butterflies

... your sunday sillies youtube show ...

I couldn't figure out why my tummy was rumbling with butterflies and I was irritable, then depressed, then angry all in a matter of an hour.

Then it dawned on me.

I've not been thinking about Mr. Lumpy, because I allowed myself to just go with it being a cyst like everyone said.

However, I did keep my 2nd opinion appointment, just to be sure.

I was going to cancel it until Jersey Girl told me not to mess around and get a 2nd opinion, considering the treatment she got at the same hospital.

So, tomorrow I won't be here to write to you, as Papi and I will be en route to the capitol 3 hours away.

It occurred to me that once that appointment neared, I got a little scared.

Even though I thought it was a cyst for a month, knowing I'm going in for tests makes me queasy and cranky.

I checked on Mr. Lumpy to see how he was doing, and it seems he's decided to get a little bigger.

No matter.

Cysts grow.

Then last night, I was lying in a different position and gave him a grope.

I just about puked.  There are 3 lumps now.

Do cysts do that?

Grown in clusters on a lymph node?

I'm going with that.

They grow in clusters.

Not to mention, even if it is only a cyst, that bastard has to get a move on, because it's starting to show on the side of my breast.

I don't need a third breast sticking out.

That's just not sexy.

Anyway, needless to say, Mr. Lumpy has made my stomach turn and I'm really uncomfortable with the fear that has returned.

For fucks sakes.

But!

The good part is, is I have had so much good happen in the past month with all the kids that they kept me pre-occupied and I didn't think about it much at all.

I had a little brain break.

Now, the stress headaches are back.

Even though we're going to Santo Domingo for the appointment, there's still some good to look forward to.

The music store!!!

I felt so good after I went on Google Maps and figured out my driving route to get me to the hospital and to the store.

I've pretty much mapped it out in my head and it's really easy.

There won't be any driving around aimlessly like last time.

Then I saw it.

Ikea!!!  It's on our route as well.

Yes!

Those two stores after the appointment will cheer me up.

Mr. Lumpy, you really have to go now.

Today I have another good distraction.

It's the Canada Day Celebration in Cabarete.

Crazy, eh?

They're giving us Canucks a day to remember who we are, even if we are living in paradise.

I wonder if there will be fake snow?

i let go of negative obsessive thoughts

are we musicians born crazy?

I had a brief conversation with a wonderful G+ Friend who is a VERY creative and talented animator.

Check out his web page.

Yesterday, he touched on a subject that I've always thought about.

My theory has always been, that musicians are born with a certain amount of insanity, and are given the gift of music to deal with it.

It's the only way I can come close to meditation.

When I play, nothing else exists, except for the harmonics of music that fill the air.

I breathe in the notes, as they wipe my mind clear of all trouble.

There is no pain.

There is no strife.

No laundry, dishes, debt or fear.

There is only music.

I remember when I had the big ending, of hopefully my last and final nervous breakdown, when chemical imbalance really took me down, urging me to finally got on medication I so badly needed.

I was crying incessantly, and there was nothing that could stop me.

Except my cello.

I would play and the tears would stop, however, there was those 3 seconds that I had to stop to turn the page.

I would cry as I turned each page, then stop again as I played the song.

Crazy, huh?

Well, last night, I started to wonder about the brain and how it's wired.

Is it possible, that maybe we are born just fine, but when we play music, we establish contact with a different part of the brain that most don't use?

That angle where the key to unlocking it is made only through the connection of music and other arts.

A hidden passage that only artistic people haunt.

The dark side.

But then, what about people who have a chemical imbalance and have never had the chance to discover their craft?

How do they cope?

I have a friend, who just this week, began suffering greatly at the hands of fallen love.

It's the first time she's been 'in love'.

She is in so much pain from the jerk-oid who dumped her.

It's easy enough for me to say she shouldn't be, because she's the most lovely person and deserves so much goodness in her life.

Alas, tell that to her ailing mind that spits out the feelings of rejection and loss.

How does one cope without artistry to get them through?

I've never known the answer to that, because I've always had my creativity.

Even after the motorcycle accident, when my brain was rebooting from the crash, I turned to writing here.

I turned to writing my story, which lead to writing other stories.

It was my means of escape when I didn't have the ability to play my music.

Everyone needs escape.

People knit, craw, make gifs, paint, write, play music, or even cook.

Creativity is so important to getting through pain.

But which of my theories is correct?

Are we born crazy and art is given to help us cope?

Or are we born sane and art opens Pandora's Box?

Either way, creative or not, I'd love to hear what you think about this.

I'd also love to hear how you cope if you haven't found your artistic inspiration yet.

In the meantime, I'll be looking forward to my new keyboard on Monday, and a new opportunity to play with the MusicMan.

My escape from insanity.

i am my own unique self - special, creative and wonderful

insanity.

If it's not the power, it's the internet.

If it's not the internet, it's my computer or new keyboard.

Seriously, if everything here worked at the same, I'd be confused.

Now the pool equipment is broken.

The last time I tried to practise for the kids at Dream Project, my new keyboard didn't work.

I'm going to buy a new keyboard with my birthday money on Monday.

I was going to get a haircut, and got the phone number of a hair stylist, but didn't go.

So, just like when I was younger, my money will go to instruments.

When I was about 13, I decided I wanted to save to move to Australia.

Because it's warm.

I saved and saved from my job at McDonald's, and when I had a few hundred, I bought a keyboard instead and was stuck in rainy, cold Vancouver.

It feels just like that again, only this time, all I'm losing out on is good hair.

To hell with my nasty, natty hair.  Normally it IS all about my hair.  Not this time.

I need to practise piano, and bass for that matter.

I've been sticking around playing with the MusicMan after teaching the short ones, and I'll tell you, I am out of shape.

It's a good kick in the ass.

It reminds me of who I used to be.  I need to play well again.

It was too hard to play while I was in pain after my motorcycle accident.

I can do it now.  I just need to get in going.

Anyway, the only place to buy instruments on the island is in Santo Domingo.

That's a 3 hour drive, but we have to go there Monday.

I decided to follow through on the 2nd opinion about Mr. Lumpy.  I tried to tell him to go, but it didn't work.

Now he's angry.  So, I'll double check about his intentions.

The piano student I have?

Her mother had a broken spine and went for X-Rays and CT Scan at the same hospital I went for my biopsy, but the people working there didn't know she had a hairline fracture in one of her vertebrae.

If she had've broken it all the way through with one bad move, she'd be paralyzed.

Fortunately, in her home country they found the fracture and fixed her up.

Then, Jersey Girl had gone for a blood test while she was sick, and the doctors told her that by the results, she should be dead.

Something tells me they're not too good at their result readings.

I'll go to the capitol where they have a really good hospital and hope that they can give me the confidence to trust their negative results.

And at the same time, I'll get some manuscript for teaching and buy a new keyboard so I can practise.

Well, of course, I can practise if we have power.

If we have power, I can have internet and blog.

If we have power, we can clean the pool.

That is of course, after we get the equipment fixed.

Then, something else will go.

It's insanity.

But it occurred to me this morning, as I was driving home from teaching, that I'm actually living here.

I'm actually living in the Dominican Republic.

No matter how many crazy troubles we have, we're really here.

Holy shit.

We're really here.

i open my heart and allow wonderful things to flow into my life

rooster.

So early!

I think that people here don't have alarm clocks and they get up when the roosters sing.

I am so not used to this.

When we first got here, I had to be up early for the workers.

Now that I'm teaching music, the classes are early as well, but I'm going to have to be up early to accomplish everything that I've set out to do in a day anyway.

I am busy, and yesterday, Papi and I brought in the Pathetic Puppy to talk about getting her fixed.

While I was there, I asked about getting the AAAS to come to my village and sterilize the dogs here, and when the Canine Quarterback found out where I lived, she responded, "You're in the heartworm capital!!"

She ran back in and grabbed medication for all the dogs she could and came out saying, "You are now the outreach person for Las Canas."

Ok then!  I suppose I am!

