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.

Our welcome from the li'l putos.

I couldn't write for a few days, because I was sleeping.

Yup.

For a few days.

Not sure what's got me, but I never sleep on planes.

I slept on all three of them.

And in between them.

Then I came home to sleep some more.

I went to sleep at 8pm thinking, "Damn it's good to be home to my Fuzzy Family."

Until I woke up to Psycho Kitty leaving a gift of piss on the bed.

I actually woke up to it in the middle of the night, but was too busy sleeping to deal with it.

When I finally got my ass up, the only thing I wanted to do was spend a little more time with our toilet.

I gave the one in our hotel wayyyy too much attention.

I've gotta share the love.

While I was trapped on the throne, violently emptying my body of any nutrition I managed to eat while awake for short periods (ie: airport chips, Luna bars and pop), the cats decided to give me a welcome back scrap.

Nothing like being stuck on the shitter and not being able to do anything about the Tom Cat Operetta.

After meekly saying, "Papi?  You wouldn't happen to be up would you?" and not getting a reply, I decided to laugh, wait out my stomach being my worst enemy, then go make myself some coffee.

I just got my wits about me when The Bastard Prince also had to give me more welcome back love.

All over my computer desk.

Great gobs of vomit.  Good fucking morning.  Welcome back.  Fucking hell.

While cleaning it up, I never realized it was all over my sleeves as well.

That was of course until after I made myself some toast.

Nice.

I don't know how much got in my peanut butter, because of course, it was the same colour.

I missed these little jerks for what seemed like an eternity, and I suppose they missed us too, and are showing their gratitude for us being home.

In the only way they know how.

The Golden was feeling nasty as well.  He had the trots too.  It's splendid to try to pick that stuff up when it won't stay firm.

What I can say is, I'm grateful for what a great job My Boifriend did of taking care of our li'l putos.

And he didn't relapse while we were gone!

And he didn't steal from us!

And he fed the animals with their respective foods in their dishes instead of tossing their food all over the ground allowing them to fend for themselves!

We did come home to the cats being a little more hefty than they were before, but now that I'm back, they'll be on the 'No Fat Cats' diet.

Sorry mongrels.

The Temptation Treat Days are over.

We don't need diabetic cats.  We have enough to do.

Anyway, we are so happy that we finally made a good choice in our Fuzzy Family keeper.

We sent him home with Dominican coffee and hugs.

Thank you my dear, so so much.

I'm glad you only had to clean shit off the walls once.

i am a kind, caring and decent person

got'cha papi.

Of course, we all know Papi likes to torture me, hence he has been dubbed the Tranny Terrorist.

His most recent femme fright was not really meant to make me crazy, but it does.

His relapse of alcohol began on a trip alone to see his sister get married in Mexico.

Leave the bugger alone for 10 minutes and he's into trouble!

Well, for this trip, he continuously mentions that he's uncomfortable with going to an all inclusive where there is drinking going on from the moment people hit the beach!

He talks about it, because he needs to.

I just keep asking him when he's going to tell his sponsor.

He doesn't have one.

So, yesterday, nonchalantly mentioned that I was going to take one of my pain killer infused muffins along for the trip.

"Nobody would know.  They would just see them as muffins and banana bread!"

Oh, the tizzy I got my tranny into.

The foul language he used!

The redness of his face!

The bulging eyeballs that seemed to pop out, not much unlike a cartoon character.

I have found my ammunition.

Of course, I was half honest, because the only other option for me to bring is morphine.

I hate pills.

Hate them.

But the Dominican Republic will not let us in if I have any traces of my medicinal cannabis in my system.

This means that I have to take morphine for the last month of us living here, and be off my natural pain killers for 2 months, in hopes that by the time they test my blood, I'll just look like your average pill poppin' femme.

And I'll be puffy.

Puffy, bitchy and tired.

But the whole point is, I am moving somewhere where the hopes are that I won't have to take those devil pills anymore.

Or at least, not very often.

The amount of prep for this is almost mind blowing.

Just to get ready for our short trip is enough to get the tummy squirreling around in there.

We bought two MASSIVE, and very ugly suitcases to bring some of our belongings that will be living there on this trip.

We're going to put them in storage there.

So, we have to go to our storage here.

To bring stuff to the storage there.

It's sorta ridiculous, and we hope to hell we can find a place to keep them there so that the next trip isn't as expensive with 5 animals.

Well, one of the animals is a little lighter.

Seems the stress has Psycho Kitty losing all his ass end fur.

It's really ugly.

This will not do for his television appearance.

And now, off to the vet we go to find out how to fix it, make him pretty and perhaps get a manicure for The Bastard Prince who lost one of his nails in the last Tom Cat Operetta which had him scrambling to a higher level.

Blood everywhere.

No, this is not sexy enough for their television appearance.

i accept abundance

these are the people in your neighbourhood ...

Poor Papi.  He had his first bad experience living in an crowded city apartment block.

There are so many good people here.  This area is full of people who would actually wait a half an hour with my keys outside my car, hoping that I would return, so that nobody would steal it.

They returned my keys the next day with one request, "Do you have 10 bux you could spare?  I'm a little broke and need some food."

