this kid's alright.

P.T.S.D. ... If you've never experienced it, you could never understand it.

I didn't understand it either when a friend had it, but now I do.

However, I'm now experiencing that some people don't understand it with me and really, it's ok!

I just had an email from a friend who genuinely cares and has a very sweet, pretty heart.

She says that I have to let go of pasts.

True!!!  100% agreement.

This is why I'm here sharing.  This is why I write about it.

I find that when I say it out loud, it loses it's power, and at the same time, I find support from people who have the same feelings.

A lot of the time, when I jump on here, I let the steam out of the kettle.

If you don't let it out, that whistle is painful!!!!!!  Good god that sound!!!!!  I can't handle it!!!!!

When I put the kettle on in the morning, I only put enough water in for that one magical cup of coffee and morning pouring.

That way, I can watch and be close by to snuff that offender before she screams.

Shhh.  Please.  I mean it.

I was raised to be ninja-like quiet in the morning because my mom was a light sleeper, and I am too.

Similarly, I'm bitchy in the morning, especially when woken up before my allotted time.  So, sometimes, I let my emotions rip and out comes everything true to my feelings, because my coffee hasn't kicked in yet.

I'm not the only one with big emotions.  I'm also not the only one who's continuously learning how to cook at lower and lower temperatures to keep emotions at a simmer.

One thing I can say, is that I'm happier now than I've ever been in life.  Really.

I might come on here and rant about the emotion du jour, ...

... who knows ... i may have gone on about something as boring as how my sinister stomach woke me up growling at 7am ...

... but you know what?  I know they're only emotions, which is why I feel safe to share here.

I feel safe, because I know that I'm not the only person out there who has maximum emotions.

I'm meeting so many people now that have big open mushy hearts that live every feeling with passion.

We feel everything bigger!  Love!  Anger!!  Lust!!!  Hurt ...

... yeah ... some feelings are better than others ...

Anyway, when I rant and go on about shit, most of the time, I press that happy orange 'publish' key with joy, because I know I get to tell the world I got another nugget of learning experience extinguishing fears.  No pain, no gain.

I share with everyone who can relate.  If I didn't have readers, I may not have kept going.  Honestly, I began by talking to 'you', my imaginary friend, but I have to say, you're going to have to let everyone else in now, too. 

I love my readers too much, because we learn together.

I also allow those who haven't lived this life to understand, that as much as it hurts like hell to walk through releasing another layer of that uncharitable onion, as soon as I cut that bitch open, I add a little curry and make a meal out of my triumph.

I know that overall, even though I stumble through learning how to let go of bullshit pasts, I do it the best way I know how.

But honestly?

Being happier than I've ever been in my life, I have to say, that whatever I'm doing seems to be working.

 it's often hard to tell just how close we are to success

shut the fuck up.

It's hard for me to focus in this house right now.

You know that annoying sound of a mosquito coming at your ear when you're trying to get to sleep?

You're dog tired and feeling like it's time to drift off, when blammo!

You hear it.

Mother fucker is trying to get into your ear so it can worm it's way around until it bites your sinus cavity.

... or maybe that's just me thinking worst case scenario ... again ...

So, you try covering your head in hopes that their brain is small enough that they can't figure out how to get in to find your blood!

But then the air gets thin and you have troubles sleeping because you can't breathe!!!

Anyway.

There is no mosquito right now.  It's too fucking cold in Vancouver to have mosquitoes.

But there is an annoying sound next door.

The neighbours are expanding their home to build Club Med on their property.

They've got fancy walkways, a new kitchen and some whacked out wall that looks like they're building a moat to keep everyone out.

Dude saws their fancy stones to put on that gargantuan concrete wall and it is about to make me lose my mind.

8 a.m. and he starts.  It's literally right outside our fucking window.

I wish he was a mosquito.  That fucker would be swatted in seconds and I'd go back to sleep.  There are some fucking sounds that seem to creep their way through my ear plugs.  That's one of them.

That and the old fart upstairs re-arranging her shoes every day at 7 a.m.

Oh how much fun that was when my brain injury was so bad, that I would wake up trying to figure out who the hell was making noises above my head, then try to figure out who the fuck is sleeping beside me, where the fuck I am and most importantly, how the fuck did I get in this room and who the fuck am I!!?!?!?

Yeah.  That was fun.

Anyway, It's not ranting about the G'ma or brain injury day.  I was going on about Club Med and their fucking Great Wall of China next door.

OK!  Back on track.

I never did tell you about how goddam crazy they are next door.

They didn't like the fact that we have company come and park in the back lane.

One day, we arrived home to find two massive boulders and two massive planters in the lane along their property.  They were placed right up to the line of our property so our visitors wouldn't park over the line of their property.

We are talking to the fucking millimeter.  

The most fucked up thing about that?  Now they can't park there either.

Seems they shot themselves in the foot on that one, but they got their way, and when we asked them about it, they replied, "It is to beautify the lane."

... really mother fucker?!?! you're crazier than me!!! ...

One of my favourite things they've done is removing my Dearly Departed Gypsy's rocks out of my garden and put them in theirs, because they thought I stole them from them from their yard to make our garden look pretty.

They didn't think to ask about it, they just took them.

They don't know that those rocks were collected by my Dearly Departed Gypsy from our last trip to the beach before my sweet girl passed away.  Those rocks have traveled around with me since her death.

However, now they're in a clump amongst their rocks and I'll never know which ones they are.  At least I can still say hi to her rocks as I pass by.

Anyway, this rant was brought to you by the mosquito man next door.

He's lucky my coffee has kicked in and I'm feeling a little less like offing the dude.

The noises made me forget about what I was going to go on about today.  I'll figure it out I'm sure.  There's always plenty for me to bitch about.

a problem is a chance for us to learn

I'm Sorry.

My weekend didn't really end after being so pumped with Broken Cat Dream and their fucking amazing performance.  I only got 3 hours sleep from all the excitement!!!!!!!

Wow!

Learn an instrument Friday night and perform an original song they've written 2 days later.

How many of us would do that?  Insanely brave.

I know Papi wouldn't do it.

He says that's his worst nightmare, and occasionally, he actually has that nightmare.

He'll dream that I can't perform and he has to take over for me.

To my love, this is fear.

To me, fear is confronting my mistakes and fixing them, with the impending doom that hovers over me.

I'm always too afraid to tell people how much they've hurt me, because I didn't have that opportunity to practise as a child.

I'm afraid that people won't care if I tell them how I feel, and they'll just tell me to fuck off, because to me, when they hurt me, it's because I'm just not good enough to be in their life.

Speaking of which, I apologized to my mother yesterday.

We spoke about the fact that if she's not honest with me, then I can't be honest with her.

I told her every single little feeling I had.

From feeling that she's never been proud of me, to feeling that she won't see me because Mr. Homophobia tells her not to.

Feelings that she doesn't call because she doesn't really like me all that much, and that it hurts that she calls my sister every day.

These are the thoughts that come into my head when I am not honest about my feelings.

That's really all thanks to my 'father' who really is a glorified sperm donor.  Goddam, he really fucked me up good from ditching his family for drugs.  I'm seeing this now.

My mother has never been able to be open about her feelings and I told her I need that if I'm going to have a relationship with her.

So.

I gave her an apology card.  On the front it had a cute cartoon bunny that had her head hanging in shame.

