crapped my pants.

OK.  Let's get this straight.  I'm not a swimmer.

I float, I doggy paddle, I tread water, I do the backstroke, but I'm not a 'swimmer'.

However, every day I force my body to swim as far out into the ocean as I can, allowing the waves to resist my movements, granting me the cardio I need to pump fresh blood through my damaged muscles, in an effort to relieve my bitch of a back.

It really helps.  Today, I woke up with pain, feeling like I was almost going to be a Limping Lesbian, and now I feel like I could run a marathon.

In more ways than one, let me tell you.

You see, today I was feeling so strong that I felt I could swim out to the buoys in the water.

In the resorts, they have it cordoned off to keep us gringos locos under control and safe.

Every day, I have swam closer and closer to them.  Today, I was so impressed!  I was going to make it all the way!

I proudly doggy paddled and puffed as my heart pounded with gratitude, allowing my blood to rush through my veins.

I was almost there!!!

Then I felt it.

Something.  Something met BOTH of my thighs!

Whatever the fuck it was, it was big enough the it touched the entire length of my thighs!!!

Never in my life have I been so distressed, thinking of what the fuck it might have been!!!!!

In an instant, I was an olympic swimmer.  I immediately flipped over onto my back and began the back stroke so fast, that if I wasn't so scared, I would have impressed myself.

I honestly didn't know I could go so fast.

I prayed that the entity I just bumped with my body wasn't a man eating shark.

I don't believe in a 'god', but I'll tell you, I was praying like a teenage girl who's period was late.

I was practically in tears.

Ok, if I'm going to be honest, I WAS in tears and didn't care if anyone heard me saying, "Please don't eat me!  Please let me live!  I beg of you, please!!!"

When I got closer to the happy-go-lucky people on their little floaty devices, bobbing around like a bunch of dingbats, they looked at this water logged Honky 'Fro gringo, as if I was from another planet.

At shore, my heart was pounding faster than it ever did when I was training for boxing.  My trainer would have been proud!

The man who waded past me was looking at me as if to say, "Bitch!  You're on holiday!  Chill for chrissakes!"

I wasn't quite sure if I would make it to my lounging chair, because I was positive that exerting myself to that point was going to make me pass out, or have a heart attack.

Not to mention, I wasn't sure if I should check my drawers to see if that liquid running down my legs was only water and not the fact that I shit my pants.

I tried to reassure myself, "It was not a whale.  It was a sand dune they put there to keep the tourists safe from sharks."

Right?  Right?!?!?!?

Today, my only mission is to find someone who speaks enough English to tell me that is correct.

If not, my swimming will be kept from buoy to buoy in the shallow end, hoping that I don't get creamed by the children bouncing around in the waves.

When I came back to the room to frantically tell Papi about my terrifying experience, I didn't get to right away.  He had an experience of his own to share.

"Did you see the cockroach I trapped under the glass?!?!?!  That was the most horrifying thing I've lived through!"

He continued to tell me his alarming story, until I had to butt in and tell him that a whale grazing my thighs trumps his dirty cock-a-roach.

Oh, vast sea, how I respect you so much more.

i am brave

omfg to the power of 10

So, I haven't been able to talk to you about this yet.

I think I needed to process it out loud with a few friends before I jumped on here to blob/blab about it.

There's so much emotion around it all, that I don't even know where to begin.

Let's start with G'ma.  She's been accepted into a nursing home August 1st.

This brings up so much for Papi.  My love feels immense guilt about us not being able to care for the old bird on our own.

I have to be honest, I feel a lot of guilt too.  Even though, as a couple, we've taken care of the old fart for 4 years while we lived in this dark basement, I still feel bad that it's time for us to start our adventure of married life together.

Most people, when they get married, embark on their lives together and start making memories.  We haven't been able to do this, because our lives have not been our own.  Our lives have been about taking care of poopy pants upstairs.

G'ma is really needing this though.  She's not able to be alone at all and really needs so much more than we can give her.

We have to watch everything she does, lock away the cookies, booze, pills and hearing aid batteries, not to mention monitor her eating.  We have to remind her to eat her meals.

Occasionally, she'll ask for her sherry at 10 a.m. and I have to be the parent and remind her that it's not the right time of day for her to take a nip at the bottle.

It really is a full time job, and I'm not capable of too much when my bitch of a back starts her fucking whining.

G'ma doesn't quite get that when I'm in a state of pure ouch, I'm not able bodied during that time.

Point is, the month after she's in her home, the house goes up for sale.

When the house sells, Papi and I will go home shopping in the DR!

Then I may have to come back and waste away my dream life, awaiting trial for my court case with a bunch of folks who don't realize that I've paid my insurance for years to be protected in the case of an accident.

They feel the need to say, "Nope.  You don't get to be taken care of after being hit on your motorcycle, donned with brain injury and lifelong pain, even though you paid for the security of it.  Nope.  We don't want to give you the support you paid for."

In any other business, this would be called false advertising.

However, that's a different story I don't need to get into, because I'd rather think about the good things in my life and getting better.  All that stuff is up to my lawyer.

My job is to keep working at getting better.  No money in the world will take away what Papi and I have had to go through with this accident.

Anyway, this means that the process of The Great DR Purge has switched into high gear, and I started my Spanish lessons last night. 

I can't be going there with broken Spanish, especially when I try to say, "I'm hungry," but it comes out as, "I have man."

It was soooooo cool to be able to put all my vocabulary into sentences last night.

I know I won't remember most of it, because I need a lot of repetition with this residual post-concussive trauma, but at least getting started will help me learn my grammar for when we get there.

Anyway, back to the purge.

What stays/goes?

What the hell are we going to do with all this stuff?!?!?!  Massive Garage Sale Gala is what.

Yet the whole point of this blob/blab of the day is, it's heart pounding excitement mixed with debilitating fear!

The unknown is coming closer!

The adventure of a lifetime is walking up our driveway, and she's got a basket of thrills to share with us, complete with a saucy smile from ear to ear that says, "Ooooh, Nelly are you in for a blast!!"

She kinda looks a little psychotic to me, but that's cool.  I can handle psychotic.

... and now i know how to shoot a gun in case she gets outta hand ...

Still, it's hard to decide which emotion to feel at which time.

Guilt?  Joy?  Fear?  Trepidation?

Yes.  All of the above.

life is a thrilling amusement park ride

3 years.

I more than likely won't be writing to 'you',  my imaginary friend, tomorrow.

Tomorrow is my 3 year anniversary of my motorcycle accident.

It's not that I'll be too busy celebrating my life and thinking about how lucky I am to be here writing.

It's not that I'll be taking care of my emotions around this dreaded day I remember every year, for 3 years now.

It's also not that I'm taking a day off of everything and just letting myself 'be', knowing that I won the lottery of life, making it out of a horrid situation without being permanently stuck in a wheelchair, brain injury and P.T.S.D.

No.

