85 days.

Well, here it is!

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

It's The Countdown!

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

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

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

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

Wanna see Papi's contribution?

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

Can you say hoarder?

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

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

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

Yes, it's all about my hair.

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

Maybe posting this for the world to see ...

... hello russia! ...

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

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

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

However, this was supposed to be about The Countdown!

85 days.

85 days.

i have an enthusiastic outlook on life

Queer as Fuck!

As we prepare meals for the Fuzzy Family, we stand in our kitchen of temporary home #1 and realize that this room is probably about the same space as our living room and kitchen put together in Our Closet.

It occurred to us that we're going to be wading through four legged fiends to get to the bathroom.

454 sq. ft. is crazy!  If Papi and I don't fight in this tiny place, then damn, we can live anywhere!

I'm going to be without a dishwasher as well.

Good god.  That will be the most frightening part.

Did you know I make every meal from scratch?  This creates a lot of mess in my kitchen.

Papi doesn't have to worry about that part.

He's on a special diet of McDonald's for breakfast, Quizno's for lunch and Tim Horton's for dinner.  He chases those down with a muffin occasionally.

That and his pop.

He'll be responsible for bringing out his fast food garbage I guess.  He'll be doing that while I'm cleaning the kitchen.

It's about to make me want to purge even more.

I swear to god, I've never had so little to move in my life, thanks to The Great DR Purge.  We have nothing.

I couldn't believe it, when we went to the attic to organize what we have to put in my baby sister's storage, and it only took 15 minutes to prepare.

To be honest, the anxiety that comes with 'stuff' never occurred to me, because I've lived the life of a hoarder since I was taught to do so by my grandparents who survived the depression.

Keep EVERYTHING!!  Good god man!!!  You never know when you'll need it!!

This was my way of living.

So, when I found out that I had won a gift from Queer Arts Festival, I felt that I was uncomfortable with something more coming to our home.

That reaction really surprised me.

I realized that I'm actually stopping the packrat mentality!

Anyway, here's what I missed out on:

I won the 'Queer As Fuck Award' for all the volunteering I do for them every week for 4 hours!

When I was offered a ride to temporary home #2 by Papi, I skipped out of the award festivities and took my ride to the other side of the pond.

I left that night before the awards were given out, because I never get awards and didn't think I'd be missing out on anything personally.

Then I found out what they'd given me, because they took a video of it and sent it to me!!!

They gave me a gift that I appreciated immensely, only it doesn't go to me.

They gave a family in Haiti a goat, in my name, and a super duper dog tag to wear around my neck, with my award engraved upon it.

I just about cried while I watched this.

Then, being true to my personality, I berated myself for not being there to accept such a great moment.

... stupid! stupid! stupid! she says ... fuck! she's so mean!! ...

However, I probably would have cried in front of the whole audience, and cleaning up that mess is just nasty.

People may have thought I was bipolar and called the authorities.

... does this blog make me sound BPD? ...

Anyway, this was probably one of the greatest awards I've received, and for my 'rough around the edges friends' to know me so well, to give a family the goat they need, well, that made my year.

I'm so fucking grateful and proud.

 i am somebody, and i count

Thank you to all my dearest readers.

Stage one of The Great DR Purge is complete.

I was thinking yesterday about how comfortable it is to not have so much 'stuff'.

Had I have known all those years that all that crap I dragged around with me would be going, I would have chucked it before.

Being a musician, we tend to be hoarders, as we can't part with items we have musical history with.  I learned that one the hard way, when I was so hard up for cash, I sold my first keyboard.

I tried to ask the guy I sold it to if I could buy it back, as he didn't perform or make music anymore, but no dice.  I was so heartbroken that my keyboard was just sitting there collecting dust.

With all the sounds I have on my composing programs, I no longer need it.

Anyway, there are only a few items left and it's amazing how clear the air feels.

My kitchen is actually clean!  It's kinda like the third phase of learning how to be a minimalist. 

Phase one was training I received from The Bastard Prince.  If I leave ANYTHING on the counters, he hunts it, kills it and devours it.

He'll never stop being feral, so I changed my cleaning habits and promptly put things away when I decided to leave the kitchen.  He trained me good.

Phase two was the sewage flood.  I learned to live with only 'needs'.

Now, not having much left to speak of, there's less clutter and less cleaning up to do.

