On the count of three ... one ... two ...

There's a lot going on.

I can always tell there's a lot going on when I go to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, and I'm stupefied.

It's all pretty good stuff, but the icing is a little bitter.

Working on 2 short film scores, taking care of the wounded tranny, taking care of the 96 year old coot, taking care of the 4 legged Fuzzy Family, 3 days a week at physio to get this bitch of a back to shut the fuck up so I may be employable, and preparing to prepare for the panel of ICBC lawyers whose job it is to convince everyone that I'm a liar.

yeah ... people just t-bone illegal maneuvering cars with their motorcycle, tumble over the hoods of said cars, then fly 15 feet through the air and land on their head all the time! there's nothing wrong with me ... right?

And at the same time, try to figure out what these feelings are.

I have no idea, really.  I mean, it's not every day we watch our loved ones go through sex changes.

There's just a feeling attached to it that I can't put my finger on.

I know we're very primal beings who, when connected to our instincts, can sense a lot more than we choose to admit.

It's just that as we go along, someone, somewhere tells us we're nuts for thinking our instincts are true.

I'm told I'm paranoid all the time.

Even still, I'm usually the one to say, "Told'ja so."

So, being connected to my instincts, I'm feeling something about Papi's most recent change, but I just can't figure out what it is.

Is it just the fact that I know my love has had the last procedure and the feeling of loss is final?

Is it that I'm sensing the shift in Papi's hormones now that they've taken away the last reminder of being born a female?

Is it that I can smell my love has changed?

I like to think I was a dog in a former life.  Maybe it's like in their world, where once a dog gets their 'bits' taken away, the other dogs can smell it and they are shunned from those who still carry their balls and ovaries?

It's a bit of a mind fuck thinking about my love as this new person.

I was so afraid of who this person would be that I'm married to.  I'm not afraid anymore.

I can safely say that.

But this other feeling?

It's almost like a letting go of some sort.

Perhaps my heart is finally speaking to my brain, "See, everything always works out.  Papi is still the sexy person you married."

Yet my brain is so damn stubborn that there is a battle ensuing.

'Stubborn' can be useful.  Like when you're learning to walk again.

In this case, stubborn is a curse.

My heart knows better than my brain.

Yet still, as I watch my wounded soul mate heal by way of rest, fluids and an arm to hold him while he tries to get up out of the La-Z-Boy, I don't know what this feeling is that looms.

I can't tell if it's happy, scared, content or indifferent.

Seriously.

I remember once an ex pissed me off, and I held in the anger.  It brewed and festered until they then did something as small as leaving the cap off the toothpaste and I lost it.

It wasn't about the toothpaste, and I can't even remember what it was that pissed me off, but I do know that if I had have figured out what irked me faster, I wouldn't have looked like a loon ranting about a cap and drying chunks of toothpaste congealing with air.

Maybe I'm just feeling that sigh of relief we feel when someone says, "Ok.  On the count of three I'm going to rip the bandaid off.  Ok!  Ready?"

Once it's no longer adhered to our skin, we get a rush of adrenalin, and the knowing that it's all over.

Well, the bandaid has definitely been ripped off.

Perhaps that's what's going on?