The caption read, "I fucked up."

My mom laughed and opened her eyes really wide when she said, "YES!  You DID!"

I smiled, knowing that such is my life.  I screw up all over the fucking place, because I didn't have the opportunity to learn from parents.

My mother was a child when she got pregnant with me.  My mother, my baby sister and I, we all grew up together.  Three kids in one house.

There was no room for my mom to learn communication, because her mom didn't communicate either.  Her mother emotionally ditched her when she got pregnant with me.

I've decided, that I will be my mother's surrogate big sister.

She really needs that.  Well, actually, we both need that.

I'm going to be honest about my feelings from now on, and then that way, my side of the street is cleaned up.

Papi asked me if perhaps, this will open the door for me to tell the 'mean girls' how much they hurt me, and in turn they can tell me why they did what they did.

Not bloody likely.

I have other messes to clean up.

I'll stick to cleaning up my side of the street.  There's enough to do here.

for the most part, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  follow your own truth.

Broken Cat Dream

So, there I was, enjoying my coaching for Ladies Rock Camp.

Seriously. 

Really, really enjoying my coaching.  I feel like Momma Bear helping her cubs.

They are amazing!!!!!

I can't wait to see them perform their song for an audience!!!  The audience is going to love them!  The buzz of energy within them reminds me of why I enjoyed music so much from the beginning.

As we become professional, sometimes, we think too much about what we're doing.

I saw that I can calm down a bit and just enjoy myself.  I don't need to worry about being the best.

All I need is emotion.

... lord knows i have enough of that to spare ...

Anyway, as the gregarious singer sang this one line, "You're just a fucking man!!!!" I giggled at the voice emoting the angst that so many women feel.

Yes, this line was sung with the most feeling.

It was a bit silly and angry, yet bonding with the strength of super glue for all the band to sing along to.

A short while later, it was time for quiet practise.

We left the dark, dank bar to the outside picnic table to hash out formula and lyrics, and I immediately had thoughts of what I started to deal with recently.

You see, right beside us, there were about 10 men building a skateboard ramp.  While it was pretty cool to see their creation, I was grateful I wasn't a young, 20-something, pretty, young girl alone amongst them.

I have been thinking about things I avoid because of fear, anxiety or P.T.S.D.  One thing I avoid?  Being around a group of strangers, who happen to be bio-males.

I won't go into details as to why, but being a girl, I am sure you can figure it out.

Well, here was my band, outside and oblivious to the men beside us, growling 'You're just a fucking man!!!'

I started laughing and they really didn't get the punch line, until I commented, "Seriously.  I can't even tell you what this means for me right now.  You have no idea how this is making me feel."

Ladies Rock Camp is about empowering women.

If there was a woman who needs reminding of empowerment, it's me.

I'm always looking for more strength in this world that seems to be a man's world for so many of us.

Not today.

These girls reminded me that we have so much power.

We can sing together and enjoy ourselves.

These women really made my heart feel elation.

They made me part of their journey of music.

They made me feel like I was a big part of their experience.

Really, they don't get that they did everything on their own.

All I did was lead them there a little faster with my experience.

They did it all.

Never having picked up an instrument, they started Friday afternoon to learn their chops and wrote their own song that they will be performing today.

This.  This is worth my time this weekend.

This has made me see the power of music and the simple, pure joy it brings us.

Oh!  The name of the band I'm coaching?

Broken Cat Dream.

Very serious.

Very, very serious band.

... taking my tongue out of my cheek now ...

we are only limited by our own imagination.  let it fly!

so. much. fun.

This is a crazy weekend!

I'm having so much fun at the Ladies Rock Camp.

My band is so awesome!  They are eager go getters that want to do more, more, MORE!!!

I would love to tell you more, but I have to go run to get ready for the 'short bus'.

Hey!

They picked me up twice in a row now!

How's that for a good, happy feeling!?

Oh.  I didn't say anything stupid that I know of hehehe ...

today's mantra from my MC Guru:

what you believe about yourself is what you project to other people, and that is what others then believe about you. ~ Don Miguel Ruiz

Well, THAT was an interesting 24 hours

I understand more today.

I had a really emotional day yesterday, with getting my psych evaluation for the insurance company.

Remember?

After flying 15 feet through the air and landing on my head from being hit on my motorcycle, they honestly believe I'm imagining all the pain I feel in my back.

Yeah, people tumble over the hood of a car that hit them when they were going 50 km all the time and never feel pain.

... end sarcasm here ...

Anyway, I found out more about myself.

I am indeed that strong person people have tried to convince me I am.

I have overcome so much in my life, and the motorcycle accident is only a small part of the 'so much' I've overcome since being a child.

I also learned that I have to be even more careful about humans.

Only a half hour after the long day of reciting my life's events that caused me trauma, my mother called.

She proceeded to tell me that a certain person I opened up to, went running back to her to tell her how upset I was about the Easter dinner I was excluded from.

She told my mother every mean thing I said in hurt.

I said some mean things, because sometimes, it feels better to get angry than to cry non-fucking-stop.

I have an apology to make to my mother.  My intention was never to hurt her, but I was hurt so bad, I lashed out here on my blog.

This person not only repeated the things in my blog, but she also prodded more information out of me in a private email so she could gather more information from me to share with my mother.

I've taken this person off my Facebook 'friends' list.

I'm learning that it's not always good to give everybody the benefit of the doubt.

It's sad, but I'm learning to be more guarded.  One more person to add to the 'don't trust' list.

... by the way, if 'you' are reading this, i don't care for any contact from you, thank you very much ...

She is included amongst the deluge of people who cannot be trusted in this world.

My trust is broken so often, yet it's also built by good choices in good people as well.

Today, I awoke to a beautiful email, where I was asked to be someone's person.

I'm privileged, honoured, and my heart is filled with beauty, knowing that this person I love so much, and has helped me more than she could ever know, would trust me to be her person.

Then, as writing this, I realized that Papi comes home at 1 a.m. today!!!

God, this has been the longest fucking week in history and it's not over yet.

I have to go through the stress of meeting a whole bunch of new people today.

I am so nervous around new people that my stomach turns.  When I get nervous, I say stupid things.

I'm not looking forward to saying stupid things.

However, I am going to be looked up to for musical advise.

I'm being a coach for Ladies Rock Camp.  All weekend I'll be hanging out with women who want to create and play a song, and some of them have never played an instrument before!

I'm so impressed with their desire to play music.

Still, I'm nervous about being 'liked'.

My whole life, I've been nervous about being 'liked'.

I'm learning that this has to stop as well.

I'm learning that not everyone is going to like me, just like I don't have to like everyone else.

Especially those who hurt me intentionally.

we can learn great things from our mistakes, when we're not too busy denying them

Sit In Silence

Music is my only way to transcend into a place of inner peace.

Even if I'm playing music some would consider 'heavy/dark', it doesn't matter.  Every note I play runs through my veins with love.

Every finger that moves, brings in a sound wave from the fret board of my bass, or the ivory keys of my piano, straight through my chest cavity and into my heart, where it feeds my blood and eventually, my mind.

That's when my mind becomes calm.

My thoughts are on nothing but the instrument and the notes themselves.

It truly is the only time I can say that I can even come close to what other people call 'meditation'.

Problem is, I can't be bringing my bass or my piano around with me all over the damn city.