I'll be sitting in a room with lawyers from my insurance company who will be doing their best to trip me up, in order to make me look like a liar.

They will badger me into answering too quickly for my now slow acting brain in an attempt to make me look like I'm making things up, and therefore, a dishonest witness.

They will make me out to be a lazy ass who sits around getting high on pain killers.

... even though i'm probably the hardest working, unemployable person you've ever met ...

Yes.

I am going to be in probably the most stressful event since my accident.

I've had to go to their doctors before.  That's been pretty stressful as well.

Last week, one of them practically dislocated my 'worst knee'.  Not to be confused with my other 'bad knee'.

I guess he didn't realize how fragile my body really is.

I suppose he thought I was a liar as well.

But when he almost had my knee cap flipping to the outside of my knee, with a knee jerk reaction ...

... yes ... pun intended ...

... I firmly grabbed his wrist and scared him a wee bit.

I'm pretty sure he thought I was going to get violent, considering the way he backed up and had the look of fear on his face, while trying to keep his hand from being ripped off at the wrist.

I think he believed me from that point forward, that I was telling the truth about my more than likely, permanently injured body.

From this moment forward, he allowed me to put my knees where they needed to be on my own.

I was grateful.

Anyway, the point of all this, is that my stomach is turning and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to take a sleep aid tonight in order to keep my mind asleep.

I'm also pretty sure that they are completely aware of my P.T.S.D. and booked my discovery on the anniversary of my accident.

They're not stupid.

It indeed is the worst day for me to have to be psychologically poked and prodded.  I will have to go really slow ...

... story of my new life is 'everything slow' ...

... and think about what they've asked very carefully.

My biggest fear is that I will be forced to look at the pictures of my destroyed motorcycle, the hood of the car that I tumbled over, and the parked car I laid frozen beneath until they pulled me out.

Just writing that paragraph brings me the beginning of a panic attack, with many flashbacks to follow.

So, I'm positive I won't be writing to you tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure my hands will be shaking too much to tippity-tappity type about anything, because they're already weakening just writing about it.

I will be practising my breathing tomorrow like never before.

... in ...

... out ...

... in to my lungs as low as the air can go without passing out ...

... out very slowly so i don't get dizzy ...

Tomorrow.

I won't be seeing you.

But I truly hope your tomorrow finds you joy.

Ok, so Papi didn't die ...

I think the most entertaining part about the day was that I ate all my food before 3:00.

I eat when I get stressed.  I ate my snack, lunch, dinner and desert all by 3:00.

While we were out in bum-fuck-nowhere, Papi kept asking me, "Are you ok?  Are you scared?  Did you take too much Crack Butter?"

no my love, i did not take enough crack butter ...

I didn't want to tell my love I was nervous, so I had to lie.  "No, I'm fine!" I said as convincing as I possibly could, channeling my inner, perky optimist.

Of course, I was then greeted by, "Good!  'Cuz if you said you were scared, then I'd be nervous!" 

yes, my love ... i do know that ...

The greatest Tranny Terrorist moment of the day award goes to Papi for the last words I heard him say before leaving my side for the surgery, "Oh!  You better kiss me in case I die!"

No, it wasn't a sweet nothing in my ear.  He said it to the WHOLE room.

People chuckled and I shook my head uttering threats, "I will kill you if you die."

Of course this was just a few minutes after I had a near thermo-nuclear melt down with the control freak nurse who must have been a cat in a former life.

"Who moved my cat toy?!?  Why is that door closed!?!  Don't you know I like to be fed here and not there anymore?!  Capiche!?!"

Ok.

She wasn't freaking about cat toys, but she certainly didn't like that I had our knapsacks and personal items were on a wheelchair in her space.

The sweet intake nurse knew my back pain, and he, with his magical moustache, ...

... no seriously ... you have to see this thing to believe it!!! ...

... suggested I use the wheelchair to push my stuff along, rather than try to walk two feet and stop to say, "Ok.  Which way to emergency?  I've put my back out again."

Control Freak Nurse just couldn't handle this foreign article in the nurses' area.  When she realized that I just may cause a stink, she decided to let it go.

Which was a good choice, because that's when I finally gave in to my inner bitch and the rolling of eyes, death stare and deep breathing were activated.

I have to admit though, I was feeling rather edgy when I didn't get to see Papi right away.  Why do they do this to me all the time?!  It's worse than security at an airport sometimes!

I was expecting them to kick me out the room I because Papi wasn't there yet.  You see, after all the coocoos found me at the hospital, I managed to secretly find out what room Papi would be in and flew in there with my knapsack and bag wheelchair home.

I set up camp with my 'house' and when they came in, I said, "So, this is our room right?"

listen ... do you see me eating?  I'm married to the patient ... my room ... 

They kinda just looked at me ready to tell me I had to leave, then changed their minds, because they were sweet, lovely people.

So, I ate the rest of my food.

I then proceeded to listen to Papi snore for the rest of the day.

My love is doing fine and is all kinds of fun to laugh at.

Oh, the droopy face was awesome.

The only problem is that I don't like to leave Papi there.

So, Papi didn't die.

Now I don't have to kill him.

I get to bring him home in just a few short hours.

Pain Med Party!!!!!!

Hurts to yawn, sneeze, laugh, roll over in bed, get out of bed, lift my coffee cup to have a sip of black goodness, or go over bumps in the car.

Never mind about driving the car.

When my back is at a 9/10 pain level, I can't even press in the clutch.  It's about the only time in life that I wish for an automatic vehicle.

Anyway, I was too busy having a pain med party yesterday to write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I'm getting a head start into my writing before I slip off into la-la-land with my new best friend, "Whoop Ass Butter".

It's the perfect medicine for intensely acute days.

Sometimes it's difficult to find the silver lining in nasty times, but I now have one when my back is bitter and biting.

Pain Med Party!!!!!!!!!

Hey, I'm taking them responsibly and only when needed, but as a former wake 'n bake femme, I do have to say, I'm starting to feel a lot less guilty about enjoying my 'down time'.

Yup.  It's definitely a silver lining.

Now when my back goes out, I'm not frustrated about what I can and cannot do.  I just smile and do what I can with a little help from my MC Guru and the pain relief I deserve after almost 3 years.

And now with my most recent flare up, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Roseanne's Nuts are the perfect companions.  I save them up for these days and have a marathon of smiles.

Even if it does hurt to laugh, it's better than hurting from crying.  It's a much better reaction.

Music sounds a little better.  Playing my piano or my bass is possible and for this I am the most grateful.

On codeine, percocet, or morphine, I would look at my piano or bass and think, "I should go play that," then I continue to stare at it for a little while and realize that hurting for the sake of filling my musical heart is not a benefit.

Well, now it is.

I guess doing the video was what put me in to this predicament.  Well, not so much just the video, but perhaps the fact that I think I have superpowers when the pain killers kick in and I washed the tub.

