bedlam brain

"Honey?  Can you get me a Pepsi?  I want my breakfast in bed today."

No, I'm not kidding you.

You think I exaggerate?

I don't.

He's fine with living off junk food, but he doesn't understand I can't do that for 2 weeks!

He made me give away all my kitchen stuff last night, in another round of The Great DR Purge.

He's so mean.

He says I don't need them.

Ha!

Because of my food allergies, I can't just go grab a burger or pizza, so I'm forced to actually COOK my food.

At home.

So, getting rid of all my kitchen stuff means I can't cook.

I'd like to say it means I'll be losing weight, because I may be starving to death, but it won't.

It will mean I will be eating staples for the next few weeks.

Staples always includes way too many carbs for this body.

There may be some candida issues, not to mention a few Hurricane Andréa sightings and definitely some bloating.

It's bad enough that The Countdown is down to 12 days and we're freaking out, but a bad diet definitely won't help issues on my part.

I say WE are freaking out.

Yes, we.

On two different occasions yesterday, as per usual, we were asked, "So!  Are you getting excited?!?!"

Every time someone asks that, Papi and I just look at each other for the pause of 'they really don't understand' silence.

Like clockwork, I will spurt out, "Overwhelmed," and Papi will reply, "I wouldn't use the word, 'excited'."

My Eternal Friend knows what it's like.  She packed up and moved to Guatamala.

Everyone else just treats it like we're going for a holiday.

Well, I guess to some we are going on a holiday that lasts more than 2 weeks.

We're not allowed to leave for 2 months if we want residency, so even if I wanted to come home, I can't.

I guess if I only wanted 2 weeks of pain relief, I could do that.

But going back and forth so much during the winter probably won't do me any good.

It will just make my bitch of a back think it's bipolar and drain the bank account pretty damn fast.

On a side note, I just thought I'd let you know I drank an entire cup of coffee without spilling it on my t-shirt.

Not that that has anything to do with this blog.

But then again, this blog kinda started out a little scattered anyway.

That's pretty much how I feel these days.

Scattered.

My brain feels strewn across the city.  I suppose that's the reason for the migraine.

It's still threatening to come back at force.  It seems I can go half a day without pain killers for it, but at some point, it just gets to be too much.

I guess I may be putting off the withdrawal for a few more days.

Anyway, there I go again.

I can't keep any conversation on one thing for more than a minute.

Perhaps it's because we're living amongst chaos.

Bedlam brain.

i follow my dreams, no matter what

That's pretty much it.

We are not amused.

New years resolutions are way too much pressure.

I no longer see the point.

It seems that it's just another opportunity to get mean to myself.

If I want to change something, I do it today.

Not Monday.

Not the first of a month.

Not New Years day.

Today.

What I've found is, that there's less of a burden placed on it as well.

Not to mention, then I can get to berating myself for not doing it much faster.

Yup.  I'm my own worst enemy sometimes.

What I've also found, is there are more opportunities to try again.

Less build up.

Less let down.

This year, my only resolution was to make it through the holiday season without a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

I did pretty good.

The only sugar and wheat I had was Xmas day, and the crankies stuck around for a good few days, but I'm feeling much better now.

I learned last night that my niece is the same as me.

She's a lunatic with sugar.

Everything gets blown out of proportion and she winds up in tears.

That's kinda the reason I don't drink alcohol either.

How many tears in my beers have I seen in my life?!?!

Not to mention, how many times did I look like a leprechaun fighting Irish?!

Instant asshole, just add alcohol.

I still see people cross the street when they see me, thinking I haven't changed.

I feel for all of you out there that feel the need to get your drunk hat on, just because it's New Years.

How many of you will be regretting your actions tomorrow?!?!

Not I.

No, I'll be sitting here nursing my 10 day long migraine.

10 days man!

I'm about ready to pop.

Stick a fork in me, I'm bloody well cooked.

However, being New Year's Eve, I won't be heading to the ER for another Pain Med Party.

No, Papi and I will be sitting here watching the ball drop in New York via TV.

I'll be fighting to keep my eyes open until midnight.

We'll probably have to listen to all our neighbours get as rowdy as possible.

Sound exciting?

Oh, but yes!

Papi and I are nothing but entertainment!

We lead such interesting lives, eh?

That and I'll be filming more of The Countdown.

Did I tell you I'm making a YouTube documentary of our travels?

I will let you know when the first episode is up.

That's partially why I've been writing less.

Learning more about making my doc!

I will film, edit, star and write the music for it.

Papi says he doesn't want to be in front of the camera, but it's mostly been him anyway.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go close my eyes again.

10 day migraine.

10 fucking days.

i have confidence in my body's ability to heal

i was his hero.

It's that busy time of year, where people aren't relaxed enough to be civil.

While everyone is out freaking about the 'best' gift to buy their child to prove to the kid they're loved, Papi and I have other plans.

The Countdown.  27 days.

Personally, I'm doing a little bit of research to try to find musicians and film companies, but Papi?  He's making plans for his pool.

People say, "Why do you need a pool when you're on the ocean?!?"  Well, Papi wants a nice cool place to jump in without the hassle of seaweed and salty skin.

So, he contacted a company and they say they can have that thing built in 2 weeks!!!  2 weeks man!!!

I guess this means that when we get there, within 2 weeks we'll have a super duper splendid poolside relaxing area.

I don't mind the fact that my love wants to build me a hot tub as well.

That will shut my bitch of a back up in a hurry!  Pain be gone, or at least lessened.

It really is paradise found, and we are so, so grateful that we can have this little haven of a better life, unlike here in the city.

27 more days of living in Our Closet and noisy neighbours, cranky stress-mobiles and drunken knobs strolling the streets yelling.

