i want to be with the angels

What is it about being an alcoholic?

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

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

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

He won't let that happen, he says.

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

"It was only ONE beer!!!"

Yup.

And the next time it will be more.

Then the time after that, a little more.

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

Hey no problem.

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

I've done it enough in my life.

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

The puppies were not into it.

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

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

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

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

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

Why can't the angels just take me?

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

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

No waves to bob up and down.

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

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

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

Don't get me wrong.

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

But why just one?

Why can't I just have a stretch?

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

Why?

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

I'm deserving of so much more.

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

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

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

i attract only healthy relationships

family.

What a day!

What a hospital.

Oh man.

You're there to heal and hold a fresh little baby that has just come into this world who needs all the help he can get with his fledgling immune system, and the bathrooms don't have toilet paper to wipe your ass, nor do they have soap to clean your hands while you're drip drying.

Seriously.

Then you're going to hold a little bundle of love who just breathed air for the first time.

Of course, I did it anyway, for as long as my bitch of a back would allow.

Which was just long enough to fall in love.

What a sweet little soul.

To Our Fave's Mom, it was nothing, as she's had 2 others before.

She giggled at our silliness with the little bean.

As did everyone else who thought us ridiculous.

The family has taken us in, and I believe I have found the DR Family we have been searching for.

Including the gangster brother who scares the hell out of me now that he knows where we live.

But at least, I won't be alone for those three months Papi was talking about.

He was indeed having a grief breakdown.

You know the one if you've had it.

You're not only grieving, you're experiencing every bad thing that ever happened to you in your life along with the pain of loss.

Well, Papi isn't going back to Canada to stay with G'ma for 3 months.

He was just having 'a moment' of weakness.

I won't be alone for all that time, but I would have done it to make Papi happy.

We do know that G'ma is in the best care she could have.

She is surrounded by other family and friends.

She is taken care of with her Alzheimer's better than we could do.

She is where SHE wants to be, near her church people who mean the world to her.

We have asked her to come with us, but she didn't want to.

So, there in Canada, with the BEST care, she stays.

Best care, with toilet paper, and soap to wash her hands.

Best care, with people who know how to care for her condition.

Good thing she's not here.

She would not have survived the heat first of all.

Second, she would have a fit about all the repairs she would have to live with.

Third, we wouldn't be able to have the dogs to protect us, because they would knock her down.

She wouldn't be able to handle Papi firing off a gun every night, just because he enjoys it.

You know that story?  The boy who cried wolf?

I fear that people will get too used to my dingbat husband firing off a gun and not come to help when they hear the real thing.

Well, at least the gangster brother will know we have it.

Today, we will have a full house, because all the repairs we needed yesterday couldn't be done, because we had to be there to bring the new life into this world.

Not to mention, I also have a visitor.

Another dog lover from down the beach.

Her New York accent is very thick, and I love it!  We're going to share coffee along with some papaya straight from my tree.

I don't know where we're going to sit, as there is no deck to sit on right now, but I have a visitor.

And workers.

So, I best go get that veggie garden watered before all hell breaks loose.

Day begins ..........

NOW!

i let go of all lies i tell myself

Gratitude List Day 4/10
1. I am grateful to be a godparent a 2nd time over.
2. I am grateful to be accepted into a family here in the Dominican Republic.
3. I am grateful to have experienced a brand new life yesterday.
4. I am grateful Papi is feeling so much better.
5. I am grateful I am feeling so much better.
6. I am grateful Papi heard Psycho Kitty tell him that he's happy and doing well.
7. I am grateful for papaya straight from my tree.
8. I am grateful to be making friends.
9. I am grateful for my angels supporting me.
10. I am grateful for friends back home, who help me through the hard times.  You know who you are.

R.I.P.

When he took his last breath, it seemed that there was a sigh of relief for him.

He looked peaceful, his deformed jaw seeming less stately.

I touched his little paws with all the affection in the world to let him know I was still there, if his spirit was still in his casing.

The fact that he was no longer in pain was of great comfort to me.

Here, in the Dominican Republic, we don't have the luxury of the option of ashes, so as to place where we can see our deceased Fuzzy Family when we care to say a few words of hello what is left of physical energy.

Here, we must bury our animals.

"I have a graveyard in the back if you'd like," proposed Dr. Bob, "but I think you want him closer to you."

Yes.

We want our love to be near us.

As I asked him how much to pay him for his services, he replied, "No, I don't charge for this work.  To me, this is a gift."

We gave each other a hug, because we both know what that meant.  Truly a gift.

I wrapped his lifeless little body, still warm, in the blanket he passed away in and met Papi at the cement walkway at the entrance of the clinic.

He can't be there for the passing.

I need to be, because I need my little family members to have me as their last vision.

I need them to know that I'm with them while they traverse into that unknown place I secretly wish to visit every day.

I need them to read in my eyes that I love them and will never let them fade from my heart.

I need them to know that they don't need to be afraid, because they're going to a much better stead than what they have here on planet doom, even if it is without us.

They have friends waiting.

I also ask them to stay with me always, and that I will find them when it's my turn to be in that place of serenity.

I've never held a lifeless body before.

It felt so comfortable, that I didn't want to let go.

Please, just let me hold him like this forever.

I can't let go.

He was still warm.

He was still my friend while I had him in my arms, wrapped like a newborn.

I guess in a sense, he was a newborn to a new life.

Papi and I spoke of where to place his body so that he's relaxed and happy.

The coconut trees were much too far away from us.  Also, they're doing work on the roof, so the front of the house was out of the question.