Boy, did I ever get the reprimand riot act from my lawyer's paralegal.  "What were you thinking?!?  I see you hunched over and in pain every time I see you and you washed your tub?!?  Your health is much more important than a clean tub."

Touché madam, how right you are.

But dammit!  The Yank, our honorary room mate, is coming this weekend, and I'm pretty sure the tub hasn't been washed since the last time she was here.

Housekeeping is reserved for 'good' days, and cleaning that damn tub puts me into a seized state every time.

in·san·i·ty

 [in-san-i-tee]

noun, plural in·san·i·ties.

1. the condition of being insane;  a derangement of the mind. Synonyms: dementia, lunacy, madness, craziness, mania, aberration.

2. Law . such unsoundness of mind as frees one from legal responsibility, as for committing a crime, or as signals one's lack of legal capacity, as for entering into a contractual agreement.

3. Psychiatry . (formerly) psychosis.

4. a. extreme foolishness; folly; senselessness; foolhardiness: Trying to drive through that traffic would be pure insanity.

b. a foolish or senseless action, policy, statement, etc.: We've heard decades of insanities in our political discourse.

There's a saying in those anonymous rooms for drunks: "The definition of insanity is repeating the same action, over and over again, expecting different results."

I'm definitely one of 'those', and I'm not so good at acceptance.

have you figured that out already?!

I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I'm permanently screwed up from the motorcycle accident.

I have had such high hopes that I'll be back to the body I had before.  My 'normal'.

It's time to start accepting that this is my new 'normal', and it's time to hire someone to wash the tub.

Papi won't do it.  It's not in his repetoire.

My love's strong suit is DIY projects, cleaning the kitty litter, and doing all the laundry, so that there's piles of it for me to fold.

I'm staring at it right now.

It is sprawled along the ottoman as if the laundry basket just puked up a big hairball.

I think I'll wait for the pain killers to kick in before I attempt folding, or perhaps I'll actually take care of my back today and do fuck all.

That sounds good to me.

Nipples.

I went into The Dispensary and had a nice chat with my Medicinal Cannabis guru.

Apparently, I ate too much of the Budder Bar.  That's why I got a little paranoid and coocoo.

Well, lesson learned.  I can see now where that little gem could fit in.  Not really something I want for the all day, never ending, nattering of a bitchy back.  It's something that could be used for the really bad days where I can't lift my head off the pillow.

So, I've found the magical tincture Snake Bite Oil is the ticket for this femme.

I was actually able to sit for longer than 10 minutes making music yesterday without a screaming back.  Let me tell you, it was the greatest feeling.  I never knew three years ago that it would be a struggle just to get back to composing.

I'm pretty grateful that we live in a city that is so liberal that I actually have a choice about what to put in my body for pain management.  I really don't need residual liver damage from a motorcycle accident, ya know?!?

Anyway, I found another bonus to the Snake Bite Oil.

Another side effect of MC is being a little more brave.

Papi was wandering around without a top on yesterday ...

... which was never out of the ordinary prior to the top surgery ...

... and I looked at my love when Papi started talking about his nipples.

"I was told that they would take a while to heal."

I was finally able to look at them without the mask of denial!  I thought to myself ... wait a minute ... how did they create that nipple?? ... then proceeded to ask Papi. 

"It's my own nipple.  It's from my original nipple!"

Then I realized, I'd never thought about it.  So now, I'm looking at said nipple and I realized that there was no other scarring to make the big female areola hole shrink to fit into a small male areola area.

damn ... does that make sense?!

Well, I was surprisingly curious as I shocked myself by asking my love how the hell they did that!!

Papi didn't know.  Papi and I just looked at each other, wondering how they created this crazy illusion!

They really did a good job!  I finally looked at it differently.  I didn't look at it from a place of queasiness.

well ... maybe i shouldn't go that far ... i was queasy ...

None-the-less, it took me a moment to really envision my own nipples being cut off, cut to size and placed back on my chest!

Oh yeah ... I couldn't really get past that, but the point is I really looked at them from a place of acceptance.

Here is the person I married.

My transgender, F-M esposo.

That's when I had a moment where I saw the person Papi wants to be.

It was quite a fleeting moment, but I saw it.

I saw the 'man' that people see when they just see Papi on the street and walk on by, without trying to figure out if this is a man or a woman.

I saw the male figure that Papi desires to see in the mirror.  It wasn't so scary, it was just a chance to see my love through different eyes.

Of course, the feeling I had in seeing my love in a different way vanished with one sentence.

"I don't think they'll fall off now."

Nice.

No, they pretty much look like they're going to be stuck there for good.

So, to my Blogger Friends Dirty Cowgirl and Sandra, you can stop worrying about nipples being ripped off by the power of the shower head, then floating down the tub drain.

They're now permanent.

And small. 

**shudders**

Quickie!

Well, I don't have much time today ...

which is a good thing ... we all know what too much time alone with my mind does to me ...

... but I did want to drop by and tell you how exciting my day is.

I've been approved for medicinal marijuana, so I may be able to let go of the horrid, pharmaceutical company chemicals that I take, for the never ending pain from the motorcycle accident almost 3 years ago.

It might be a day to say, "Goodbye morphine, codeine and percocet!!" and, "Hello!!" to nature's BFF of the hippies.

Can't hurt to try.

I may be overly optimistic that this will ease my pain, but who cares!  It just might work.

Anyway, more importantly, I also get to see a friend today, and she has a puppy.

A puppy people!

I know you're jealous.

Hurt

It's so easy to be on the other side.

If I were someone else, it would be very easy for me to say, "Honey, they don't matter.  The only people who matter are the ones who love you."

This is as much strength as it is truth.

However, when you're on the receiving end of the hurt, it's very hard to just 'let it go' and heed the words of sweet security from friends and loved ones.

I'm just like anyone else.

I can't be loved by all.

I am well aware of those who hate me, because they make it very clear.  Those are the people I can 'let go'.

Yet, there are ones I can't do this with.

They are in my community, in my circle, all around me, all the time.

They don't make it clear, they just exude the energy of disapproval.

No, I'm not politically correct enough.

No, I'm not popular enough.

No, I'm not cool enough.

Yes.

I'm honest, and no totalitarian wants to hear honesty that could challenge the fascist who say, "Follow us or be the outcast!"  You must never speak your candor, nor may you ever show tears or fears.

I could never be good enough for 'them'; those who are dictated by the political, popular and cool kids.

if you think high school ended in grade 12, try being in the gay community

I stay hidden, invisible to those who stand in my scarred sight, as they look everywhere but into my eyes.  They feel my deprived reach for their gaze.  They repel this option by averting and giving a half grin.

don't bother, andréa, you're not one of us ...

I am only a visitor.

Only 9 months ago, they spoke words of false love and tried to connect with me.

Now, I don't exist.

I have social anxiety for a reason.

Here lies the biggest fear: I'm not good enough.

My foreboding fears were earnestly validated.

The pain killers were roaming my blood, searching for a place to lie, waiting to change my chemical balance.