Last night, as Papi and I were trying to relax and have a quiet hang out, the floor was shaking from music.  It was the same noise that woke me the night before at 3:30 a.m.

We were trying to find out where it was coming from, but couldn't pinpoint it.  It was more than a little nerve racking.

Papi was wandering around outside like a madman, and I was strolling the halls.

Initially, we thought it was a band in the house behind us.  I've been invited to their 'kegger' before.

Yeah.  Thanks, but no thanks.  I'm still enjoying my sobriety, and the hangovers I get from the pills are enough.  I don't need to add alcohol to the mix.

Anyway, we couldn't find the source.  Anywhere.

Until I realized that meant it was coming from beneath us.

We deduced that our sweet neighbours must have received a new stereo system.

Papi was my hero in the past, and now he asked me to be his, or he'd start popping the clonazepam because he couldn't handle the thumping anymore.  He was going to pop.

Down I went in my very fancy winter pj's, with nasty tacky slippers to hit home that I was definitely in for the night and ready to sleep.

I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again.

My sweet neighbour answered and when she opened the door, it really didn't sound like the noise could be coming from her suite!!

I asked, "Hey, SO sorry to bother you," big smile, trying to seem as nice as possible, "but did you happen to get a new stereo system?" as meekly as possible not to seem like the worst bad neighbour ever.

"Um, yeah," she said as her face looked like she was not going to enjoy what I said next.

"Ah, well, it's sorta making our floor shake, the bass is a little loud."

"Oh, ok, I'll turn off the sub-woofer."

I was so grateful they were respectful, yet felt so bad for ruining their fun.

But seriously.  A sub-woofer in an apartment suite?  What's the fucking point?  You could never have that baby up loud enough to enjoy it's full potential!!

Dudes, you need to go get your own Casa Paraíso.  You can turn it up real loud there.

Your neighbours will not be disturbed.

They're going to be too busy listening to the sound of the waves.

27 more days of inter-city dwelling.

i am surrounded by good, respectful, loving people

death is really a new beginning

Sometimes, I stare blankly at this li'l, white, blog page and wonder, "What the hell am I going to write about today?"

Other times, I have such pressing news about vomiting cats or silliness of the Papirazzi, that I feel I have to write it the night before and do my edit check in the morning.

Today is the, "What the hell am I going to write about today?" kinda day, which to me, is a good thing.

What that means to me, is there is no pain going on emotionally for me right now.  Perhaps I'm feeling some peace?

I won't bore you with the physical pain.  I'm sure you all know I could go on about my bitch of a back until we all die in 5 days.

I'm kinda excited to see the 'end of the world' on Dec. 21st.

While others may think we're going to implode, I'm actually thinking it's like the deck of tarot cards.

The death card is something people are afraid of, but it's not something to fear.

Death of one thing means birth of another.

What if all of a sudden, there was the birth of peace on earth?  Wouldn't that be a mindfuck?  We wouldn't know what the hell to do with that.

With my new found spirit friends, I actually ask them for this.

Peace on earth.

No massacres.

No wars.

No predators harming children and women.

No gangs.

Well, that gang one could be tamed a little if our fucking Prime Minister would get on the marijuana legalization train.

There would be less for those morons to fight about if people could freely get their peace pipes puffin' without the hassle of getting their goods from a dude named 'Spider' down on the corner.

Anyway, back to death.

I'm so not afraid of death, it's life that scares me.  If I'm here living, I want to feel like I've left behind something before I pop off.

I need to feel like I've made a change somewhere, somehow, to something or someone.

I need purpose.  I mean seriously, I didn't survive that motorcycle accident for nothing.

I'm here for something.

Every day since the Soul Activation happened Tuesday, I feel like I'm ready to find out my purpose.

I have so many ideas of how to help people, animals and the planet, that I think my mind is a bit obsessed and overwhelmed with all the options there are out there.

For myself, I need to feel what it was like before I got hit.  I have a yearning to be able to play my instruments for more than the half hour to hour I can do currently, before the pain sets in and I'm back to lying out flat asking, "What's my fucking purpose?"

Playing my instruments is my only version of meditation.  I'm taken somewhere that doesn't exist on this luminous body we call earth.

The Countdown to when I get to experience life without pain killers and without the exhaustion of pain is dwindling.  Day by day I'm closer to feeling my meditation again.

I'm feeling the pull of my next door opening.  It's as if it was a suction of air that drags me out of the plane door at 19,000 feet above the earth's crust, only in slow motion.

Yet first, we have to get through Dec. 21st and our new beginning.

If you could think about the new beginning for you, what would it be?  You know that you can choose whatever you want and make it happen, right?

I can't wait to see mine come to light, whatever it may be.

Well, I suppose I figured out what I was going to write about, and somehow, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

i believe strongly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

a day in the life ...

The game is, whomever gets to The Countdown first in the morning gets to rip a tab off.  Sometimes it's Papi coming home from a Graveyard shift, sometimes it's me waking up from slumberland.

 

I usually piddle a little from joy when I get to look at this:

 

Papi gets a boner when he looks at this:

 

Then, before I hit the washroom to clean up the mess I made from excitement of getting my braces off, I light The Golden's candle to say good morning and stare at the love we've given him over the past 2 weeks.

 

I've been writing him love notes and begging him to come show me he is OK.  He finally did last night.

He came bounding through the door of my dream, jumped all over me and I told him I love him so many times.  He kissed me over and over and I woke up with a healed heart.

He's happy, youthful and very, very well.

Then I went back to playing in a band with Keith Urban.  I'm not sure why I dream about that guy so much, but I do.

