Mission in mind.

No coffee in the world is going to wake me up today.

Last night we had a little problem with the garage door, and Papi and I went to work to fix it.  It meant lifting way more weight than either of us should have.

Hence, I had to embark on a Pain Med Party.

I'm doing much better today, as the heat really relaxes my damaged muscles, and they don't go into full spasm.

However, now I'm groggy and not really into accomplishing much today.

Still, I don't have that choice.  There are a few different workers coming.  One to build our bed frame, another to work on our car and a third to come fix our damn washing machine we've had for 3 weeks but haven't been able to wash any clothes with.

Yesterday at the PriceSmart in Santiago, they weren't willing to make the customer happy when I had 4 items that were not working properly, because I didn't have a receipt.

I told them that I KNOW it's in the computer, because that's where they checked when our washing machine we had just bought wasn't working.

The guy went on and on about how much time it's taking to look through the computers and how I'm taking all his precious time that could be used for something else.

I told him, "It makes up for the fact that I'm still waiting for your technicians to come and fix our washing machine.  My clothes are all dirty and I'm being patient, so maybe you can be patient with me?"

Things got much nicer after that.  We got everything I asked for and apparently, they're coming this morning.

We'll see if they get to see the crankiest, groggiest, gringo femme they've seen in their lives.

My eyes are half slit and I look about 100 years old.

Anyway, yesterday, we had a really good day getting things we needed and I'm only one step away from being able to make music again.

I just need a keyboard to talk to the computer and make music.  I may have to order online.  Here, they don't have anything that works with midi that I can find.

Hell.  It took me all this time to find a monitor with the correct hookups for my computer.  Everything is old school and about 40 years behind.  But I found the monitor.

I also finally found the synagogue!!

But dammit if they didn't have services, nor did they even have a rabbi.

I emailed Rabbi Laura about the possibility of having someone give me my jew lessons from afar.  She said she had info and would send it.

Papi asks me why I need this, and honestly, I don't have a good answer for it, other than the pride I feel for knowing that my great grandparents escaped the holocaust and I feel the need to redeem my heritage for the sake of all the years it's gone without recognition, as my family kept our heritage a secret.

I suppose I'll have to work extra hard at it, being alone without much instruction.

We all know how I feel about the g*d issue, however, having learned that we really aren't supposed to say g*d's name, it pleases me.

Besides, I'm free to talk to my angels and my Great Grandmother as my spiritual guides.

Oh!  I met the woman who gave me the baby shower invite!!!

She's very shy and I couldn't tell if she was just too shy to talk to me, or didn't understand a word I was saying, but she really didn't say much at all, but she seemed sweet non-the-less.

All I could really do was tell her I would be there, smile the biggest smile of thank you and left, because the silence was way too awkward.

Papi said she's probably not used to gringos being nice and didn't know what to say.

No doubt.  Sometimes, white assholes treat the people awful here.  I want to smack them upside the head.

But I get similar treatment from people who don't like that my Spanish isn't good enough for them.

There's one guy in particular at the hardware store who does that thing people do when someone doesn't understand the language enough.

He yells the words really loud, aggressively and slowly at me, invading the space in my face.

All I do is laugh at him and tell him I'm practicing and will get better, then tell him that people here speak Spanish fast, but he's the fastest one out there, so it's hard for me.

He doesn't care.  He just can't stand helping me, yet he's the guy I always need to talk to.

I'll win his heart over.  You watch.

I now have a new mission.

i make powerful and enjoyable business relationships and many of my business contacts are now my friends

i see dead people

I wasn't going to write about this, because I was afraid of people labeling me as nuts, but then I realized, people already do.

So, fuck it.  I'm writing about it.

I get visits from my deceased Fuzzy Family.

Every time I've lost a Fuzzy Family member, they come back to tell me they're ok.  It's been happening since I was young.

I have to be honest, I've also had visits from a few people that I've felt a connection to, family or not.

I see dead people, and dead animals.  Sometimes, I even get visits from other people's dead animals.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I have been waiting for The Golden to come, and was fearing the worst; that I'd lost my deceased visitation rights.

Not true.

I talked about it a bit yesterday, but I didn't go into details, and didn't think I would, until I saw Madonna Badger on Piers Morgan last night.

This poor woman lost all her kids in an Xmas fire last year, but she feels her grief is more at peace, because her children come to her in dreams.  She thought she was nuts until she read a book by Eben Alexander called Proof of Heaven.

As much as I don't really believe in heaven or hell, I do believe in an afterlife.  Some cosmic plain that we go to.