Less mess to look at and ask my bitch of a back, "Do you think you could last another 30 minutes so I could clean that shit up?"

She usually says, "Fuck off."

I don't argue with her anymore.  She always wins.

Papi is also a good motivator.

If I don't go through things on my own, he may consider it junk and pitch it.

... one person's crap is another person's gold ...

We've butted heads a few times on items, like for instance, my gazillion journals from life as a teen onward.

I did a poll on Facebook, as well as with my Blogger Friends on G+, to see how many people say I should keep them.  The poll was unanimously for keeping them.

I won!

... i knew i would, i just needed proof hehehe ...

Really, my journals died off after my motorcycle accident, but I have this new fancy dancy journal called Blogger that I actually get to share with people.

Some folks would be horrified by sharing too much information here on a blog.

I spoke to one person yesterday who confirmed this and outted herself as one of my secret readers.

She told me she reads all the time and appreciates the raw feelings I emote with every tippity-tap of my fingers on this laptop keyboard.

She also told me something that I know to be true of most readers, as I get an average of 120 reads a day; she doesn't leave a comment, because she's too shy.

I may come across as crass when I vent on here like a madwoman, but in reality, I'm really a nice person!  Don't be afraid to say hello!!!!

Even putting a smiley face in a comment would please me greatly.

I know you're all out there, and I'd love to hear from you, even if it's in a private email.

I appreciate you all so much, and you've made me so proud to see you've all allowed my blog to reach the landmark of 50,000 reads.

You, and my imaginary friend, are the reason I still keep going.

I adore you, as well as the people who read who don't agree with me on various topics.

Yes, I appreciate your comments as well, even if I may get a bit pissy with you when I don't agree with you either.

Thank you for being here, and thank you for joining me as I march toward my next landmark.

i love and accept all my thoughts and feelings

is this the end of the chapter?

I guess the best I could do was apologize, but that wasn't enough.

She wouldn't even give me a chance to make it up to her and now, well, I've been deleted off her and her wife's Facebook 'friend' list.

However, there's another half that is just as devastating.  My being selfish has warranted me being fired from the band BlueLight.

I guess all the times I talked about being able to do more music when I'm in less pain from living in the Dominican Republic didn't matter.

She felt that I, selfishly selling 2 of my musical items, meant that I didn't care about our project and that I was quitting, but that was so far from my thoughts.

Now, I'm fired for my egocentricity of not thinking about her first, not thinking about storing my stuff there and not asking permission to sell my own belongings.

They've done so much for me in this friendship, and are such minimalists, I never thought for a second that she'd want to store my 2 crappy items in her home to collect dust.

I didn't want them to feel I was overstepping boundaries by asking them for another piece of their space.

I was already going to be taking a huge part of their home with my piano.  Now it's time to find it a new surrogate.

One of the crappy items I was selling was bought at a pawn shop for $100 for fuck's sakes.  So, to me, the excitement of getting a new keyboard was thrilling!

Yet, it was wrong, because I didn't ask my producer's consent to start anew and selling that keyboard broke our friendship.

It's a quarter to four in the morning, and I can't sleep from the sadness of not only losing one of my closest friends, but twofold, being kicked out of our project.

I have to say, she has never understood what it's like to live with this new brain.  She wants to believe I am the same as I was before the motorcycle accident donned me with brain injury.

Yeah, so do I.

I fuck up so much.  I act before thinking.

I can't think properly when I'm stressed, because once that stressor has kicked in, my brain can't do the right thing.

I get lost and disoriented.  I get panicked about situations and react abnormally.  I don't have the 'get up and go' I used to, to hustle for the band.

Worst of all, I sell my things without asking if that's OK with my producer.

At one point, when she was saying the meanest things to me, I asked her to call me to talk about it.  All I wanted to do was clean it up and keep my friendship and musical partnership in tact.

She wouldn't.

Instead of talking about it, her and her wife deleted me from their lives.  It makes me wonder; have they thought I was that selfish all along and this was just the last straw?

I guess I won't know, because she won't talk to me.

When I said I was purging my life, I didn't mean it literally!  I meant it as in the 'things' in my 'life' that are replaceable!

I should have been specific and said I was purging everything that was monetary, not my friends or my band.

I'm so heartbroken I can't even tell you.

Papi is being such a supportive, sweet love.  Just one of mi esposo's hugs will help strengthen my heart.

