frowning. Is that what you see yourself as? 

I don't answer, instead tucking my head back down against his chest, holding on tight. He doesn't say any more and I fall asleep soundly until he stirs again and Lochlan takes me over, standing me up, leading me back to bed. I tell him to say goodnight to the lamb and he kisses my forehead hard. Goodnight, Bridget. He doesn't even question it. His arms tighten around me until I can just get in a breath and I fall asleep to the quiet, dependable thud of his strong heart against my weaker, much-repaired one. I dream of circuses in the snow. It's beautiful. Why no one's ever put the two together blows my mind and for just a little while it's the nicest distraction in the world.

Day 3650 without you.

Ten years tonight. The proverbial lifetime. I just want him to walk through the door so I can wish him a happy forty-seventh birthday. Then I want to kill him for doing this. For leaving me stuck in my very own life like a bookmark, holding his place. Unable to reread or even read ahead. This is where I am today. As always. Not a great place but I don't want to move from it in case he comes back. Wouldn't want him to lose his place.

He's not coming back, Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly, to eleven-year-old Bridget because that's where he bookmarked her.

I don't believe you, she says belligerently in return, lower lip stuck out for extra stubbornness, while the rest of them look nervously at the ground, wondering if she'll run or seek refuge among them. It's always one or the other.

It's snowing.

Give me a name
Something to save

(This is beautiful.)

If you look at me straight-on today you can see right through me. I'm made of tissue paper, easily torn, easily destroyed and I can't find my strength, can't stick to something stronger.

Yes, you can.

Lochlan is smiling at me. He's standing in knee-deep snow, hair wild, ice packed in around every crease of his jacket and jeans. When I woke up this morning I came downstairs to an early birthday party. We're not celebrating the end but the memory that lives forever. There's a huge cake in the butler's pantry. There's a Ben in the living room. There's a Sam, a Duncan, a Dalton, a Christian, an Andrew, a Schuyler and a Daniel too. Ruth and Henry are outside playing in the snow with the aforementioned redhead and PJ too. There's a Batman bringing up the end of this parade and I watch it go past my eyes with wonder. They all arrived while I was still sleeping and now it's a woodland party. Tiny white lights are strung up in the timbers, up the staircase and all over the dining room, the outside of the house and the trees as far as I can see.

The chef is here early so that he can be sent home early too. He's making a half-dozen shepherd's pies, one of Jacob's very favorite foods. And fresh pickles because he loved those too.

There are presents on the sideboard, but they're not for Jacob, there's something for every one of us. I think that's Caleb's work until closer inspections shows me they drew names. Someone put my name in and Caleb's too. Bless them.

And every time I waver and begin to crash to my knees from the weight of this memory, old and new, someone reaches down and brings me to my feet, holding me up, keeping me going.

Every time. Just like they always have.

Jacob would have liked this, but he didn't stick around. I'll be eating his share of food tonight, because I can. Take that, Preacher.

I hope in our next lives he's here for these good moments. My loves took a sad event and turned it into something beautiful. They do this a lot. It's worth sticking around for.

I have to go. I was just invited to the snowball fight. We aim square and pack them hard. No one is ever off limits. If you're hurting you're alive, or so they always say. If you can manage a two-day party it doesn't get any better than that, does it?

What are you waiting for? Caleb's smile is new, satisfied and hopeful all at once. He wanted to be on the inside so badly he would have done anything. Now he's here. Taking a place I didn't think he'd take but look what he brought to me. Look at this.

(Like I said, this is beautiful.)

Jesus Devil.

When I woke up the fairy lights he put up around the bedroom were still on and a fire crackled gently in the woodstove. I sat up to see that he was in the big overstuffed chair across from the bed. He leans forward, sniffs, wipes his eyes with his hand and takes a sip of his drink.

Go back to sleep, Neamhchiontach. 

But his eyes are red in the strange light and I tell him to come back to bed. Why is he up? What's going on?

I'm just watching you sleep and thinking about how awful I've been to you. 

In the past-

Your entire life. 

Caleb-

Please, Bridget. Go back to sleep and just let me wallow in my misery. This is my penance.

This should be your redemption. 

I don't deserve grace from you, Neamhchiontach. Let's head home while this trip is still a good memory for you. Before I continue to ruin everything. 

He promised me nothing and I took it.

Good evening from Lake Tahoe. We arrived in the middle of a snowstorm and made it safely to the lake house with only a couple of harrowing moments on the road. The driveway was plowed, all the lights were blazing when we pulled in and the house was warm and well-stocked with everything my heart desires and a chef who will be visiting twice per day to cook for us while we are here.

The lake looks cold but beautiful from my vantage point in the master bedroom or from the hot tub on the deck. He's had heaters installed outside for my comfort and all of the generic cabin-themed bedding has been replaced with vintage inspired patchwork quilts in washed ivory and tea-stained hues with furs layered on top.