Especially on the 'short bus'.  Those bitches leave me stranded at the side of the road too much.  It would suck being stranded and stuck holding my oh so heavy bass.

Yeah.  It doesn't work that way. Especially with HandyDart.

You see, they're now owned by a for profit, American company, called MVT, who pretend they're from Canada.

It's not that I don't like Americans, especially The Yank.  I just don't like American corporations.

MVT just can't seem to understand that waiting at the side of the road for an hour increases pain, which is the whole reason I use them!

Anyway.

My whole point is music.

I remember before I got on anti-depressants, I would go into really heavy valleys.  It was almost impossible for me to get out of the Pit of Doom.

Those demons were licking my heels with every breath I took.

One day, I was crying horribly, but I had to practise for my cello lesson. 

As soon as I felt those notes floating through my bones, I stopped crying.

Until I had to turn the page.

It's quite the job to turn the page playing a cello.  Do you use your bow hand and flip that bugger all over the place, hoping that you don't rip apart your bow hairs?  Or do you use your fretboard hand and lose your place?

There are no frets on a cello by the way.  If that means anything to you.  It did to me.  Unlike my bass, I had troubles finding my place a lot. 

Anyway, turning the page would take a moment, and for that moment, I would begin to cry again, until the page was turned and the sound waves were directing my blood once more, and the tears would stop.

The past week, from the grief of losing The World's Loudest Snorer, I've been very touchy with my emotions.

The past two days, I've had the freedom to play as much music as I want.

The same thing has been true as the cello epiphany.

Music heals my heart.

I've always wondered, are musicians born a musician, and the emotions follow?

Or are emotional people drawn to music, because it heals our hearts?

Either way, I'm ok with it.

At least I have something that I can count on to help my get through hard times.

As my drummer from HECTOR/best man at my wedding/father to The World's Loudest Snorer once said, "It's ok when you have bad things happen.  That's when you write your best music."

So, then maybe I have had an 'interesting life', because that's my journey.

To write the best music.

Yesterday, as I practised my bass, I played along to the BlueLight song I wrote, Sit In Silence.

I realized, I have to listen to my own advice.

if you are passionate about something, pursue it, no matter what anyone else thinks.  That is how dreams are achieved.

come back papi

Ok.

So, I haven't showered, slept or eaten a meal in 2 days.

My nephew dogs are a bit of a handful.

Not to mention, they destroyed my hair.

I was supposed to have nice hair for the week, until Papi gets back, but the puppies made sure they ruined my doo.

Only problem is, I'm outta product.

Did I tell you Papi is not here?

No.

He's in Mexico.

Fucking Mexico on vacation.

He's there for his sister's wedding.  Of course, I had to stay behind to go to a psych evaluation for the insurance company who really believes that having pain, and cognitive troubles after being hit on my motorcycle, flying 15 feet through the air, landing on my head, having to learn to walk and focus again, is all in my head.

Yeah.

Anyway.

Papi is relaxing.  He deserves it, after being so sick for so long.

He's sounding well and that's such a good thing.

Warm, peaceful, no g'ma, no responsibility.

The worst part of this nephew dogs' visit is actually not the puppies though.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, they wrecked my hair ...

... it's all about my hair ...

... but it’s nothing compared to Sir Bark-A-Lot living up to his name.

Little mother fucker is seriously loud.

His piercing bark tears my eardrums.

His baring of teeth makes me shudder.

I have spent the past 2 days sitting as still as possible.

As long as I sit very, very still, nobody moves.

Puppies don’t play, then Sir Bark-A-Lot doesn’t bark or bare teeth.

They leave today, but then I have 5 more days to care for the G’ma alone.

Alone.

I’m caring for 7 animals and a 96 year old with Alzheimer’s, all on my own.

No fucking wonder I haven’t eaten or slept.

Or smiled.

Between losing The World’s Loudest Snorer and not having my love here to help with the chaos, my heart doesn’t feel well.

I want my Papi back.

Everything is so much easeir when he’s here. 

He keeps me calm.

He keeps me smiling.

When he’s not here, life doesn’t seem right.

Come home Papi, I miss you so much.

This may prove to be the hardest week of 2012.

Not the hardest week of my life.  So far, those ones are behind me.

But definitely the hardest week of 2012.

Pass the pain killers.

            i am at peace

so, i'm a little embarrassed ...

I won't go into all the details of my day yesterday.

Just the highlights.

Like breaking my french press, then the cup of coffee I did manage to salvage, The Bastard Prince knocked over.  Or how about having to ask the cab driver to pull over, to allow me to vomit outside his door because I had motion sickness.

Oh, I can't leave this one out: leaving my wallet on a park bench, and couldn't remember where I left it.  Fortunately for me, I have wonderful karma.  I found it on the bench a little while later.

... thank you positive energy ...

That was all just trying to get to my friend's 50th birthday party.  Oh, I got there.

Nobody knew that I had a hard time getting there, and I certainly wasn't going to go on about it at a celebration, so I enjoyed myself and met new people.

At the end, when everyone left, I was waiting for my 'short bus' to come get me.  True to their service, they'll get you there, but getting home?  Nope.  They think it's ok to leave me stranded in our city park that has no way to get out but walk.

Yeah, walk.  The 'Romney' type Americans who took over the company seem to forget they are dealing with people with disabilities.

It was an hour after waiting that a very sweet couple from the party had returned from a walk in the park.  They lived near me, and couldn't believe I was still there waiting for a ride.

They felt so bad for me, they offered to take me home.  I'll bet they'll never do that again.

You see, they had found me crying at the side of the road.

The rest of the ecstatic people at Stanley Park were busy getting wedding pics with happy shiny faces, or walking their dogs, or walking hand in hand with someone they love, and all I could do was stare down at my phone, pretending I was text messaging.

Really all I was doing was trying to hide my face from crying out of frustration of being left at the side of the road again.  Then I was crying from being embarrassed about crying in public.

However, I didn't expect to also be the crazy lady of the crowd.

As we approached their vehicle, a car happened to drive past, with an extremely abusive man who yelled at his girlfriend, which was followed by a slap and her head moving swiftly toward her passenger window.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH YOU MOTHER FUCKING BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

That was the moment that the two wedding parties, who were getting their 'best day of their life' logged on film beside our beautiful ocean, turned to look at what the 'crying girl' was now screaming about.

As I began to dial 9-1-1 to report the license of this hideous being, the boyfriend of the sweet rescue couple asked me why I yelled and why I'm calling 9-1-1.

"Because, he hit her in the head!"

"Actually, I saw him hit the dashboard."

"Oh."

Oh, my god.

The embarrassment was now so overwhelming, that I couldn't stop apologizing and telling them that I really am not always like this, but that I have P.T.S.D.  They didn't know what that was, so I enlightened them as I spoke through my tears.

I proceeded to tell them The World's Loudest Snorer had just passed away as well, so I'm not really feeling myself.

It was a quiet ride for half an hour, until the ice was broken by a joke.  Their little dog had crawled up on my lap, and being that he's part chihuahua, they were surprised, saying, "Wow!  He's warming up to you!"

I figured he knew I needed love at that moment, but their story sounded better.

"Yeah, he probably said to himself, 'OK, so this one isn't screaming anymore, I guess she's OK'," said the demure, oh so very pretty, new person I met.

Yeah.

