goddam addiction

Wow.

So, you know how I'm bubble girl?

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

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

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

Disaster.

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

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

Fuck addiction sucks.

Anyway.

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

It was almost as if I was a teenager again.

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

Nasty.

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

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

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

Good god it's hard to be me.

... end sarcasm here ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have to let him go.

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

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

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

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

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

i am willing to release all guilt

You get what you need.

Clammy.

Sweating and then freezing.

Sore throat.

Bitchy headache of doom.

It's official.  I feel like crap.

I had big plans for this day.  It's safe to say that the old clichés of, "Can't always get what you want," or "Plans were made to be broken," are very true today.

This was a day to plan, look forward to, and go to bed early for.

Except, there would be not enough sleep to heal my throat that threatened it's destructive presence last night.

I thought I told it to back off, but I guess I wasn't firm enough.

I really thought my sore throat just had something to do with the fact that my mouth is filled with canker sores from my recent braces adjustments, and pieces of metal that seem to be poking holes in my mess of a mouth.

Alas, it really is some stupid fucking virus.

It didn't help that I woke up at 4 a.m. with anxiety.

I don't know what it is, but since being the age where I've had an alarm clock to look at, I wake up at 4 a.m. from nightmares or just plain anxiety about nothing I can put my finger on.

It happened again last night.

It's so strange.  It's always 4 a.m.

Last night, I almost had one of the nasty panic attacks I get, but I managed to ward it off by reading my current book, The Five Books of Moses Lapinsky.

My Gratitude Buddy gave it to me well over a month ago, but I'm so slow at reading since the bonk to my head.

I'm required to look bright eyed and bushy tailed for an interview for RightOutTV tomorrow.

I best be taking care of my body today.

I also think that having some down time will allow me to think about things I need to be working on emotionally.

Oh, speaking of which, Mommy Dearest called to make lunch plans with me.  It's about the only time she can get to see me without Mr. Homophobia finding out about it and making her life hell.

That's what our relationship really is.

Secret lunch dates.

I know that's all I get from my mother, and that's been ok with me for years now.

Hey!  At least I get that, eh?

I'm grateful that she goes behind his back to keep in contact.

... can't always get what'cha want ...

What I really want?

I want Papi to feel healthy.

The grief counselling has him tired and depressed.  The healing from so many months of being sick has him tired and depressed.

His body just wants to sleep and sleep.

I miss my love so badly.  I feel like there's a disconnect when we talk.

I feel like our hugs and kisses are petering out.

I miss our connection we had before the bomb dropped about the male transformation.

I feel like I go in for some love and I'm held at arms length, only able to see my love, not touch his heart.

I really need my love to feel better.

I really hope that when he goes away for a week into the sunshine that it might kickstart his heart.

I miss Papi.

life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it

uh-oh.

I think I did too much.

I guess I'm not superwoman.

I suppose resting from a jaw surgery is really important.

Well, my body has informed me of this anyway.

The last time I needed this much sleep was after the motorcycle accident.  I just slept and slept and slept.

I tried to fight the tired and do a regular day, but then the pain in my jaw flared up. 

Yikes!

And now?

Now I'm listening like my body wants me to.  My chipmunk cheeks are a little fuller.

My jaw had it's revenge.

Well, I guess you don't just run around the city by the absolute bumpiest bus route there is.  Which of course, was followed by going to physio, which incidentally was only 2 weeks after jaw surgery.

Ok.

I'm listening.

It's my first surgery.

I didn't know these were the 'rules', but apparently, they are.

So, after I eat some cinnamon and maple syrup oatmeal, then tend to the cleaning of the mess of a mouth, I'm going to drift off for another few hours.

This is how exciting rolls ...

I tend to do this.

I tend to overdo it in terms of my body.  If I get a little bit of energy, I want to use it to it's fullest!

I forget that maybe I should only do one thing, as opposed to all of them.

Oops.

Ouch.

I guess I'll go back to reading about goats 'n pigs 'n chickens.

It sounds like we've chosen the naughties of the animals.  This could be some fun!

i draw all things positive to myself

munch.

I've had some good advice here.  One of my Blogger Friends told me that I need to move around to get the anaesthesia  out of my system.

I started with that yesterday.

I was also reminded by My ever so brilliant Gratitude Buddy, that the depression is probably also partly due to being stuck in the basement.

Dungeon Syndrome.

I got out of the house, had hugs from My Gratitude Buddy, saw all the wonderful people on the Queer Arts Festival board, and guess what!?!

I ate!

We went out for sushi, and I had miso soup.  Then I decided I would take all the shrapnel out of my mouth and see how wide I can open, and I ordered edimame.

I pulled those little teeny balls of yum out of their shell and stuck them through my now one finger tip width of a space.

Then!

I ate tamago!

Not with the rice.  I just had the egg part and broke it into little pieces which fit through as well.

So happy!!

So, now that I'm able to smile without pain, eat soft food and be out of the house, I'm too busy doing all of the above to really have a good conversation with 'you', my imaginary friend.

But don't think I'm not thinking of you.

I have plenty to bitch about.

I'll be back tomorrow.

Today I'm going on my first bus ride as a non-driver.

... sigh ...

But I know that it will be a good day.  I get to volunteer for Queer Arts Festival.

I'm packing my soft food and all the goodies I need to clean this mess of a mouth.

Back to my life.

i am strong and healthy