It looks like I have another volunteering position.

Oh, I wanted to help here.

I got what I wanted.

Village dogs health.

Village children's choir.

Dream Project, where I have an 8 a.m. start.

Seriously.

That means I have to leave the house at 7:30, but have to get up at 6:45.

This may not mean a lot to you morning people who have been doing this for years, but I am not a morning person and haven't gotten up this early for any reason in a long time.

Even before the motorcycle accident, I worked a day job that ended at midnight.

So, this is hard!

But here's the good part: both times I've gone to work with the music teacher, he's been late.

I sit patiently with all the kids and wait.

We are all there.

Teacher is not.

But nobody is going to fire him, because it's just the way it is here in the Dominican Republic.

Dominican Time.

It's crazy!

To my advantage, when I was trying to get there to see the people, we had no power for 4.5 days, and I didn't get messages that asked me to be there for a certain day.

Then I didn't get phone calls, because the power outage killed my phone.

In Canada, I wouldn't have been considered for this position, because there is no way someone would want a tardy worker, or someone they couldn't contact.

But there I was, both days on time like the good Canadian I am, waiting for the person who's actually getting paid to show up.

Anyway, I had a great day teaching today.  I'm responsible for teaching 2 tiny girls piano.

Then when I was finished teaching today, the MusicMan wanted to play some music with me!

He is a great guitar player.

He would play guitar, I would sing; Police, Bob Marley, Beatles and more, then I played the jazz song on piano that he had given me to learn for the kids, while he would solo.

We played while the children would watch and move to the beat.

It was so much fun!  I have something to add to the New Life List.  Sit around and play music with my new friend.

He has all the contacts I need to start playing with others and for a music studio, albeit it's in the capitol.

I'll have to save that for when I'm ready to record, and for sure, I have enough to do for now.

I will have to get up early to get it all done.

Looks like I need a rooster.

i attract, welcome and accept talented and successful people to my team

up to my ears ...

Mango season.

It means you can't go 1 mile without seeing 2 mango stands.

It means you can't go 5 minutes without seeing someone eating one.

It means everywhere you go, you see people with mango on their faces, hands and clothes.

10 minutes ago, I was covered in mangoes.

I still have it all over my shirt, as I just finished making some mango juice.

I have eaten so many mangoes this week, that I'm pretty sure there will come a point that I'll get sick of them, however, that moment hasn't come yet.

Yesterday, I received bags of them from the people in the village.

I was signing up the kids to teach them choir and kept receiving more and more mangoes.

So many, that I would occasionally have to ask the kids to bring them to my house while I finished with the head count of how many kids to teach.

I started off with one of the sweet girls who gives me a gift almost every time I drive by.  She's 12.  She was my assistant.

She felt so proud of herself being my right arm.  I had her writing names and ages on a paper as she took on an authoritative stance, holding my paper and pen like a true pro.

She would hold my hand and ask me if I could go to the neighbouring village to visit her cousin who was just born this week.

As we went along, more children came to follow me through the village.

I'm not kidding when I tell you that I looked like the Pied Piper.

As I traversed the sand, rocks and roots, carefully stepping with my fragile balance, I had a parade of children following me, grabbing for my hand, grabbing for my clothes, gaining more and more little smiles to follow me after every house I visited.

It was interesting to see the dynamic of class in the village.

Some people have a shack made of tin or beach gathered wood, while others had concrete walls.  But everyone has a tin roof.  Some people had a fence so that nobody could see in their private space.

It made me giggle, because our house is considered the poorest of the rich gringos in houses along the beach.

We are the shack with a tin roof compared to the rest of the mansions surrounding us.

Anyway, I got a little nervous when every family signed up every child.

I think I'm in over my head.  I didn't realize there are so many children here.  Well, maybe I did, but you don't ever see them all at the same time.

I intended on only teaching ages 6-12, but as I went, more families were talking about their 3, 4 and 5 year olds.  Then as I got further, the teenagers begged me to do a class for them as well.

So here I am, with 3 classes every Saturday beginning on July 6th, with over 35 children in total.

I'll have to split them up into groups: 3-6, 7-11 and 12-16.

Oh boy.

Then I had families telling me they have children in the neighbouring villages who really have nothing and they begged me to start teaching them too.  There are 4 in total around us here.

I may have to start looking at some way to fund this in order to be able to teach 4 villages, each with 3 groups once a week.

As I went families gave me mangoes because they were grateful I'd be teaching their children.

I had mothers inviting me in for a visit and passing me their babies, children asking if they could come to the Hector-Brown Amusement Park today, and I had hugs along with the traditional Dominican kiss to the right cheek, even though they don't even know me.

Honestly, before signing children up I had a lot of mangoes.  People have dropped them off to me and glowed when they saw how happy I would get at a sack of mangoes here and a bag of mangoes there.

I love mangoes!

When we first moved here, I bought a mango tree in hopes that I may have mangoes this season.  I was so sad to see that it was just too young.

I thought I would have to buy them.

I don't think so.

And here I sit, with mango juice all over my shirt, and a freshly cleaned skin from mangoes that were smeared all over my face and hands.

Mango season.

Beautiful.

my success is contagious.  people like it, seek it and respect it

in my element

That was the most fun I've had since we got here.

I went to Dream Project to watch the music class and get a feel for it.

Getting there was entertaining enough.

Our damn jalopy over heated.

I wanted to get there early, so I left an hour early.  They said to be there at 9, but being the eager beaver I am, I wanted to be there at 8.

Damn am I grateful that people start work so early here.

When the car overheated, I basically coasted for half an hour, then pulled into a garage that was open to get more water to add to our coolant.

That did the trick and I was off again.

I got there 20 minutes early.

I still looked like I was rarin' to go.

Then when I was there, the teacher saw me and was so happy, because not only did it mean that I could possibly drive down the road to get him a keyboard at a local bar, but it also meant I could help him teach.

There is one teacher for 5 guitars, a bass, 2 drummers and 2 keyboard players.

He was so happy that I could take over for the keyboards and teach them while he went and taught the rest.

I was so happy, because it was the first sheet music I've played in a year.

A year!

A year ago, we started into the mania of the gramma dramma and there was no time for me to make music.

Then it was all about prepping the house, selling it and moving into Our Closet.

There was no sheet music.

No piano.

So, today my brain had to work overtime to get back into the swing.

And swing it was.

These kids were learning jazz for crying out loud!

I was so incredibly impressed at their talent and ability to just copy what I played them.

My heart pounded with the excitement of a challenge, and the joy of seeing how I could help those wee, short people.

Then I looked around and realized, I was in my element.

I was back to me.

Of course, being a keener, I also have low self-esteem and didn't know if I did a good enough job.

Afterward, the teacher asked me how I like it and I told him I love it, then said I wanted to know if I did a good enough job.

I asked him, "I don't know how much you wanted from me, but was it good enough?"

He was happy with what I did and more than pleased for me being there to help him make his job easier.

We thanked each other about 20 times back and forth.

I guess I did good.

I go back on Wednesday to work for free, but fill my heart with glee.

Then when I arrived home, some of the sweet children in the village stopped me to give me a flower, a mango and a frozen treat that I'll give Papi.  It looks too deliciously sugared for my body.

However, it was then that it occurred to me that I said I would teach music to them in July.

We're getting awfully close to July and I haven't started to prepare for the kidlets!

So, I asked one of the older girls if she would help me.

As soon as I'm finished with this blog and finished my salad, off I go to count heads, and spread the word that on Saturday, we start our choir.

I also realized, that damn, I'm going to have to spend money on a keyboard that I can practise on.

I didn't anticipate this opportunity at Dream Project, so the keyboard I bought was strictly for programming music on my computer.

Wow.

This was my kinda day.

It reminded me of who I was before the motorcycle accident.

The vibrant girl who is eager and ready for the joy and challenge of music.

when i believe in myself, so do others

home

... your sunday sillies ...

I had felt it the day before.

Papi had written about it on a Facebook status last night, and I had to smile that we both felt it only a day apart.