It's moments like this that I just want to get out of the city and into the Dominican Republic, where all I have to worry about are creatures with 4 legs, or a garden to feed me.

Get me out of dodge before I lose it.

i am willing to let go of what other people think of me

Silence.

The World's Loudest Snorer has been silenced.

Rest in peace.

Papi and I will miss your visits.

She would get so excited when she saw me, that she would pee every time.  My friends really appreciated that.  Especially when it was all over their living room floor.

She appreciated her step brother dogs so much that she also peed in The Golden's bed.

She's one of the few that Sir Bark-A-Lot actually allowed in his space.

G'ma loved her so much, that when I told her last night, she started to cry.

I've never had so much fun going pee.  There wasn't much leg room to sit.  This was me peeing standing up.

You were a really good Bathroom Buddy, none-the-less.

I'm so heartbroken, my little bed hog.

There is a place reserved for you, here in our hearts.  Our strong hearts will beat for yours that couldn't hold you through this life.

Papi and I will never stop missing you.

And I will never forget the lemon cake you indulged in before any of us humans got to it.

I'm so at loss.

Please give love to my Dearly Departed Gypsy, and Mr. Moustache.

I hate crying.

I don't want you to go.

if you want to feel rich, count the many things you have that money can't buy

Broken.

In some capacity, we are all broken.

Some of us, more than others.

Being a 'fixer', I've always had the feeling that I want to help others.

I forgot about myself for many years.

There's so much that is broken within me, that I needed to stop focusing on others.

I can give my friends love.

I can give my friends support.

I can give my friends words of encouragement.

I can also give stories of proof that everything gets better.

None of this is any good to anyone, if they're not ready to take care of themselves.

However, one thing that I've realized through living a rather, ummm ... eventful life, is that by looking to help others, I've wound up helping myself.

I help myself by listening to the words that I tell others.

They're all true.

Yesterday, I found out  yet another person has been harmed by the 'mean girls'.  Crazy, isn't it?

I told him how beauty has come to me because of my struggles these past 5 years.

... oh i haven't even gotten into anything before the accident ... good god i've got a lot i've lived through ...

I told him it can happen for him as well.

But you know what?

I think the 'mean girls' around the world are broken and don't know how to fix themselves, so instead of helping others, they harm them, because it's all they know how to do.

We are truly responsible for our own happiness.

Someone else I know is having a very low time in their life, but what she doesn't see at this very moment, is the same thing I don't see when I'm stuck in the Pit of Doom.

I can get out.

We can all get out.

We can live with anxiety, depression, demons and fear, yet still smile, if we're ready to.

I'll tell ya, when the anxiety hits and my stomach is turning, my head is floating and I can't think about anything else, I'm not smiling.

Point is though, that every single time I get knocked down, I come back up swinging.

I am a leprechaun.

I am the honey badger

I'm sure of it.  "C'mon!  Is that all ya got bitches?!?  I'll take ya on!"

There are people in my life who have fallen, and they can get back up.  I've seen them do it.

It's just a matter of telling that part of our brain that refuses to let up that we won't listen to it anymore.

We really do have the 'mean girls' living in our own heads.

The people who hurt us are just an extension of those thoughts.

For instance, somebody can tell me something they think I am, that I know I'm not, and I'll laugh at them.

But when they say something that the peanut gallery in my mind could believe is true, it hurts.  It really hurts.

In some capacity, we are all broken.

My hope is to be fixed.  For me.

My dream is that for all those I love to be fixed.

You can do it.

I love you.

no matter how much progress we make, there will always be the people who insist that whatever you're trying to do is impossible. ( fuck 'em.)

what the fuck is in my hair?

So.

Papi asked me for a favour, "Can you bring these across the street to the mail box?  Will your back let you do that today?"

"Yes!" I said with utter happiness. 

There's nothing I'd like more than to be able to cross the street without my bitch of a back squawking every step I take, but to be in the sun pleases me, regardless.

Off I went, hobbling down front yard stairs, trying to ignore the manly men/construction workers next door, who are on a mission to build Club Med out of an inner city yard.

As I started along the sidewalk, I felt something from one of the beautiful acorn trees that line our streets fall into my hair.

Oh hell.

Things get stuck in my mop that you can't get out.

I figured I'd try anyway.

I ruffled my hair hoping that the leaf, stick, acorn or whatever was in there would easily fall out.

Nothing.

I fluffed my hair up a little more, my head leaning forward with high hopes.

Nada.

I couldn't even feel what fell in there, until I was just ready to cross the street to the mailbox.

I chose to wait to stop traffic, now that I found the dastardly item in my hair.

I can feel it!

But wait a minute!

It's moving!

IT'S MOTHER FUCKING MOVING!!!!!!!!

Goddamit, I can't believe I didn't vomit while I watched the beetle fall out into the grass.

We're not talking a little fucker.

We're talking some big, two body length beetle that had impeccable aim when it jumped from the tree for a free ride.

Worst part about the whole damn episode, was that all the manly men were laughing as I flailed, shrieking.

Sure, assholes.

I'm sure with those bald heads, you've never had to deal with this.

For fucks sakes, I've had a bee stuck in there before.  It was close enough to my ear that I could hear it panicking to get out of the tangled mess it was in.

It wasn't panicking nearly as much as I was, let me tell you.

I've had birds try to arrange my hair for a nest.

I've had goats and sheep try to come in for a snack.

I've washed my hair and found little pebbles and sticks that fall out.

And now, a beetle.

Once, I had a beetle crawl into my bikini top as I was sunbathing.

Fortunately for me, nobody could see me in the back yard as I whipped my top off in less than a second once I figured out what was crawling around MY TIT!!!

Yup.

I have a beetle past.  Now I have a beetle present.

And people wonder why my spider phobia has me constantly asking them to check my lid for spiders.

I'm telling you, they could be in there.

Anything could be in there.

>scratches head<

i am willing to release all fear

Carnivore.

Ok.

So, now I'm ready for the Brace Face to leave my mouth.

I have a good few months left.  Maybe around 9 or so.  So wanting them off now is really not good for the attitude.

I've done well though.  I've enjoyed the future outcome up until now.

Really, it's all about food.

I love food.

I especially love steak.

And corn on the cob.

And freshly cooked veggies that are not overdone.

This whole damn weekend was filled with food I couldn't eat.

It was kinda like I was a carnivore-ian this weekend.

Couldn't chew veggies done on the BBQ for our garden party, nor could I chomp on the ones they had at the brunch.

So, I just ate chicken, fish, eggs and sausages.

Not that I'm complaining about that part, but damn!  A piece of medium rare steak would have been nice!

No.

It's hamburger meat for me if I want to indulge in beef.  It's not that good for us anyway, but goddam, watching everyone enjoy was a bit of a downer.

Oh for fucks sakes, now I'm on a food tangent.

I really wanted to tell you about my weekend because I was so busy having fun I didn't get to write.

The garden party was fantabulous!!!  The happy gardeners plugged their way through weeds and overgrown pretty plants, and these amazing friends dressed our yard to the 9's.

Now the G'ma will have to find something else to nag about.

Don't you worry.

She will.

The next day was the Mother's Day Brunch!

Of course, Mr. Homophobia did show up, and pretended to like us to be sure everyone else around him didn't know he was a homophobic piece of shit.

That's saved for my mother to listen to.

There's nothing worse than a two faced person who is nice to your face and hates you behind your back.