Our energy can't just end when we die.  Our spirit must live on.

Well, every animal and human I've felt connection with will visit me as I sleep.

It's not just a dream, and if you've felt this, you'll know what I'm saying.  There's more to it than just fantasy.

When The Golden visited me 2 nights ago, it was really his spirit.  It wasn't just the wanting to see him again and the grief.

He came bounding through the door, knocking me over to the ground with all the love and misbehaving he had when he was here.  He was youthful and energetic again, and his Ghost Face was returned to a rich golden blonde.  He was happy.  He was so full of love and the feelings of love I had to give him, were returned.

I could feel and smell his breath on my face.  I could feel every lashing of that tongue, every wash of wet nose and every tickle of whisker.  I could smell his scent and as I looked into his eyes (yes, he had both of them) I knew he was here.

He was here.

He came back to me to show me that I can stop grieving.  That he'll never leave me.  His spirit has now forged with mine, and he will never leave my heart, nor my soul.

He has a place right there with My Dearly Departed Gypsy.

When Gypsy came to me, it was so quickly after her death, that I couldn't believe it was a visit.  I said to the woman in the visit (whom I didn't recognize until later), "But she shouldn't be here!  She should still be in the hospital!"

This woman calmly told me, "Just enjoy your time with her right now.  This is your opportunity to be with her.  Just be with her."  I did so, sitting with this woman for a very brief moment, until Gypsy partook in her favourite pastime, ripping up the flower beds of the nearest garden.

I recently found the picture of my Great Grandmother, and immediately recognized her as the woman was from the visit.

Not dream, visit.

What I really feel from The Golden returning, is a piece of my heart has been healed.  I am almost in tears from the joy of feeling that he came to me.

It means I am forgiven, or rather that I can forgive myself.

It means I am loved, and I am able to know he's aware of how much I love him as well.

It means I am still allowing these spirits to come back to heal my heart, and I trust I will be able to do so for my next loss.

Thank you so much for coming back old man.

I'm sure you know how much you've healed me.

i recognize and honour my talents, abilities and skills

i'm trying ...

She hasn't had time to really find out how I am, so she said what everyone else thinks, "Sorry you're so sad about losing him."  She, as does everyone, thinks I'm only mourning.  I wish that were all it was.

I know in the past, writing has helped.  It's just that I haven't been coherent enough to write.  However, today, this little page called to me from my bed.  I felt I needed to purge my words of all I've felt since Saturday.

After our ridiculous fight, I tried to go to the synagogue to find some healing.

I play a hand drum they have there.  I play because I don't know all the songs, and sometimes, it's nice just to play to be a musical addition to their energy, even if I don't use my words.

The problem is, I was told it was the wrong thing to do.  Apparently, I made The Guardkeeper spirit angry at my Rabbi, because way back when, there was a rule about nobody playing drums while people are singing.  Good g*d!  I make trouble everywhere I go.

Anyway, because I was in a place of weakness, in my embarrassment, I cried.  Everyone there thought I was only crying because I was told not to play the drum.

I had to explain that my dog just died, I had a fight with my spouse about me being 'wrong', then I came to the synagogue for healing, but was told I was 'wrong' again.  All of this, with the compounding stress of the disappearing days on The Countdown has me in a bit of a tizzy.

I told them, "If this had have been any other time in my life, I would have blushed about the whole 'drum thing' and gone on singing."  Not this time.

That evening, Papi dealt with his grieving about The Golden, and witnessing his way of dealing with pain broke me.

I went into a physical meltdown, whispering through my drooling, hyperventilating tears to the 'g*d' that doesn't exist to 'please help me get off the floor!'  I was begging to The Golden, to my Dearly Departed Gypsy and to my Great Grandmother to please help me.

Anybody!  Please!  Help me?

With shaking limbs, I was stranded on the floor in fetal position.  It was over for me, I was sure.  I was going to die from emotional pain, just like I thought I would when I was a tiny little girl when my P.T.S.D. first arose.

When I was that child, I was afraid to go to sleep.  If I were to sleep, I may never wake up, because my debilitated heart would stop beating, and I would die.

In this adult moment of a mental collapse, every single horrid experience life handed me flooded my mind in one massive tsunami of P.T.S.D.  Since that moment, I've had 6 days of not being able to find my breath, fearing I may choke.  Not to mention, pass out from the lack of oxygen I'm pulling in.

I've had 6 days, where every time I close my eyes, everything comes rushing towards me; my motorcycle smashing into that car ... a fork aimed at my head as it sliced through air, because I wasn't home in time for dinner ... the fist of a former lover smashing my chest in anger, because I said something wrong.  You name it, it came straight toward me, re-injuring my fragile mind with fresh wounds.