I thought of the perfect place.

On the floor of my veggie garden.

I will see him every day.

He will be part of the life that grows around him.

He will support me as I stand and help my plants grow.

He will be the energy I feel in that space.

We placed him in and covered him with much love, only it still felt so harsh.

I'd never buried a loved one before.

Then, I cried some more.

And some more.

And today, my eyes are as swollen as they were in the beginning of my journey with 'you' here.

I thought I heard his voice last night.

He was always quite the talker.

Sleep my little love.

One fine day, we will be lucky enough to be with you in that place of peace, to become one of the angels I beg to every day for strength.

For now, we grieve.

all that i need will come to me at the right time and place in this life

it's ok to cry today.

He whimpers.

His jaw is deformed, swollen with infection, leaving only a slit at the front in which his tongue can comfortably lie between his two teeth.

I looked in his eyes and told him that today, he will have no more pain, and we said goodbye.

His matted fur didn't seem right for his usually pristine coat.

There was no point in me cleaning him today.

No primping.

No prodding.

No suffering for his already tormented body.

I simply told him he would be free.

Last night, I dreamed his body was only bones, with not a muscle in sight.

Decayed.

He cried to me in pain.

I knew it was his spirit asking me to help him leave.

When I woke this morning to his whimpering, I invited him up on the bed for our last visit before people came to our door and the insanity of workers in my yard took all my attention.

He came willingly.

He knows it's time for a farewell.

He seemed peaceful in the knowledge that he will be eased soon.

I held my hand in such a way, that I could only see him from the nose up, as his eyes and ears still remain a part of the cat that I have known for these years of friendship.

I didn't want to look at the image he has become.

I looked at him as he was.

Psycho Kitty!  Terror of the neighbourhood!

Not one cat would pass our yard, because it was his territory alone.

When my cats moved into HIS house, he was indignant as he stalked them through windows, eyes wide, ready for the kill.

He marked every window and every door with his scent, in the form of a turd gift, meant for my cats to know that this was his house, and eventually, he would find them.

They would be his prey.

Now, he is timid toward all creatures, knowing his strength is limited to eating and walking to the litter box.

We haven't seen him drink water in days.

However, even in his dying days, he still eats voraciously.

Nothing could squelch his appetite.

He still purrs louder than the healthy cats.

That sound, coupled with his food intake is confusing, as it makes us think he must still be fighting.

In our hearts, we know he isn't.

I could see it in his eyes today that he's searching for peace.

I begged the angels to tell him he would be receiving it today.

Today, we lose him.

Today, the angels gain him.

He will visit all those who have risen to the angels and they will welcome him into their peaceful realm.

One day, one beautiful fortunate day, I too will visit this realm.

I will be a part of him, and all the others who have left a whole in my heart.

Each one that passes doesn't get easier, yet it doesn't get harder.

It is just painful in the same way it is when each of them leaves.

Grief.

One of the workers saw me cry today and I had to say it out loud, "Mi gato, se está muriendo," but I had practised the sentence, so he understood fully.

These men who work for us are really quite lovely.  They have good hearts.

So, it's ok to cry today.

I allow myself to feel these feelings.

i embrace the rhythm and the flowing of my own heart

Saying Goodbye to Psycho Kitty.

My poor love.

I'm so heartbroken for him.

Psycho Kitty is on his way out now.

We have fought for his health for well over a month now and he's just not getting any better.

He's getting worse.

He's so thin and so weak, he doesn't even fight with The Bastard Prince.  He lies with him like an ally on the bed, leaving the bastard confused as to whether he should attack, run, or just look at him sideways.

When I pick him up, it's almost as if I'm picking up an empty plastic bag.

He's lost a lot of his hair.  What is left barely has anything to help us brush him.

We have to help brush him.  He can't clean himself, because his mouth is in too much pain.

His infection smells horribly, which makes it hard for cuddles.  I try so hard to give him cuddles when he wants them, but I almost gag from the scent.  It feels bad, because I just want to give him as much love as I possibly can.

His infection has been swollen in his jaw now since the day it grew.  It has still been growing and we can see he is in pain.

It was really like tormenting him with every squirt of medicine we were told to spray in his mouth, as blood flew left and right.

He screamed, because it hurt.

He was trying to tell us.

However, we had to ignore his anguish, because we just wanted so badly for him to be well, so we did it anyway.

We must stop tormenting him to try to make him well.

He isn't well, and we can't make him well, because his time has come.

He isn't Psycho Kitty anymore.

He hasn't been Psycho Kitty since the infection hit him.

Papi hasn't moved from the bed since he got home with the bad news.

My heart is breaking for him.

I understand the grief.

I know it will hit me later, but right now I feel I need to take care of Papi's heart first.

It will hit me later, just the same as when we lost The Golden.

The pain I see in Psycho Kitty is too much to bear.

He's suffering and I can't handle to watch it anymore, not that we get to watch it much anyway, because he's always hiding under the bed to evade anybody's company.

It's time to allow him to be at peace, which means we have to hurt.

It hurts everyone so much when we say goodbye to our Fuzzy Family and best friends.

Every little soul that flies free to be at peace takes a piece of our heart with them.

Their souls reach tranquility, however, we do not.

We hurt.

There's nothing I can do to help Papi heal.  He has to heal himself.

The part that scares me is that he's already in a fragile place.

I feel so scared for him, and in turn, I feel so scared for how hard things may be around here.

You can't help someone heal from grief.

However, I still feel that I need to help.