We feel like we're home.

It only took 5 months.

I'm pretty sure the dogs have something to do with it.  Dogs make any place home.

However, I know that it is mostly the fact that there are no workers here in our yard.

It's OUR yard now.

I can go into the new casita and use it as an exercise room without the worry of men looking at me.

We can run to the gate in our scivvies in hopes of catching the kite surfers on film, as they perform for all the people along the shore, flipping over those waves like an insignificant speed bump in the road.

They play with their air time, landing their boards back down to the high seas, as if to say, "C'mon!  Try this!  You can do it!  It's really easy!"

I can hear the waves all day, instead of the sound of saws, hammers and silly songs by the men that kept me laughing, even though they probably didn't know I giggled.

The first day without the workers, I heard birds.

Papi and I had never heard birds.  We thought that perhaps there weren't any around this area, because we were so close to the ocean.

I thought that maybe it was because they were all at the resorts, zooming in when people aren't looking at their plate, nabbing some potato and zipping off again before the unsuspecting diner even knew.

No, it was the fact that we couldn't hear them over the din of construction.

The flit about, singing to one another in hopes that one of them will find the fruit that is ripe enough to share.

Hopefully, that fruit is hidden, or the people in the village will throw rocks at them to stop them from eating their food.

We know how it works here.

People are desperate, and you can't hold that against them.  They just need to feed their families.

But we can hear the birds now.

My veggie garden is growing.

In a few months, I'll have my first crop of home grown food.

My own food, to eat in this house that is finally ours.

As much as it has cost us all of our savings, it's ours.

As much as it still needs work, and the work seems that it will be never ending, that work is ours.

As much as the puppies rip up and destroy everything in the yard, it's our yard to repair.

As much as the pool needs drudging tending to 7 days a week, that water that is slowly getting clean enough for me to swim in again, is ours.

Ours to share with our new friends, like The Carpenter, Our Fave's Mom and family, and countless others that we know enough to trust to let into our home.

We walk the dogs along the beach now that they are trained enough for recall and most of the shots are up to date.

The coastline is not ours, we just borrow it when the ocean isn't busy with it.

That vast blue is our neighbour, and we must respect her.

We visit her when she looks like she is rested enough to have uninvited guests, which isn't very often.

She has a lot of work to do.

Don't get in her way or she'll pull you into an area that will swallow you whole.

She has a temper, but she is a good, clean neighbour.

Unlike my kitchen.

It occurred to me upon editing the latest YouTube show, that all you ever see is my dirty kitchen.  I guess that's because all I'm ever doing is cooking food.

In OUR kitchen.

In OUR house.

It's ours.

We're finally in Casa Paraíso.

We're home.

i love myself totally in the now

i scream, you scream

Oh, how we are armed.

In more ways than one.

Guns, yes.

I even have my cane that has a REALLY sharp, heavy edge to it, plus 2 machetes, a stun gun and a baseball bat.

But mostly, we're thrilled with being girded with baby formula.

Our Fave's Mom sends Little Angel over without anything.

All the time.

No soother.

No food.

No diapers.

So, now that we're finally paid, we went out and got Little Angel some formula, a little bottle and a soother.

Because honestly?

The bellowing yesterday?

Wow.

We were trying to find anything we could do to stop the li'l critter from his caterwaul but someone put his level on to MAX! before dropping him off.

I could distract him for a mere 20 seconds and he'd be off to the races again.

We were worried people would think we were torturing the poor li'l guy.

We even tried to make it fun by trying to take pictures of us aping his face.

See who could get the best 'screaming baby' face on.

Neither of us came close.

Especially with our gaping teeth hanging out.

But now?

We have formula.

Yes!

No more high pitched, wailing babies!

Then there was the screeching dog, in which we needed ammunition for as well.

We didn't need to put it out of its misery, but we needed our guns because all the dogs in the village were going crazy and that usually means trouble is abounding.

So, after our gunshot was let off, as was everyone else's in the village, ...

... it seems someone starts the gun shots and everyone follows ...

... we tracked the sound of the dog yowling to help it.

Papi had initially tried to find the dog the first time, but I suppose it kept quiet out of fear for being so defenceless.

However, 2nd time round, we found it.

Little bugger was stuck in the neighbour's gate and people are so used to dogs making noise, nobody came to it's rescue.

It was stuck just like our demon dog, Pathetic Puppy, will do occasionally.

She knows how to wiggle out, but I know one day, she's going to be even larger, and we'll be doing what the village had to do at 10 pm last night; pull the brat out of the fence.

Oh, but this little fuzzy love was nipping and shrieking, doing everything it could to say, "Back off bitches, I'm tough even though I only look like I'm 4 months old.  I'll CUT you!"

I wasn't going near those choppers.

Seriously.

They were sharp.

But eventually, everyone seeing us with the dog and flashlights, not to mention the siren got louder, everyone came to help, and the bravest dog person saved it.

It was released and back went the village, and us, for some quiet time.

Papi and I looked at each other and said, "What a day of chaos it's been."

Scream day in the hood.

All kinds of fun.

i show every being how much i love them, with all verbal and non-verbal ways i can

if i was a fish.

Time to get crackin' on my Spanish!!

If I learn enough that the people at Dream Project can understand me better, and vice versa, I could possibly have a job teaching music in September.

For a month, I'm going to be the teacher's aid to the man who organizes the Dominican Republic Jazz Festival, in hopes I will learn musical terms in Spanish, so I can work with the kids.

Talk about needing to step it up!  I have 2.5 months to really get going.

One woman working there gave me a really good tip to start me off: read children's books.  Perfect!

They had a free public library there, so I picked a few up and I'll be starting with the Spanish book, "If I Was a Fish."  Awesome!

If I was a fish, I wouldn't need to learn Spanish.

If I was a fish, music would be nothing to me.

If I was a tadpole, I'd be lying belly up in the relief water from our pool.

Papi and I were putting the dreaded chemicals in to clean the cesspool that was greener than my lime tree, when he yelled out, "We have a problem!"

I went to see the matter.

Oh, but did we ever have a dilemma.

Hundreds of tiny tadpoles swimming around in the overflow area of our pool, that looked like sperm looking for an egg to attack.

We were BOTH terrified that they were ALL cane toads, and that we'd have dog killers growing in our back yard.

So, somebody had to do the deed.

I just couldn't do it.

Even though I know a cane toad can kill my dogs, I just can't kill the cane toad.

Papi put the horrid, raunchy chemicals, that make me itch just thinking about them, in the water.

A short while later, there they were, dead.

Only one left with the strength to give a flick of his little tail.

It felt awful, but damn!

Then a short while later, there was the salad I made with the fresh lobster I bought from my Pescado Pal.

I had just put the onions, tomatoes and fish in when I was called out of the kitchen by Mr. Sincere, who was fixing the system to our swamp water people would normally call a pool.

I came back in and there was Pathetic Puppy on the ground, already finished all the lobster, and working on the onions and tomatoes.

Not sure if you know this, but onions can be lethal to dogs.

So never mind the cane toad.

Nope, I almost killed our puppy.

Papi and I panicked like lunatics, googling everything we could find about inducing vomit after ingesting onions and how much to give.

We crammed that hydrogen peroxide down her throat and waited for the puke to arrive.

We waited.

Nothing.

Not only is she demon spawn who destroys all my underwear, bras, papers, cords, reusable shopping bags ...

... oh the list goes on ...

... but she has a stomach of steel.

What dog doesn't puke up hydrogen peroxide?

What dog can eat half an onion and still be running around like a lunatic?!?!?!

Pathetic Puppy.

She is the devil, with an iron gut.  I'm sure SHE wouldn't die from a cane toad.

Anyway, for the time being, if the boss at Dream Project says I'm in, I will be having my transportation paid for to get to the school that is a half hour away, as well as some meals covered and perhaps a little bit to compensate for my time spent eagerly working toward a job.

Hence, I will be fervently practising my Spanish for a while.

