I'm a fucking nutbar, but then so is Papi.

Is it depression?

Maybe it's my anemia upping the ante to bring me down me again.

Could it be cancer finally filling my uterus with black death like it did with my mother and grandmother?

goddammit i told you ... it's mine!  leave it the fuck alone!

I'm not feeling so great, and of course my mind would jump to cancer.  I jump to the most horrid outcome possible every time.

I've slept 23 of the past 34 hours.  I just don't feel good.

I do have an avid imagination.  I guess that's what makes me the creative artist I am.

But damn!

ok ... time for you squeamish boys to stop reading if you can't handle the girly stuff.

I have something going on in the womanly world.

It's so hard to think of myself as a woman.  I still consider myself a girl.  I'm probably the most immature of all my aging peers, yet I'm also one of the most youthful because of it.

age is just a number.

I have had strange goings on with my monthly sequel.  That rat bastard acted as if the world was coming to an end and didn't want to leave the comfort of my womb to see what's up.

I have had spotting for a total of 10 days now since the last visit of 'ugh'.

I thought my normal womanly situation would never come.  It was 4 or 5 days late, but sometimes, it's hard to tell with my finicky womb.  I get that stopover every 23 days or so.

Yeah.  Ridiculous.  I know.

At least it only lasts 4 days.  I guess that's to make up for the every 3 weeks of the blahs.

Anyway, it freaked me out, all this spotting and no getting busy with the deed.  This has never happened before and it scares me.

Behold!  Good ol' Rick the Red finally made an appearance yesterday, and at the same time I slipped into the off and on coma.

I haven't accomplished anything since Thursday, because the times that I actually WAS awake, it was all about Mr. Moustache.

He's had a resurgence of energy.  It's so nice.  We'll be enjoying him during this temporary 'up time'.

A small window of peace for us, and a new opportunity for my love to resume terrorizing me via a calendar that now hangs on the wall.

Papi thinks it's funny.  I can't stand looking at that ugly mug.

It's for "T-Boys" and Papi bought it at the same time as those playing cards we used on Valentine's Day.  Every month has a different picture of an F-M, none of which I find attractive.

Papi told me the money goes to support transitioning people.

"Fucking excuse me?!?!?!  Trannies have all the fucking support in the world!!!!  What about the wives who sit in a La-Z-Boy pit of doom and cry for 2 months straight?!?!?!  Give the fucking money to US!!!

Papi giggled, "But most wives wouldn't do that.  Most wives would leave."

It's hung right where I would be looking while working on my journey via my words to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Fucking hell.  You are an evil imp my love.  Why would I want to look at that when right behind it is a perfectly pleasing calendar with a picture of a mama frog and her baby!?!?

This is why I love Papi, however.

My wonderful bull in a china shop.

and now, i return the original obsessive fretting ...