We gladly gave him two fivers, but if we had more, we'd give it to him as well, knowing the money ain't going to the food.  None-the-less, dude didn't steal anything from our car and he returned our keys.  Next time I see him, I may bring him out for lunch to get that meal.

Anyway, last night's experience wasn't as neighbourly.

My love is mostly the one to bring the dogs outside, as I can't carry The Golden up our flight of stairs.  He's being stubborn and refusing to get into the apartment, because it's not his home.  So, Papi has to carry him.

Obviously I can't, but I usually go for the walk with them and hold doors open while my love carries the flailing four legs to our floor.

Last night, my bitch of a back told me to stay put, so out went Papi on his own to explore his new area.

In this hood, there are a lot of people with addiction problems.  It's just been the way of this district for years.  It's much better now, but there's still some issues.

Sir Bark-A-Lot remembers when mi esposo was a big ol' drunk and subsequently, does NOT like drunks.

Hence, he did what he does best and tried to terrorize the guy by the nipping at his heels and yapping.  My love hasn't mastered the art of 'Alpha', and the little fucker of a dog behaves horribly when he's with Papi.

Our ghetto drunk was not impressed, and back and forth went the argument between the two.  However, the only thing I heard from the window was an angry, "Try going to an AA meeting!"

I called my love to tell him that everything he says is heard loud and clear up in our suite, which means that everyone else can hear it too.

That was when I got the full story.  This nutbar of a drunk waited for my love to return, because he knew our car, since Papi had put something in there while he was waiting for the one eyed big man to do his doggy biz.

As soon as the drunk saw Papi come back up the sidewalk, he had his revenge by approaching Papi, stating very loudly, "Next time I see your dog I'm going to kill him."

Papi retorted, "Next time I see your face I'll be calling the cops."  Instead, mi esposo came up and told me the story and called the cops then and there. 

While my love and I stood outside waiting for the police, this dude was doing his best to intimidate us from his apartment window, because his apartment is next door to us.

Now we have a neighbour who is threatening to kill our dog.  Not the nicest welcome to the hood we just moved into 5 days ago.

Not to mention, my love has come from spacious plots of land where nobody sees each other and nobody talks, never mind threaten death.

Papi was genuinely terrified, as this guy knows where we live and what our vehicle looks like.  It's hard not to spot our fucking vehicle with all the stickers on it.

Oh, dude also has our phone number, because that too is plastered on the side of our car for my love's pet care business.

Well, cops showed up, and after speaking to the sloppy drunk, he told us that we should just ignore him.  Seriously.  Anyone who would threaten to kill a 'chihuahua', stating 'it's owner sicked it on him' has to be a little off kilter.

"Do your best to keep your distance from him," was the end result, with the tag, "If anything else happens, call us."

Then through my love speaking to the cop, he informed him that we just moved from the West Side, where he's lived all his life, and having this experience really scared him.

Cop stopped for a second and tried his best to understand, "Why on earth did you move HERE?!?!?"  There's always a punch line.  Even from a cop.

I explained to my love that this is what it's like living in this 'community'.  There are wonderful people, but that also means there are sick people.

Just so happens, the sick one knows where we live, what our car looks like and wants to kill our dog.

Having said that, he probably won't remember a thing today and may even tip his hat all neighbourly like the next time he sees Sir Bark-A-Lot.

It's just the law of the big city.

i feel completely at ease, and comfortable with all types of people

What's In a Name?

When Papi was looking for a name that he felt suited him better than the Über Femme name he was given at birth, we searched high and low!

The funniest part was where I discovered his name.

I was rewiring my brain after the head injury from the motorcycle accident, with a game on Luminosity.

They had people in a café and I had to remember their names and orders. 

It was pretty cool and I recommend it for everyone!  Not just those of us who landed on their head after being tossed 15 ft. going 50km on a motorcycle.

Anyway, I came across a name I thought would be perfect for mi esposo and he liked it too, and blammo!  A new name was given.

We didn't look into what or where this name would have come from, instead, Papi just went with it.

Well yesterday, a lovely friend of ours posted THIS on Papi's Facebook wall and linked me in.  It's a priceless account of people who have mi esposo's name.

So, let's dissect this shall we?

1. Drive a Jeep, Volkswagon, BMW, Mercedes, Lexus, or Land Rover.

Papi WANTS a Land Rover.  But such is the life of a champagne tongue on a beer budget.  He gets an Xterra.

2. Own a house costing at least 1 mil. 

Does this include part ownership with The Uncle and the G'ma?  Then yup.  It fits.

3. Listen to Dave Matthews or some jam band. 

Nope.  Sorry.  He never has, and besides, I swayed my love's tastes into redneck country music.

4. Be able to drive over 60mph on 10 foot wide roads. 

Did you read yesterday?  Yes.  100%.

5. Have Mexicans do landscaping.

Well, I've never come out and asked if our gardener is Canadian or not, because I don't care.  Maybe I should have asked him to show proof of citizenship when he last did our yard?  Would it be ok if he was from Spain?

And furthermore, do Dominican people count?  We'll have gardeners to help get us started when we actually get to live our dream, but it really doesn't matter what nationality these fine folks are.  There may be someone there from Germany who can do the deed!

Whatever.  We'll have landscapers no matter what colour they are.  As long as they can barter and teach me something new.