At the very least, we can help Psycho Kitty.

We can allow him to be free from pain.

We fought.

He fought.

It's time for him to rest.

My heart is breaking on so many levels.

For Papi.

For Psycho Kitty.

For loss.

We could lay him to rest under the coconut tree, where he can be close to the geckos and butterflies he liked to chase the only two weeks he was happy here.

I'm so sorry, Psycho Kitty.

i can muster up a little more hope and courage from deep inside of me

i see dead people

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

So, fuck it.  I'm writing about it.

I get visits from my deceased Fuzzy Family.

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

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

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

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

Not true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was here.

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

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

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

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

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

Not dream, visit.

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

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

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

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

Thank you so much for coming back old man.

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

i recognize and honour my talents, abilities and skills

and the phoenix has risen!

So, anyway, Papi and I were blessed by the Rabbi a couple of weeks ago.

Here were my opening words:

I've always searched for the place where I belong.  What I've learned is, that I'm a wanderer and I have been exploring since childhood, but never really realized it.

The greatest adventure that crossed my path, was when I fell in love and married another wanderer. 

These opening words are really all I need to know about life to this point.  I know that no matter what anyone says, like for instance, "When it comes to losing your dog, the way you're feeling is really only selfish."

... seriously! some people's kids! ... ok, that 'kid' thing is an inside joke ... that you'll never know about ... but that's ok, because i don't have to tell you everything, got it? ...

Or how about, "There are people suffering more than you, so you really have nothing to cry about.  You just have to move on."

Yeah.  Those words are really going to help me feel better, bitches.

Anyway, I'm learning that nothing anybody says or feels really has anything to do with me, because they have no fucking idea what it's like to be me.

I just laid for a week trying to breathe my way out of a 4 day stretch of choking on my own breath because of flashbacks of every trauma that has ever happened since I was 7 or 8 right up to my fucking motorcycle accident.  All of which just so happened to be triggered by the loss of The Golden.

Those people will never understand what it's like to have major P.T.S.D.

Well, fuck you and your fucking self help 'wisdom' mother fuckers.

I'm back.  And I'm feeling like I'm ready to take on that nasty mother of a world again.

I had some fierce little pills that took me for a scenic little stroll of La-La-Land for a few days.  You see, if you're so zonked out that you are close to a coma, you won't choke on your breath from a 4 day long panic attack.

There ya go.  You learned something new.  Glad I could help.

Anyway, I'm back and I'm pretty sure, bitchier than ever.

With a little hint of gratitude.

What can I say?  I'm a fucking Gemini.  Only this here Gemini has more than 2 sides.  You don't wanna mess with me.  I can wreck your whole day.

Good fucking g*d I got off track.

... what else is new, brain injury girl? ...

I wanted to share about 'what really matters'.

All that really matters is I'm on track in my life.  Where I am is where I'm supposed to be; with my wandering spouse who has taught me about love.

He has taught me that love isn't about cuddling up to a couple of funbags, or stroking a soft chin, chest, thing or stomach that has no hint of hair.

Love is mi esposo, who nursed me through my lack of oxygen for all those days and helped me come to the conclusion that it was time to stuff some pills down my yak.

That or bring me to the loonie bin for a little 'respite'.

I chose the pills, but I know he would have come to visit me if I was in my 'special' place with padded walls.

And that!!  Is all that matters.

He's cool with that psychosis of a Gemini that periodically pokes her head out to stir things up a bit.  I think he finds her a bit entertaining.  You know?  That someone could possibly be as crazy as him?  Or dare I say, crazier?

Yup.  I'm his girl and he's my guy, and we're makin' plans to wander a little bit further.

We're on an expedition on this eternally bumpy 4x4 ride, each on a sexy little quad.  Mine's all decked out in sparkles and boa feathers and his is decked out with faux tattoo shadings and great metal fangs on it's front bumper, ready to chomp the fuck out of the next hill that tries to tell us 'no'.

I suppose now that I'm back from the depths of my Pit of Doom, it will be Papi's turn to take a nose dive.

Hey.

At least we share.

i am valuable

i'm trying ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anybody!  Please!  Help me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i am willing to release all fear

THIS is fucking ridiculous

I'm hiding in the bedroom, doing my best to write to you today.  This is one of the days I wish I was already video blogging.  You really would have enjoyed Papi's baboon-like behaviour.

Seriously.  Arms were flailing.

I have to remember, we both have a lot of emotion around losing The Golden, but for fucks sakes!  He pissed me off enough to have me lose my sleep last night, and then I get up to more of his antics this morning when he came home.

He's on a rant about what I'm bringing to Casa Paraíso.  He says it's ridiculous.  Let me tell you what ridiculous is.  I couldn't even make my coffee without him trying to tell me how ridiculous my reverse osmosis water system is.

I need to drink water.  I can't drink their water.  Water heals me.  I'm bringing a system so I can drink the water.

So there I was trying to put my coffee into my urn and he was actually body blocking me, as if we were in a basketball game, "I won't let it go until you admit how ridiculous it is to bring this system," while I was grinding beans for my 2nd round of coffee, because he distracted me so bad on the first round, I fucked up the process.

Round 2: Pivot, water.  Pivot, beans.  Pivot, cinnamon.

Yes, he had me cornered in the very small of Our Closet, with his peacock tail fluffed, puffed out chest body, like a fucking dude in a bar showing who's boss.

To appease his nonsense, I tried to test the 'I'll let it go, if you admit how ridiculous this is' theory, so I told him, "OK.  I can admit that it's a bit large."  But do you think that was enough for him to now 'let it go'?