Anyway, then I stagger to the kitchen to make my coffee, and this is the first thing I see:

 

Chaos of preparation.

However, there is one cute thing to look at.

 

You'll have to look really close to see it, but in the depths of this darkness, there is a kitten that goes by the name of The Mrs.  She's decided this is her new home.

She's gonna be pissed when she finds out she has to share it for 8 hours with The Bastard Prince.

After I've fed all the Fuzzy Family, a certain member doesn't want to go outside for his morning tinkle.

This is where he hides, because he actually thinks he's invisible here:

 

Don't ask me why.

But dammit!  It would sure be nice if the li'l puto used it for it's purpose, instead of me walking him outside in my worst outfits possible and skanky hair to go along with it!

A femme should never have to look that horrible in public!

So, there ya go.

Our Closet.

Our life.

i feel radiantly full of abundant energy and health

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

one pill makes you taller ... coffee is god.

Can't write too much, because my head is pounding too hard from a pain med hangover.

Pills are the devil.

But they don't suck as much as pain I suppose, or I wouldn't suffer through them.

My most recent little batch of bullets make me twitch.

So if you're having a conversation with me and my left eye begins to flutter, I'm not winking at you.

If my limbs involuntarily kick you, I didn't mean to do it.

Papi said, "Oh, you'll have to take another pill to stop the twitching."

No fucking way.  Then I'll need a pill to stop the side effects of those pills.  And so on and so on and so on.

Pills are little demons straight from the belly of hell.  I never believed in hell until I started taking pills.

Now, I CAN believe it exists.  This headache proves it to me.  Hell is wrapped up in a tiny little silicon package filled with powder.  Once released from it's containment, the devil flies right on out and destroys your body.

Oh, but the original pain you felt is gone.

Not only do pills have horrible side effects, but when you try to get them out of your system, they won't leave.  They attach themselves to you like the talons of a raven of death.

They leave you lying in bed, praying your eyes will go into R.E.M.  Then, after way too many days without sleep, scratching, shaking and just doing your best to keep a meal down, you feel you'd have been better off suffering through the original pain to begin with, because your torment now is making you wish you were dead.

And these, are legal.

Cannabis has one negative side effect: a case of the 'duhs'.

But that's illegal where we're going, and they will check our blood to be sure that there is none in our system.

They'd prefer I had morphine in my system and figure all of the above hell is more worthy than some 'happy' people.

This cannabis prohibition is being currently being voted on in the U.S. election right now.  Of course not all the states.  Some of them are still hanging on to keeping it illegal so they can fill their jails and give them something to do.

But the West Coast here, with all the sane people, they get to vote.

It will be fantastic if they finally vote to make it legal, because then our home town here in beautiful B.C. will have more options and less hassle.

Still doesn't fix MY problem.

Well, my problem gets fixed in 74 days.  The Countdown.  We're moving along.  In 74 days, I'll start my weening and detoxification from the addiction to these current pills.

Then a few months after that, I'll be feeling great!

At least while I'm going through the jonesing of the demon pills, I won't have to deal with back pain.

My poor Papi.  He's stressing out about the results of the election today.

We both know, that if that evil republican gets in, our country of Canada will be affected and our current Prime Minister will be doing the happy dance, because he can pretty much cut off anyone in our country that doesn't make him money.

ie:  seniors, people with disabilities, children.

Oh U.S., please do us, and the rest of the world good, and vote for the democrats.  I beg of you.

Interesting.

I was only going to write two lines saying why I can't write.  Yet here I am with another coffee downed, feeling much better and a vent written.

Coffee is god.

i know how to promote my emotional and physical well-being

85 days.

Well, here it is!

It may not look like anything other than a bunch of tags on the wall, but each one is a day to pull off and recycle.

It's The Countdown!

Today I took off number 86.  We're down to 85 days!

Ripping that little tag off the wall gave me a happy dance!!

It wasn't quite as good as The Happy Papi Dance, but it was happy.

It's my contribution to the excitement of our departure.

Wanna see Papi's contribution?

He likes to make piles of dirty socks around the house.

Can you say hoarder?

I envision one day where we can't walk down the halls because there are socks up to the roof.

Oh, did I tell you we still don't have any heat?

My Gratitude Buddy lent me a space heater, so I finally got to wash my hair.

Yes, it's all about my hair.

Do you see the socks in the bottom left corner of the floor.

Maybe posting this for the world to see ...

... hello russia! ...

... he'll start cleaning up his socks.

Anyway, part of the reason I need a space heater is not just because the building is neglecting our rights to heat, but because my dearest Papi likes to leave the balcony door open.

Don't judge me for the mess.  You would have the same issue if you lived in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

However, this was supposed to be about The Countdown!

85 days.

85 days.

i have an enthusiastic outlook on life

Bum-Fuck-Nowhere.

It dawned on me yesterday that I won't be celebrating Halloween this year.

Not that I'm an avid Halloweener and that it's a ritual every year, but if I had to choose only one yearly celebration to raise hell with, Halloween would be 2nd to my wedding anniversary.

I mean really, I'm never ready with a costume anymore.  I have high hopes every year that I'll be celebrating, but it never seems to happen.

And it's never a big loss, it's just that every year, I always think I'm going to do something.

procrastinators unite! after halloween ...

I know.  Sounds like a no brainer.

If I'm not interested enough to get ready for it, then it's no big deal.

Well, this year, some friends had said they'd have a party and I thought this year we'd go.  So I marked attending! on my Facebook invite.

Then I hear, "Ummmmm, so you're going to their party alone?"

Well obviously not!  Our 'rough around the edges friends' don't just have a 'party'.  It's the kind of party that includes a few whips 'n chains, and maybe a little bit of 'good pain', blood and bruises as souvenirs.