He's listening.

We had a whiskey toast and then some simple cheese toast for dinner, light since we arrived so late. I had a hot bath and an early night and slept until noon today. No dog to wake me up, no sounds of the house stirring with music playing or loud deep-voiced laughter to rouse me from my dreams.

And surprisingly no Diabhal on this trip. Just Caleb, somehow anxious to make sure I do nothing at all, and anxious to add nothing to my anxiousness overall. Today all we did was watch the snow fall and watch a couple of scary movies on Netflix.

What would you like for dinner this evening, Bridget? 

A Monte Cristo. With a pickle on the side and french fries. 

Always with the Cristos. 

They're so good. 

Still? 

Yes. 

Done. Any dessert? 

Naw. Maybe an Irish Coffee. 

And then more sleep? 

Yes, please. 

Hibernaked/The violent circus.

Yes, I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
                   ~Oscar Wilde

Today is a cutting-wind kind of day. A whitish-gray bitter sky kind of day, a day to stay inside kind of day with fresh coffee, darkened rooms with a fire going, tiny white fairy lights on for the only light besides. A day for homemade cinnamon buns and a hot turkey sandwich dinner planned for later. A day to rest. In pajamas or not. I chose naked. While hibernating. Hence hibernaked. My new awkward but appropriatedly inappropriate portmanteau for this snowy Friday. Hello. Welcome to my weird.

(Besides. Gas went up again. We're walking everywhere from now on, so we may as well hunker down. Gas is 1.45 a litre. That means it'll cost almost three hundred bucks to fill each truck so yeah. Nevermind leaving the house ever again. Like, ever. I can have groceries air-dropped. Schuyler and Batman can work from home. Sam will have to beam into his church to do Sunday service and gosh, I guess Caleb will have to buy ice cream to keep at home instead of driving up highway 99 for the good stuff. Do they do Skype AA meetings? Nevermind, Ben knows them by heart. And our next concert isn't until February so we can ride this out I suppo-

Wait, what?

I still can't hear anything. I had my face melted off last night and I'm not even sorry. I went in thinking I might die and emerged baptized brand new in liquid metal, arms full of merch because goddamn.

Goddamn. 

Four bands in one show meant a five-hour concert. A terrific value for forty-five bucks a ticket in the first place and we got our favorite tables so bonus awesome. I got a seriously affectionate pat-down and a drink order within seconds so double bonus.

But then...then...Avatar happened. Oh my God, where have they been hiding? (Sweden, if you're wondering.) They were incredible. Death metal at it's finest but with a circus bent. No one told me. I squealed through their entire set, when I wasn't being hammered into the floor by it, I mean. They had costumes! And makeup. Thanks to a quick Youtube search I was expecting Mercyful Fate when we went in and left a new hardcore fan. Jesus. Why the fuck does the internet hide this stuff from me? Hail the apocalypse indeed. Also dreads. Forgot how much I love dreads.

Then Of Mice and Men happened. They were the most straightforward of the night. No costumes. No makeup. Just a band out to prove they are still heavy even though Austin is no longer with them and Aaron is doing the clean and the dirty vocals almost at the same time. He could manage it all just fine. They didn't do any power ballads, which slay me every time but I gather they wanted to prove something and they did. Also headbanging in unison is my new favorite thing. Not to do (are you mad?) but to watch. SO awesome.

Hollywood Undead was the outlier. Kind of a heavy-pop party sound with so much rap I was like...how? But they were charming enough to make it work by working the crowd so hard we didn't even realize how much fun we were having until they were done. The masks are cheesy and the fact that every women is a 'bitch' in their songs (Just. NO.) hardly distracted from watching them play off us and each other with lightning speed. Solid show.

But then the curtains opened on Maria and the blood girls and Travis (who I think is nailed to the front of the stage possibly, I need to go back and check) and I cried. Whoops but yeah. Fangirled so hard you would laugh at the pictures and video I managed to get. It's shaky and jumpy and awful but I didn't care. But honestly the whole set was too short, too smoky and too theatrical. They could have fit three more songs in rather than have huge props to change out, as Ben pointed out, through his own melted face hole. However they sounded so fucking good live and were a band I never expected to see in person that I instantly forgave the technical downsides of their set for their sheer perfection. They played Burn. And Whore. Win.

We were home by one-thirty this morning. My face is never going to grow back. I have a pentagram hoodie now, which oddly fills a hole in my wardrobe I didn't know I had but did until now. And I'm happy that I survived and didn't stay home like I threatened to yesterday. Music is transforming, restorative and life-changing. I bought some more tickets this morning for another show.

We love you, Vancouver! indeed.