The Epiphany

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.

WRONG.

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'!

EVER!!

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.