Butch Tits.

Tranny.

I thought I'd say it again just to piss 'them' off.  If I'm going to be bitchy from insomnia, then the rest of you must suffer with me.

Besides, how could I live up to my shit disturber title, if I didn't poke the hornets nest on a daily basis?

One thing I thought about last night until the sun came up this morning, was why I got on those little pharmaceutical puff pills in the first place.  It was to stop the pain and help me sleep.

Well, tough titties.

I'm still going to search for a way to get through the night.

Oh, and speaking of titties, another thing I thought about last night, was how much I miss them.

I grieve them.

I miss just rolling over in bed and having a palm full of pillowy, plush puppies to paw.

I feel like there's something missing from my life now.

I realized, they're never coming back.

If I want to feel those soft familiar friends, I'll have to play with my own.

However, they're not as fun.

I suppose I could take up Papi's offer and play with other women's mammillas, but they still aren't the breasts I married.

It's those breasts I want.

As I listened to Papi snore away the night, I cursed him.  Not for permanently taking away my funbags, but for sleeping better than me and not doing his evening chore of putting Psycho Kitty upstairs.

I was exhausted enough, that I merely laid and listened to the Tom Cat Operetta till the wee hours of morning.

And no, that has nothing to do with boobs, but I thought I'd throw that in there because I'm mother fucking tired and bitchy.

Back to boobs.

Every Wednesday, I volunteer for Queer Arts Festival for 4 hours.

4 hours of sorting papers that have been thrown into boxes for years upon end of neglect gets a little monotonous, so I look around at the walls of the office.

Basically, I get do this in a gallery of photos taken by S.D Holman.

Butch Tits.

Everywhere.

Some I recognize, ...

... not from personal experience ...

... some that look like they'd be days of funbag fondling, others that are pert enough to cut glass.

But Butch Tits everywhere.

It saddens me.

I sit in my composing room and create music, while staring at the only pic I have of my love exposed in all his prior butch glory.

With Butch Tits.

This is one of the hard parts of this transformation.

I know there's a few, but most of it has calmed.  I suppose with any loss, there's a certain amount that will never really go away.

I guess I'm no different.

Butch Tits.

I miss them terribly.

i release all fear ...