Oh, no.  He moved on to acting like a girl in that bar fight, snapping his fingers with, that 'bitch, I told you' attitude, all the whilst, spilling my coffee as he pranced about with every single thing I want to bring.

What's ridiculous?  Dragging it all out into the living room so that I could put it on my blog, in hopes that everyone would tell me I'm being ridiculous in wanting to bring things I can't buy there along with me.

I honestly can't even convey the act that's going on right now.

I can't even write without the feeling that he IS the Papirazzi.  The camera bulb is flashing, Papi's stomping around like an anger gnome, and the cats are nowhere to be found.  He's one step short of running to the mountain tops to scream out, "This is ridiculous!!!!!" in hopes that his bellowing echo could be heard all the way to the Dominican Republic.

Oh, here's the newest one he's brought out.  He's telling me they're going to think I'm bringing a bomb, which has quickly gone into him telling me it's just going to get wrecked.

THIS?  Is letting it go?

No, like I told him at the very beginning of his rant, "Even if I DO say it's ridiculous, you'll probably go on about it for the rest  of our 56 days."

Don't worry, I have ammo.  I'll just bring up the hissy fit about me wanting me to stop the medicinal cannabis because we're going somewhere they won't accept me using it, but then he goes on taking HIS medicinal cannabis for another fucking 3 weeks!!!

Yup, I'll be hearing about this until my dying day.  There I will be lying in my bed, all wrinkled and old, trying to gasp out my last breaths, with Papi telling me, "I won't let you die until you tell me how ridiculous it was."

Ridiculous is him purposely trying to get me to get pissed off.

He worked his magic of trying to piss me off all night last night and all morning today.  He just can't accept that when he goes into an anger rant, I shut down and don't say much, because I need to keep myself from showing my anger.

However, onward Papi went to test the theory.  Right down to, every time I poured myself a glass of water, he'd drink it.

Well, now I've locked myself in the bedroom to escape his shenanigans and enjoy my cup of coffee without it being spilled all over the floor every time he stomped by, ranting about how ridiculous this all is. 

This was seriously nothing you could ever capture in a few words.  Oh, how I wish I had a video blog up and running.  You'd understand my pain.

Here's his ridiculous photo:

 

You see that pink spot on the very right of this photo?

That was me trying to enjoy my mother fucking coffee.  You don't mess with my mother fucking coffee.

 i drink plenty of water to keep myself healthy

grief hurts us all

They call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

Really, I only bark to protect my dog they call, 'The Golden'.

Yesterday, they took him out without me, but they never brought him back.

I'm still waiting for him.

They brought his collar home, so he has to come back for them to put it on, right?

I sniffed around his bed today.  Something smells different.  It's not right.

Not to mention, his bowl isn't the same.  It's clean.

I'm feeling really tired.

There's something else that was out of the ordinary; they never take me out for walks alone.  I always have my big one eye.

I don't want to leave Papi's side.  I'm kinda scared.  What if I'm stuck here with 3 cats and no big brother?

One dog.  Alone.

My bitch person says I'm not a dog, but I am!  Really!

I feel the same as my one eyed brother, only he's a gentle giant.

My people keep crying.  I know something must be really hard for them, so I'm just going to be sad along with them, so I feel like I belong.

I don't know why they seem different when they hold me.  It feels like they hold me a little tighter.  I guess I'll endure their obsessive cuddling.

Even the cats are acting different.

The Bastard Prince won't even go on his bitch person to claim her.  He's acting weird.

It's also much quieter here now.  Not just the sound, but the energy.  Quiet.

When I came in from my walk, I expected my brother to be here.

Something is definitely wrong.

It's not right without the one eye.

I'm pretty sure he'll be back for tonight's shift.

He has to show up for work.  He has a job to do.  He makes everyone feel so happy.  He would never leave those ladies alone.

I'm so confused.  I'm never without him.

It smells so different around here.

The call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

But I only bark to protect my big brother.

I don't feel like barking today.

R.I.P. ol' one eye

what's mine is mine.

Oh, what The Great DR Purge is bringing up.

As we go through our things and decide what goes and what stays, it brings out a lot of memories to relive.

Good, bad and ugly.

... i will have to scan and post my 80's hair for ya!!! ...

One such memory, is a picture of being reunited with my dad in '99.

It saddens me that I have a deadbeat dad who is a manchild.

Since that reconciliation, I've tried to have a relationship with him, but it's not possible with someone who doesn't know how to do it, or give back.

Having said that, I understand a little bit more about him.

He got a girl pregnant at 15, and I can envision how sad my dad must have been to always know there's a child of his out there that was taken from him at such a young age.

I sympathize with the feeling of grief.

I more than perceive the feeling of guilt.

I can picture how it stumped his emotional development, and even when I popped up as a mistake only two years after he let go of his first child, he didn't take that as an opportunity to work on himself.

Instead, he threw himself further into the abyss of drugs.

When I saw that picture last night, it flattened out my heart.  I had to put it down to remember why it is I can't have a relationship with him.

If you want a friend/family, you have to be a friend/family.

It's so hard to know I can never expect a birthday call from him, or for that matter, a belated congratulations on my wedding.

He can't be there for anything in my life that has importance to me.

There's nothing to share with him, because he's an empty shell.

Seeing it in that picture crushed me.

I could see the wanting of a father in my little girl in my face.  I was hunched over, shoulders turned inwards and was as small as I could possibly be, with the greatest smile I could ever muster.