6. Drink excessively or do some form of drugs.

Do I really need to rehash those 2 weeks?

Anyway, I found it very interesting to read all of this and only have one that we could say 'no' to.

You'd think with all the similarities that he had that he should have been given that name from the get go!

However, having been born with female parts, his mom gave him a frilly female name.

It has never really suited him.  Just like when someone saw my love in a picture with breasts and said that they didn't suit Papi either.

But this name is more than just a name now!  It was like it found US!

I had to check out my first name.

Once, I googled my maiden name and found a dog doing nasty things to a lady.  That was a bit traumatizing.

None-the-less, in the Urban Dictionary, there are many new ways to think of words we come across every day, not to mention, names.

Here's mine:

A gorgeous lady that one of a kind, the most rare female on the face of the earth; the kind that every guy dreams about. She is confident, honest, loyal, protective of what she has, strong, artistic, beautiful inside and out, excellent lover. A tower of strength for those she cares for, the rock to her family. She is a person you can depend on, just don't go too far in crossing lines with her or those she loves. Or else you better run and get out of her way...because she will come out and get you.

Ooooooh!  I like it!

i am loveable

home = heart

Anyway, back to regular biz.  I'm preparing to go home today!

I'll be leaving temporary home #2 to go to temporary home #1, to prepare for our move to temporary home #3; our closet of 454 square feet.

With 5 animals.

Regardless of where I go, I go home to Papi.

I don't get to see him much when I'm home anyhow, because I'm usually watching him sleep the Graveyard Coma.

That's fine by me, because when he's sleeping he can't deny that I'm always right.

Or drink.

... hehehe ...

Tried another anonymous meeting yesterday.  Guess what the fucking topic was?

Faith.  Yup.

Of course I got asked to share, and again, I told them, "I have utter faith in myself, not in your god, but somehow coming to these rooms kept me sober, so I'm going with it."

I spoke for the struggling alcoholic who approached me afterward to say, "I'm so glad you said that.  Can I have your number so I can talk about how I feel about this?  There's not too many people who understand."

Oh, I understand.  Still, the most important part of her calling me will not be about all that zealot bullshit, it will be about how we get a wonderful life because we don't drink.

I guess it's imperative because that's where all this keyed up chaos started 2 weeks ago.

I have great gratitude for being sober.

So do the people who still cross the street when they see me, because all they can remember is what a nutbar I was on the bottle.

Now that Papi has mightily worked through his 2 weeks, I get to go home, however, not before we take the G'ma out for her annual gambling birthday celebration.

The old fart is now 97!  97 man!

Not that it matters that we'll be celebrating her day, considering she's been 'neglected and thrown into a home so that everyone can take her house away from her'.

... oh the gramma drama ...

Back on track.

I'm leaving my temporary roommate, Java the Mutt and my Eternal Friend who has been so gracious in providing me space and comfort for 2 weeks.

I leave this peaceful, hotelesque, accessible condo, complete with a full body soaker tub.  I leave this for cats who are trying to kill each other.

And Papi.  Home.

I'm actually really good with transition and being transient, since I've been doing it from a young age, but goddam I have to tell you that living out of a suitcase fucking sucks.

Especially when you only have 3 skirts to choose from!!!  Good god it's been hard to be a femme these 2 weeks!!

I've never liked that, unless I'm somewhere beautiful and tropical.  Then I'll do anything to stay.

But here we are in the city that gets about 9 days of true summer, and today, it looks like winter's back again, so all those mother fuckers who complained those 9 days can gloat now because they have their fucking nasty weather again.

Whatever.  I'm going home.

Home is anywhere our hearts feel whole, peaceful and part of a family, no matter what that family looks like.

Papi and I could live in a grass hut for all I care, and I would call it home, because it's with Papi.

And 2 cats that are trying to kill each other, not to mention the other 3 critters who have to live with the furry fury.

Oh!  And my Dominican style coffee, my morning ritual, my awesome ionized water and my greens.

I've eaten enough junk food and carbs to get me through the apocalypse.

i share my feelings with others and they accept me

an anonymous encounter

At the very least, The Mrs. forgives me.

I was told I was feeling too guilty about the whole Papi relapse debacle, and that I was doing the right thing.

I know I am, but it's hard not to be with my love, especially when we had such a wonderful day yesterday.

It was really nothing out of the ordinary, as we saw the G'ma and answered the same questions she asked when I saw her last week.  We went to the house and I apologized to our Fuzzy Family and gave them as much love as I could for that short period of time.

We had such a nice time just talking about 'nothing' in particular.  It felt like I'd never been gone.  It also felt like this 2nd week will be the hardest. 

Papi, being the person cleaning up his act, feels it's kinda silly that I'm staying away for another week, because he's dedicated to staying clean 'n sober.  I now believe and trust this to be the truth.  I honestly just felt like staying with him last night, but Java the Mutt was relying upon me.

I don't even know where the 2 weeks 'rule' came into play.  It really was just a thought that I had while there was more snot and tears on my face than skin.

However, there is a reason, and I don't even know why.

I have some strange alternate sense that I don't even understand.  It doesn't matter if I don't understand, because I trust my intuition, even if others don't.