Sometimes, there is nothing I can even identify coming at me.  These 'things' come so fast and frantic I don't even see them, but every single time something rushes towards me, it sends bolts of electricity through my body and I flinch.

My breathing won't calm.  You know when kids have those after shocks from crying?  That breathing in short choppy spurts?  I'm getting it all day long.

All ... Day ... Long.  Long.  So very long.

I'm moving through quicksand.  Even as I try to pick up a glass of water from the side table, it feels like lifting a 25 lb weight.  It then takes all my strength and I'm down again.

I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I don't sleep.  I just stare at the little silver rings.  They're strong enough to hold the white, floor length curtains on brushed nickel rods in Our Closet.  I wish they could hold me.

I shouldn't say I don't sleep.  I lost a day there.  I slept a cool 17 hours from Tuesday to Wednesday evening.  Papi came in to wake me up, afraid that it was true; that I could die from emotional pain.  I ate a few bites, listened to Papi's history of the day and went back to bed, sleeping a full night again.

Still, here I am, staring at the mock silver rings that can't hold my weight.  Here I am.  Speaking words, that come out of my mouth even though they don't sound like they're mine.

I'm on another plain right now.  This is not sadness, nor is it grief.  This isn't even Hurricane Andréa.  I'm much too silent for that.  This is one mother fucking spate of P.T.S.D. that hunts me like prey.  I have to stop running and allow it to take me down and swallow me whole.

This Pit of Doom is nothing I've ever experienced.  This is physical.  I don't move from the La-Z-Boy, lest I collapse from weakness.

None-the-less, I must be getting better.  I'm writing.

i am willing to release all fear

on track.

She sent me home with a care package containing leftovers from the scrumptious meal she prepared for our get together.

It was a short and very sweet visit with my Eternal Friend, accompanied by the animated presence of Java the Mutt.

I'm so very grateful we're living close to transit, so that I can see her more often.

What was really important for me about our visit, was that she understands my current flux of emotions.

She moved to Guatemala from our hometown, then back again.  It was with this life experience that she was able to tell me I'm right on track.

The tremendous anger I felt by coming home to hearing about bullies, abundant violence and criminal activity was just a typical state of beginning to detach from something I love.

We actually all do it a lot in our lives.  For example, when we know we're leaving a job, we start finding everything we hate about it, so that it's easier to leave.

The other area I'm on track with, is the pull of family and friends.

I'm feeling extremely needy about the fact that I'm leaving people I love.

My mother and I have had a terribly tumultuous relationship since she became a single mother.  We've struggled right into this past year when I felt the sting of not being included in a family dinner.

I was about 10 when she was tossed into a laborious life with 2 broken children, weakened by the split of an emotionally sick family, and no support from a deadbeat dad.

The lawyer she hired to fight him told her, "You'll spend way too much money trying to get anything out of this guy.  You'd be better off using that money to support your children.  You'll never get any support from him.  He's a deadbeat."

And so the walk on our path began.

Here we are, two adults doing our very best to be friends, because we both realize how much we love one another, regardless of the differences and difficulties we have.

Yesterday, I showed her my exercise regime, because there's a gym in her new condo.

I instructed her to lie on her back, so I could teach her how to initiate her core muscles.

There was this woman that had the same body as me, albeit a little softer with an extra layer.

Here was this woman who had the same eyes as me.

Here was this woman who I immediately felt a connection with and found instant forgiveness for anything she put me through.

In that moment, I was forced to remember that I put her through a lot as well.

Imagine living with a child who kept trying to kill herself?  I honestly can't picture myself in her position.

Yet I put her through this, not to mention, the horrendous mood swings that came for a child ruled by an eating disorder and chemical imbalance, further exacerbated when drugs and alcohol were introduced into her blood stream and mind.

Regardless, there she was lying beneath me, as I squeezed her lax muscles and showed her how to hold them tight.

It put her in a place of trusting her child.

I, above her.

It didn't matter that Mr. Homophobia was standing right behind us.  He can't allow my Mother to be alone with anyone, as he needs to control everything my Mother does.

However, yesterday she was all mine, regardless of the black cloud that loomed above us.

I connected with my Mother.

I'm connecting with the spirit of my Great Grandmother.

I'm connecting with family and friends, while at the same time, I feel I'm repelling my city.

My Eternal Friend tells me I'm right on track and that these high and low emotions I'm feeling are typical.

And this, is the journey.

i am loving and accepting of myself for who i am becoming