Those little poison pills found their site to incite affliction; my sensitivity to hate.

Walking body after body I witnessed were part of the malevolent mass.

I counted them in my mind, "One, two, three ..." until finally I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and my biggest enemy appeared: my tears.

Of course, with those who love me, I used my truth for a lie, "Yeah, I'm in a fair amount of pain right now."

It was a great cover up of the reality, that those who attempted to hurt me, succeeded.

I closed my eyes and listened to the readers.

i am not here ...

The readers would take me away in their story and I would emotionally vanish, the way some hope I would forever.

poof! i'm gone.

I am still the weakest chicken in the coup.

They broke my skin with their pecking, and even today, I'm still bleeding.

I'm not ready for the big world yet.  I still need to stay with my grass floor, eggs that other hens have laid, and the smell of the stench from a fowl who has laid their feces in my home.

I still my Trust List.

And the beat goes on ...

Ah, my dear friend anxiety has come in for a visit.

again

When I was a kid, my mom would tell me not to worry so much.  That I'm going to give myself an ulcer.

then i worried from that day forward that i would get an ulcer.

Hell!

Even when I was a pot smoker, I'd be the paranoid one in the corner worrying about whatever.

Really!

Whatever!

that was of course after i got the giggles and munchies out of the way.

I could be in fear that someone was watching me ...

 

... or that my crazy loon religious family would figure out my dark secrets and I'd be homeless or worse; I would have to hear the rantings of brainwashed deranged kin who were spreading the word of 'god' through hatred and fear.

I used to think that my worrying, or rather, anxiety would go away once I got clean and sober.

fail.

All that happened is I was able to recognize what I was fretting about a lot faster.

Right now though, I'm having the willies about work.

among other things of course ... us anxiety ridden fucks can't stop at one issue ...

They had already called me into the office to talk about my days off due to my back injury, and right afterward, I take another week off.

not to mention i missed the pride parade and gender odyssey that i probably won't get my money back from ... guess i'll brood about that now ...
 
I'm pretty scared I'm going to get fired because they have decided I'm too much of a problem.

I really try hard to be there.

I actually like my job and am the kind of person who has to stay busy.

or i'll think too much and get anxiety.

But they can't have a limping, wincing in pain, polyester clad employee helping people with disabilities.

Some of my clients already feel like they have to help me sometimes.

That's just not good.

Yet right now, as I write this, I am not being paid for my sick days.  There is officially no income coming into our home on my behalf.

Oh, when I'm not thinking about work, there are far better things to worry about.

Really!

I mean, this agnostic verging on atheist doesn't believe in this 'god' that some people believe in, but damn, have you looked at the world recently?

If you look at it on the whole, there is so much going on that could very well be moving toward the apocalypse that the zealots talk about.

The 'touched' will hold their signs saying we're going to die on 'X' day, and it never happens.  However, the way the world is sliding, we could be heading for doomsday one breath at a time.

I don't believe we're just going to implode on any certain day.  I think that we're going to head towards it slow enough that we won't even realize it, and when we least expect it, we'll all be living in what the zealots think of as hell.

At this point, I really feel that living here on earth is another form of hell.

Don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying life is all doom and gloom, but damn!  When I see someone in the news who has beaten a woman by smashing her head continuously and raping her for days on end in front of her 2 year old, spits on the victims family as he's escorted past them, and finally smiles at the news camera in a moment of pride, I have to wonder.

Is it coming faster than I thought?

i'm pretty sure i feel that ulcer coming on ... my stomach is hurting again ...

There's so much more in life to worry about than my simple problems, aka: a soul mate who's going through male transformation.

I'm just a lucky person who has found love in this maniacal world, has food, shelter and a fuzzy family.

Yet, still, my blood courses through me and saps me with anxiety.

Why?

But I'll be damned if I go to my doc and ask for the medication that's needed to calm anxiety.

It will make me fat.

And then I'll obsess about that.

When I say 'jump' ...

Oh my gawd I can 'sorta' sit!

Just woke up from a morphine induced coma to find I'm feeling slightly better.

thank you baby jesus!!!

I know this is due to the appointment I had today.

I go to IMS (Inter Muscular Stimulation) for my back flare ups.  It helps so much.

My male dominatrix takes those hypo-allergenic pins thicker than acupuncturists' needles and forces them with twisting motions into my already ailing muscles.

"I'm not going to be nice to you today," he tells me.

Really?  Is this any different than any other visit?

When I first started going, he was only working on my neck that couldn't turn and was pretty much stuck in a permanent position.

He would stick those needles into my frozen neck and the tendons at the base of my skull.  I could hear the muscle reacting with crunching and ripping sounds from the needle pulling at my stiff, fibrous flesh.

The pain would shoot from the already debilitated area to the top of my head forcing my eyes to close, and the burn would course through my tendons and nerves down my arm.

After a few months, my neck finally got moving, and it was time to start on my back.

You see, the back took the side burner until my neck was calmed, but it has now been the forefront ever since.

He will twist those bad boys right into the sides of my ass cheeks and the pain feels like he's shot me with fire and ice, and simultaneously hit me with a baseball bat.

The high speed electrical discharge will shoot down my leg to my knee and my muscles will give an involuntary jump right off the table.

I don't blame them.

I don't know anyone else who would just sit there while a needle is pushed in and twisted.

I envision my muscles having been zapped with a miniature defibrillator when they helplessly bounce off the table.

But what comes next is so good.

When he removes the needle, it partially feels like he's pulling the fresh flesh through my skin and my muscles feel like they've just had an orgasm.  The endorphins zip through my body like a nimble bat in full speed until they reach my brain with an, "Ahhhh."

He will then move to my spine where he sticks them in so far, I swear he's scratching bone.

In this spot, I can hear the echo of the twisting muscle right up to my brain.  It's sound reverberates and my back will again involuntarily jolt.

If I'm a really bad girl, he'll leave the needles in and attach electrodes to them.

Muscles pump and jump, and eventually, my mind will just get used to the feeling.  I will become numb.

When he's done, he will very gently wipe the blood from my back and butt, then politely pull my pants back up over my ass.

"Ok my dear.  Come back when I can help you some more," he said today.  Normally, he'll tell me when to return, but I think we both know that I'm at a crossroads with this bitch of a back.

I limp out of the office feeling like I've been jumped by a street gang and beaten.  People always watch me leave, fearing for how they may be treated in their session.

Later on, there's always a bit of relief, as there is right now.

well, it was a good 10 minutes of sitting ... it's progress anyway ...

All I could ever wish for would be to have enough money to see my needling dominatrix every day.

It would allow me to live.

At least I have this moment, right here, where I don't feel the need to take pain meds.

This means I have enough of a brain to have a chat with 'you', my imaginary friend.

Thank you, oh master of pain.

Tonight will be a good night.

Is 'selfish' one of the 5 stages of grieving?

Soooooo ...

I'm still screwed.