He was my dad for that small girl who didn't have him to grow up with, if only for that moment.

I have a visual to remember that.

Having lived a life of a fair amount of loss, this photograph is another example of why I am responsible to fill myself up, because I could never count on anyone else to do it.

Certainly, he can't, won't and never will.

He abandoned me when I needed him most, which has made it very difficult to trust anyone as I grew to a woman.

Well, I have a brother out there who probably grew up in a wonderful 2 parent home, with so much love that he may never have had to feel this loss.

I found out his birth mother's name.

My aunt was gracious enough to give a phone call to my sperm donor to find out her name so that my baby sister and I can start on the journey of finding our big brother.

I've known of his presence from a young age, even if nobody believed me all these years.

I feel like he may be searching for us as well.

He's out there.

That little missing piece of our family.

I wonder what he's like.

Healthy?  Happy?  Successful?  Perhaps, none of the above?

It doesn't matter to me, because all I need to do is find him for whatever reason, because I've been psychically connected to him since I was a young girl.

As for dear ol' dad, I have so much love for you, but it's sad to say, love just isn't enough.

we have to accept that some things may never be ours, and learn to appreciate the things that are only ours and ours alone.

more death talk.

He's baaaa-aaack.

The Galloping Gazelle.

He's really doing well with the cats this time around, but that doesn't matter to them.  They remember.  Oh, how they remember.

The Bastard Prince has taken root on our kitchen island, and The Mrs. won't come out of her office.

We have to carry them to the litter box in intervals to make sure they get there.

Then there's Psycho Kitty.  Psycho Kitty doesn't give a shit.

He'll just swat at him.

At this point, we are blessed with the cacophony of dog screams, because Sir Bark-A-Lot gets scared as well, even if he's ten feet away when the swatting happens, and it's not even directed at him.

Furthermore, Psycho Kitty doesn't even make physical contact with those claws of steel, so the song of dismay is pointless, really.

Here's the good part though.

Sir Bark-A-Lot actually likes him.

Now this may not sound like a big deal to you, but if you knew what an asshole he is, you'd be surprised that he could like any dog.

But he likes him.

Which means no barking.  Just tail wagging.

Well, a little growling.

He has to make sure The Galloping Gazelle doesn't move on in with the love.

The Golden ignores him.

Anyway, it's going to be a hectic weekend.

Not to mention, an emotional one.

Tomorrow we take care of The World's Loudest Snorer's ashes.

I can't call her a snorer anymore.

She's a dog angel.

We're going to her ceremony of releasing her ashes.

My poor, sweet, little friend, you have no idea how much you are missed by so many people.

We'll all be there tomorrow to see you off.

Today is another day to deal with death.

I'm going to the Relay for Life that my baby sister is at.

She's there to remember her best friend who died of cancer.

I'm there to support her in her venture.

She won the top prize for the most money raised!!!!

My baby sister is amazing!!!!

She beat out a corporation in fund raising!!!! 

My little baby sister.

She rocks.

There will be many people there today, who are remembering those they lost, and fighting for those who need financial support.

I'm going to be there for the living.

To date, I've only lost one person in my life to cancer.

And it was when I was a little girl, so I didn't really grieve, I just moved on and missed them for a little while.

Everyone else I know has fought and won!

Including my mom.

Cancer, you're a mother fucker.

don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines

Am I Evil?

There's a lot of death talk around me.

I haven't experienced grief the way others have, and I wonder if I'm a callous person, because I haven't cried for anyone who has died.

When a friend in high school died, I didn't cry, I just felt sad for the way he died.

One of my closest friends lost her son, and I cried for her pain.

I can't handle seeing people who are living in pain.  It's almost like I feel their pain myself.

If you're around me long enough, you'll see that I want to heal everybody.

I can't help anyone who isn't ready to help themselves, but I'll try to steer people the right way so they can find the path on their own.

Anyway, back to death.

I haven't grieved over anyone, except my Dearly Departed Gypsy.

My fuzzy, four legged baby leaving me was enough to put me into the full throws of a nervous breakdown.

It was at that point that I finally got on anti-depressants.  Gypsy was really the only thing I felt I had left to live for, and when she was gone, I thought I'd leave too.

Well, I was saved and here I am, and I can now see that I have so much to live for, that I don't want to leave this life.

I have grieved over an ex who was addicted to heroin, and I had to watch her slowly die in front of me.  Then when I left, I grieved for 2 years over the loss of my relationship.

I spent a year grieving over the loss of my 'wife' to a male being that Papi felt he always was.

But still, I've never grieved over the death of a human.  I'm so disconnected from people because of my fear of them, that I tend not to let them in completely.

You would never know it by reading my blog, however.

Thing is, here, when I'm writing to 'you', my imaginary friend, I can talk about anything.  But getting these words out of my mouth is another story.

Unless I'm in therapy, then you can't shut me up.

I've learned that once that door closes, the stage is mine and I'm safe to let it all out.

Yet, I've never talked about death.

I honestly believe that the only people I would ever cry with grief over, would be my baby sister and Papi.

When I console the living people who are left behind, I feel so hypocritical.

When friends have a loss of a parent, and they talk about how much it hurts and that they miss them nonstop, I tend to shy away from them, because I just don't understand how anyone could be so close to a parent.

I just don't know what to say.  I've never experienced that relationship.

Now, Papi and another friend are going to grief therapy and I just don't understand why it's so hard.

Is there something wrong with me?!?!?!