At the end of our day together, I didn't want to leave mi esposo, so I decided to join him at a late night meeting.

You know that meeting?

The one we're never supposed to talk about, because it's anonymous and is full of drunks who may, or may not, be sober.

Yeah, that meeting.

For my own sanity, I had to stop going to their convergence 8 years ago.  Their idea of non-denominational membership was not the same as mine, and I'd always leave feeling empty, because I didn't believe in 'their god'.  All it did for me was make me want to give up on happiness and drink.

Well, last night, guess what the topic was?

Yup.  God.

... for fucks sakes people ...

And guess who was the first person asked to share?

Yup, me.  Can you guess what I said?  I'll put it in a nutshell.

"I had to step away from these rooms, because they're supposed to be non-denominational, but somewhere along the lines, this became a Catholic church.  I'm still looking for that atheist meeting that actually follows the tradition about non-denominational fellowship.  I still need to be around sober people, because honestly, when my spouse was drinking in the beginning, I thought that if he could drink, maybe I could too.  I'm grateful he relapsed into a bottom to remind me that I too, am not able to drink normally."

Oh, I went on and on with more of my non-god talk and that's when people left the room.

I'll never be asked to share at that meeting again, I can promise you that.

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to everyone who did stay trying to convince me of the 'miracles of god', and I overtly rolled my eyes the whole fucking time.

Until 'god' gives me a phone call to tell me he exists, there's nothing that little books written by humans, and 'ideas of proof' can tell me to make me believe in some dude in the sky with unruly, unshaven hair, Birkenstocks and a toga.

They wonder why people won't go to their meetings.  They wonder why people would rather die out on the streets than get the help that they so desperately need.  People are dying because the zealots can't respect the tradition of the program being non-denominational.

The zealots took over and royally fucked it up for the rest of us.

The good news is, I did find some words about sobriety that were good for me to hear, and I took those words and left the rest of that fucking bullshit there.

I may go back, because I have less anger about their podium gospel since I left 8 years ago and tackled my sobriety on my own.

I'm still sober, without your fucking belief system, which is more than I can say about a fuck of a lot of people there who think that memorizing a book is the only way.

End rant.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

Hell of Halitosis!

It's such a beautiful day.

Not just the weather, but because I get to see my love for the afternoon.

Our date has no schedule or timed itinerary, and I don't care.  I just want to be with Papi no matter what.

Our day will involve a visit with the G'ma, who is still giving us the guilt trip for 'abandoning and neglecting her, and forcing her into a home while we take over her house'.

... you know the drill ...

Anyway, Papi now has 7 days of healing.  I'm 7 days happier.

Yet still, I just want to go home NOW.  I want to renege on my 'rule' of not being there for 2 weeks until his socks are fully pulled up.

Yet, I won't, because I'm too afraid of what that will bring.

I miss my Fuzzy Family so much.  It's nice to have Java the Mutt here for a distraction, but he's not my babies.

The last time I went to the house, The Mrs. gave me the cold shoulder.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than an Fuzzy Family member snubbing you.

It adds to the sadness.

To know that this whole thing is affecting each and every one of us just sucks.

Such is the life of us addicts.  We really do affect everyone around us.

It's made me realize that a lot of my pain around Papi using is really not about my love having a weak time, it's my own P.T.S.D.

When I had to leave the home with the heroin addict I was in love with, it was torture.

I grieved for 2 years over the fact that I couldn't help her, couldn't change her, and couldn't suffer watching her disintegrate to dust.

She didn't really wither, however, she just cleaned up her act a bit so that I looked like I was lying about her addiction.

That created a whack-load of Hen Peckers who to this day believe that I was only trying to cause trouble and make her look bad.

When I had to leave mi esposo on his night of the big ending, it was like reliving that hell all over again, and there I was.  In agony once more.

I had to leave the addict again.  I believed that Papi would spiral down and that would be it for our marriage.

I believed the worst.

It's hard not to when you're living in my brain with my life experiences.

I've lived the worst and come out the other end every time, but knowing the pain I had to endure to get out of the Pit of Doom was so deep, I was terrified.

I'm grateful I have medication for my chemical imbalance, and I'm able to get out of the hell a little faster than I used to, but it's still not comfortable.

Nor is it good for my breath.

Yeah.

I get a nice heaping load of halitosis when I get stressed.  My stomach can't handle the acid and out it comes, wafting through my mouth like great wads of green stench you'd only imagine from the Grinch.

Or the Malboro.

Last night someone told me how bad my breath was and I felt like crying, dying, and crawling under a rock, but I couldn't.

I was there to sell tickets to the public for the Queer Arts Festival.

Person after person would come up and I'd be speaking with my mouth covered, or I tried to talk as loud as I could from as far away from them as possible.

I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.

However, I know that this is the deal and I carry my toothbrush around with me everywhere anyway for my brace face, so I just brush a whole lot and try my best to keep my distance.

Good thing I have dogs in my life.  They don't care about my Buffalo Breath.

Apparently, neither does Papi.

i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence

2 weeks.

My eyes have gone down a bit.

I finally stopped turbo crying when I had an actual telephone conversation with Papi.  It was good for me to let him know in voice what my terms of condition are.

