Miami, Florida airport.
Family from hell.
No matter where I go to escape them, all 9 of them find me. Yes, they're sitting right across from me at the gate.
I actually chose a seat that they wouldn't be able to sit next to me, and I figured they wouldn't want to occupy only 3 seats with all their bags and a double stroller.
The fucking family from hell are all squeezed into one small area.
I swear to gawd, if there is one, then there is a fucking devil, and he followed me from the hotel just to try to get under my skin for the last few moments of this fucking journey.
I felt as though I had shaken the demons today.
I had no tears and I had some smiles.
It feels so sad leaving Papi alone at the hotel. The rest of mi esposo's healing has to be done alone. No help from the over-doting wife.
I'm sure my love will do ok. It's probably just the tail end of my emotions tugging at me. I won't get to see mi esposo again for 4 more sleeps.
I'm quite afraid of what I'll see when Friday comes. By that point, Papi will have all the bandages off and be rid of the draining paraphernalia.
I had a nightmare about it last night.
I dreamed that my love's nipples were really high above where they were supposed to be. There were also really hideous scars that were jagged and in really bad directions.
So, I suppose that's worst case scenario. Dr. Scissorhands of Florida is touted as the best in his field. I'm sure he did a fine job. I'm sure it's just my demons coming out to play while I sleep.
fuckers will get me wherever they can.
My love put a picture of the wreckage up on Facebook today. I'm dying!!! It's so awful for me to see that on the page where I go to communicate with mi esposo. It's too much.
I want only to see Papi's gorgeous face.
Just like in the calendar of ugly mugs, I personally don't see why anyone would want to expose this as a picture of pride.
But Papi is different than me.
Here's a wonderful moment however!!
I have figured out how to get around using a male pronoun for Papi. I don't ever have to say 'he'!
If I use my love's first initial, 'E', then it sounds like I'm saying 'he'.
At the tattoo shop yesterday ...
yes ... of course i got a souvenir ... who the hell are we talking about here?!
... they all called Papi a 'he'. If i had have said 'she', they would have looked at me like I was the one on Vicodin.
So, when Mr. Bare-Beerbelly Tattoo-Man asked, "Now, where has he gone?"
I simply answered, "E's in the washroom."
It struck me then that it really did sound like 'he'!!!
I'm good now!!!
I don't ever, ever have to use that fucking pronoun that to date has made me feel like my skin is crawling with slugs.
ahhhhhhhhhh ... denial is a beautiful thing, no?
It's all good.