I have always fallen for it in the past, but since the 'mean girls' did their two face trick, I'm not so gullible, nor do I give people the benefit of the doubt anymore.

He gave the fake hug hello and good-bye and pretended to care about how we were on this day.

But I have to tell you what the most fun of that day was.

You see, we were at my biological G'ma's old folks home for an extravaganza of a brunch.  My bio-G'ma was seated at the head of the table.

My live in G'ma was seated at the other end of the table.

Bio-G'ma kept staring at the old bird at the other end.

You could read her mind!  Gramma drama was in full swing!

"Who the hell is that asshole down there?!?  It's my table!  I've never seen her around these parts.  Doesn't she know this is my family?  Who let her sit at the end of my table?!?"

It was truly something to behold.  I couldn't stop laughing at the face she was donning.

... or perhaps that was just the pain meds?...

And at the end of the day, we had a really nice family picture to remember the visit.

No.  Mr. Homophobia didn't make it into my picture of love.

But look at those two old birds!!!!

Happy Mother's day indeed.

Complete with my baby sister, her lovely family and Papi.

And pain killers.

if it were easy, everyone would do it

my sobriety day

Yesterday was my sobriety date.  Only problem is, I forgot.

However, I was given the opportunity to remember.

His name is Danny.

As I limped with my cane, slowly to the front of the store, I was greeted by a smiling man who was panhandling.  I've seen him outside that door before.

I've said 'hi' in the past, when I've been a little more able bodied as I passed, but yesterday, he chose to engage in a conversation.

"Hi!  You look like you're in a lot of pain," he said as he came to help me with the door.

"Yeah, it's not my best day that's for sure," I confirmed.

"I hope you feel better soon.  I'm sorry you hurt so much."

I felt like hugging him, so instead I did it with energy and had a conversation with him, regardless of how much it hurt just to stand.  Crazy part is, I actually forgot about my pain for a moment.

He was excited to tell me that we had something in common.  "I had braces too, you know!"  I smiled a great big smile as he told me this.  My smile ended when he continued, "But all my teeth got knocked out so it doesn't matter anymore."

He opened up to me about his addiction.  "I don't normally tell people this, but for some reason, I felt like I was supposed to tell you."

He was supposed to tell me.

He was supposed to tell me, to remind me that this was my day for celebration.

I told him that it happened to be my sobriety day, and that I am 13 years sober.

I told him that I am an alcoholic, who has found peace.

I told him that I have a chemical imbalance that goes for a ride when I put that liquid devil to my mouth.

I told him that I struggled with drug addiction and we bonded about the drugs that were my drug of choice, which happened to be his as well.

I told him that Papi, too, was living a good life without his choice of drugs and alcohol.

He hung his head, "It's just been so long that I've been using and I can barely remember any of my life."

I assured him, "That's really ok!  Do you need to remember pain?  There's always time to make new, positive memories that you will remember."

He recognized that I needed to get going.  The pain was increasing with every minute I stood.  After we exchanged names, I placed my loving hand on his shoulder and left him with words of friendship.  "Danny, I wish for peace for you in your life.  Whatever that means to you, I wish for you to find it."

I went down to my favourite wheat free muffin stop, and put my pain killers in my soy latte.

When I left, feeling a little relief from the pain killers, I bought him my very favourite muffin and hobbled back up, hoping he'd still be there.

He was!

"I brought you a gift," I told him.  "All I ask in return is that while you're enjoying my absolute favourite muffin that you tell yourself, 'I am at peace'."  All I want is for him to plant the seed.

We spoke more about the fact that he knows what he needs to do, while he made sure I got to my bus stop.  He wanted to be sure I got there, because to him, I was in worse shape than he, so he was my attendant to get me to safety.

While we walked, we spoke about how he knows that the only person who can help him is himself.  I just reaffirmed that all I want for him is to be well.

He looked into my eyes and said, "You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."  Funny part was, so did he, and I told him so.

For a moment, I realized that it was completely possible that this person with the same eye colour could very well be the brother I've never known about all my life.

Stranger things have happened and addiction runs in the family.

He looked to be the right age, mind you being an active addict, he could be younger.  The facade of age comes when we destroy our bodies and minds with that rotting poison.

But you never, ever know who that person is standing in front of you.  We are all connected.

Danny was put in my path to remind me of why I'm grateful to be sober 13 years.

if i make mistakes, i am able to give myself the benefit of the doubt

i am the fucking honey badger

Ok.  I'm mother fucking bitchy.

I spent the day yesterday at a 9.5 pain level.  10 would mean I passed out from the pain, or couldn't lift a limb.

I got sent home in an emergency cab.  They wanted to send me to the hospital, but I assured them, "All they are going to do is pump me full of drugs and send me home."

I would rather go home and pump myself full of natural drugs thank you very much.

So, today I'm mother fucking miserable, hence, with my bitchiness comes the inevitable bad feelings I am responsible for creating, from the actions of others.

On a good day, I am the honey badger.  I just don't give a shit.

However, when I've had to take pills for the pain to knock me out so I can sleep at night, well, Hurricane Andréa steps in and I feel the need to spit out the feelings that are like venom in my heart and head, so I can make room for good emotions.

There can't be both up there, so I need to get the shit out, and now, I will.

Well, I must be pretty powerful.

People block me on Facebook and G+.

Not because I stalk them.

Not because I'm verbally abusive to them.

Not because I spread hateful words about others there.

... no ... i just vent about them here to 'you', my imaginary friend ...

But because they like to collectively ostracize others, like a high school gang.

Good god, I hope these people aren't considering bringing up children.  What will they teach them about bullying?

Normally, I don't really mind being blocked, because then I don't have to see their ridiculous posts that are full of hate, or pompous words to try to make them out to be better than everyone else.

It actually weeds out what I am forced to see, leaving me with only positive, loving, inclusive people's words.

So, I suppose they've actually done me a favour, but damn, I must be powerful to have that kind of affect on people, eh?!?!

I'm really relating to quotes about honesty and truthfulness lately.  They're helping to keep me within my own inner power of peace and honesty.

I can't find the quote anymore, but my very favourite goes something like this: being truthful will make you enemies in those who have fear about your strength, but it will also win you good honest people.

It will bring us people who can handle the truth, and talk it out with us, and perhaps, people who can help us see the other side of the coin.

Abraham Lincoln said, "Truth is generally the best vindication against slander."

Only problem is, when you have a group of people telling lies about you, there is always and inevitably sheep who will believe their handlers.

One important thing the sheep have to remember is this Bosnian Proverb: Who lies for you will lie against you.

I am fortunate to be enriched with those who love me for my honesty.

I actually opened up to another person and told them who the 'mean girls' are, but, that backfired.

I won't go into details, because that's just negativity that doesn't need to be hashed out, but I see the truth in their game.

I'm not hurt.  I'm more enriched.  One more weed to pluck from my garden.

My Trust List has begun to shrink a little lately, but it's all cool.

I have enough hearts I've collected in my basket that the other ones I've taken out won't be missed.

Yeah, it hurts, but 'hurt' is just an emotion, and it won't kill me.  It's just a human feeling that will cease the moment I fill it with love.

So, block me bitches. 

'honey badger don't give a fuck'

Times. They are a changin'.

photo by Jezebel

It's only the beginning.