1. I will go home when he's 2 weeks clean and sober and not a day sooner.

2. I will not live with an active addict or alcoholic, not even for mi esposo. 

3. I love him

Still, the love of my life is not exempt from these conditions and I will never live with that bullshit again.

I've done it too many times in my struggling life, and this is not the way my life with my love was supposed to be.

He has made his mind up about being clean 'n sober, because he had such a bad experience the other day, and doesn't want to have that life of crying on a curb in the streets of the DTES.

One of his messages said, "I feel like an addict again."

It's the lies coming from alcohol if you think you can control it.

Of course you can!

Until it gets it's grasp on your meaty tendrils and then you're alllllll his.  That's when nothing matters more than another drink.

The wife you love so much doesn't matter, even if she's crying at home alone, begging you to take a cab and come home, because the drink has a hold on you.

No, you won't take that cab.

No, you won't come home.

I know this.

I've lived this.

Both from my end and from the end of the person who has loved me, yet left my heart dangling in agony, because their addiction had a hold of them and I no longer mattered.

There is nothing harder than watching someone you love kill themselves in front of your eyes, and having to leave love because of it.

Nothing.

There is no grieving like it, because you don't get closure when they're still breathing.  There's nothing you can do to save them, you can only save yourself, and watch them bob in your wake.

I have a lovely friend who has given me her home for a few weeks, while I watch mi esposo get better day by day.

I've never really believed in prayer, but I feel like it's what I'm doing now.

I pray my love makes himself better so I can go back to my beautiful marriage.

I pray I have the strength to believe that our lives together will be ok.

I pray the tears I cry as I write this will dissipate after I've written it all out and can go find coffee.

I pray for the dreams we have mustered to come to reality.

I pray for Papi.

I am grateful he sees the brutality of addiction so quickly.  

Most people have to go a little further to find it, and sometimes, that little further is too much to be able to see the crumbs to follow back home.

I miss him so much. 

I haven't seen him since I left for Seattle on Friday at 8:45 a.m.

I have a beautiful friend who has forced me to eat berries.

It was a good choice.  They're an addiction that is good for you.

I am grateful for these berries, the outpouring of friendship, support and love we have both received during this, and the optimism that I will be able to go home and have my marriage.

I would be very grateful if I had my lovely coffee.

And my Fuzzy Family.

And my life with Papi back to normal.

i have faith in my future

i'm dying inside.

Remember all those mornings I would wake up with swollen eyes?

They would look like they were used as a punching bag while I was too busy crying to notice anyone beating the shit out of them.

I have them today.

Right now, my demons have a hold of me and are eagerly dragging me further into the rancid Pit of Doom.

I was supposed to be home, not in the Pit of Doom, but there's a small problem.

I won't go into massive details right now, but let's just say I won't live with drama that I never asked for.

I'm sleeping in someone else's bed, when I should have been sleeping in my own with my loving spouse while we celebrate the sale of the home, and our next adventure.

I thought I lost my phone, but at least, the very least, I found it in my friend's car as I did my usual, "Hey!  Why don't we leave it on the front seat?" game, and it wasn't stolen!

I guess I can say I'm grateful for that.

However, I excitedly looked to see a message from Papi, but there was nothing.

I left a message saying how much I love him, but that would not make sense to someone when at the same time, I left my home.

It's not really my home anyway.

I came home to The Yank having lived in our room for a few days, and it no longer looked like our room.

I came home to a 'Sold!' sign on our front lawn.

I came home to my spouse relapsing.

Besides, it's no longer my home anyway, and when Papi and I have a chance to deal with the current stressful situation, it still won't be my home.

So, I'm just getting a head start on not having a home, by sleeping in my friend's bed until the drama has ceased.

I don't ask for drama.

I ask for peace.

I ask for love.

I ask for the best life possible.

I ask for happiness.

I ask for gratitude.

Crying alone in fear for my spouse's safety is not the best life possible, is not happy times, is not something I'm grateful for, nor is it peaceful.

At least there is still love.

And yet, here I sit, crying so violently, that I can only wish each tear was one step closer to death.

If tears could kill, today I would wish for them to do so.

I suppose that Beatles song is right.  Love is all you need.

I'm being ripped and torn inside because I love so much.

I'm on an endless loop of tear after tear because my love for Papi is so deep, I could feel our connecting dissipate while I was away for the weekend.

I didn't get my usual texts of love, because Papi had a distraction.

A down and dirty, nasty distraction that will stray even the most loving hearts away.

I was chosen second over this demonic liquid.

This evil poison that will whisper in his ear, "You can drink socially!  You're fine now!"

From the phone messages I received last night, he is not a social drinker.

Every sip he poured into his mouth is a tear that is rolling down my face today.

I'm broken.

There are no kings men or horses to put me back together again.

There is only one person who can do that.

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

red flag

If you weren't pissed off enough from the G'ma predator post, this will make your blood boil for sure.

Upon speaking to one of her friends, we found out that he had done the same thing to her.

He intimidated this other lady by forcing her to sit with him at functions they both attend, he constantly came on to her, and when she refused his proposal of sex, he got angry at her, because she wouldn't let him come up to her apartment.

Red flag much?

That was enough for me to get the police involved.  They said that given her age and the fact that she has Alzheimer's, that they'd definitely set up a file for her.