Just the thing Papi and I enjoy doing together.  Alas, Papi continued, "Because that's a day after my surgery."

the pieces of the puzzle all fell into place ...

"Got it!" I replied, marking off another day closer to Dr. Scissorhands.

this brain injury moment brought to you by the letters, d, u, h.

Anyway, I realized I wasn't going, and started reminiscing about a few of the times that I've had some doozy costumes.

Like the bumble bee.

pillows made into puffy balls of bumble bee phat ...

My costume was epic!

Until I had to go pee.

I had drank 'too' much beer.

I couldn't get my arms around the pillows of bumble bee phat to open the crotch of the costume to relieve myself the washroom.

Hell!  I could barely fit through the stall door, never mind try to close it once I was in.

Well, I'm pretty sure you can figure out how that one ended.  All I know is that's the only memory I have of that particular Halloween.

yup ... some people should just stay clean 'n sober ...

But, the point of all this was that I finally clued into the time line of Papi's surgery.

The weekend of Halloween, I'll be commuting back and forth to bum-fuck-no-where to have some full on quality Papi time complete with drooling from pain meds.

we'll both be in fine company ...

Wayyyyyyyy out there.

A place where I never venture, for it's where they put all the sex offenders on parole.  You see, nobody squawks about it, because they're too busy restocking beer from the liquor store and ignoring the molesting of their own children.

That and beating the fear of 'god' into their kids.

Bum-

Fuck-

Nowhere.

It's surprising that they would have Trannies come out to this area.  I  mean it's the same kinda 'community' where rednecks would beat the shit out of anyone queer, never mind what they'd do to trannies.

None-the-less, that's where we'll be in less than three weeks.

Well, if you're not a Canuck, you may not know that today is Thanksgiving here in Canada, so tonight we'll be taking the G'ma out to Swiss Chalet.

no, i don't cook anything that can't be done in a frying pan, wok or steamer.

So, in honour of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that I don't have to be out in bum-fuck-nowhere today, and I'm thankful that I not only have a pain reliever that works, but it also keeps my PTSD down to a manageable level so when I think of the predators out in bum-fuck-nowhere, I don't shake.

and the countdown continues ...

Grow baby Grow

Here's what I'm learning.

I was petrified during The Countdown, because I didn't know what to expect.

I was terrified when Papi told me there was a male transformation in my future.

I was paralyzed with fear of seeing the 5 Foot Clitoris.

I shook with nausea when hormones started, because I thought my love would change into the hideous person I had in my mind's eye.

All of it was fear of the unknown.

This is what I'm afraid of.

Now, in 2 more sleeps, I pick up mi esposo from the airport.  I'm feeling as though I may pass out from the fear of what I'll see now that the bandages are taken off, and the tubes are gone.

I have to face it head on.  I have to actually see it now.

I'm sick to my stomach, I'm shaking, I'm not dealing with it very well.

I'm at my threshold.  This right here is my limit.

This is why I couldn't handle the flight from hell.

This.

Will all be fine after I witness my love's transformation.

This I know.

So far, the ground hasn't opened up and swallowed me whole.  So far, I haven't died from fear.  So far, I've dealt with every single blow and got back up swinging.

I can cry all I want right now, because I know that it's only fear of the unknown.

does that make it any easier?

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be sick.

I just wish that my logic would tell that part of my brain that's disturbed to calm down.

I honestly feel like that possessed child on the plane that was out of control.

minus the thrashing about ... i really could though ... nobody would know

I'll maintain my composure like I always do.  I'll fool everyone around me that 'I'm ok'.  I'll get busy at work and distract that horrid brain wave that is telling me I won't make it through.

breathe ...

My day today should be MUCH better than yesterday.  Today is tomorrow.  I love tomorrow.  It's always so much better than today.

Here's a tiny bit of positive though; I actually had a moment of joy for Papi.  A moment where I could feel happiness for my love.  I had a moment of allowing mi esposo the glee, and in turn I felt it for my love.

Possibly excitement for Papi?

Whatever that feeling is that I was experiencing, the nasty part of my brain that still wants to act like a teenager stomped her feet, clenched her fists and stuck that lip out further than it's ever pouted.

"NO!!!!  You may not feel those happy thoughts.  You're pissed off dammit!"

Gawd she's a pain in the fucking ass.

When the hell is she ever going to grow up?!?!?!?!?

I suppose I should give her these next few days of grieving and anger.  She's going to have to deal with it when the unveiling comes.

shock, horror

I'm a mess.

And I thought The Countdown was for the surgery.

Nope.

It's still fucking going.

Pardon me while I go ralf.

that was a waste of a good coffee.

Poof! Just like that!

It's all over.

The Countdown has ended.

Papi's sleeping now, and it's very eerie.  My love is twitching and whimpering, breathing hard and sometimes puffing.

It's not mi esposo's usual sleep pattern.

But then again, it's not every day that Papi goes under the knife.  Not to mention, sleeps partially sitting up.

You know when a dog runs in it's sleep?  It makes those noises that sound like a partial cry.  I always look at it like they're chasing and barking at rabbits.

This is similar, only it does sound like more of a cry.

I think I even heard 'no' a couple of times.

Poor thing.

It was an agonizing time waiting for them to allow me to see Papi.  I'm not sure why they don't let loved ones be the first face patients see.  I'm pretty sure my love would have wanted it to be me, but Papi got the nurse who helped my love to a pseudo La-Z-Boy chair.

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the wait.

I just kept thinking, "This can't really be happening."  It was too surreal.  There were waves of nausea coupled with moments of distress.