One thing I can tell you though, is there is this wonderful little item on the market called Rescue Pastilles. These little puppies are working wonders for me.

Every time I'm in my usual hyperventilating of tears, these little buddies take me down a notch so I can get out of the cycle of crying, and into a calmer place.

Goodbye clonazepam!  Fuck you and your poison!

I've found a natural way to heal the emotional triggers that create the bedlam of P.T.S.D.

Still, it doesn't mean that I'm magically happy.

No, being dumped by my friends who I love so much hurts, and will probably stick with me for a lifetime.

This sadness from my loss is so deep.

Perhaps I should hoard something?

i am a worthy friend

HOARDER!!!!!!!

There were people emailing, texting, phoning and the frenzy was beyond that on our selling page.

We thought we'd put things up and see if they sold.

Oh, they sold.

We couldn't keep up!

At one point, there seemed like there might be a bidding war, because of the need for a few items.

My love didn't expect it at all.

I've tried to tell him how garage sales are a really good thing and that if done correctly, you can get a lot of cash.

Papi said, "No garage sales!  Too much work!"

Really?  And that wasn't work last night?

Christ on a stick!

My bitch of a back started nipping at me at 6:30 a.m. from all the stress of trying to keep up!

The Great DR Purge is quite successful so far, but it also means that we won't be needing the Garage Sale Gala.

Through all of this, I've realized that I'm a full fledged hoarder.  I've just been keeping it in check all this time.

It's been a job keeping it under control, but I've managed to have it down to people only saying, "Wow you have a lot of stuff to move!"

All my golden items mean so much to me.  My love just wanted to drop them off at the 2nd hand stores around town, but when you're a hoarder, that just won't do.

No, we pack rats have to find specific homes for things.

Our belongings that mean so much to us collectors, that need to be somewhere we know they'll be loved.

As I put my items into little piles, I cringe when mi esposo comes to see what they are.

I feel the need to hide them!  Save them!!!  They're special!!!!!!!

They're going.

It really doesn't matter where they go to in the big scheme of things, but to put the hoarding mind at ease, I have to feel that my items are being loved.

Sounds familiar.

Being loved.

I suppose that's what hoarding is all about, isn't it?

We hang on to things to fill us up, because we feel too much loss in our lives.

I suppose it's a way to feel we have control over our lives.

If we can control our 'things', then we aren't out of control ourselves.

Right?

Nope, not even close.

Even having all my 'things' around me for all these years, I haven't had control over my life.

There is nothing we can do to sway our circumstantial fate.

Hanging on to items only pisses your friends off when you have to move.

It also makes for a hard time asking for help.

Once somebody has moved us, they never volunteer again.  Oh, they've done their time alright.

More than done their time.

So, this is my apology to all those out there who have heaved all my stuff for so many years.

My next move will be pretty damn easy, but unfortunately, you can't come help us in to our new abode.

That's just not going to happen, even though it would be super fantabulous!

Alas, it's just Papi, the Fuzzy Family and little ol' hoarding me, only lighter.

i always receive more than what i need

airing the room

I am a hoarder.

Or so Papi says.

I'm seeing how he would see that, though.

I've spent my life working day jobs, only to support my music habit by way of being an Odd Job Jack, or Jack of All Trades.

Except for music.

That one, I can safely say, has been the only thread in my life since I was 2 and a half.

I'm pretty sure I came out of the womb a musician.

Not kidding you.

At 2 and a half years old, I was giving concerts on my toy piano at the end of my parents bed.

At 6 a.m.

Every morning.

Yet here I am, looking at all these stints I've done just to survive.

I have recycled papers upon papers of tourism notes about Vancouver and our Vancouver Island from when I was still driving tour buses.

I can't drive anymore.  I'm letting it all go.

I am releasing books upon books of instruction for my 13 year stint as a piano teacher.

I am not able to keep up with the stress of being self-employed.  This new brain just can't hustle like it used to before the motorcycle accident.

None-the-less, I am thoroughly enjoying The Great DR Purge.

At the same time I'm purging, I'm seeing a direct correlation to what focus of energy means.

I've been so insecure about letting go of day jobs, because I never felt that I could make a living from my music.

It's hard!  You've seen countless starving musicians, haven't you?

However, now I see how letting go of everything will allow me to be open to what I'm supposed to be doing.

Granted, in music, it's not about how much of a genius you are.  It truly is who you know.