If I work hard and all goes well, I will have my first full time job in September.

Life really is moving.

I'm ready, even if those butterflies in my tummy tell me otherwise.

i am confident of my capabilities, expertise and know-how

stuck in traffic?

Oh, if you've ever been hard on yourself for falling, you will get this.

If you haven't, well, perhaps you're searching for a better understanding?

Be patient.

You will get your turn.

It's ok to fall and get back up, and anyone who can't handle it is too weak to see what it's like to topple and discover where it takes you.

If people around you can't cope with the honesty that accompanies pain, they obviously haven't succumbed to that experience, and are not worthy of your voice.

I get the message from those who equally show animosity toward us.  Your message is clear.

If you ever really want to know who doesn't like you all that much, and only tolerated you while you were around, move to another country.

It's so much easier to figure out now that we're an ocean away.

Very quickly you'll figure it out who your friends are, and you will fall when you have the knowledge of who truly isn't.

People don't have the possibility of seeing our face 'around' after they've been rude.

So, the snide comments and the lack of friendliness I receive, I understand the words you're not saying, even if you're too afraid to tell to be honest that you're on the hate the Hector-Brown bandwagon.

It's much easier to be inconsiderate than to ask someone what they've experienced.  It takes time and effort to find out what the other half of the story is.

Papi and I good with it.

Our friend pool got quite a bit smaller in a damn hurry, but we got to see what trust really is and what friendship really means.

Someone recently acquired the same treatment we inherited.

They've been left behind by the wolf pack 'community'.

Now they understand where we am coming from.

When you run with the wolves, you get pack treatment and are subject to pack mentality.

The lower in rank you are, well, you will have your turn to be tossed to the side by the almighty alpha, who tells everyone which trail they are 'allowed' to follow and what the 'rules' are.

I choose not to follow the pack.

You know when you take the main route and get stuck in a traffic jam?

Well, those of us who take a different route, rather than following the main road, get more mileage out of our gas, because we're not at a standstill, idling.

It may mean I feel more alone, and sometimes a little scary being on my own on this scenic route, but at least all my decisions are made by me and not the herd.

Not to mention, there's plenty of room to park on my avenue.

But if you choose not to turn off the main vein and continue to sit in the bottleneck, you won't have the liberty of stopping at that coffee shop I chose to take a break at.

You'll be stuck in the blockage of traffic, staring at red, illuminated brake lights, while sitting in congestion.

And I'll tell you, while I'm taking that shortcut, I'm not stuck in the stink and smog of all those who spew their filth into my air.

I sure can breathe well.

There's also so much more to see going my direction.

I hope you find your secret passage, but if you don't, be wary.

When you run out of gas and the gridlock leaves you behind, you will completely understand what I'm talking about.

Good luck finding someone else to help fill your tank.  Everyone will be passing you by to try to catch up to the traffic ahead of you.

If I see you on my stroll, I'll definitely help you out.

I have plenty of fuel to share.

I also have the time to hear your story.

i take great pleasure in my friends, even if disagree or have different lives

fresh.

sunday sillies ... only a few days late ... explanation for my tardiness below ...

It was my birthday yesterday.

The only thing I wanted for my birthday this year was a shower.

It was a long 4.5 days without one.

The worst part about no electricity is the lack of ability to vent on my blog and talk to friends.

I've never realized how much I needed friends until being so isolated.

Today, I'm going to be a tag-a-long to go to the store a half hour away.  It's just something that feels like 'normal' to me in Vancouver.

A tag-a-long is always nice for errands, and the Jersey Girl invited me.

To me, that says, she'd like the company too.

Even though yesterday was my birthday, I was more than happy to be the one to cook, so that we'd have a nice meal to celebrate the few week's drought of income finally coming to an end.

Still, the most enjoyment we had was to pay the people we promised we'd pay on the 20th, when things kicked in.

Two days early is a nice surprise, plus it feels so much better than that looming 'you are letting people starve' hanging over our heads.

With utter JOY we paid people what we owed.

That felt like a nice gift for my day; paying people who were patiently waiting.

Then there was the birthday treat I was presented with first thing in the morning: a dead phone because it wouldn't charge anymore.

Mind you, it was a crappy phone from the dark ages, as we only got the cheapest phone we could get for when we first got here, but seriously?

4 months?

Kinda feels like the knives we bought here that broke just from trying to crush garlic.

Only the best gets shipped to the people of the Dominican Republic, yessirree!

However, we are pretty sure the reason that archaic phone died, was from when we had the power surge of the light show that happened when our inverter room just about blew up.

There is a nice smoke stain on the ceiling that VERY easily could have been a blown up propane tank that stands only a mere 5 feet away.

We could have been fricasseed gringos in an explosion you would have been able to see all the way back to Vancouver.

When we were not online for a few days, we wondered, will people be worried?

I think you only need to worry if it's been over a week.  10 days?  If you don't hear from me here for 10 days send in the reinforcement, otherwise, it's probably just our power being stripped again.

I can't be away from my blog that long.

I miss you all way too much.

Even when I don't get comments, just seeing the numbers on my tracker makes me feel like you're here.

Anyway, I do get to have a special time for my day, eventually.  My mother and my baby sister gave me enough of a birthday gift that I get a haircut.

A haircut!!!!!

I haven't had a haircut in almost a year.  I'm not exaggerating.

It looks like I have a fire hazard on my head.

The sheep in the hood definitely confuse me with their kin.

I suppose a few days off here and there aren't bad.

Time to clear my head for a new beginning.

A new start along with saying goodbye to Mr. Lumpy.  I've been telling him he has to vacate and leave me be.

I've been massaging him out of my life and he's shrinking.

It makes me feel like I can heal from anything.

So that I can start anew without fear.

So that Mr. Lumpy can start a new life some place else, maybe as a good growth, not a sinister one.

Fresh.

Like how I feel about having a shower after 4.5 days.

My bath in a bowl has ceased for the time being.

Happy birthday to me.

i do not settle for a meaningless, boring life

day 1 of my roots.

I am so grateful today.

I got one of the two jobs.  The piano teaching job.

My first student in the Dominican Republic.

Yup.

They got me for dirt cheap.

No matter.  It doesn't cost a lot to get food, as I ate the last of my vegetables yesterday.

I was so sad wondering where the hell we were going to get money for veggies!!!

This will cover my veggies!

It feels like I'm really starting my life here now.  I'm putting in roots.

The reason they needed a new piano teacher, was their piano teacher had died.

At first, the opportunist in me thought, "Damn your teacher died?  Does she need a replacement for all her other students?"

Until I heard the story.

She just moved here and was only here for a few months.

She bought a scooter to travel to and from the lessons.

She was killed on her first day riding the scooter.

Absolutely horrible.

I can't tell you what the story brought up for me for flashbacks of my motorcycle accident.

The fact that I'm replacing an angel who wasn't as lucky as me is almost too eery.

It is pretty typical for people to die here, or at least lose a limb, from motorcycle accidents.

I don't know if they keep stats on it, but I would venture to say it's in the top 5 of the world.

Papi and I can't go a day without seeing someone who's missing an arm or a leg here.

Not to mention, it's very rare to see someone wearing a helmet.

Unless of course it's raining.

Because that's what a helmet is for, right?

To keep out the rain.

Anyway, I'm on the verge of panic attacks here just writing about the insanity on two wheels in this country.

Actually if I'm being honest, I'm in the middle of a panic attack.

My poor lungs feel like there's a mattress on top of them.

Let's change the subject.

I made my first dehydrated coconut yesterday!!!  Success!!

Oh, it is sooooo sweet and needs a little more time in the heat.

But I have coconut for treats now.

I'm going to search for coconut recipes that I can make without coconut oil to begin with.

Once I get paid, I'm on an all out man hunt for cheesecloth so that I can make the oil.

I have the YouTube videos to show me.

But you think I can find cheesecloth in this damn country?!?!

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

I don't know how people make coconut oil here without a cheesecloth, but the last time I asked SOMEONE to show me how to toast my coffee beans, they were destroyed.