It was just a bit too much at times.

Papi was telling me about all the F-Ms that were there the day before, along with their Rah-Rah-Tranny spouses/partners/lovers.  My love told me how happy they all were.

yeah?  well, they all haven't met THIS femme yet.

Today there was an F-M waiting for their person to come out.  He smiled at me with an excited stare of, "Isn't this a great moment?!?  Isn't it exciting?!?!"

I smirked not wanting to be rude.  It's the most I could pull out of my ass, so as to not look like I was going to cry.  I'm sure I came across as an aloof bitch.

whatever.

My love kept asking me if I was ok.

was i 'ok'?

My stomach kept turning, and the flooding of emotions kept pulling me in an undertow like the ocean we have a beautiful view of from our hotel.

breathe ...

When I finally was cleared to see Papi, the first thing I did was giggle.  The face of my love waking up has nothing on the 'post-op face'.

This was a gem of an expression.

It really broke the spell of doom for me.

Papi seemed so fragile.  I've never seen my love like this.  I wanted to hold mi esposo, but there was an obvious look of pain that stopped me.

All I could do was hold a finger.

I held that digit with all my love, caring and adoration.

I kept looking at my love's much smaller chest area.

they're gone ... they're really gone ... breathe ...

Now the care taking was coming into play.  The nurse had to show me how to drain the tubes from my love.

I just about tossed my cookies.

breathe ... 

There was blood to deal with, and I'm not so good with that kind of stuff, but I keep checking every 2 hours like I'm supposed to and get ready for the job.

I lovingly help Papi with sips of ginger-ale and chicken broth.

I made it through and I'm still here with my most of my sanity.

This didn't kill me.  My mind isn't completely blown yet.

The science experiment of life continues ...

Vancouver Airport

It really is a nice airport.

I was up and out the door by 4:10.

Good thing I got to the airport 3 hours before my flight, so that I could watch the kiosk people arrive, set up and put new paper in their machines.

Seriously!?!?

It's 4:30 in the morning and I have to wait until 5:00 before the workers show up?

THEN DON'T BOOK THE FLIGHT SO FUCKING EARLY YOU BASTARDS

Ok.

So, maybe I'm a wee bit cranky after only have 4 hours sleep, which was after working 11 hours on only 6 hours sleep.

Maybe the fact that I'm a 'wee' bit stressed has something to do with my crankiness too.

All I know is, I've take a 'sleepytime' pill and when that seat hits me in the ass, I'm hoping I'll be out like stink.

However, I'm in an aisle seat.  Not the best seat in the house to fall asleep in.

I hope I'm not beside the rotten child who's here acting up in the waiting area.  I also hope that nobody has a weak bladder and has to wake me up to continuously visit the bathroom.  They might get the death stare.

Anyway, what I was going to say is, I'm still in Vancouver, but after the NEXUS people not trusting my 'trusted' traveler card and going through my luggage with a comb meant for lice, I feel like I've already ventured to another country.

No.

Still here.

I am so looking forward to seeing Papi.

Looking forward to giving my love a swift kick in the arse too.

Someone went and got sick right before surgery.

Someone didn't take my advice and rest as much as possible for health's sake.

Someone is going to be subject to healthy food while I'm being the caretaker.

I feel like my way of getting back at Papi for making me sad, scared, sick to my stomach, having nightmares, having horrid visuals in my head etc. is to feed my love healthy food.

Mi esposo won't be able to lift those arms after the top surgery, so I'll be doing all the work.

The Countdown ... 24 hours ... 

I'll also be buying all the food.

**enter evil laugh here**

No cookies, ice cream and bags of Eggies for you my love.

You will be forced to eat healthy food.

This is my revenge.

And I'm fucking bitchy.  So, yeah baby!  You get me in all my glory.

Heh, but we all know that the moment I see my love, I will be all smiles and snuggles.

I'm a fool for you.

48 hours

D Day.

The Countdown.

48 hours.

All I can say is thank gawd for work.  I'm so exhausted working 11 hour days of non-stop work that I really don't have time to cry.

My eyes will well, but then I find myself pressing buttons on the screen that tell me where to go for my next jaunt, or I'm getting up and out to help someone who has less mobility than I.

I did get to watch my love's plane leave right from underneath the take off path.  I did get to film it.  It was heartbreaking waiting for it to go, but when Papi passed over me, I felt mi esposo's love and happiness filled my heart.

The next day, I was able to start my taping of this experience.  That was really hard.

I was a blubbering mess when I really started to talk about the experience on the whole.  I really put 6 months of pain into a 10 minute monologue of story telling.

I suppose it's ok, because the video really does show how I can go from normal speaking to blubbering in a matter of seconds when it comes to my love's male transformation.

I got through the hormones with some acceptance that turned into healing from that neck of the journey.

However, The Countdown to top surgery is the next hurdle.

My stomach turns.

My mind wants to rush me to another thought.

denial ain't a river in egypt

Like I said, I'm grateful to be working to give my mind a break.

I got to speak to Papi on Facebook last night.  It was 3 a.m. in Florida and I'd just come back from work, still donning my uniform.

We were both so tired, but it was necessary just to have a connection for a moment, even if it was virtual.

Well, today I pack, do another 11 hour shift, then come home to prepare.

I leave at about 4 a.m. tonight.

my stomach ... it just keeps turning.

I put a call out to some Trust List friends who had been through this, and requested some talk time with them when I get to Florida.

Of course, I was greeted with love and a bunch of "Of course!  Anytime!!"

Yet I'm so afraid that when the time comes that I need to actually get words out of my head, I won't use my safety net of this circle of love.

don't speak ...