Even back to Mozart's time, his gift of genius was really only given to the world, because he had a patron of the arts.

Back then, they would feed, clothe, and house the musician, so they could be asked to play whenever the rich folks wanted.

Hey!  I'd be into that!

Anyway, my point is, I'm only so lucky to have My Gratitude Buddy who has been mentoring me on how to get the composing work I deserve.

I have met my patron of the arts. 

She doesn't feel I should be doing anything but earning an income through music, and she knows the BigWigs who can get me there.

OK, I'm now getting to my point of this blob/blab.

My point is, this motorcycle accident has taken a lot 'away' from me.

By taking away from me, it has allowed me to earn the enlightenment of how to let go of what I don't need anymore.

I am purging my life's past, except for what I need.

All I need is what I require to make music, mi esposo, my Fuzzy Family, my blood and chosen family/friends and love.

I am purging my past.

Everything is zeroing in on right now, and right now, my life is coming into it's fate.

I'm releasing my past clutter, to make room for what I deserve.

i pursue my life's purpose

mess.

They say the state of your home is a direct reflection of your state of mind.

Right now?

This couldn't be more accurate.

You could really say that I've been out of my home for a month, with a bout of 3 days work between.

I made it through the last 2 days of work, but now I'm looking at everything I have to get done in a week and it's not pretty.

I have so much practising to do for our CD release party on the 17th!  I'm in dire need of some strong fingers after a month away from my instrument!

so the best thing to do is procrastinate and write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I also have to get the cd burned within a week ...

gawd i hope they will do a rush job

... get my promo done and somehow make some sense of this house that looks like a hoarder has moved in. 

oh! i got to drop off a real live one yesterday at work. it was something to behold!

Clothes strewn, 2 days of dishes in disarray, tumbleweeds of dog and cat fur everywhere and then there's my honky fro.  It's turning into natty dreads alright.

Oh, and the cat litter is almost extinct, so you can imagine how nice that must be for the cats to be doing business in only a few inches of sand.  Not to mention, the smell.

So, is this reflecting my state of mind?

Hell ya.

Papi comes home tomorrow.  I miss my love terribly, but I'm so scared to see the end result.

Mi esposo said I don't have to look at it.  Does this mean there won't be anymore visions of my naked Papi running around the house?

No, I think not.  My love is a streaker for sure.  I won't be coddled from the view of the new Papi.

My mind is an absolute mess from thinking of everything that has to be done and the emotions that I'm experiencing.

This house has got nothing on me.  I win the disaster game.

I'm also in the process of working on a scar on my face.  The stress has made me find a little spot to pick on my cheek.

Do you think I can tell myself to leave it alone?  Nooooooooooooo.

I can't remember the movie, but there's an artist who was pals with ...

oh fuck here we go ... brain injury alert ... not even going to try to remember names right now.

oh! got it!

... Andy Warhol and he would just pick at that scab and it got bigger and bigger.  I'm pretty sure that's what I'm doing here.

gonna look hot for the release party for shoooooo-er

Then there's the mirror dysphoria.  There is a girl in the mirror that is much bigger than my jeans tell me.

Mess?

You betcha.

I can't wait to see my love tomorrow.  I realized something over the past few days upon returning without Papi.  Something that I've never felt.

I need my love.

I've never really needed anyone before.  I've never had someone in my life that can take this mess of a femme and calm me down.  I've never had someone who understands my insanity and doesn't run for the hills.

My love is good for me.

I need mi esposo almost as much as I love mi esposo.

would you leave that fucking scab alone for fucks sakes?!?!?!

Ok.

I'm going to go tackle the first thing on my list.

Oh, did I tell you my tattoo is infected?  Niiiiiiiiiiiiice.

The game.

I don't know where it changed, or how it happened, but there is a strange shift that is arising.

While going through The Great Sewage Flood Purge, I have to let go of a lot of 'stuff'.  I'm very sentimental, which is part of a hoarder's mentality.

I keep little love notes.

this has always come in handy when relationships end, and i get to have the great bonfire of 'fuck you very much you slime sucking bitch', proving to me yet again, that you never know when you will need it!!!

I found one that would normally be kept on the fridge.  Papi had given it for no reason at all, other than to make my day brighter and more beautiful.  It was a love note written on a piece of paper that mi esposo had cut into the shape of a heart before penning.