Not that it's really anything out of the ordinary in my world of re-occurring back injury flare ups, but the timing on this one really couldn't be worse.

Remember I was talking about the Gender Odyssey and how they actually accepted me for a subsidy?

Well, there's not a hope in hell that in 48 hours I'll be strong enough to handle a 3 hour drive to Seattle.

Hence, I've missed the Pride Parade, missed being in Dykes on Bikes, and now I'm going to miss going with My Person to Gender Odyssey, even though I've already paid my subsidized entry.

permission to have a temper tantrum now, please?!

What's interesting to me however, is the fact that I was really looking forward to going.

yes. you read that right. i was looking forward to going.

It's a strange phenomenon, because never in my life have I even stopped to consider much about the third gender.  I've been burrowed in my bubble, never thinking that for a second that I may need to take the time to think about the topic.

Really!

I mean, if I'm not going to date an F-M, because it's not what I'm attracted to, why would I need to grow and learn around this?

ahhh ... the irony

No.

I'm just going to date someone of the third gender, be in denial about it for a couple of years, marry them, then 4 months later, sit in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks straight sobbing because my soul mate dropped the transgender, male transformation bomb.

So, when I think about the fact that I was looking forward to going, it shocks me.

Now I do want to learn more about my core issues, so that my mind will open further, and there will be acceptance and love around this topic.

this also means I have to learn to love the hairy legs that have popped up on mi esposo.

I actually am grateful to Papi having thrown me into the pit of doom on this one.

There is nobody else in this world that I could love this much, and stay with throughout this.

So in turn, I'm forced to find a place within my heart where this male transformation can fit, and I can be more of a loving person, instead of fighting this every step of the way.

I feel horrible when my love has problems with injections and I'm not there emotionally to help.

Oh, I'm around, but I'll be in the other room, trying to pretend it isn't happening.

if you ignore it, it will go away ... wait ... i've been trying that for almost 9 months now ... how come it hasn't worked yet?!?!?

The other day, my love asked with sincerity, "Honey, if I'm having trouble with my injections, do you think you're able to help me now?"

I wanted to say, "No," like I have from the beginning, but this is my love!

I stopped the bratty teenager from blurting out her negativity and took a look at mi esposo.  I saw the pleading look in Papi's eyes.

I can't keep hanging this sweet soul out to do everything without any support, so I said, "Yes, I can sweety."

This is the person who has been my care-giver since the accident and does everything for me when I need support.

How could I ever not help mi esposo?

How selfish can I be?!

Yes, it's hard, but damn!  It's time to get off the pity pot and start being there for Papi.  If I'm sticking around to see this love through to the end, then I should act like it.

I guess that's why I was excited to go to Gender Odyssey.  It was to be fresh steps into the rabbit hole of my own mania.

I want to learn more about myself and my clandestine contention around all this.  I really want to be of support and giving of love.

I have to remember that if it were reversed, Papi would drop everything to help me.

The show must go on.

I did it.

Made through 3 shows in one week.

Only problem is, it landed me in the hospital.

I'm trying so hard to get back to my life as I knew it before the motorcycle accident, but honestly, I really think it's time to take a hard look at all this.

I used to work, perform, exercise and still have strength and energy to hang out with friends dancing or whatever would have been on the agenda.

Now?

Well, here's how my week went in the new healing journey of Andréa:

Tuesday:

no pain meds = open eyes

Our show went great.  I was thrilled to be performing again, and was so happy to see people in the audience dancing!

Wednesday:

When I went to work, I was asked to go to the office to talk about how many days I've taken off in my short 3 months of returning to work.

My boss made it clear, "I'm really just checking in to see how you're doing.  We've noticed you've taken 11 of your 12 sick days in a matter of 3 months of returning.  Do you think you're ready to do this job?"

I was so humiliated.  Not because of his words, but because of my injuries not healing to where I'd like them to be.  I told him, "I'm really trying my hardest to do this."

We left it at the company wanting me to ask my lawyer to get the days off from my back flare ups recouped from ICBC, and given back to the company.

Sounds fair to me.  It's neither my company's fault, nor my fault that the motorcycle accident left me taking so many days off due to a bitchy back.

Thursday:

I went into my G.P. to talk about the conversation with my boss.  My doc looked at me sideways, peering over the rim of her glasses with a question that really sounded rhetorical, "Do you think you're ready to do this job?"

Again, I replied, "I'm really trying my best to do this."

After my appointment, I went shopping.  I grabbed my usual beautifully organic, lusciously bright veggies, along with the necessities I need for the week.

As I carried the bag of groceries down the 'my didn't they do a good job on the carpet' stairs, I felt my back go into spasm.

No problem!

I'll do what I'm supposed to do and be back on track for my performance tomorrow!

Well, it was a little difficult to get this bitch of a back to calm down, and I noticed I couldn't even bend over to pick up my purse.

i can do this! don't fuck with me now mother fucker!!

Friday:

g'ma thinks i look 'nice'

I really took it easy and got on stage, entertaining the sparkly fags in their gold lamé shorts.

Only problem, was when I was finished, the adrenaline wore off and I couldn't walk back to the car.

There I stood, looking like a hooker on a corner waiting for my 'john' to arrive.

No problem!

I'll do what I'm supposed to do and be back on track for my next performance tomorrow!

Saturday:

note: only arms are moving

I realized I'm not doing so well.  As a matter of fact, I was worse than the day before.  I took the down time during our set up, rehearsal etc, to stretch my back.

You know?

Do the right thing.

Just as I was doing a spinal twist, I felt it.

Something gave.

That was it.

I couldn't get up off the floor and I had a performance in 2 hours.

I rolled myself over, found a chair to hoist myself up with and cringed with every shooting pain that seared my back and my legs.

But I got up.

I informed my two performing mates that if I happen to fall to the ground during the performance, that it will be played out as part of the show.  "Don't come running.  I'll just pretend I'm meant to be there."

I collapsed from pain repeatedly trying to get to the stage.  The jolts of pain were like lightning striking my back and throwing me to the floor.

Yet some magical thing would happen while I was on the stage; adrenaline would kick in and the pain would disappear.

Oh, I finished the show alright.

Then, after all the 'congratulations' and 'oh my god that was so greats', the adrenaline wore off and I went down for the very last time.

I couldn't move my legs.  I couldn't sit.  I couldn't even lift my arms or my head.

Knowing that it was pretty extreme, everyone decided to call an ambulance.  My exit from the theatre was by way of a stretcher, and off I went to the hospital, where they pumped me full of some magical poison that took the pain away for 10 minutes.

Those 10 minutes were wonderful, but then I was back to crying from searing pain.

My stage make-up ran down the sides of my face and into my ears.  Not only was I in pain, but I was in competition with Lady Gaga to see who could have the worst make-up job.

Today:

wanna get high?

Here I am, still flat out two days later.

I've missed the entire Pride weekend, but hey!  The shows went on.

It may be time to revisit the question that my boss and my doc asked me.