Yes, the Housemaid destroyed my first batch of coffee beans because she thought she knew how to do it.

I learned the right way.  On YouTube.

But I need the damn cheesecloth so that I have the damn coconut oil for the damn treats!!!

I want my goddamn treats!!!!

There.  Panic attack averted.

Now I go get ready to meet my new student.

My first student.

I'm so grateful.

the more grateful i am, the more reasons i find to be grateful

peace?

What is this I hear?

Nothing?  No workers?  No children?  Silence?

It's almost as if I feel 'peace'.

Other than the puppies crawling all over me.

There's no more money to do the last of the finishing touches The Carpenter wants to do, so there's nobody working.

The dogs are free.

I'm free.

Papi has no money for his drugs of choice, so there's a forced sobriety at the moment.

I get a ray of peace in every corner of my day.

Of course, there is the Housemaid coming in an hour and a half, but that's only for an hour of work today as I won't have her clean upstairs to allow Papi rest.

Papi will be sleeping quite late today, as I gave him one of my pills I used to take for nerve pain, that tripled as an anti-depressant and knocked me out so I could sleep through the pain.

Papi will be knocked out for quite some time and have one of the best sleeps he's had in a while.

He's going to go through withdrawal from the clonazepam, because he ran out, so he definitely needs some sleep.

There's usually a silver lining to every hardship.  Being broke means he can't go buy pills and beer.

Anyway, I have some herbs I'll be force feeding him, without him knowing it, that should help wash the drugs out of his system faster.  "Here baby, have some orange juice," or, "I opened you a pop."

It doesn't matter how I get it in him, as long as I do.  It's tasteless thankfully.

Still, I feel like there's someone around me in the yard.

Every noise I hear I think it's the workers coming to ask for a trip to the hardware store, or to oversee something they're working on, or a question.  "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!"

Every time the dogs run toward the gate I think it's another child just wandering in because they can.  "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!"

It's almost like I have a bit of a P.T.S.D. reaction to people in my space calling my name.

There is a very good possibility that I have a line on work for the month of July though, so I'll be away from the house a lot, leaving Papi to fend for himself with the dogs and tail end of work that needs to be done.

Not to mention, chasing away the kids from the yard, yelling, "No Andréa aqui!"

It's also possible that I have a piano student.  Here, it's all about how cheap you can get things, so she's searching for the best price of a teacher, not the best teacher.

However, ANY money is money and that's how it goes here.  Everyone charges a lesser amount than the first person, just to get the job.

Desperation.  I feel it too.

So my normal charge of $40/hour piano lessons will be chopped to $15/hour.  I'm not shitting you, but it's balanced off by how affordable it is to live healthy here.

Nurses here only make $200 a month.  You don't come to the Dominican Republic to make money.

I have no idea how much the other month long job pays, I'll just be proud if I get it, because I would be teaching music to children with the Dream Project at their summer camp.

I went there looking to volunteer, and found that there's a possibility of work.  Not that I'll be making very much money, but I'll be meeting other musicians and people who speak English.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll meet that physical friend I need so badly?  Or that female percussionist I so badly want to collaborate with to get a new feel for music.

I went in to the Dream Project office on the way back from getting my negative results from Mr. Lumpy, which also happened to be the day the shit hit the fan with Papi's 'normal drinking'.

I needed to feel like I was starting a new life, with or without my love.  I needed to feel like I could still HAVE a life whether Papi was going down or not.

Anyway, the results were negative and I'm trusting their test that says that rat bastard lump is just a cyst now, and really don't feel like going for a 2nd opinion.

I'm done fretting over Mr. Lumpy.  If it turns out to be something that grows and is sinister, it means I get new boobs.

Not a bad trade.

But my time can be better spent right now.  I don't need to have the obsession of fear.

I need to experience peace.

i feel total peace with my powerful self-esteem

i'm know i'm alive, because i'm learning.

I'm finding a lot 'to do' to keep my mind busy and out of mischief.

Wielding the machete like a crazed hellion yesterday, I drained the water of 9 coconuts, saved it in the freezer for a daily dose, then scooped the meat out of the young ones and made coconut cream.

Today, I'll be taking the meat out of the older coconuts, shredding and drying it for treats later!!

They make it look easy to make your own coconut oil online, and of course being the determined culinarian disciple I am, I'll try to make it myself, but it will be QUITE the trial and error.

Anyway, the moment the men see me trying to emulate them opening a coconut on my own, they come over to the 'damsel in distress' and take the machete from me without words, implying, "Here little lady, let me show you how it's done."

But how am I supposed to learn, if I don't do it myself?

So, I would watch and study them, then practised when they weren't looking.

I finally did it right, then I went over and proudly displayed my first successfully cleaved coconut.

I showed them that I am capable of survival, that I'm learning fast, and that I am not your typical girl.

With my determined learning, it occurred to me, all the information cultivated in Al-Anon ...

... which, for those of you out there who are not related to, or are alcoholics, is for the person affected by someone else's drinking/drugging ...

... could possibly be of great use to me right now.

Again, how am I supposed to learn, if I don't do it myself?

Years ago, I went to Al-Anon without being attached to an addict, but was there to heal from the damage of a recent partner's heroin habit and the father I never had, due to his addiction.

Really, the whole premise is, you can be happy and serene, and can still show respect and care for the person you love, even if they're suffering from addiction.

So far, Papi isn't suffering, except for the fact that he has had a lot of trouble with falling these days, which is completely unrelated to drinking.  He fell out of bed AGAIN today, so we're going to have to get him crib bumpers soon.

I'm the only one who's suffering, so I'll be joining those online meetings now.

I kept myself busy hacking away at coconuts until I had blisters on the heel of my palm and the inner knuckle of my thumb.  My tendons also feel like they need some loving attention.

Not to mention, it wasn't the best thing for my bitch of a back, but I'm still better off than I was in the cold of Vancouver.

I healed with sleep, and this morning, there are no Limping Lesbians in the house.

Then, there were the bananas with more to learn.  I never knew that once a banana tree dons you with bananas, it dies, because its life cycle is finished.

The bananas are the big ending and even look like it.  They're like a great, green mass of stagnant fireworks, complete with the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of passers by.

So, all those banana plants I had Dominican Daddy pull from the ground should have stayed there, because the only bananas I have now are the ones that just became ready for consumption.

However, I was a little too late picking them from the tree, and the bananas had to be eaten rather quickly.

No problem.  I made chocolate-banana ice cream from a recipe I found online.

Sorry.  But that shit's disgusting.  I'll try to make something more with it, as we have to be quite thrifty these days and I wouldn't want to waste the locally made chocolate I received as a gift!!

Then, I decided to simply eat a banana as my first meal in 3 days.  It did me good, because I also brought one up to Papi seeing as I noticed he hadn't been eating either.

We shared our first meal together.

So now that I've learned about bananas, the baby banana buds will never be clawed from the ground.

They grow in mere days those buggers!  I'm not exaggerating.  I had Dominican Daddy pull about 6 plants out and there were 2 more in their place within a week.

They are actually weeds!  Who knew?!?!  Definitely not this city slicker.

Anyway, I shared the bananas with all the workers to be sure they didn't go to waste and this morning, the workers returned the favour by bringing me my absolute favourite fruit: mangos.

I learned about bananas, how to properly profit from a machete, and how to be loving, even in the face of fear.

There's so much to learn in this life.

Still, like I always maintain; if you're not learning, it means you're already dead.

i choose love, joy and freedom

i can do this.

OK.

So I'm a sick puppy.

I never said I wasn't.

Papi said it's not right of me to speak publicly about just how deranged I can get at times.

Hey!

What kind of entertainment would you have if I didn't?

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot less self-destructive today, although I now have to deal with the Anorexia Monster who took over 3 days ago.

Still, this is a substantial start.

We spoke last night, long after his 'normal drinking' didn't lead to doom and destruction, and he told me it's also not right of me to talk about his business.

Fair enough, I apologized.  I'll do my best to keep this to my problems.