It told me how much Papi loved me.  On the flip side, I wrote I love you so many times that it filled the little paper heart, and slipped it back to mi esposo.

When I found it in the bag of fridge magnets, I was charged with tingles of emotion.  When I read what it said at the bottom however, I was mildly confused.

It was signed, "Love, your girl."

My girl?

No that's just weird!  I had to turn it over and put the millions of 'I love you's face out so that it was still feeling right.

Mi esposo is not my girl.

I'm not ready to see my love as a male being, but Papi is not my girl, and I'm finding myself in this place of limbo.

Papi is just Papi.

When I realized that I had cringed after witnessing these 3 words, I found myself looking at how far I'd come in my healing of what was at first, the end of my world.

Something else I identified as healing happened yesterday.

I was trying to have a phone conversation with the 95 year old g'ma that we live with normally, ...

normally, but we shipped her off to calgary while they put the house back together

... and there I was yelling into the phone speaking as slowly and with as much enunciation as possible, and mi esposo was off tending to something.

Then g'ma asked for her voting number.  I bellowed at to Papi to get it.  I heard this extremely frustrated sigh, and then, "Really?  Right now?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my love leave the kitchen, pants halfway down as the trek up the stairs was about to begin.

I realized what was going on immediately.  I interrupted my love administering hormones.

Papi came back down with the pants up and number in hand, accompanied by a look that was pure embarrassment.

I was giggling the whole time this was happening.

When I was off the phone and got my speaking voice back after all the yelling, Papi said, "You know, your timing is fucked!  I try so hard to keep you from seeing this happening like you asked, and every fucking time something really fucked up happens and you know about my hormones!"

This made me laugh so hard and I felt like this was now a game.  Not the stress that was attached to it before, but a game of Papi trying to hide something from me, and I foil the plan every time.

But the most important part?

I laughed.

I didn't cry, I didn't feel nauseous, I didn't feel like the ground is opening up and swallowing me into the pit of doom.

Laugh.

Heal.

My hillbilly

I've had a great couple of days poking fun at Papi.

The Brace Face is epic, and now yesterday, my love had a front tooth extracted.  Now mi esposo looks like a rich hillbilly.

My love had a really hard time with all the bleeding and pain yesterday.  Papi always says, "I wouldn't have been able to go through what you did," in terms of my motorcycle accident pain and dealing with the brain injury.

I still say it's all relative.  Whatever pain you have right now is the worst pain ever.  Really.  Think about it.  When you get a paper cut, isn't it fucking awful?

Well, drooling and writhing in pain from a back and neck injury is terrible, yes, but now that the worst is over for me, my version of level 7 & 8 pain is much different.  I had it just the other day.  The searing affliction of a jolt to my already fragile back was enough to almost make me upchuck.

I know it was definitely not as bad as what I went through right after the accident.

So really.

It's all relative.

However, now it's my turn to have the fun poked at me.  At 9:15 a.m. today, i'll have braces as well.  I don't need a front tooth extracted, but in 9 months I'll have nasty jaw surgery and both upper wisdom teeth removed.

Oh I remember the suffering of the lower wisdom teeth removal.  Tooth pain is brutal!!

I have big plans on the 'ToDo' list, and Papi says, "Yeah, good luck with that, you're not going to feel like doing anything!"

My 'ToDo' list may be diminished to the Great Sewage Flood purge.

I haven't found my clothes yet.  Can you believe it?  Papi has everything and it seems that every box we open is another full of my love's t-shirts.  We've already gotten rid of 3 boxes full of mi esposo's cotton gems ...

now who's the hoarder?!?!

... but they just keep coming!

And I haven't found one pair of jeans.

Got my yoga mat though!  And the sleeps on our beautiful king size bed have been luscious.

This hoarder is slowly letting go of 'stuff'.  You want to know the funniest thing I've collected for the past couple of years?

Twist Ties.

Every time I get a new, fresh, deep green bouquet of black kale et al, I take the twist tie off and cut it in half, then put it into a little pencil box.

The box is so full that it can barely close.

I'm really not even sure what I'm gathering them for.

but wait!!! you'll never know when you need them!!!!!

Can't see them coming in handy for the Apocalypse the zealots go on about.

I listed them on 'FreeCycle' because I thought SOMEONE would want this amazing treasure, but noooooooooo.

Nobody wants them.

Alas, they're in the trash.