I have to ask myself, "Are you sure it's time to have your 'normal' life back again my dear?"

Or was that your last hurrah?

is this acceptance?

Guess I better call in sick to work now and use that last day up.

Pass me the pain meds.

**sigh**

papi's pride.

So, I was corrected by Papi.

"You think I'm excited about getting man hair?  I'm not excited!  Nobody tells you about the ass crack hair that grows like crazy, or the horrible oily skin!  Nobody tells you about the unibrow.  If I get a fucking unibrow I will FREAK OUT!!!"

I giggled and quietly kept typing out my love's word for word monologue for your entertainment.

Papi continued the tirade, "So no I'm not HAPPY about the hair or how about the hair growing on my toes and the tops of my feet.  Did I say I was happy about that?!  No!!!!!  Who's happy about that?!?  Well other than the F-Ms that like that shit."

Well!

I'm glad we got that sorted out.

I stand corrected!

and now apparently, so do you.

Right now, Papi is in the U, S of A for Seattle Pride with one of our very good friends (and Trust List member) who has my love hopped up on Vicodin.

party on papi ...

I guess being in a crowd with those nasty nasty wounds would be painful.  One jab to the chest and there would be tears I'm sure.

My love is unhappy though, because the absence of a moustache is now having everyone call mi esposo a female.

That is of course, other than the woman in the washroom who told Papi, "You're in the wrong washroom," and proceeded to chat my love's ear off about her friend leaving her alone while they were peeing.

ahhh ... pride ... what joyous mayhem you provide for us ...

So my love is whooping it up in Seattle and I'm cursing my fucking back because I needed to to a 'refresher' course at work.

and from what i hear, i haven't fed the cats fast enough. if The Mrs. yells, it's serious business. i'm pretty sure i hear her getting ammo ready ...

Papi said the dyke march was today, but, "I won't be marching because I'm not considered a woman or a dyke so you don't have to worry about me getting yelled at by anyone there."

This really was just a dig at me for my reasoning that Papi shouldn't be riding in Dykes on Bikes.

Whatever.

I just laugh at mi esposo's attempts at sarcasm.

I know that when Papi is snarky like this, it's only because my love wants to see me smile.

I wonder if my love wanted me to smile when I heard this, "I wonder what people will do if I take my top off?"

Now, my love usually goes topless for Pride, but I can't imagine what people would do seeing the horrendous wounds on my love.

I really hope that was just for smiles as well.

ok ... now i'm just rambling ... sorry

In all honesty, I really only wanted to get on here to give a massive CON-GRAT-U-FUCKING-LATIONS to New York for having people get their heads out of their fucking asses.

but instead blathered on about papi ...

If you live under a rock, New York has now allowed all us gays to be legally married there.

It's absolutely ridiculous that there has to be so much dialogue about this, but at least we're going further in teaching people how to be human beings to one another.

It is a beautiful day to see the world take another step closer to love.

I love ya, tomorrow ...

It's always better 'tomorrow'.

I'm feeling a lot more 'human' today, vs. perfect.

A few of my blogger friends reminded me that I am hard on myself, and that it's important to remember I'm human.

I'm pretty sure that my recent back injury flare up is responsible for the weakness that let the demons in to play.

I had a dream last night that the G'ma left the house and Papi and I were free to paaaaaar-tayyyy!

wooooohoooooo!!!! **fist pumps the air**

I think that's what the demons do.  When my brain can only handle so much pain, they come on in like rats searching for a meal, and I am the morsel they have a food fight with.

None-the-less, I am feeling much better emotionally today.

time to jump the next hurdle?

Papi asked me if I want to go to something called Gender Odyssey.  They have closed workshops for the spaz of a spouse/partner/lover who just can't find 'happiness' during a gender change, yet is secretly a Tranny Lover.

yeah ... that's me all right

Everyone in this particular workshop must be the gender they were born with.

So, while Papi will be out flashing The Great Breast Disappearance with all the other F-Ms, and everyone is patting each other on the back, "Way to go bro!" I'll be wallowing and sobbing with all the others who have healing to do.

I hope they're ready for me.  Oh, I'll be there in full force.  I'll more than likely be the loudest one there, but if there's one who is as frantic as I, then I will have found a new BFF.

I will also gather more people for the Trust List.

I really have a great Trust List going now.  It's actually to the point where I was confident enough this week to tell people on Facebook just what it is I've been going through for 7 months.

I posted a note inviting people to come here and ride the roller coaster.

It is mostly to reach out to people who are in the same place as I.

7 months ago, I was completely alone searching for someone, anyone who had been there.  I received closed doors and it caused me to shut down emotionally.

and perhaps burn a few bridges ...

I'm truly hoping that there is someone out there who is in need of support, and I want to be the one to give it to them.

unlike the 'support' line i called who didn't call me back for a month

However, something else happened.  Not so close friends started reading, and now it's like I've come out of the closet all over again.

hello ... i'm andréa ... and i'm a tranny lover

Here is where I realized that breaking the silence has done more for me than the aching soul I was reaching out to:

Now I don't have this green ogre of a secret to hide.

Now I can speak freely and actually tell people what the hell has been going on with me for 7 months.

and why i've been such a maniac

Now I have support in the most unlikely places.

Now I can breathe.

now i can weed out those who are beyond trans-political people who will hate me for feeling this pain, the religious zealots who already freak out about me being a lesbian, and transphobic who will delete me off facebook

The only reason I was able to do this was because of my Trust List.

I have the feeling my Trust List just grew faster than the heart of The Grinch.

Gravity

Well, it was a good few days of smiles and strength.

On this journey, you never know when the demons are going to come out to play.

They gave me a visit last night.  Through every tear, they stole my breath.

Papi had to keep reminding me to breathe.

It probably didn't help that my back had seized again.

when will this fucking injury be over and done?!?!

My love needed to express some feelings, and it just didn't sit well with me.

no shit ... my, what lovely swollen eyes you have this morning

Before The Great Breast Disappearance, mi esposo kept asking, "You're going to be able to take care of me, right?"

I really took this as being the caretaker.  I really didn't know Papi needed someone to be strong.

I was far from fierce during the week of my love's top surgery.  I was a mess in fetal position.  I couldn't even communicate to my love how hard it was, so I just continued to clean the hotel room, replace ginger ale, prepare snacks, administer drugs, fluff and arrange the pillows and drain the tubes that needed to be monitored.

I kept busy so my mind wouldn't be.

However, Papi needed someone there to be the one to be strong, but my love chose the wrong person, and also chose the wrong wording around 'taking care'.

I am feeling like a failure.  I am feeling like the wife that let down the other half of the relationship.  I am feeling embarrassed.

i am feeling like vanishing

I honestly tried with every inch of my being to be there for mi esposo.  I worked very hard at 'taking care' of my love.  Yet, there had to be time for me as well.

I learned a long time ago that I need to be there for myself just as much as other people.