However, I'll tell you something.  Someone out there, right now, is going through the same fucking emotions as I'm going through right now.

They're dealing with the same pain.

They need to hear that they are NOT alone and can get through it too, by being honest.

I am not ashamed of my lunacy.

It is who I am.

I was born this way.

Trust me.

I put my mother and my baby sister through hell when my utter unsound mind kicked in at the age of 10.

I was given the gift of music to help me through these times, only I can't use it right now, because my recording system is so fucked up.

So, I have to do what I can to survive these emotions.

My best technique is to write to 'you', who are either here to enjoy the madness, here to see that I'm ok, or here to relate.

But hey, the crazed cleaning was pretty nice.  I've never had a house so in order.

Judge me and call me crazy if you like.  It's the truth.

I know WHO I am.

I also know I'm married to someone who shares similar mental illnesses.

Having those that are slightly different is what makes it difficult.

I will trust his 'normal drinking' for now.

All he asks, is that I trust him to only want it for hanging loose in the beautiful Caribbean and not for the annihilation of his spirit.

All I ask is that I'm shown he loves me.

I felt that his drinking meant he didn't love me enough, and was trying his best to rid me of his life.

He does love me, and there's no way for me to tell you how he proved it, because you could never understand the connection we have.

As long as I have his love, I can pretty much get through anything.

I will get through this with some trust and a lot of love.

Many people have sent me their angels.

Thank you.

They have been received.

I am out of the Pit of Doom today.

Just because I am loved by mi esposo, I am not crying today.

Just because I am loved by so many friends, I have some peace today.

Just because I begged the angels to get me through this, I am trusting my love.

He had his 'normal drinking' last night and he didn't die.

I will do my best to trust that he can do this.

I know he loves me.

That's all I need to get through this.

For now.

i release any desperation and allow love to find me

i need help.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show:

I wish life were as silly as it seems on these videos.

I tend not to tape a lot of the real deal for these videos, but I will start to.  No point in calling it the live version of the blog if it doesn't reflect it, no?

If you're a Facebook friend, I'm stepping away from the toxicity for a week or so, but I'll be back to post next weeks YouTube show.  I need to only speak to close friends right now while I try to get better.

If you're an avid blog reader, you know I can't stay away from getting my emotions out here, so I'll be writing, but there won't be any posting to Facebook for the time being.  You can add me on G+ or Twitter if you want reminders, or feel free to come back on your own accord with your own memory of me here.

... i want to fade away ...

I have great gratitude for my texting system on this computer to get a hold of my baby sister and my Eternal Friend, and I'm adding a few more who have iPhones so that I can have someone to contact when I feel I'm falling again, or when I need to be honest about the thermonuclear meltdown that is Hurricane Andréa.

Fitting, that there is an actual Hurricane Andréa as we speak.

When I have bad energy going on, the whole world gets to experience it.  Sorry about that folks.  I have SOME power, don't I?

Yesterday was the most difficult as I was in panic attack mode for about 6 hours straight.  Hyperventilating, I couldn't walk very far, because my lack of breath stole my strength.

But that didn't stop me from getting to the kitchen.

The day before, cutting my arm stopped my tears.

It didn't work yesterday.  I tried on my leg, but to no avail.

I even went as far as using a serrated knife in hopes that it would go deeper and I would bleed out the pain of tears.

It didn't work.  All it left me with are a bunch of painful cuts and welts.

Papi got a little angry when he saw them.  He hadn't seen the first ones because I wouldn't really let him get close enough to me to see them.

But he grabbed my arm in anger of the realization that I'm a hell of a lot sicker than he thought.

Well Papi, if I have to watch you harm yourself, then you get to watch me harm myself too.

I took more of Papi's clonazepam to stop what felt like lung convulsions, because I came to the conclusion that hurting myself isn't helping matters.

I'll try not to hurt myself anymore.  I just need some peace.

Today, I thought I would water my fruit trees and garden at 8 a.m. without any chance of kids finding me, but Our Favourite was at the gate.

I was able to hide behind the new casita until he got bored and left.  I made the house look like we were not up, but that the dogs were in the yard without us.  Yes, once again I am held hostage in my prison away from the beauty of the outside world.

Even in my tears yesterday he wouldn't leave.  I was crying so hard and he just tugged at my arm wanting my attention.  I said, "No friends today!!!  Today is a very bad day!!"  Which is an understatement.  I am in full throws of the Pit of Doom.

Children don't get it, but at least he didn't see me while I hid behind the casita today.

Papi said he was moving into the casita, then changed his mind.  "Why should I have to?  This is my house too."

Then I found his stash of alcohol he had hidden.  I threw it on the bed and asked for a divorce.

Later, I asked him if he was drinking and using pills because he WANTS me to leave.  "Do YOU want a divorce?"

No he didn't.  So I told him that I would suffer through his drinking, but there were going to have to be some 'rules' in place.

You drink?  You do it outside, never around me.  You are alone or you can knock yourself out with the other alcoholic, Mr. Gummy, in the village.

You are drunk?  Do not bring your stench of musty, rotting, repugnant, day-old alcohol smell into the bed.  It's enough to make me puke.  Sleep elsewhere when you are offensive and fetidly rancid.

You pass out in the pool?  I'll still drag you out, because I love you too much to lose you to death.

You kill yourself from drinking?  I'll pull your dried, brittle bones from the ground and lie in them every night so that I'm never away from you.

I look at the dried blood on my cuts and wish that it were simple enough to bleed out the tears that feel like they flow through my veins.

All I'm left with are welts and scabs.  No relief.  I need some peace in my heart.

I've begged the angels to help me with this, but I'm not feeling like they're responding.  So, could someone please send me yours?

I really need help right now.

i forgive myself for any and all past mistakes

you will never win to addiction

I feel like death.

I couldn't eat yesterday.

All I could do was drink ginger tea, lime water, coconut water.

I just wanted to settle my stomach, but it still didn't happen.

He asked me, "Why are you so angry?"

Because I know that when someone tries to win over addiction, they will always lose.

Papi made his choice.

He 'should be able to have a beer every few days' without the consequence of me going into full on P.T.S.D.

He has quite blatantly chosen alcohol over me.

It's not like It hasn't happened before.  We always lose to addiction.

I had to watch someone fade away from heroin, and when I gave the ultimatum: the drugs or me, guess who lost?

We can never win.

I'm angry because I've lost.

I've lost the sober person I married 3 years ago.

I now have more pain to look forward to.

"Can't we just see how it goes instead of jumping to the worst case scenario?"

I've already seen worst case scenario.  I already know what comes next.

He says he won't get drunk in the pool and pass out, or go home with strangers, not knowing where he is or who he is with, again.

Well, the truth is, when you're a drunk, you can't make those decisions.

So, I lose.

Again.

I see this very much like a repeat of the past.

We repeat the same mistakes, until we get it right, don't we?

Perhaps the first time he drank and he wound up sobbing in the gutter in the DTES and I left to keep myself safe from the pain?  Perhaps that was supposed to be my only heartache with his addiction.

He said he would never do it again.  That he was done with the drinking.  That I could trust him.

But instead of learning from my past I've relived more pain.

I'll stick around for even more I'm sure.

I got so angry for my never ending tears to accompany my loss, while I was doing dishes, I had cleaned a knife and I dug it across my forearm about 8 times just to punish myself even more.

Yes.

It's the first time since I was in my 20's that I cut myself.

Not much.

Just enough to stop the tears.

They stopped.

Then I went a bit manic; house is cleaned, seeds are planted, bathroom is cleaned, laundry is done, microwave combined with wall and counter are scrubbed clean with Borax and PineSol, as is the stove and toaster oven.

There's more that I did.

I can't remember everything, because I was in a haze of trying to keep myself busy so I didn't cry anymore.

I did it right up until 10:30.  Then my body finally told me I had to lie down.

And what happened?

I started to cry.

"Why are you so angry?"