If my father died, I wouldn't grieve, I would feel guilt.

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

If my mother died, I'd feel sad for my baby sister grieving, but I wouldn't experience the same feelings.

Who knows, I'd probably feel guilt there too.

I know it's not my fault.  I was brought up catholic and I feel guilt just for being on this planet for fucks sakes!!!  Ah those catholics.  So positive and uplifting sometimes.

... end sarcasm here ...

Anyway, this is something that bothers me; I have a disconnect from actually allowing people into my heart, to the point that I don't even cry over the loss.

It's so fucked up.

Am I evil?!?

I sure feel like I am.

perception is reality

Loss.

It was such a lovely start to my day today.

Morning coffee with one of my sweetest friends.

Of course, I was late.  I didn't set my alarm properly, because our hang out wasn't documented in my phone, hence I forgot.

sometimes, i think i'll never get better from this ridiculous brain injury!!!!!

That was of course, until I woke up and saw the message from her,"I'm in the coffee shop, see you soon!"

That brought on the 1 minute brushing of horrid morning breath, a hat to conceal my almost dreadlocked curls, a backwards shirt that now has toothpaste on it, and my day old socks I'd slept in to keep my tootsies warm at night.

Can you say, "Classy?!?!?"

Hey.

I never admitted to being classy in the first place.

I'm just your run of the mill white trash verging on redneck femme who managed to get out of the house in 5 minutes flat.

I got the the coffee shop, had a quick cuddle with my sweet friend, ordered coffee and went to squeeze my dose of honey in, when I was duped by some mother fucker who left the cap off.

So.

The entire lid and a really massive glop of honey went 'gloop' into my coffee.

No worries!

They made me another one, and handed me a really clean honey bear.  It's not often you get to have the 'cleaned' honey bear at a coffee shop.

From there it got better.

We did our best to catch up in a half hour, but it's never enough with her.  We need a full day to really get caught up.

But we did get to talk about Papi and I.

It's interesting to see someone you haven't seen in a while and be able to look at your current life situation and see how much has changed.

It's a bit akin to writing out your work résumé.  I don't know about you, but I feel pride when I see my life's attainments in one page.

Well, what I realized through our chit-chat is that I am doing well.

But I am feeling loss.

Those pictures of butch breasts at the Queer Arts Festival office still have me missing my love's soft tender breasts.

While talking about it with my friend, I could almost feel my love's cool plump nipple against my cheek.

I could almost feel the encounter of rubbing my fingertips along mi esposo's ample mounds.

I'll never get to feel them again.

The Great Breast Disappearance has created a huge loss.

The good news is, I am now at the place where I can stroke the healing scars on mi esposo's empty cavity, that was once an abundance of supple sweetness.

My love has always said that if I wanted to touch other women's breasts, that there would be no issue on Papi's behalf.

However, none of them are the beautiful mamms that I once held and felt against my own bosom.

Loss.

I suppose I'm now at the acceptance part of the 5 stages of grief.

Now that I'm here, is it supposed to stop hurting?

Well, it doesn't.

The day has come ...

The videoshoot was awesome.

I was told to stand in one place and, "Don't move." 

there's some orders i like to take ...

I can do that well, as long as my feet are grounded I won't wobble.

The best part of the day was when I was told there was too much boob in the shot.  Never has that happened in my life.

Anyway, they were so amazingly sensitive to my bitch of a back's needs, that I didn't wake up unable to get out of bed.

I woke up to a mewing of desperate cats, a cacophony of small dog barks, coffee in hand and a beautiful day to share with you the amazing phone call I received two days ago.

It's given me new ambition for what I'm doing here.

A friend, who has very quickly risen to Trust List stardom, called Papi and I the other night.

Papi calls him My Boifriend.  He's one of my favourite people right now, that's for sure.

He showed my article to some friends, who happen to have partners who have gone through the transformation with their loves.

The partners of the transitioning folks in these relationships cried when they read my article, saying, "This was exactly how I felt, but I couldn't say it."

They were afraid to speak.

Oh, how I understand.  And oh, how I want so badly to hold them and take away their fears, but I can't.  I can only support them, doing it on their own.

When My Person came over on the eve of a new year, she had no idea how much she would change my life from chronic, catatonic, La-Z-Boy dweller to the roaring lioness I feel I have become.

There have been a few opinions spewed onto my blob/blab, that I'm appreciative of having.

One of my ex's said it perfectly.  I was shocked that people would allow horrid homophobic words to be published.  This wise ex said, "It's important for everyone to know what's out there.  We need to know what we're up against."

And this is how I feel about the name calling that I've been subject to since the article.  I know what I'm up against.

I'd rather have people excreting the hate to my face, than behind my back.

For some reason, I like to hear the flip side.

And at the same time, I also flourish when those around me who love me fight back in my defense.

sticks and stones bitches ... sticks 'n stones ...

It's important for myself, and others who are like minded, that we hear what people are arming themselves with.

my favourite was 'crude' ... is it so wrong that i like it?!

One comment from the article asked, where on earth I heard such silencing words.  Where were these people who label us transphobic and hate us for our honest feelings?

Check the comments out, that's all I have to say.

They're there in black and white.

These were the people who kept me silenced for 6 weeks straight.

Well, for those who need someone else's voice to say it for them, I want to tell you, I'm here roaring louder with every day I get stronger.

You can speak about your grief, We will never see it as fear.

We'll see it as healthy growth, and will watch you remove each fear one by one, as you see your love change into the person that you didn't know was inside that previous confinement.