Being a people pleaser, I had to learn the hard way that you can only do so much for others, then you have to save some time and space for yourself.

Nobody's going to do it for you.

So when all was taken care of for my love, I would ask, "Is there anything else you need, baby?"

My love would look at me with those dopey eyes and just squeak out, "No."

I took that as: it's my time to think.

We all know what happens when I think to much.  Demons ring my doorbell.  I usually answer, because it's a knee jerk reaction.

Tears would fall, I would record my feelings into the video camera and be true to my emotions.

Unfortunately, there was no where else to go in Fort Lauderdale where I felt safe to be a mess.

So, the hotel balcony and bathroom would be my solitude to cry, but being such a small space, it wasn't hidden from Papi.  I exposed my pain to mi esposo.

I didn't know Papi would simmer in those emotions, until the pot would begin to burn.

Communication happened and I crumbled with the weight of words.

It didn't help that the physical pain was searing through me.  Sometimes, when we have bodily pain, the mind will follow suit.

FALL IN SOLDIERS!!

So there I was.  Revisiting every piece of the pain from the Pit of Doom in that hotel room.

How can two people who are so joined in spirit have opposing feelings about the same experience?

Papi has no way of understanding how much pain I'm in, and I am utterly incapable of being the Rah-Rah-Tranny my love so needs in a wife.

We are on opposite ends of the pendulum, but I suppose even a pendulum has to swing both ways until gravity allows it to pause in the middle.

This is where my love and I will finally meet.

It's been 7 months of a journey.  Not a very long time in the scope of things.  We have a long way to go until gravity is our friend.

Anxiety du jour

I think if the wind changes I get anxiety.

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to see what they've told me since I was a kid.

I remember my aunt and I having a conversation about hippies.  I was saying how I liked the hippy mentality that their generation got to grow up with.  "If I was growing up in that time I think I'd be a hippy too."

My aunt laughed, "You're too stressed out to be a hippy."

I was about 12.

And stressed out.

It's a miracle that I haven't given myself an ulcer.

Today's freak out?

My gig on Friday.

Papi's male transformation, 5 foot clitoris and top surgery are all old news.

I'm shaking about the show.  The CD Release party is going to be fun I'm sure, but while I'm hobbling around like an 80 year old because of my recent back spasm flair up, I'm not feeling like a rockstar.

It hurts just to sit and play my bass.

I know that once I'm up on the stage, the adrenaline will kick in and pain will be so far from my mind that I'll think I've been healed!!!

That is, of course, up until the ado is done with.

I'll then go back to using the handicap sign for parking the car at the store until my fucking back tells me it's ok to act my age again.

Don't get me wrong.  My anxiety about Papi's male transformation is not over with.

Oh no, don't be ridiculous.

Last night my love informed me that one of the nipples is not doing too well and it hurts.  At that point, I had visions of a half nippled flat chest.

You know?

Worst case scenario.

i'm such a spaz!!!

Regardless of how I feel angst over The Great Breast Disappearance, I still want the best for my love.  I still want mi esposo to heal and feel confidence in Papi's body.

There is nothing worse than feeling like you're not right.

I get it practically every time I look in the mirror.

will i ever get the perfection i strive for?

My love had a dream the other night that I was fondling those nipples and one of them fell off.

I laughed so hard at the make believe story, then freaked out because it could happen!!!

Papi was told by Dr. Scissorhands that during the healing my love can't face the water from the shower because the nipples could come off!

Can you imagine being in the shower and watching one of them drop to the tub floor then whirl around in the drain as you scramble to grab it, but you can't because your hands are all soaped up and the nipple is slippery so you watch it slide down the drain with the bubbles it's surrounded in?!?!?

I can.

Worst case scenario.

complete with the impact of a run on sentence and no breathing ...

Anyway, back to the anxiety du jour.

I'm really really really nervous.

It's like it was when I first started performing.  I was so nervous for every show that I'd almost be sick.  Well, I was sick out the back end, but I'm sure you didn't need those details.

After years of performing, I got to the point that it was a small flutter in my stomach and then I would hop on that stage and go to town like I never had an adverse nerve in my life.

Back to square one.

I don't recommend anyone being off performing for a few years.  Don't do it.

patience patients ...

People pleaser.

That's what some of us become when we've felt that we need to be loved more.  It never really works though.  You just come across as needy.

Then there's the other end of the pendulum:

Selfishness.

At that point, you come across as someone who nobody really wants to be around.  However, you attract the people pleasers and your bidding is done.

Balance is really the key to everything in life.  It really is the most important rule to remember.

So, here I am lying in bed because I've put my back out.  I'm pretty sure it's because I tried so hard to keep up with the demands brought upon me that I stressed myself out to a point where my back had to take all the flack.

I know I can't afford this kind of stress.  I know that my injuries are affected by it, but when you're in the throws of insanity, it's hard to recall anything you're 'supposed' to.

hello brain injury. fuck my memory sucks.

I frantically ran around getting everything done.  I was quite grateful for the extra cardio as my heart would pound out of my chest from going up and down the stairs so many times and scratching another item off the list.

Alas, the caretaker has become the patient.

Poor Papi.  My love was thinking that there would be a wife at home who'd be the caretaker.

Wrong.

Now I'm flat on my back asking for Papi's help.

My love has to change all the dressings alone.  But then again, mi esposo told me it's easier without me.

Papi also told me I'm too much of a stress case to be around.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if my anxiety over this transgender journey actually drove away Papi?  Imagine if I wound up single and divorced after all I went through to try to stick this marriage out amidst a male transformation.

I would crumble.

time to take a look at that...

I just need some downtime from this brain.  I really need to have a simple life with a simple job and a simple relationship.

gimme a break

I'm sure Papi could use a breather from my anxiety too.

The common denominator is me.

How do I do this though?  How do I just stop the anxiety and have a hiatus from this brain, which in turn will give Papi some time out too?

My love doesn't understand how this could affect me, "I didn't do this to you.  It's not about you."

My broken record response, "But you're changing my life by changing you."

When you marry someone, two hearts become one.  So, yes, this is happening to me too.

You know when hell has frozen over and you look back and laugh?

I need that time to come now.

I need to get off this emotional roller coaster.  The slides down that hill aren't as fun as they used to be.  How about we just play on the bumper cars for a little while?

one day at a time.

I'm so tired and broken, but I need my beautiful relationship back.

It's hard when you can't even hug your soul mate, because there's a barrier of stitches, gauze, tape and pain.

At least we can hold hands.  I still feel Papi's love through those strong hands.

Kids with guns?

I am so happy to be in the warm.  My injuries are so grateful.

The crests of the ocean dance with me, bobbing up and down, pulling me further into the barren blue.  Yet I am not a mermaid, so I must resist against being taken from Papi, into the sea forever.

I feel closest to nature when I'm in an ocean that moves me.  This is a force that I could never battle.

Oh, last night's dinner was something else.

The first thing that greeted us at the restaurant door was a full pig on a platter.

Yup.