Because my love, you don't realize it, but you're leaving me.  I'm sure you'll have lots of fun drinking with the other neighbourhood drunk, Mr. Gummy.

So, I have a choice.  Stay here and live with emotional pain of losing someone to their addiction, or go back to Vancouver and live with physical pain of the cold weather.

Either way, I've already lost.

I suppose I'll choose the emotional.

It's easier, I've had it all my life.

i have a wonderful partner and we are both happy and at peace.

i want to be with the angels

What is it about being an alcoholic?

One week, your mind accepts you're an alcoholic, then a week later it says, "No problems here!  You're not having crisis anymore, so you can have a beer in the pool Papi!"

The last time I found him drunk in the pool, he was passed out and I had to slap his face so many times to wake him up, I thought he was already dead.

But no, he's learned his lesson, he says.

He won't let that happen, he says.

I cried myself to sleep wondering when the next big, near catastrophe experience will come in to play.

"It was only ONE beer!!!"

Yup.

And the next time it will be more.

Then the time after that, a little more.

Then I'll be hauling you, dead, out of the ocean because your sickness said you were invincible enough for a midnight swim.

Hey no problem.

I'll learn how to live alone with my grief.

I've done it enough in my life.

I tried to get some hugs from the dogs while I was in panic attack mode of the flashbacks of him lying dormant in the pool, me slapping his face to try to wake him up, over and over and over ...

The puppies were not into it.

Me lying in fetal position on the floor is only an invitation to lick the tears off my face, while occasionally french kissing me, and jumping all over me.

All I wanted was for someone to hold me while I was having a panic attack.

Instead, I got trampled on, and had to listen to, "I can have a beer every once in a while.  I don't see what the problem is."

Being that I'm a pro at suicidal thoughts, because I literally have them every day of my life, I was speaking to a friend about what suicidal ideation is.  Most of the time, it's really not about the act.

It's just about being so fucking tired and exhausted of crap and bullshit that you can't take it anymore and you ask if you could just be taken away.

Why can't the angels just take me?

Why do I have to have so many fucked up things to deal with in life?

Why can't I have a boring mundane life where everything just goes smoothly in it's monotonous, still waters?

No waves to bob up and down.

More like a lake where the most action you'll get is the woodpecker making a home.

I'm so tired, sick, scared and sad, all the fucking time.

I just need to be granted more than one day at a time of happiness.

Don't get me wrong.

Those days of happiness are amazing and I'm so grateful when they come.

But why just one?

Why can't I just have a stretch?

A dear sweet friend has had nothing but dud after dud when it comes to relationships.  She's probably the biggest heart on the planet, equal to mine, yet time and again, she finds another and he turns out to be the wrong one.

Why?

She's so beautiful and has got so much going for her.  She does everything she can to lead a positive life and say those positive words.  She is deserving of so much more.

I'm deserving of so much more.

Yet here we are, texting each other in tears asking the angels why they can't just take us away.

I want to be with the angels, because I've had enough.

In the meantime, I'll ask them for the strength to get through this life.

i attract only healthy relationships

someone pissed someone off

I have more gratitude today than most days.

Some of my readers bought me coffee.  Lots of coffee.

And we're not talking a gas station special, either.  I mean an organic, fair trade, extra large, triple shot soy latté, with extra whip and sprinkles on top.

Oh, AND a bag of beans to take home with me.

We now have enough coffee money to last us the 20 days we have to wait for more coffee money.  It's a good thing living here is inexpensive.

I know I sent personal thanks to everyone, but still, I want to say thank you again, because you have no idea how grateful I am.

Papi got upset with me, because he doesn't like when people ask for money, but I told him, "Look, I've been writing a blog a day, almost every day since 2010.  If I want to start asking for donations for the entertainment that is YOU & I, then so be it.  I'm not telling people to pay me to read my work.  I'm just saying if you like it, and feel so inclined, buy me a coffee."

Some people really like it.

Some people who can afford to, may want buy me a coffee to show it.

Others write nice comments or private emails expressing themselves with their own words, about my words.  Either way, I'm grateful.

Anyway, I shared my coffee money with Prince Papi so he could go buy his OJ.

Should've seen him prance off to the city our village is considered part of; Gaspar Hernández.  Now are you complaining about me earning a few donations from my daily writing Papi?

I was a little worried though.

The day we emptied our credit cards, I had tried to drive The Carpenter to get more supplies, only we were diverted when we saw a rather large gathering, police and TV cameras.

Upon reading more on the DR1 Forum, it looks like someone from Sosúa got murdered then dumped in Gaspar.  Normally, I equate Gaspar with Whalley in Surrey, but upon looking at the stats of crimes in Canada, it looks like I should be equating it to Prince George!!

Back to the recently departed.  He was not a local, he was an Italian expat.

I have the feeling he may have earned the beatings.  We were brave enough to look at the pictures after the fact.  This was definitely personal.

He wasn't in the drivers seat of his car when he was found, he was in the back, so it seems he was killed somewhere else and dropped in Gaspar.  You don't go pissing people off here.  It WILL cost you your life.

He was hanging out of his fancy SUV like one of the slack, dead geckos I find in the house periodically, only intensely bloodied.

I think with the extreme beating he took, they will have to use his car for identification.

There was also other woman recently, a French Canadian, who was treating her employee horribly.

Looks like he had enough and killed her too.

I'm happy to say that we treat our workers as best we can, not out of fear, but out of acknowledgement of their work.  We feed them when we have extra, I put my water machine outside so that they can have cold water while they work and we bend over backwards to make sure they know how much we appreciate all they do.

Even if it means I drag my lazy ass outside to fill up on my own water, I don't care, because they're happy.  It's so nice when they're happy.

Even the crankiest man has become my friend, and today, he made sure my ripe papaya was plucked before it died.

Most people will just put the jug of water out and let them fend for themselves, but I can't do it.  They deserve cold water.

Normally, when the money is flowing a little better, in the afternoon they get a treat; ice tea, juice, soda or beer.

So hopefully, we won't be getting beaten any time soon.

Especially now, because the village knows we're broke.  Word travels fast when people are broke, because there's no point asking for anything.

We have nothing to steal when we're out and about, short of some coffee money.

Anyway, showing you like my entertainment feels like a standing ovation, and that just feels grand.

It's good to know that when I give, sometimes, I receive.

The angels are working.

But I still need a job.

However, it will not be in Gaspar Hernández.

i pay my bills with love as i know abundance flows freely through me

survival.

Shit hit the fan yesterday.

Wasn't mine.  I'm feeling much better thank you very much and I'm also a good aim in the toilet.

We took the last pennies out of our credit cards and we're totally, 100% screwed.

Like, we have zilch and we have people to pay.

The DoorMan will wait a few weeks.  He's a patient guy and has lots of money until we do.  It's the hard workers in our yard that I'm worried about.  They live with very little and depend on our money to feed them and their babies.

We'll be living off staples for a while.  Hello rice 'n beans!  Food of the nation!

... if you like my blog, you could by me a coffee ... here >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Can you see me when I've run out of coffee, begging in the village for a cup, while haggard and out of my mind from the lack thereof?

I don't have anyone in the family who has an abundance of money, so I can't ask them.

Papi, well, he feels that he's been such a thorn in his family's side growing up that he can't ask now.

I reminded him that the last time he borrowed, he paid back.  That shows he's not the same bratty drug addict that just took, took, took.  That shows that we are responsible.

I'm brainstorming in how to get a job here, even though it could mean disaster, because Papi sleeps til quite late and someone needs to be up for everyone; The Carpenter, Dominican Daddy, Housemaid, Little Angel to be dropped off for a few hours.

But I think I need to try to find money for food, and I also need to remember that every time in my life that I've been this desperate, everything always works out.  I will ask the angels to help it work out.

It would be nice if Mr. Lumpy would lend a hand.  Goddam freeloader pops up without so much as OFFERING to paying rent.  That bastard has cost us $800 so far!

I emailed PanMan to say that I wanted to come and talk about how I can help him, and earn money at the same time.