There is so much more we need to do to help heal those who have been harmed by homophobia and transphobia.

So many people are saying it's a 'risky' move before an election, but it's also a good move for humanity and morality.

I hope that this will help the thousands of homeless kids out there, who have been harmed by the ridiculous hatred from their families, who have been brain washed by religious leaders, who's hearts are filled with hate.

I hope that these kids who have come of the age to vote, will actually get out there and make a move to vote to keep this person fighting for them.

It's only the beginning.

For those of us who have our own struggles with acceptance, I hope that it transforms us as well.

I say us, because I'm looking at myself.

Where I was a year and a half ago, experiencing my love's male transformation, was a far cry from where I am now.

I know that my views have evolved.

We all have the ability to evolve.

If we want to.

I wanted to.  I wanted to be able to love mi esposo with the same eyes that saw him as a perfect butch I married.

He is still perfect.

As a matter of fact, he's even more perfect now.

He's a whole person, who is on a path to find himself, and I am only the lucky one to be walking along side of him on his journey.

The person who was in emotional hell a year and a half ago is not the same today.

Those thoughts that I had were terribly hurtful, yet people loved me through them.

My true friends allowed me to have those feelings, they steered me in the right direction, and they supported me when I needed it.

They watched me transform.

Unlike the Hen Peckers, mean girls and haters that I had to face, truly good people held me until I was ready to say, "I love my transgender husband.  He is perfect." 

Ah, the roller coaster of life.

When you're sliding down that hill, it can be exhilarating, or it can be scary if we don't know what to expect around that bend.

The moments where we get to come back up the hill are our times to reflect.

We might even feel the tendency to say, "Do it again!  Do it again!"  The fact that this ride comes around full circle is healing.

We can choose to step off the ride and say, "Damn that was fun!" or we could leave with a sick feeling in our stomach.

Either way, we got through it.

Personally, I love a good roller coaster.  I love the thrill.  I also love the thrill of life.

After the pain subsides, I am free to love the surprises we get, as I'm also given moments of reflection.

The same week a country's leader made a bold statement, my mother actually invited me to a Mother's Day Brunch.

I am shocked and impressed.  She really is going against Mr. Homophobia's wishes.

It's nice to see my mother fighting for my love.

It may be a small step to her, but to me? 

Massive.

Times.  They are a changin'.

what would you do if you were NOT afraid?

you stole my happy, bitches!!!!

So, you know how yoga is supposed to be relaxing?

It's meant to be a place where you have intention of healing for yourself or others, or spiritual growth, or emotional wellness.

The perk is that you get strong physically.

The point of yoga, is to be nimble enough to sit in meditation for as long as it takes for you to find your place of peace.

We humans can lose sight of this and bring our 1st world 'problems' into our space that's meant to be positive.

When we walk into a yoga class, and people are fighting about who's spot is who's, it sets off really bad energy from the get go.

What the fuck people!??!

Who cares what fucking spot you have in the class?!?! You made it to the class!!  That's all that matters!!

It's rather difficult to get back to a place of peace when people are bickering about which spot is 'theirs'.

I'm just not sure how these people stole my happy.

My greatest job right now is to recapture that feeling of nirvana I started experiencing this month.

I need to keep that connection with energy that I've tapped into and found.

However, when I get to a class and adults are acting like children, well out of my mouth will come, "I don't think yoga is a time to be arguing about who's spot is who's."

Then, it is I who looks like the negative one as people chuckle at because I lost my cool.

All I wanted was the fighting to stop so I could keep my good energy.

Well, after my class, the bad energy followed me outside while I waited for my 'short bus'.

It didn't arrive.

An hour later, HandyDart decided to send me a cab.

There I was, bitchy from losing my positive energy to yoga fighting and being stranded outside the gym with a seizing bitch of a back.

This was supposed to be my place for healing, but instead, I was sulking outside the gym from pain and from being left stranded.

I had no ability on this day to walk from the bus stop if I wanted to ditch the Dart and head home, so while waiting for an hour of an Angry Birds level I couldn't beat, I pouted.

It all comes back to the power we possess.

We are so damn responsible for our own happiness and that fucking sucks!

Where's my magic fucking wand bitches?!?!?!?

Yeah.

There really is no such thing.

All that positive energy that I found came from me.  If I want to find it, I have to work for it myself.

There is no yoga fighting that can take that away.

There is no back pain that can take that away.

There is no company who ditches disabled people at the side of the road that can take that away.

It's all up to me to keep it within myself.

Do I want to allow myself to lose my positive energy?

No, I will just have to work harder.

But isn't that what life is about?

We get out of it what we put in.

today's mantra from my gratitude buddy

we are what we think.  with our thoughts we create our world.

Cookie Monster

So, you know how we're supposed to be trying to get outta debt?

Yeah.

Papi decided he needed a new BBQ.

We have a few gardening type friends coming by on the weekend to help my love make the garden look pretty, and we're going to feed them BBQ chicken for our thank you.

Well, our little two person Hibachi wasn't good enough for mi esposo.

No, he needed THE JUMBO.

I was not too good at being the assistant when he was putting it together.

It was actually Papi who kept saying, "Look at the directions!  We have to follow the directions!!"

What a refreshing change from the D.I.Y. days of old.

I figured I could do it without too much instruction, but I followed Papi's orders and relayed the next step.

We got it done, even though 6 of the screw points didn't match properly, and there were a few screws left over, but it's done.

We decided to leave that one be.  It may be the bad decision du jour, however, once it was all put together, we needed to test out the new shiny BBQ.

There was something akin to a warning explosion, coupled with a fire breathing dragon, complete with it's tongue grazing my forehead.

Papi and I jumped, and The Golden moved as far away as possible.  He was already on the other side of the deck, so there wasn't really anywhere else to go, however, he made himself as small as he could.

We decided it was working just fine, and the fact that we still had eyebrows and hair left prompted us to leave it for another day.

We used it yesterday, and now here's what's great.

I was nervous about spending anything right now, but I'll tell ya, I enjoyed being catered to.

I was the princess that my prince was cooking a meal for.

Goddam!

Had I have known that all I had to do was spend a couple hundred and I would have my very own chef, well, I would have done that a long time ago!

How lucky am I?

I have a prince who is also chauffeur and chef!

We sat outside with the G'ma, and had a nice meal full of giggles, only G'ma didn't know what our silent giggles were about.  We would just smile at her and ask her how her meal is when she'd catch us smiling too much.

You see, we're using a new tactic with the old bird.

Lie.

"Have the dogs been fed?" or the variant of cats, birds or even flowers will be asked incessantly.

Our new reaction?  Lie.

"Yes."

And lo and behold!  The conversation ends there!

Then we can get back to eating.

That is of course, up until she notices the dandelion on the other side of the yard.  Her reactions to dandelions are very similar to how I would react to the Apocalypse. 

"There's a dandelion!!!!!!!!!!!!  GET IT BEFORE IT GOES TO SEED!!!!!!!!!" Just imagine it with the little old lady voice, and you've got it.

The new tactic of lying works fine, but damn!  Will I be tortured in karma for lying?!?!

I doubt it.  I'm her cookie attendant.  I guard her cookies.  I serve her cookies.

There's gotta be brownie points in that. 

i am interconnected with everyone and everything

goddam addiction

Wow.

So, you know how I'm bubble girl?

Well, I really gave myself a run for my money last night.