The flip side is, I may just talk about something else.  You know?  Denial?

I'm terrified.

I'm nauseated.

One sweet soul reminded me to eat to stay strong.  Good advice.

I will go eat my breakfast now, even if my stomach is telling me to do otherwise.

This hurts.

speechless

"Ok.  We're back.  So now we have to talk about it.  These are YOU'RE 'rules'."

I guess Papi's right.

While my love was texting, the woman in the phone that automatically corrects mi esposo's spelling was frantically trying to keep up to Papi's maniacal typing.

It blurts out things like, "Capitol I," and other words, that perhaps it finds a more suitable option.  One word stuck out for me, however.

"Denial."

So, I had to ask, "Why are you writing denial?  Who's in denial?"

My love answered, "I'm talking to **a Trust List friend** and telling her how you're in denial about my top surgery."

is that something like, if i ignore it, it will go away?

Maybe I am.  Maybe I'm just trying to stay on vacation, even though when we got off the plane it felt like I could see my breath.

toto, we're not in kansas anymore ...

But seriously, I'm new to the male transformation gig!  I don't know how to deal with this other than to ignore it!

Alright.  I'm in denial.  But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to accept it when it happens in less than a week.

i think i just threw up in my mouth a bit, or maybe that was the eggs telling me i still have a parasite?

The Countdown is increasingly more anxiety driven.

4 days until Dr. Scissorhands #1 gets his game on.

i promise i will play 'nice'. i promise not to give him the stink eye or the death stare.

I watched Papi get the video camera ready for mi esposo's taping of the experience.  My love eagerly charged the batteries, put in a new tape, and made sure everything was running well.

I also watched Papi go nutty getting ready for the flight to Florida.  My love basically came home, did laundry, had 2 sleeps, and then will be off as a frequent flyer.

Mi esposo leaves today.  I'll be at work when Papi is en route to the airport, and at the end of my day, when I park my bus in the lot, mi esposo's plane will be leaving 15 minutes later.

I will stay in the lot and watch my love go, unless I'm off early.  If I'm off in time, I'll go sit under the plane route on a little bench they've made especially for this day.

the narcissist in me is sure that it's just for me. it's all about me.

Either way I will be able to watch Papi's plane take off.  The airport is basically a 5 minute drive from where we park those yellow 'short buses'.

Work will be difficult today, as it will be my first shift alone since doing my last gradual return in November.  You know the one?  Where I was doing my first return, but fell, then have been off for 6 months again?

Anyway, it's going to be tough, but it will probably keep my mind off things to come.

4 days ... it whispers from the pit of doom ... it's breath is hideously rank

I just sat and stared at the screen for 5 minutes, so I suppose I'm done for today.

I don't know what else to say right now other than, thank you, my imaginary friend, for another day of an open ear, and a shoulder.  Things are going to get tough now.

I'm grateful you're here.

patience is learned

"Baby when I can't open lift my arms after the surgery will you ..."

"MM-MM!" I grunted negatively.  'No' in the form of a mumble.

i don't need the last words ... i know what Papi wants to say ... no i will not inject those hormones into your body ... the evil chemicals that stole my butch ...

 "But I'll need someone to do it."

Another negative grunt, "MM!"

"Ok, I guess I'll get the maid to do it."

I laughed and managed to enunciate a muffled, "K."

"Honey, I hate it when you won't talk about things."

if i don't speak it will go away ...

I finally spoke, "I'm still on holiday.  I'm not home yet."

Papi said, "But it's only a week away!"

"I don't care.  I'm still on holiday."

don't speak ...

"Sweety, you didn't give me the time line of when we could talk about it."

"Well, I'm giving you the 'rules' now.  These are the 'rules,' I don't want to talk about it until my holiday is over."

I am allowed to change the 'rules'.  These ARE the 'rules'.  Papi knows this by now.  'Rules' are subject to change at any time I choose.

I'm lucky that Papi is patient.  Papi's lucky that I'm patient as well.

Silly esposo tried reverse psychology, "I wouldn't want you to do it anyway, you're always soooo rough on me!  You're always hurting me!"

I laughed, "No, I'm not.  You're exaggerating."

There was a moment of silence before I heard it again, "Honey are you going to be gentle when you have to take care of me?"

DIDN'T I SAY I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?!?!??!

"Yes," I said like a spoiled brat with a lip sticking out.

"You won't hurt me?"

you mean hurt you like this hurts?

This is getting to close.  Way too close.  I don't want to think about it.  I'm envisioning the pain.

for both of us ...

Papi will be alone for the last few days of the surgery aftercare.  I won't see the unveiling until my love comes home.

I was so comfortable just lying across my love.  Entangled bodies, head to chest, leg over back.  Relaxation at it's finest.

My love is the best cuddler ever.  I've never been with anyone where the energy of love exudes in a cuddle like this.

Why is it that when we're that comfortable, mi esposo thinks it's a good time to bring 'it' up?

close enough to jab the scab ...

We left the room laughing, though.  That's all that matters.

I'll talk when it's time.

I have to start soon.

'Rules'.

Adjust them.

Whispers ...

Ah the nightmares I have.  Really!

So last night Papi wasn't a minotaur, my love was just dying.

But here's the best part: my love wanted to be single for the last year of living.

yeah ... because dying, shriveling people are soooooo sexy

Anyway, it's so strange, because I really feel like we're having a wonderful time, to the point where this really does feel like a 2nd honeymoon.

Our actual, the 1st, was ridiculous.  Papi was obviously manic, because we were up every fucking morning at 7 to go on excursions.

It's a little better this time around.  We get some days where we'll actually sleep in and miss breakfast.  That's when it feels like we're on holiday.