Normally, the victim would have to be the one to report, but in this case, we could do the deed in her place.

We've set up the file and the other ol' fart is going to use the file case to make her complaint as well.

They now know where he lives, what he drives ...

... while he's drunk ...

... and what he's up to.

Turns out, they already have him on the radar.  They didn't specify as to what it was for, so we're assuming that it's for D.U.I.s.

I asked if he had a record of being a sexual predator, but he doesn't have a record for that.

Yet.

If he makes one more move, he WILL have a record as an offender.

We have no proof that he's done anything to our G'ma, but at least he's banned from the home and is on the radar of the police.

We're allllll watching you asshole.

I dare ya.  Make a step and test me.

After all the gramma drama of the police, and G'ma not really understanding why they were there, Papi and I had a much better evening.

We relaxed.  Everything is done, and now we just wait for the house to sell.

That was when I felt I could take a phone call from My Boifriend.

Sometimes, I just can't have a conversation, because I can't focus on anything other than the stress I'm freaked out by, but last night I did.

I'm so excited!  My Boifriend knows how to start the process of finding my big brother!

I feel the need to find him before we take off.  We have a bit of time.  The house has to sell and I have to finish up with my legal stuff in December.

So, we have a few months to find him!

I can't wait!

I really feel like this could happen.  The power of energy is important to remember.

Getting the energy out there that I'm looking for him may allow that beautiful positive energy to help me find him.

I believe I can.

I wonder if he's looking for us as well?  I wonder if he looks like me?  I wonder if he got the same Honky 'Fro that I got from our father?  I wonder if he has the same horrible crooked teeth? 

Oh, I guess I can't say that about myself anymore.  They're lookin' pretty straight and pretty now!

My Brace Face has really come a long way.

Anyway, as I sit here and write, I watch all the people walking past me and wonder, brother, where art thou?

It could be that man I just saw walk past. 

It really could be anyone.

i am stress free

what IS that?!?!

So, I went to a bridal shower.  You know, stagette?

The groom to be was out eating steak while got his bride hammered.

Thing is, I don't drink, so I had to give all my drinks to the bride!

Only fair, no?

We played a drinking game where we had to answer a card with all the disgraceful things we've done in the past.

Of course, I'd done 19 out of the 20 things, so the dear bride was getting in a lot of drinks for me.

Funniest part was, the reason I had done all those things was because I was always drunk.

Anyway.

We also got these awesome little goodie bags filled with candy.

I can't eat the candy, but I got some interesting gifts in the bag.

I got a pirate puzzle!

Too funny, eh?

But there's another one.

This.

What the hell is this?

Look, it has a spot for some dudette to ride in front.

Then there's this little 'spine' thing that moves when you rub underneath.

Here's how far the 'spine' thing moves:

Kinda pointless, no?

Then from the rear, it sorta looks like a truck.

So, seriously, what the fuck is this thing?

It's beyond words.

No clue.

If you can tell me exactly what it is, I'll mail it to ya.

Oh.

I also got a camel.

Look at the gems you get from a stagette!

life brings many surprises

addiction, you're a fucker.

I am so fucking grateful to be sober, and I'm only lucky to be so.

I've lost friends over the past few years to alcohol.  They haven't died yet.  I've simply had to let them go.

I've suffered the repercussions of others drinking, by being betrayed by them stealing from me, or worse, putting my faith in one who I trusted with my family members, only to find they were snap drunk the whole time, and broke my trust.

I've had friends ask for help, but I know I can't help them.

It's up to each and every one of us to see that our lives are worth living, and that addiction is not worth our pain.

No matter how much you drink, your problems will never go away.  Ok, that's not completely true.  If you die, your problems are gone, but then so are you.

Let me tell you, the pain doesn't go away from being sober either.  Life is just plain hard.

It's mother fucking hard!

Anyone who's life isn't hard, is only lucky that they have such a life, and it's rare.

And fuck am I ever envious of you!

However, your path is different than mine.  You may not learn from mistakes because you're not making any.   Who knows, maybe it'll kick you in the ass later on, but that's not my problem.

My problem is loving people who are currently addicted.  My heart breaks, and I get frustrated and/or scared.

I spent the evening celebrating a friend's birthday by being brutally honest about her heading down the slope at such an increasing speed that I'm afraid, and I can't just sit and watch it happen.  I can't enable.  I have to be honest, because it scares the fuck out of me.

When I get scared, I get short fused.

When I get short fused, I speak before thinking.

When I speak before thinking, I hurt people.

I apologized this morning, but it still doesn't mean that my behaviour needs to be forgiven by her.  I'm the only one that needs to forgive myself, because ultimately, I'm the one I answer to in the evening.

It was her birthday dammit! Still, I couldn't just let her get away with celebrating her day without responding to her statement, "I'm so stressed out, I need a drink," with the question, "What is a drink going to do for you to fix your problem?"

She couldn't answer the question.  She only focused on rationalization, because she wanted the drink.

Earlier on in the day, someone very special to me had said, "I don't want to quit drinking because I love it."

I told them, "Well, it doesn't love you!"  No, that demon's nectar is currently on a mission to kill one of the most important people in my life.  They've been told time is almost up and it's serious.