I have quite the ritual to get ready for bed, and last night, I didn't do one of them.

I woke up in my clothes from yesterday, sans skirt, my makeup from yesterday, skanky teeth that hadn't been brushed, nor did I have my elastics in that pull all my teeth together for my bite.  I just ate my dinner of peanut butter on wheat free toast and went straight to bed.

Disaster.

All I could think about was this song that I once learned, when I was short listed for Hole in '99.

Too bad for Courtney, she never did get that band back together for me to be hired for.  I hope she's well.

Fuck addiction sucks.

Anyway.

Yes.  I woke up in my makeup, my tights from my skirt the day before, my tights top and bra, and breath from my mess of a mouth that could buckle a buffalo.

It was almost as if I was a teenager again.

Thing is, I learned at a very young age that I'm bubble girl.  If I sleep in my makeup, I wind up with pink eye.

Nasty.

This means that I have to give my eyes a break from makeup today, or I'll have to throw the whole lot out for fear of reinfecting, and that's just damn expensive.

But I'm going out for dim sum with my 'rough around the edges friends'!!!

How can I be high femme without the full garb?!?!?!?

Good god it's hard to be me.

... end sarcasm here ...

I should talk to 'you', my imaginary friend, about a revelation I had yesterday.

I went to the synagogue again yesterday, and there is always a moment for anyone who wishes healing for someone to come up and be amongst the beautiful energy of like minded souls, sending their healing wishes to their loved ones.

I sat in my usual back row with my Gratitude Buddy, and watched everyone go up.

I didn't have a choice when the thoughts came into my mind.  I was gifted with the wish for healing for my father.

Could it be that my father, having felt so much guilt and pain for putting his son up for adoption, have been the reason he had gone down the path of destruction?  Was it because of that guilt?

I thought about the possible remorse he felt of sending his son away at the young age of 15.  How does a teenager deal with that emotion?  Well, they start drinking and take a walk down the slippery slope of drug addiction.

My father is just another broken human being who needs to heal.  However, I can't help him do that.  He has to do it on his own, and he doesn't seem to have the capacity to do so, being the manchild that has never learned what responsibility actually means.

I have to let him go.

Still, the pain of knowing he's in emotional agony dogs me every day.  Every day I feel my very own guilt for learning to let him go.

He can't be a dad to me.  He doesn't have that capability.

He can't even be a friend.  The only time he's ever called in the past 4 years was once to ask for help because his partner needs him to take care of her.

Having never supported my mother while my baby sister and I grew up, all I knew of him was he was a dead beat dad. 

So how, and why, do I feel such guilt for doing my best for myself as I work to let him go?

i am willing to release all guilt

A Mirror Image

If I didn't get on that bus, I would have been the only person left out in the rain.

I didn't want to be the only person left out in the rain.

So, I got on.

I tried to squeeze myself in between everyone and at the same time, tried to find a place for my old lady cart, when I felt someone elbow me really hard in the back of the ribs.

When I turned, with a little more than shock, to see who did this, I heard, "You fucking bitch!"  I didn't know what that was for, but I soon found out.

miserable lady: You fucking cunt **every name in the book** You don't just fucking push your way in.  Get to the back of the fucking bus!

Being a tad stupefied at her outburst, I looked at her with calm, innocent doe eyes, and simply said, "No."

I have to say, I would have rather been at the back of the bus at that moment, but I couldn't get through.  Yet mostly, I wasn't going to allow this gargantuan, scary woman bully this little femme.

ml: **every name in the book** You fucking hit me with your cart and then you just turn around and look at me like a fucking idiot.  **every name in the book** You need to say sorry and treat people with common courtesy!!

I didn't know I bumped her with my cart.  I was only trying to get in so the driver could have his visual path on his right hand side.  I would have apologized, but I couldn't get a word in.

I also might add in here, that when she bent down to intimidate me, she made sure she was within inches of kissing my face, and I could feel her coffee breath that was covering up last night's binge drinking session.  But I answered her.

me: You mean, like you're doing right now?
ml: Go suck on a cock.
me: Nah.  I really don't like to do that.  I'm a lesbian.
ml: You know what?  I can tell!  You fucking dyke!
me: Really?!?!  Thank you!!!  Most people can't tell!!

At this point, I was pretty sure amazon woman was going to clock my poor, healing jaw that still doesn't have all it's bone.  However, fortunately for me, she had more to say.

ml: You're disgusting!!  You're so fucking gross!!  You're such a fucking disgusting dyke that you've got it stuck in your braces.

I liked that one.  But I had to be honest.

me: Actually, that would be my morning eggs stuck up in there.
ml: **every name in the book**

Now people around were a little worried, and they started to move away from us as quickly as possible.  I took this opportunity to stand a foot away from her, because I was seriously afraid of her ability to physically hurt me.

I leaned against the bar and breathed.

I then began to hum a song.  It didn't matter which song I hummed.  I just needed to find that beautiful place I had in my heart prior to stepping on that bus.

She couldn't hear me humming, because of the bus engine and general street noise, so I wasn't worried that she would think I was taunting her.

I decided to look around the bus to keep my eyes off her, in case she wanted to start a fight again, and as I looked around, I noticed everyone staring at me.

They were actually stretching their necks out and around people to take a look at the cheeky one.  How was I the crazy one that everyone had to look at?!?!

I could still hear **every name in the book**

It was time to get off the bus, and when I was about to leave, I leaned over to the bus driver and said, "I really hope you have a good day today."

He smiled and gave me a little wink.  I don't blame him for not stepping in.  He was smaller than me and I was smaller than the bus badger!

Even as she continued, **every name in the book**, I said with sincerity.

me: Have a good day.
ml: Fucking whore!

That was accompanied by the middle finger. 

I couldn't do anything other than feel sorry for her, so when I stepped off, I told her, "I wish you love."

I didn't get love back.  I heard more turrets haunts, but I walked away and sent her as much love as I could possibly give in that moment.

Dear Miserable Lady:  I do wish you love.  I really do.  The pain you're feeling from drug and alcohol addiction is horrible.

I know, because I've been that person.  That person who was mean and rude to everyone around me, because I just didn't know how to deal with my life.

I cried a few tears for this soul, and have been sending her love ever since.

today's mantra from my mc guru:

i am love, i breathe it in and live it, and feel it always

tears for papi

You know what I think?

I think that Papi and I have been tested up the wazoo, and I think we're on to the next examination of our devotion to each other.

We've survived my motorcycle accident, along with all the brain injury and physical hell that my love has had to endure while watching me struggle to heal.

We've survived a horrible miscarriage, where I had 2 emergency D&Cs, 3 trips to ER, followed by the realization that perhaps, I can't carry a child to full term.

We've survived my love going through male transformation.

We've survived being ostracized by hateful crud in the 'community', who did their best to crush our hearts.

This has all happened in 4 years.

Well, we're now on to another chapter of survival in our relationship.

We're both going through life issues that are not the same, however, we're doing it at the same time.

Today, I begin working on dealing with my past of sexual/emotional abuse, abandonment, and low self-esteem due to my upbringing.

My love lost his mother at the tiny age of 10 and has never really worked on his issues, but now that G'ma is going downhill, he can see her time is coming, and I'm so grateful that he's going for support to deal with his grief.

It breaks my heart to see him in such pain.