I also thought about all the amazing wheat free, dairy free options in the world that aren't here on the island.

Hey, I need 'em.  I could distribute them, then I could have them and earn money at the same time, no?

It's going to take me way too long to find my musician people to make an income from.  That will come, but not right now.

I need money now.  Prince Papi couldn't even buy his orange juice yesterday!  The horrors!  He goes through 2 litres in a day and a half.  It's better than pop, but I'd sure like to see him on water.

One of those massive water jugs is only 40 pesos, which is equal to one buck and is healthier and definitely cheaper.

I've had to stop drinking the water from my machine, because I can't afford the filters, and we're going through them fast because we STILL don't have clean, healthy water.

Now, we need to buy a machine that will clean the water, akin to my little drinking machine, only for the whole house and pool.

That's a lot of work for a machine, so it's a big bugger, which is a lot of money, so it's gonna have to wait too.

At least it's not shit water anymore.  It's just really full of sediment, but still, I'm thinking that's where that last round of sickness came from.

Someone does owe us some money, and I've contacted them, but no response, so I guess I won't hold my breath on that one.

New 'rule': NEVER do money business with friends.  It inevitably ends with no friendship.  Keep them separate.

I've now lost 2 friends in 4 months due to money and it hurts, really, really hurts to lose friends over money.  From this point forward, money and friendship will never happen at the same time.

Unless I'm giving.  That's a different story.

I give a lot, but I also get screwed for it, like when in a heated moment, someone commented on how selfish we were because we only 'threw a few 20's their way' and that we could have given more.  Live and learn.

Anyway, it's time to try to find a job so that I can keep buying the locals' veggies and fish.

I'm so fucking scared right now it's got my PTSD on high.  Panic attacks galore.

You know it's bad when I look at what I have left of my chocolate and am thinking of how I can ration it out to last the 20 days before we get paid again.

Torture!

More importantly, the puppies and cats need food.  Looks like they'll be eating rice too.

This is where the fun begins and the stories of yesteryear happen.

Survival.

i prosper wherever i turn and i know i deserve prosperity of all kinds

i might have to bring out pissy face

I'm quickly grabbing my breakfast before the day starts, now that I don't feel like death anymore.

I was granted 2 days to rest while feeling horrid.  That means that today should be hell.  Putting things off just means more work later.

The Carpenter already told me we have to go shopping after my breakfast.

Or rather, in his words, "After coffee!"

True.  It's mostly about the coffee.

Yesterday, I was sick and wasn't moving much, and the house looked empty despite the dogs running around like the lunatics they are.

Yet, there were children SCREAMING my name outside the gate.  When they didn't get a reaction, because I was lying like a lump in bed, they even tried Papi.

"Andréa!!!!" and a two second break between trying my name again, then, "Hector!!" ad infinitum.  Then there would be quiet for 30 minutes, only to hear it all over again for 20 more minutes.

We had to hide in our bedroom, shutters closed, so dark that when my mother skyped, she asked me if it was already night time.

No mom, we're just in our prison tower, hiding.  Just call me Rapunzel.  Not short of the hair hanging out the window.  That usually gives me away too.  So the shutters were definitely locked closed.

When the time comes that I teach them choir in July, I will teach it on Saturday and drill it into their heads that Sunday, we are to have no visitors.

I'm even going to get a HUGE sheet of material and cover up the wooden slats so they can't just try to be passive aggressive about it and stare at us until we respond.

I will train them yet.

The signs didn't work, but there will be signs on Sunday anyway.

Signs.

A sheet.

Verbal instruction.

If the children don't get it by then, well, I'll have to send in the reinforcement.

Papi will have to put on his cranky pants and be angry with them enough to keep them away.

We moved here for peace and tranquility to heal from so much that has happened in our lives.

There hasn't been any for the almost 5 months we've been here.

When it comes to this problem, we would have been better off in a miserable gated community with stuck up bastards who came to this country, not to be with it's people, but just to use it.

At this point, I'd even weather out being with those snotty people who have nothing better to do than tell me how may dogs I'm allowed to have.

However, if I can train the kids that Sunday is off limits, Papi and I might have a fighting chance.

We might feel like we get to have ONE day a week where the time is just for us.

We deserve one day for fucks sakes, don't we?!?!

Or will this trigger a whole bunch of uber political in Vancouver to call me racist again.  I don't give a shit anymore.

I love these kids, regardless of their class or their colour, so everyone sitting behind their books and computers in their privacy of cushy Vancouver can fuck off before you open your mouths.

You've already ostracized me enough that you couldn't possibly do any worse, so I'm done with all of you.

The point is, I also love my alone time.

It would be the same in Canada.

I like to be alone.

I'm giving them 6 days a week at the Hector-Brown Amusement Park.

Even the locals get one day a week off.

Why not the expats too?

Are we not deserving of that?

I think we are.

They have a month to get it and then Pissy Face comes out.

i take pleasure in my own solitude

no report.

Here's your weekly YouTube show!

Hey!

Looks like Blogger fixed their problem and your weekly Sunday Sillies are here!

But that's all you get today.

I still feel horrible and have nothing to report, other than Little Angel came with diapers.

So Papi and I were spared the gory job.

my body heals quickly and easily

ah, the luxury ...

My Eternal friend told me that when she taught in Guatemala, expats in their 1st year got extra days off with pay, because they were so sick all the time.

Their bodies weren't used to the environment.

No shit.

Well, actually, in my case?  Lots.

I am so sick again.  This makes the 3rd time.  Makes sense.  It seems every 6 weeks something gets me.

It started BEFORE yesterday's trip to that 'place of health', so I'm not worried that I got something there.

But damn.  Yesterday began the climax.

And now?

While I'm feeling so crappy?

... sorry about all the poop puns ...  can't help myself ...

Now is when Our Fave's Mom is taking us up on the babysitting by dropping the kid off at the gringo pool.

We babysat for about 3 hours yesterday.  Well, I should say, Papi did.

I ran around from the 'Andréa ...' questions all day, and entertaining the children at the Hector-Brown Amusement Park, in between running to the washroom and filling myself back up with lime water and salt.

I was feeling the illness, and wanted just to lie with Papi and Little Angel all day.

That li'l fella was so comfortable and slept the whole time.

Our Fave's Mom would come around once an hour to see how he was doing.

She was supposed to be relaxing, but most mothers can't be away from a newborn for very long.

She couldn't stop checking in.

But every time, I'd tell her he was sleeping and the shocked look on her face was priceless, because he doesn't sleep much for her.

We know why.

He is a cuddle bunny and just wants to be held.

She doesn't have much time with 2 other children, a home and animals to tend to, all without her husband because he is either working or sleeping off the Graveyard Coma.

So, yesterday, she came to the door, handed the baby to me without a word and walked away.

No words were needed to say, "Here.  You want him?  He's yours."

She used the time to catch up without having to deal with the little one who looks like he's 3 months, not 1 month.

Even the doctor was confused looking at him.  She couldn't believe he was only a month.  That kid eats.  A LOT.

The hard part is, they're in need of money, because the husband's boss can't pay them due to being robbed by Mr. Extortion.

She asked if we could buy formula, diapers and wipes.  We had said yes, but when we went to the bank, we realized, we only have $50 to last us for 20 days.

$50, and workers to pay.

All we could get the little guy was formula.  At least he won't be hungry.

It will be fun to babysit him this afternoon with no diapers.  But I suppose, like other children in the village, we'll just have to let him get the dung out on a towel and wash him up when shit happens.

Maybe I'll get Papi to tend to the workers and Little Angel and I will just make cow pies all day.

At least I can control mine.

Oh.  Speaking of fertilized underwear.

We have a functioning washing machine!!!!  I did laundry yesterday!!!!

Probably doesn't sound exciting to you, but to me?

Made my day.

I've never done laundry and been so happy about it before.

It wasn't a chore.

It was luxury.

Looks like I'll be doing a lot of towels over the next 24 hours.

i prosper wherever i turn and i know that i deserve prosperity of all kinds