I'm being handed challenges in every corner of my world, with people who are struggling with their addiction.

I suppose my next task in this is to be able to just allow people I care about to have their addiction, and to let them go with love.

I let so many people go who are addicted, but I haven't always done it with love.

No, I simply throw my hands in the air, roll my eyes and walk away, or rather, run as fast as I can.

Only this time, I can't.  I'm being forced to see it in people I love so much, and someway, somehow, I have to allow it to happen around me, even if the results are devastating to my heart.

Maybe it's time to visit my good friend Al-Anon to deal with it all around me.  They just better not be throwing around the 'god' crap, or my visit will be short lived.

Anyway, this is an open apology to anyone who is currently struggling:  I'm sorry that I don't know how to handle your addiction.  I'm sorry that I'm horribly afraid for you, and that I am blunt about it.

This is also my opportunity to say that if I didn't care, I wouldn't be upset about it.

I care.  Maybe a bit too much.

i will not be afraid to move out of my comfort zone.  some of my best life experiences and opportunities will transpire, only if i dare to lose.

my sobriety day

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

However, I was given the opportunity to remember.

His name is Danny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was supposed to tell me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was!

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

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

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

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

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

Stranger things have happened and addiction runs in the family.

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

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

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

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

goddam addiction

Wow.

So, you know how I'm bubble girl?

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

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

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

Disaster.

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

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

Fuck addiction sucks.

Anyway.

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

It was almost as if I was a teenager again.

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

Nasty.

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

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

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

Good god it's hard to be me.

... end sarcasm here ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have to let him go.

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

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

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

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

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

i am willing to release all guilt

A Mirror Image

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

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

So, I got on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I leaned against the bar and breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was accompanied by the middle finger. 

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

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

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

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

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

today's mantra from my mc guru:

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

the omen.

It's part of life.

It's something we all have to face with our loved ones, may they be our Fuzzy Family, our chosen family, or our blood relatives we're close to.

Everyone has an expiry date.

But somehow, it's just a little more painful when it's our Fuzzy Family.

We can't tell them, "It's going to be ok now."

The old, one-eyed Golden is really starting to go downhill.

We had to bring him in for pain meds, because his front joint has possibly become arthritic.

Poor Papi had to carry him out to the grass so he could tinkle.

Of course, when you bring them in to the vet, they act like they're fine.

Yet still, there was no denying that he was having a hard time limping about the office.

There's also no denying that his Ghost Face is becoming a little more prominent.

There were tears from Papi and G'ma today before the vet visit.

Our vet is no nonsense.

"I don't know how long you will want to treat him for the pain.  That's up to you.  But he's old."

Yeah.

We know.

We won't be letting him suffer.

We will try to make him comfortable and it looks like I'll have to start using the towel method to help him up the stairs.

There is not a hope in hell that I can pick up the 80 pounder anymore!

20 lbs is my limit, and that's on a good day.

But when he's gotta get out to piddle, he's going to need my help.

This could be tricky.

The saddest part, is he doesn't get to go to work tonight.

He loves his job.

He takes care of the hearts that need love at the safe house mi esposo works at.

The Golden will walk them to their door when it's curfew.

Well, that may be because he gets cookies for doing so, but still, he loves those ladies and he loves his job.

He will nuzzle into them, spreading good cheer, and allowing them to forget about their fears/pain/trauma for at least a moment.

While I was recovering from the worst of my jaw surgery, he was the one who laid beside me, his head on my lap, his one, caring eye looking to me, as if to say, "I wish I could help."

It's part of life.

Preparing to say, "Good-bye," to our best buddies.

Yeah, I've done it a few times in my life, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I suppose that with the state The Golden is in right now, he won't be one of the critters to make it to the Dominican Republic with us.

This house has sadness.  There is a knowing of foreboding doom.

It's a right of passage; learning to let go and say farewell.

I still haven't let go of my Dearly Departed Gypsy.  I also still feel Mr. Moustache in the house.

They never leave us in spirit.

This is something I'm grateful for. 

Their love lingers.

Today's mantra, from My Gratitude Buddy:

i am hitching my wagon to a star

mommy dearest.

I said it wrong.  Sometimes, my brain can't catch up with my words.

Oh, how it's a common occurrence.

"I wish my mom loved me."

Papi knew it wasn't quite right, and supported, "She does love you.  She just doesn't understand you."

Sometimes though, I wonder if it's really love?  Is it love, or is it warped human nature of a mother who has birthed children?  Is it some strange pull that connects two beings whether they like it or not?  Is it some product of my mother's religious upbringing that tells her she better stay in contact or the devil will get her soul?

What I really meant was, I will never make my mom proud.

I was a 'surprise' to my then teen mom and dad.  They did pretty good for a while, but unfortunately, my dad started dealing drugs, and the undesirables were hanging around her two babies.

... were you the ghosts who did this to me? ...

My mom did the best she could, dumped him to the curb and set him free to spend endless years enjoying his true love; drugs.

She had to raise two utterly out of control girls on her own, ...

... one a little more so than the other ... i'll let you guess who ...

... with no support from the father of her kids.

She had to work a full time job, then come home and work there too.