But honestly, everything we've seen here is amazing.

Today we went to a wonderful place called the Monkey Jungle.  100% of the profits goes to help Haitian villages and to saving abused Squirrel Monkeys.  Also, when Haitian people need medical care, they can simply go to these people and have the care for free.

All I can say is, this kind of philanthropy is what I would love to be doing when we move here.

my mind ... revving thinking of how i can be of service to these people ...

No bubbling skin today.  The clouds gave me a bit of a break, but even still, it's so warm.

We leave in 4 days, this paradise will be behind us and I go back to reality.

Papi has been female here and it really has been a nice break, but sometimes it feels weird, because I was just getting my head wrapped around the male transformation.

A young girl on our monkey tour asked me, "Is that your sister, or your friend?"

I answered, "We're married."  She looked so very confused.

What I didn't know was that Papi had been asked the same question 4 times by others on this tour.

This wouldn't be happening if my love had no breasts.

This is where I find myself wondering if I'm more on page with mi esposo than I really give myself credit for.

am i?

I see my love in the eyes that Papi sees occasionally.  I'm getting more used to seeing this.

It's not like the horrifying views I get of myself in the mirror.

the mirror always lies ... gobs of fat oozing over my pants ...

I get more peaceful sights of my love.

I will look at my love and say, "Mi guapo esposo."  My love asked me what it means.  When I told Papi it means 'you're my handsome husband', my love looked proud.

I do see my love as handsome.  I always have.  My handsome, masculine woman.

But this thought doesn't seem right anymore.

It just seems like a confusing ideal.  Papi is not a woman.  Papi has the best of both worlds, making my love a Third Gender.

This is a gender that the majority of the world can't accept.  They only want to see one or the other.

I really believe, that if the world could see this 3rd gender, then my love wouldn't feel the need to be seen as one or the other.  My love would accept the beautiful person that 'is'.

I wish we lived in this world now.  Then maybe Papi wouldn't feel the pressure to cut out pieces of that body I love so much.

The Countdown.

It definitely didn't get left behind in Vancouver.  It's a lot more of a whisper while we're here, while my love and I just get to enjoy each others company with laughs and silliness of chickens crossing the road and 4 people to a scooter.

Perhaps I can keep it to a dull roar when we return?

Stranger things have happened.

El Malo Caballo.

Miles of beauty.

The people, the beach, the sky, the birds.

Everything.

Right now, I'm staring at a man that will seriously fry within 5 minutes.  He's already pink.

dude, even i am sitting in the shade for a bit ... seriously ... and i'm part jew and indian lol!

Oh well.  He'll learn.

However, I thought that I was ok in the sun today.  I'd already gotten that burn out of the way.  You know the one?  The one for us with olive skin where you get a little pink, it stings a bit and then you're good for the rest of the journey?  Yeah, that one.

That one; where you no longer have to smear yourself with the chemical crud that is supposed to save us all from skin cancer.

I don't know.  I kinda think that this stuff is the culprit of a lot of skin cancer.  Really!  Putting all those non-organic chemicals on your skin can't be as good as natural sun.

Well, today we rode horses up in the mountains.  Papi had a horse who still had it's cajones; 'Blanco'.  He was very much in competition with my horse; 'Melo'.

Every time Melo would get too close to Blanco, he would push us off the side of the path, or try to stop us from moving anywhere.

Then Melo would flip his head up and down, causing my heart to start pounding in fear that my long legged friend would topple over and snap me at the hip.

yes ... always the drama queen if you must know

Anyway, I digress.  My main point was to tell you that my skin has bubbled.

Yes.

Bubbled.

I've only ever experienced this once, in Cuba.  I was adamant that I didn't need sun screen because of my skin never burning in Canada.

I learned wrong.

After I had that mini-burn when I first got here, I figured I'd be safe from the burn, but I suppose 5 hours out on a couple of bratty horses would prove me wrong.

One of my blogger friends, Rafa, told me I wouldn't need lotion anymore.  Goddam, I hope he's right.  I guess my skin will acclimatize when I'm here for longer.  I do feel like I'm just getting used to everything and I'm going to have to leave.

I can't believe we're leaving in a few days.

Has it really been a week and a half?!

I really don't want to go back to The Countdown.

I had a moment today where I looked at Papi's alien mammaries.  My love was pretending they were already gone.  It was an attempt to make them look like men's well built pectorals.

sadness said hello.

I left to go for my 127 step walk up to the internet area.  I could barely make it from my legs being so weak from today's ride alongside Blanco, El Malo Caballo.

These legs and butt are going to hurt tomorrow.

buns of steel!!!!! i need a horse dammit!!!

I think I'll have to add a horse to the goat and chicken dream here in the Dominican.

The Dream

Sometimes I have to wonder what my thought process provokes in me.

I had a dream that Papi told me, "I'm going to go shopping for hooves."

"What?  Why on earth would you need hooves?"

Papi replied with all seriousness, "I no longer feel like I'm a male.  I feel like I"m more of an animal, not a man."

My love then turned into a bull type of animal-ish 'thing'.

Papi had horns and a ring through the septum, along with hairy paws and hooves.

Presto!

Instant animal.

In my dream I had also said, "If you do this, I'll seriously divorce you.  You've put me though enough with the male transformation."

It was at that point I woke up.

I woke feeling that my love being a male would be better than mi esposo being an animal.

I don't really know what's going on with my drawing in of energy with this whole journey either.  It seems I can't see anything on any TV channel that isn't Chaz Bono going on about his sex change.

He's fucking EVERYWHERE!!!

Even in the goddam Dominican Republic he's there with Spanish subtitles.

really?!?!  i don't even get reprieve here?!?