We are the luckiest people to have the experience of watching our soul mates be released to freedom, which in turn helps us grow into someone we never knew we could be.

I'm out the other side now.

I'm ready to be Your Person.

Kumba-fucking-ya

Last night, Papi asked me if I'd like to join a Facebook page called 'Top Surgery Tips' as an ally.

I told my love, "But, I don't know anything about any of that, so there wouldn't be anything I would have to add to the group."

Papi suggested, "Well, maybe if you read a little bit about it in the group, it will help you understand it more."

Fine then.

Possibly.

Yet, I was instantaneously reminded of the painful trauma that my love has finally bid adieu.

At this point, there are just big scars that take the place of the gore that had me on the verge of panic attacks.  Anyhow, as I was reliving the pain in my mind, it happened; I found out why mi esposo wants me to join, "Well, it's really all about me anyway."

There it is!

The Papirazzi.

That's what my love is after.

Honestly, when I write to 'you', my imaginary friend, I'm not really writing for anyone in particular, I'm just blurting out the mania in my mind so it will calm down.  I either look for a silent ear to listen to what I'm going through, or just to tell 'you' the crazy things in our lives that happen.

Anyway, the point is, when I finish my blog, it's pretty much a guarantee that Papi will read it.

Now, that's no big deal.  It's actually how I managed to speak out loud to my love in those first 6 weeks of being grief stricken and catatonic in a La-Z-Boy, with only my tears as company.

My love would read the black and white monologue of pain and have a little more understanding about where I was in our journey.

However, as I started to show more strength, mi esposo started becoming a blog critic.

Occasionally, Papi will say, "Your blog really wasn't that good today."

Hey.

I can take it.

But there was one thing that started becoming apparent.  The only time my love would tell me my blog was boring, was when it wasn't about Papi.

Now fast forward to where I am now.

Here I am having many, many tear free days, finding more and more strength and love, and Papi has become my meanest critic!  I've had to actually say, "Ok.  You're not allowed to read my blog anymore."

Who's blog is this anyway?!?!?!

But I digress.

So, my love asked me to join this Facebook group because it's all about him, not because I need to learn, but because mi esposo needs more attention.

As for being an ally to the Top Surgery Tips, I briefly looked at the page and had to relive mi esposo's Great Breast Disappearance all over again.

It's awful to see all the pain that wouldn't even allow my love to raise his arms to grab something from the counter.

I don't need to relive this.

What I do need is to find some peaceful way to learn and get past my fears.

I tried the other day.  I really, really tried, and all I found were site after site of defensive words.  Anger that exuded about not being understood, or having been hurt by other people.

I can only learn from a place of harmony.

I need to read something that is lovingly telling the reader, "I'm happy you came to the Tranny 101 course," and "Here's a great place to start learning."

I don't mix well with anger, but I do agree that we need those filled with fire and political passion to get the world to listen to what needs to be changed for everyone's sake of humanity.

Regardless, I need to hear words without hostility, or I just won't listen.

Papi's at it again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chin hair.

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

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

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

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

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

So I suppose the 'rules' are changing.

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

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

to a point ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ok.

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

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

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

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

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

Commence Countdown.

My cats are pouting.

They've lost their freedom, as the killer cat has returned home.

I've found all my clothes, I've made it through a 6 hour shift and everything is slowly getting put back in our basement dwelling.  The journey of the sewage flood is coming to a close.

Life is getting back to where it was 5 months ago.  Part of the proof, is that Psycho Kitty has come home.  Now all doors must remain shut, or he will stop at nothing to kill my cats.

All that's left, is for the 95 year old g'ma to come home.

hopefully she doesn't stir things up by burning us down this time

Well, most of life is returning.

In some cases, things are changing.  We have a new kitchen, and I'll have a new model of spouse.

extreme makeover ...

It's now time to prepare myself for mi esposo's top surgery in 6 weeks.

6 weeks.

44 days.

Only one and a half months until my love no longer has breasts.

The 2nd phase of this male transformation will begin.  I've managed to make it through the hormones by setting rules, then breaking the rules, then dealing with the fact that this truly is happening.

No denying it now.

There is no possibility of Papi possibly having a change of heart once that scalpel hits that silky soft skin.

In my new reality, I will caress a pair of matching scars.  That is of course, after the tubes, bandages, marking down of secretions from said glands and administering of pain medication.

It will be a test for my heart.

change ... she is a comin'

My love was supposed to get lots of exercise in for this surgery.  So far, I've seen a lot of pudding being eaten since the tooth, but not exercise.

Actually the pudding was in place before the tooth extraction, but it just seemed to flow right through with a perfect excuse as to why there can't be healthy food ingested.

I learned a long time ago that I can't change anybody.

My love has to learn lessons without my help.  If Papi doesn't exercise enough, or keeps on eating the pudding, ...

which seems to be swapped for the ice cream and cookies ...

... then there could be a few problems; the surgery could turn out a little less than desired, and the hormones could help the cholesterol increase just like in a bio-male.

I could be suffering grief a 2nd time around when mi esposo drops from heart failure, but that's just my 'what if' thinking coming into play.

Right now there's enough to deal with thinking about the next 6 weeks.

one fret at a time ... we also learned that, didn't we?

In 2 weeks, I'll be at full time work.

In 4 weeks, my love and I will be on vacation.

In 6 weeks ...

Suddenly, I don't feel so well.

I'm pretty sure it's not the baby food that's done it.

you DON'T want to get me angry.

Well, last night the time came where I decided to watch the videos and prepare for Papi's top surgery.