I basically had to raise my baby sister for a good portion of every day, so, there was perpetual mayhem.

My mom was so young, but don't you worry, she had a good time.

I remember one of these crazy times, with the lovely hippies and yahoos in our lives, my mom drag raced up Cambie Street.

I think on that same eve I remember her puking out the car window from too much drinking.  She got right back up again and kept going.

Trooper!  I learned from the best!

Anyway, I can see how getting knocked up and getting a dud for a dude would have her feel a little resentment toward me.

It was I who changed her life at the age of 18.  It's not my fault, but I do represent the loss of her youth.

Still, I wish she could find an ounce of pride in me. 

I know others out there who do.  I appreciate your pride.

The last phone call I gave her a week ago has brutishly affected me for days.  I missed her and wanted to say hi.  We hadn't spoken since I called her on X-Mas day to thank her for her generous gift.

I called expecting to have something that she would find fantastic about my life, considering I find my life something to be proud of.

I didn't get her pride.  I never have, and never will.  So, why is it I went back to that place of repeating the same expectations?

Those expectations have to change.  If I know that when I call, she's not going to find anything positive about my life, then I can expect that.

If I can expect that, there won't be any surprises.

So then, why bother calling at all?

Maybe I'll send her cards.

Oh!  Postcards!

I'll get a bunch of postcards and when I'm thinking of her I'll just send her one so she knows I love her and neither of us has to go through the destructive dynamic that has been our relationship.

Or, I'll just wait another month and get my emotional beating.

I'll do one of the two.

That is of course when I have time. 

Right now, I'm pretty busy with my exciting, beautiful, positive, wonderful life.

the valleys in my life help me appreciate the good times

Ahhhh ... just breathe ...

Just a few more hours and we have renewed hope, and a new beginning.

I usually feel this way in the fall, probably because I've been wired to think that September is when a new year starts, with a new grade in school.

School was not my strong point.

I would rather skip out from school and go home to play my piano.

I did it a lot.  Sorry mum.  It's probably why I didn't graduate.

no shit sherlock ...

I was one of the worst teens to have around a school.  I was a teen alcoholic and addict, I acted out, seeking attention because I didn't have a father, and felt ignored and abandoned.

So, my piano was my salvage, and it still is.

I remember one of those years as a terrible teen, I had a dance exam and received 99%.  I was pirouetteing with joy and en pointe proud.  I couldn't wait to get home and show my mum that I had proof that I really was 'good enough'.

even though i had to wonder, why not 100%, did i pick my nose during one of the calmer moments?

The bus home from my exam was so slow!  I wanted to take over the wheel to get home faster so I could show my mum what I had accomplished!

I finally got off that stinky, 50 foot, public Cadillac and chassed up our backdoor stairs.

I only stopped for a moment to look and see if my stalker was in the bushes again.

yeah ... that's another blob/blab ...

Anyway, as I quickly went to open the door, I was halted when my mom was already standing there with papers in one hand, the other hand clenched in a fist and a face that spelled, "Look out baby, she's on a rampage!!!"

I tried to break through my mum's bad mood and give her something to be happy about.

"Mum!!!  I made 99% on my dance exam!!"

I could feel my mother's wrath when she replied, "WHAT are THESE?!?"

As my mum passed the papers to me, I realized I'd been busted for all my skipping out.

You see, I didn't know the school would really have the information about me not having a father.  I really didn't think they even cared what I did with my life.

So, my survivor instinct said, "Hey!  Why don't you write sick notes from your 'father' to the school, and you can skip out and play your piano any time you want!!"

Well, I suppose the school officials knew me too well.

was it all the trips to the office that did it?!?!

There they were.

All my notes from my 'father', telling the school that I had 'this' appointment or 'that' appointment for my fucked up knees, or that I was just plain 'sick' on that day.

My stomach turned, my head almost exploded, and my pride ran straight out the back door I had strolled in.

Caught.

I never did get a pat on the back for that 99%.

Anyway, my whole point of reflecting is, even though my mum could really only see the bad in our lives, there was a spark of the Andréa I am today.

I'm proud of myself, no matter if anyone else is.

I fuck up like every other human, but I still have joy from my accomplishments.

Even though this has been a challenging 5 years of my life, ...

the last one being utterly exhausting ...

... I'm present, and still searching for my positivity in everything that comes my way.

Here is my last entry of gratitude for the year 2011.

We're almost there.

I'm grateful that I skipped out of school and practised my piano, because my 'bad bahaviour' has made me into the musician I am today.

I'm grateful for that 99% on my high school dance exam.  I may never dance again, but I do know that if I could, I'd still be great.

I'm grateful to be able to afford a new cat tree for our monsters.  The Bastard Prince has not been this happy in a long time, and thus, it makes me happy.

I'm grateful that Papi and I both have the same desires in our lives together.

I'm grateful for My Person having come over a year ago today, and consequently helped me start my new trek for happiness.

I'm so fucking grateful to 'you', my imaginary friend, my Blogger Friends who were the first people I spoke to about Papi's male transformation, my ever increasing Trust List, my family and my chosen family for their love.

I'm even grateful to the Hen Peckers & Rah-Rah-Tranny people.  If it wasn't for them, I would have never found the strength in my voice to roar.

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 ...