Head and all.

I haven't been vegetarian for over 10 years now, but that almost threw me back into the world of tofu.

Even my fish still had a head on it.  I looked into it's eye and apologized, "I'm so sorry, but I need to eat, and it wasn't me who killed you."

I had pumpkin soup that was so good I will never be able to eat squash soup in Vancouver again.

Papi is having troubles with showing breasts.  I didn't think I'd ever see the day when my love would feel the inability to bare those beautiful peaks.

My love has been wearing a tank top into the water and on the beach.  "I just don't want to show them."

I suppose it's because my love now sees the end is coming for them and they'll never be in the way again.  Now mi esposo won't be mistaken for a woman until they hear the more feminine than masculine voice.

People do call Papi 'sir' until they hear that voice, then look down and see breasts.  Now, they'll still be confused, but will probably stick with the male pronouns.

Ronnie, the towel boy said, "Your friend there, how long you both stay?"

I replied, "Papi's mi esposo and we'll be here for 2 weeks."

Ronnie was confused, "Esposo or esposa?"

"Esposo," I said, with an extra emphasis on the 'o' to be sure he got it.

"That is your husband?"

"Pretty much."

Papi laughed when I told the story.  We both know that Ronnie will now be talking about this with everyone and they will soon figure out what's going on.

good ... figure it out for yourselves and don't ask me any more questions ... i'm on holiday

However, on the way to the pool, after our wonderful play date with the waves, a man came walking up and looked at Papi and said, "Oh, beautiful!"  He was enthralled with my love.  As I said before, I'd much rather have that than homophobia.

It's perfect weather here.  My all time favourite temperature.  Wind will take the edge off of the sun for small moments, then the heat will return to warm my muscles and heal my wounds.

I never did tell you about the car ride to the resort.

We got stopped at a light and some teen boys ran toward the car crouching down disguising objects in their hands as they approached.  They were hell bent for our vehicle and we knew it.

Papi cried, "Lock your doors!!  For the love of god!!"

I yelled, "Fuck they've got guns!  Those kids have fucking guns!!"

They ran straight for our windows as my heart pounded with fear.

They started cleaning our windshield.

No guns.  Only deprived kids who need to earn money with sponges and soap.

I pointed at the brat though my side window and said, "Malo!"  Then I shook my finger at him and he giggled with that smirk that says, 'you know love me.'

Papi gave them a dollar and that was it.  They weren't leaving until they got more.  I tried to tell them to bugger off but they ignored me, continuing to prod Papi for more cash.

kids know the sucker ... always ...

Finally, the light turned green, and we drove off laughing about it ever since.

It was so ridiculous, but honestly, it really did look like they were coming in to hijack our car.

Paranoid much?

Who wears the pants?

Pain killers.

They bruise my brain.

After my codeine coma yesterday, I slept a full nights sleep as well.  Knocked me right out.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't really feel like my regular routine of breakfast.  All I wanted was my coffee, and to talk to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I ground my beans, cleaned out my french press and added those lovely chocolately looking granules to the now empty urn.  I started the water boiling and prepared my mug with non-dairy creamer and stevia sweetener.

Ready!

All I have to do is watch the water boil.

Eventually, the whistle blew and I jumped to action.  I poured the water into my creamer.

Wait!

Something looks wrong here.

Oh fuck ya.

ummm ... last i checked, water goes in the bodum ...

Instead of starting fresh with pouring out the creamer and trying again, I poured the watered down creamer right into my french press with my beans.

oh fuck.

Now instead of starting fresh from there, I decided to press the beans anyway.  It doesn't go down as quickly as it normally would, so I had to press really hard.

Well, the urn did something it's never done before.  Coffee went spewing out the spout and all over the floor, walls and counter.

ah ... but there's still enough for a cup at least.

Upon pouring the blend into my mug, I watched little pieces of coffee beans flow into that vessel of joy.

I am now drinking a coffee that is not it's usual flavour.  Not it's usual colour.

This is not my coffee.

I'm just so mushy in the brain that I just don't care.  I just want to sit here and hope the coffee and litre of water wake up this T3 and muscle relaxant infused brain.

I won't need those lovely little pills today.  Doing a lot better.  However, I won't have Papi to entertain me, as my love's Graveyard Coma is in full swing.

You should have seen my love putting up the curtains in our living room.  Papi has never worked with drywall before.  Our home used to be paneling before the sewage flood.  So, I had the pleasure of watching Papi use drywall anchors for the first time.

My love got the hole ready and then proceeded to push the anchor through the hole.  And I mean push through the hole.

I heard it drop to the ground behind the wall, and then a look from Papi, "Now what?"

oh my

Fortunately, my blood was completely filled with the codeine and I could now move.  I got up and showed mi esposo how to do it.

then this femme smiled at the fact that we are amazing creatures ... who da man!

I think I may be supervising the rest of the fixin's done to our home.

But for today ... rest ...

Here we go again ...

Damn, damn and triple jesus fucking christ.

Not impressed.

I am off work today because I fell again.

sound like an old lady

My balance sucks so badly since the brain injury, and I'm beginning to wonder if I really am able to do this 'normal' life thing.

When most people fall, they give a cuss and carry on their way.  Unfortunately, after the magnitude of an accident that I had 2.5 years ago, my body is not able to handle the jarring.

Here's where the fear comes in though.  I have heard of people trying to get back to work and they have too many set backs and the company will say, "Sorry, but your'e too much of a risk.  We don't want you back."

Being the optimist, I assumed I'd be going to be going back to work with no problems.  Hence, I went ahead and got braces.

Well, regardless of what happens with this recent injury, I really needed them.

i also really need to chew something!!! babyfood really makes me gag

As I sit here with pain shooting up and down my back and legs, and a head that feels like my brain is trying to burrow through my skull, I wonder what is going to happen to me and my job.

At least I have entertainment.  I'm watching Papi hang up all the pictures in our home.  It's really looking like a home again.

Watching my love do handyman things is much like watching a comedy skit.

Mi esposo was trying to make our kitchen eating nook, and the new toy that was bought for this occasion only cuts small pieces of wood.  After realizing this my love asked me to read the instructions to see if it was adjustable to cut bigger pieces.

Nope.

"It's ok.  I have something else."

Papi started sawing with another type of saw and while I was holding it I noticed something really wrong, "Um, honey, is there supposed to be smoke coming from the saw?"

The wood was now charred.

And the power went out.  Papi went and flipped the switch back in the power box and said, "It's ok.  I have another thing to try."

oh my ...

so the next saw couldn't stay on the line of travel for cutting, and it sounded a bit like a cat was being tortured.

Never-the-less, we now we have an uneven, indented, charred kitchen nook.

But we have somewhere to eat.

So, while I sit here and enjoy the distraction from pain, I thought I'd write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I will now go take my Tylenol 3 induced self, and babble pointlessly to someone else.

Sorry, if you were looking for a quality blog today, it just ain't gonna happen.