It really wasn't what I expected.

I thought I'd be looking at a clinical documentary about how to care for the person who's had top surgery.

Nope.  I got the Rah-Rah-Tranny people and their fucking pom-poms.

The F-M patient had little more than "Umm ..." and "What not" in their vocabulary, which drove me nuts the most, so I didn't like him right from the start.

jeeeezus people!  if you're going to make a video, fucking well get used to public speaking to keep our fucking attention!!!!!  being cute does fuck all on a screen!!  fucking wall flower!!!!

It was the Rah-Rah-Tranny people's experience on the expedition.  Not the reality that I'm living in.

All I wanted to see was how to take care of Papi.  I didn't want to see 2 people jumping up and down in the transgender glee club.

I felt disconnected.  I felt anger.  I felt that yet again, I am alone in this.  Everyone on that screen, and my love sitting in the room with me, were enthralled.

The wife of this F-M said, "I'm so excited!"  She didn't say, "I'm so excited FOR HIM!"  She is excited for the lack of breasts on her husband.  She obviously hasn't had the grieving process that I've had for the past 4 months.

She obviously didn't sit in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks crying and catatonic.

she's a tranny chaser who got her prey.

I was devastated.

It felt like my love was the child with a new toy.  The child is so delighted about it they had to show it off to the world.  Not much unlike when I make Papi sit through animal YouTube videos.  I'm elated and Papi is a little more than bored, staring at my exuberant laughing as if to say, "You're a loon my dear."

When it got to the point of the person getting their bandages off, it was the saddest moment for me.  I didn't see the scars covered in tape.  I didn't see the gruesome details.

I saw a lack of something beautiful.

All I could think was, "How can you do this to yourself?"

I could imagine what should have been there.

I saw Papi.

I saw mi esposo lying there with a Cheshire Cat smile.  I couldn't even see myself in the background, because I am a wilting flower.  My petals are browning from lack of nourishment.  All I am is a flower who's time has passed, and my stem is buckling over a vase.

I saw myself disappear along with my love's breasts.

The tears fell and the sobbing began.

I have a Trust List, and a few people on it who understand my sorrow and grieving for losing the 'wife' I married.

It's time to make plans with them so that I'm not alone amongst the Rah-Rah-Tranny people.  They are loud and proud.

Papi suggested I make my own video of MY experience in this.  So that other people in the world get to see the other side.  I know there's more people in my predicament who are feeling as lonely and broken as I.  It's the reason this blog is here.

Fuck the Tranny Chasers and their fucking glee.

How about some real emotions of LOSS you mother fuckers?!?!

Fuck the tears.  Now I'm angry.

You DON'T want to get me angry.  I'll get all creative on your asses!

Comparatively Speaking ...

Rat.

He's a crafty little fella.

We realized that he probably came in through the toilet hole.  Our home has had 2 separate toilet holes to choose from.

We came to this conclusion when we got a panicked phone call from the worker who was already freaked out about this rat.  What the rat had done next completely had him in a tizzy.

"Did you get my note about the rat?!?!  He's gone down your toilet hole!!  I've covered it up so he can't get back up again.  You have to have him out before the plumber comes tomorrow!!"

It was so hard not to laugh.

We figure now that he's gone back into the hole, and he can't get back up again, that maybe he'll trudge through the sewage bowels of our Upper West Side neighbourhood and find another house to go explore.  There's a few ones being built and renovated down the road.

There have been no more cats hunting, so I suppose he's just had enough of the noise in this house, not to mention The Mrs. coming at him. 

such a good little hunter when she wants to be ...

In the meantime, the next hurdle of the week is to deal with Papi's top surgery.  My love is in the process of booking the appointment and flight.

"What's more important to you, our wedding anniversary in July or your Birthday and CD Release Party in June?"

the birthday and party happen to fall in the same 24 hours ...

Papi doesn't know which one to miss if the booking arises. 

NEITHER!!!!!

At least with the anniversary, we can actually postpone the celebration.  But the release party is another story.  Can't really ask 200 people if they can just change the day, not to mention the club.  No, they won't be changing anything.

So, my love has to make a decision of which to choose.  Mi esposo is considerately thinking about what these dates mean to me.  They both have different meanings for me, and I'm lucky to have a love in my life who isn't selfish.

This goes for me not only thinking about myself either.  I do see how much this means to my love and I'm doing everything I can to be more supportive as time goes on.

We're married.  It's not just about me and my grief.  It's also about mi esposo's joy.

Papi is thrilled.  Overly ecstatic.  I'm happy that Papi is feeling this way, and I have to keep my emotions in check about it.

First of all, my love will have to go without me.  This kills me.  I want to be there to take care of mi esposo.  As much as we have wonderful friends who could jump in as surrogate, I still don't like the idea of me not being the caretaker.

Then there's the thought of my love leaving me with breasts, and coming back with scars.

That idea I have of Papi just changing overnight is hard.  It makes me think about the fear of those 6 weeks in the pit of doom.  I really couldn't handle my 'wife' just leaving all of a sudden and being replaced with a pseudo 'husband'.

I've learned that this is a slow process and that I will have time to get used to every step that is taken.

But what about when my love comes home without breasts?

That's a pretty drastic change to have happen overnight.  Well, it's going to feel like overnight, but really, it's 10 -14 days I'll be away from my love.  We haven't been apart that long since we started dating.

Anyway, I guess that's why a rat just doesn't seem like a big deal.

It's pretty tiny in comparison, really.