They showed pictures of his top surgery.  I just wanted to crawl into a hole and expire.

Today, Papi said with sincerity and love, "I know you don't want to talk about this honey, but I need to.  I'm really scared.  I'm afraid I'm going to get put under and never wake up."

I assured my love, "That is not going to happen.  It's very rare that this happens, so it's not going to happen."

Damn right it's not going to happen.  I just made it through the worst of the hell of this journey and I'm not going to lose mi esposo while under the knife.

nope ... not going to happen.

My love asked me if I was afraid of the jaw surgery, and I giggled, "No!  I'm looking forward to getting it done so that my teeth match better and I can open my mouth properly."

Mi esposo also said, "I'm not sure I want to get a hysterectomy now.  That's serious and it's going to be be hard."

Papi asked me if I'm going to be ok with measuring the liquid that comes out of the tubes ...

oh god, am i 'ok'? ... 'ok'?

... then proceeded to tell me that I won't be there for when the tubes come out.

I felt very sad that I wouldn't be there.  I felt Papi's fear, sadness and knew that my love really needed to have me there.

I wish I could be there for Papi, even if it would pain me to see the end result.

I think that I am going to make this journey a video blog.  I believe that it needs to be something that I can look back on and see how my thought process could change over the years.

It's also a chance to have my love be there alone and get Papi's video blog on record.  We'll both be apart for the last part of it and it would make for a good visual for me to see what my love will be feeling while I'm not there.

the countdown ... it's biting me again ... sharp teeth ... talons in my back impeding my escape ...

Maybe I could put a nice little cover on it like the one we just received from the front desk, "Memory of my Vacation in Dominacan Republic," including the palm trees, starfish and ocean ...

the dream ...

Papi's at it again!

First off, I have to say I'm sorry there aren't any pictures to show you yet.  Papi and I have been having so much fun that there just hasn't been time to get any computer time in.

which is the point i think?  so why am i here?!

However, I felt the need to get here and say hi to 'you', my imaginary friend, so here I am.  Papi is up doing money things.  For some reason, my card won't work here.

eek! the people love us, but the atm doesn't

I have to vent now.  I'm on holiday.  I shouldn't have to deal with tranny issues, right?

not if papi can help it ... my love has my undivided attention

Somehow I'm being held hostage by the Tranny Terrorist, who is yakking about things I just don't want to think about.

The chin hair.

I look at it frequently.  It's hard to take my eyes off it.  Now I will admit that there is definitely more there than there was before.

Then there was the back of the leg hair that just jumped out and decided to give us a scare.

jeeeeeeeezus!  where the fuck did that come from?!?!?!

I've been strict with Papi about shaving leg hair because I still want to hang on to my butch for as long as I can.  I would never date anyone with the hairy lesbian look, so I've not wanted my love to have any hair there.

It will look quite ridiculous if my love has upper leg hair and no lower leg hair, you know what I mean?!?!?

So I suppose the 'rules' are changing.

I did catch a glimpse of the 'male' my love is morphing into.  It was a bit disastrous for me.  It made me want to cry about the life I'm losing.

While we were enjoying our time, we saw two very pleasing fags who looked to be completely in love.  It made my heart melt.  I had pride that in this day and age, we queers can show our love in public without fear.

to a point ...

Then I realized that Papi and I would never be seen as the sweet dyke couple anymore.  I will now be just the boring straight girl.  I will no longer be the femme.

It really is difficult here in the Dominican when men won't speak to me when it's Papi and I together.  They speak to my love as the 'man' and I am just the sidekick wife.  I am not equal.

It is really hard to be seen as a straight couple, and I'm having my first glimpse of forever being just that.

One thing that was really strange today was seeing my love's beautiful breasts in a different light.

Papi finally bared those gorgeous breasts and I looked at them with contradiction.  They really didn't look like they belonged.

I've never seen this before, but there it was.  Papi is really just having a breast reduction in a different way.  They're not going to hang and flop like some dude who has man tits.  They'll be perk and flat.

As a matter of fact, that sweet belly of Papi's will be sticking out more than those flat pectorals.

Ok.

So, there's some good, some bad, some strange, but overall?

I'm not feeling the grief quite as much as I thought I would with The Countdown to doomsday.  I'm just enjoying my time with Papi.  I'm looking at the beginning of my life changing along with Papi.  It's terrifying and I want to resist, but I'm still going along with this crazy ride.

Except for when Papi starts asking things like, "Ok, so when we're in Florida and the operation is done, you have to contact 'x' and 'x' and 'x' and tell them I'm ok."

Then when I don't answer my love asks, "Why aren't you speaking?"

"Because my dear.  I'm on holiday.  There will be no Tranny Terrorism while I'm on holiday."

Tomorrow is a great day.

Egg.

Sauce.

Ted.

Yeah.

Exhausted.

I'm earning my holiday that's for sure.  10 hour shifts are rough for this aching body that hasn't been working for 2 and a half years.

I so miss 'you', my imaginary friend.

I feel my time with you is being squashed by that four letter word.

Say it with me and say it loud.

WORK!

It truly is a four letter word.

In 24 hours, I'll be officially on holiday and on my way to the Dominican Republic.  I'm so looking forward to the warm.

But mostly, I'm just looking forward to quality time with Papi, processing time for The Countdown, and relaxation.

I wish I had more to say, but honestly, there won't even be dinner tonight.

Bed beckons.

I can't wait to speak to you from some airport somewhere.  I have no idea where our first stop is.

:)

But you'll be there with me.

Oh,  by the way, May 11th is my sobriety date.  Tomorrow I'll be 12 years clean 'n sober.

Life is good.