Roots of my Willow

Papi's still going on about the inane he said/she said conversation.

But you know what, if it's my reality, then that's the way it is in my blog.

So there!

**sticks out tongue**

In last night's cozy hang out, my love tried to tell me the 5 Foot Clitoris is only 'x' amount bigger, by way of the distance between mi esposo's thumb and index finger.

Again, I corrected Papi, "Nope.  It's bigger."

"No way, it was big to start with."

"Nope.  It's huge."

And again went the batty back and forth comedy skit that is our marvelous life together.

Our life.

Like an old married couple, we watch Wipeout together and in tandem will burst into deep belly laughs, while peoples' flexible limbs are being thrown this way and that after bouncing off the big balls.

I snuggle into the side of Papi, spooning my love's arm.  I'm still only able to get this close.

Apparently, the pain is still too much to allow my head on mi esposo's chest.

Between each 'oof' and squeal of the contestants dense enough to be on the show, I evaluated a conversation I had during the day with one of the first people on the Trust List.  She was the 'responsible person' at the QAF that I was volunteering at.  She sweetly asked me, "How are you coming along with all this?"

I knew what she meant.  She didn't have to elaborate.

"I'm doing better.  I'm no longer defiantly saying, 'No, No, No, No," I said as I emulated a child stomping her feet, clenched fists articulating every 'No' with a slam to my lap.  I continued, "Now I find myself saying, 'Ok I think I can open my mind a little more day by day."

It was actually surprising to me to hear those words of substance come out of my mouth.

Between every whole hearted guffaw from one of the show's hosts, Jill, I thought about where I was in November, and how all the pain that pummeled my head and stabbed my heart seems to be dissipating.

I didn't know that I'd even get this far.  I remember when Papi said, "I'll give it one year, and if you're not on board with this, I'll stop."

or something like that ... enter here: papi correcting me while my love dissects my blog ...

Well, we are at 9 months, and my arduous issues are really all about pronouns, and hearing about the loss of another butch to the F-M world.

Seems manageable.

However, there is a run off that is more painful than the aforementioned.  I would say struggling with people's hatred is harder than my dealing with mi esposo's male transformation at this point, but they actually lie in a different category.

So, I sit here, brazenly amazed at how my mind could actually calm itself down to this point.

I can put these paltry issues into a tiny brown paper bag.  I can roll the top closed and wait for that moment when I'm hungry enough to open it, and eat it for lunch.

Pronouns.

Missing butches.

Haters.

Seems feasible that I could take these fuckers on, don't you think?

I feel like a willow tree, swaying from the force of the wind.  My branches may get blown too far in one direction, and it seems I would fall.

I never do.

I just right myself and wait for the next blow.

My roots are strong.