We were upstairs organizing our recycling together, when we noticed G'ma didn't eat her dinner.

We tried to give it to her, but she said she's not hungry.

Alzheimer's will do this.

We're seeing all the typical textbook symptoms come to light now, and this is putting my love into a very difficult place; It's bringing up everything from the loss of his mother at such a young age.

It's interesting that we've both had stuff come up from our upbringing at the same time.

My dear sweet Papi is hurting so bad right now, and is afraid that I'll see his worst side and not be able to take it.

I'm not sure if my love has really taken a look at Hurricane Andréa lately, but she is not one to back down from any emotional challenge.

I didn't stick around after the year of grieving from losing my butch, only to take off after a difficult time comes up.

We're two peas in a fucking pod, I'll tell ya.  The 'CooCoo Couple'.

Even still, by having two people who know what it means to work on personal issues, we're very fortunate that we both understand.

My heart breaks to watch my love witness his G'ma getting worse.  It breaks my heart to see his tears roll down his face as he sees G'ma fading.

The one thing I do know is, he will get better.

Everything gets better with time, if you work on it.

Everything works out, no matter how hard it is at the time, even if it's not the result we want.

Between the two of us, our reasons for healing are different, but we're in the same car on the road to get there, we'll just take turns driving.

There is so much work for both of us to do on our own ends, but we'll do it with love, and some more tears.  Not to mention, a few more difficult passages through our own personal hell.

All I know is, I'm ready to be Papi's advocate, support, and caretaker when the time comes for him to fall.

I'm also ready to start my counselling today.

After all the intake has been done, and my case presented to the BigWigs who decide whether or not I get free counselling for 6 months, I've been accepted.

Congratulations Andréa!  You're nuts enough for the government to pay for your counselling!!

I look forward to being even stronger and happier, even if I'm terrified to look at my past.

i am willing to let go

Hello PeeCock!

May is here!!  Still, that doesn't mean the warm is here yet.

You know, people all over the USA believe that we live in igloos and they're not far off.  We live in houses here in Vancouver, but dammit, I'm still donning a fucking parka.

There are ominous clouds outside that look like they're preparing for the climax of a Stephen King novel.

My bitch of a back told me the black billows of 'brrr!' were rolling in without me even needing to open my eyes this morning.

Lord knows I won't be doing anything for The Great DR Purge today.

However, I did get a lot done yesterday. 

We're going through things and getting rid of stuff.  I'm also finding little gifts to give away as I come across my nice things that people may want.

As Papi and I were going through the jungle of shelves he has, we were re-arranging things to be more organized.

Well, I was trying to organize.  Papi was just interested in being a Tranny Terrorist for the day.

"What do you want me to do with your tampons?"

I'd prefer if he'd just leave them where they were, but quite quickly after asking his question, he answered it for me.  "I'll just put them on my penis shelf."

All I could do was calmly negate his offer, "Sure sweety, because that's the first place I'd go looking for them."

... seriously?!?! leave those fuckers where i had them!! ...

The last thing I need is to be wading through penes to find what I need to put up that hole in that monthly emergency.

Or in my case, my every 3 weeks emergency.  How the fuck did I wind up with a body that likes to torment me so often?!?!??!

... sorry if that was tmi for ya boys ...

Anyway, one of the reasons the penes were out to play is because Papi is going away for a week to his sister's wedding in Mexico.

Remember that happy dance?

Anyway, he's going to be a needing to get his PeeCock action going again, because he has to pass as a bio-male when he gets into that male washroom amongst the drunken college boys in Mexico.

It's time to practise once more.

I've got the handy dandy clean up wipes ready for action for when the bathroom gets messy again!

My love is out of practise since all the surgery hell begun.

He's afraid that he'll make a mess all over himself in the washrooms at the resort.

There's a simple way to deal with that and I told him, "If you make a mess, just jump back into the ocean!"

Besides, at resorts, people are half cut by noon anyway.  As if they'll even notice a little leak here and there.  They'll be too busy waiting for the bar to open.

My love was packing to get ready for his week of R&R last night.  He's not even leaving for another 2 weeks.

Anyway, seeing my love get up and move around for his exciting week away from reality was lovely.

I spend every second I can with Papi while he's up.  He is still sleeping so much from the pain, healing and depression, that I miss him, even though I can look at him while he sleeps.

He's now working on his diet, because he's found out he has food allergies.

I'm working double time to try to find foods that I can make for my my love to keep him on the upswing and eating properly for his new regimen.

Apparently, I did well with the gluten-free, dairy and egg free banana bread I made him.

I'm thinking his little burst of energy this week was because he took those nasty foods out of his system.

I'll keep you posted on that one I'm sure.

Because we all know I love to talk about food.

i am healthy since my practises are healthy

unconditional love

Poor Papi.

He has to deal with Hurricane Andréa every time there's a performance.

When I was a little girl, you couldn't speak to me for a week before a piano recital.  I would get so worked up with nerves and fear, that I would hide in my room.

I would also have insomnia, because I'd be up all night with anxiety, re-playing my piano piece on my bed as I would lie there imagining I was playing my beautiful work of wood, ebony and ivory in front of me.

I would play every note of the piece I had worked so hard to prepare until the wee hours of the a.m.

My conversations would turn into arguments.

My sister and mother would have to walk on egg shells around me, because I was a ticking bomb just waiting to spaz about something, that was really quite unimportant.

This is how it was.

If we fast forward to band performances, I can't tell you how many times I was stuck in a bathroom stall at some cockroach and rat infested club.

I would take all the time in the world reading the scribblings of drunken prophets calling someone a slut or a rat, you know how it goes.

At least it was something to read while I was occupied with a ... ummm ... rather bitchy stomach.

There was a point in time that I was performing so much that I didn't get nervous anymore, I just got excited to be up on the stage.

Well, having taken a few years off to deal with the attempt to heal from my motorcycle accident, I got out of the performing routine.

I'm now back to the performance freak out.

I threw my clothes from one end of the room to the other, because I couldn't find the article I was looking for.

I storm around the house, creating a mandatory parting of the seas of the Fuzzy Family.

Oh, they stay clear from me on a gig day.

Most of my past lovers in my life have had to deal with it, but they just don't know how.

My love?

The sweetest love on the planet deals just fine.  In not so many words, he told me he forgot he had to get prepared for my performance personality.

Hey, they don't call us Geminis for nothing!

Later on when I realized what I put him through, I apologized, as I always do.  I didn't receive the usual attempt at a lie that most people get.

You know the one?  "Oh, that's OK," people will say, when really they have something else on their mind that they'd like to express.

Instead, I received this text from Papi: "Ya, ya, I know you're stressed, but you always do perfectly."

And later with the conversation, I thanked him for understanding my ways, and Papi replied, "No problem baby.  Your stuff stresses me the fuck out and I'm not even doing it!!"

I told him he was the most perfect husband any wife could have.

You know what the most fucked part about performing is for me?

I always hate having the anxiety and fear, and I regret making the performance happen on that day.  On that day I feel like I wished I'd never even said yes to doing it.

Then when I'm performing, it feels so good I never want it to end.

Right afterward, I start looking forward to the next opportunity, I book it and the whole fucking cycle starts again.

I'm only a lucky soul who has found someone who can deal with this.

I hope your unconditional love has found you, and if not, never give up.

They are out there.

Just keep thinking positively.

i am willing to release all fear