sunday sillies ...

My poor baby boy, aka "The Thug" is doing much better, but here are his wounds.

Just nasty.

His bark is back.

shine on beautiful soul!

Fat-phobic.

I get it.

Some people are overly mean to overweight people.  That's really terrible.

I understand that sometimes it's an eating disorder, just as much as it is food addiction, but other times it's someone who's body is just built that way.

We are all different.

I have this food addiction and I do everything to abstain from the foods I gorge on.

Some people don't care that they're overweight and that is GREAT for them.

However, some of us have other feelings about it.

I, personally, have way too much pain in my knee and back when I put on weight.

Not to mention, I have a different sort of eating disorder that makes me lose my mind.

I would prefer to fit into my clothes so that I know I'm a healthy weight, even if the mirror doesn't allow me to see the same reality.

If I don't, I'm affected by obsession and can't function properly because all my energy is spent freaking out about the pants that don't fit, then I start having anxiety.

It's not fun.  I'd rather just stay at a healthy weight to send the Anorexia Monster back to its hole.

I have a very sweet friend who is working on losing weight.

She has been proudly posting the results of her efforts with glee!

I, and so many others, are so proud of her.

Then, we have the 'mean girls'.

They are being just as catty to her as they were to me and Papi.

Just as negative and hurtful.

The same fucking assholes as we all know they are.

Seriously.

Leave her the fuck alone.

She is doing a good thing for herself.

It doesn't affect YOU.

It makes her feel better.

But of course, 'you', have to try to make her just as miserable as you are.

You're going to run out of people to pick on, you know?

Maybe you'll all just have to start pegging off people in your clique one by one.

Then you'll be left with the king prick who will be lonely at the top.

Perhaps then, that person will have the leftover clique to ostracize them!

Oh, the irony.

Anyway, I'm fucking pissed off that people will harass my friend who is not hurting anyone, but only bettering her own life.

Me and Papi seriously don't think we will ever want to live in Vancouver again with these cretins.

These are some of the meanest people I've ever encountered.

Even being part of The Pariah Club didn't work out for me.

They ostracized me as well.

I doubt they're doing that to this lovely soul.  They are pro-health most of the time.

But still, the other uber-PC people?

I'm not shocked.

When this sweet soul started posting about her journey, I was counting the days before the 'mean girls' reared their ugly heads.

Sure enough, they appeared, spewing filth and negativity.

My sweet friend, you are awesome.

You are doing what so many people struggle to do.

You are paving a path to encourage others to feel better in their lives as well.

Healthy is strong.

You are lovely and don't let any of those creeps bring you down.

I, like the others who are ostracized from that 'community', wish you the best and are rooting for you.

We love you.

Shine on!

i achieve my weight loss goals

obligation

Perhaps it's possible I'm becoming acclimatized.

When in Alberta, land of the ice and snow, my bitch of a back was in agony.

Utter agony.

I had no pain killers, but those that my lovely brother in law gave me.

They made me puke all over the place.

Plan B: No pain meds at all.  Limp about with a scowl on my face like an angry troll.

I took it out on my niece who has a sugar addiction and gets wired on the substance.

It hurt her.  It hurts me that I even hurt her feelings for a second by jabbing at her about the amount of sugar she eats.

I should know better.  I'm the same way with sugar addiction.  How can I expect a child to control it?

I do know that by eating horrible sugary, wheat induced foods, my troll face was definitely a little more than extreme.

Anyway, I came back home, to depression, and to find that my body isn't responding to the heat quite like it did last time I came back from the utter BRRRRRRR.

I came back to the Dominican Republic 'winter'.  It's still warm, but occasionally you need a sweatshirt or heavy t-shirt.

When the sun does come out in all it's glory, I'm like a child running to the ice cream man.

Screaming out to the yard to capture a few moments of heat.  "Please sun.  Please warmth.  Take away the pain."

I know it can help with both physical and emotional pain.

But last night I was up most of the night with the throbbing icy pain that shoots down through my leg.

I woke up to a little bit of a bad mood due to lack of sleep and the stress of coming home to creeping fear.

Papi admitted to the Facebook world of his wrongs.

Deadly wrongs.  Drinking and driving, while texting at 4 in the morning and driving off the road is nothing to take lightly.

True to the nature of Facebook, or rather FecesBook, Papi was greeted with less than desirable comments.

Zap!  A few more 'friends' deleted.  Neither of us needs bullshit right now.  I won't tolerate it anymore.  Life is hard enough without crap from people.

After speaking with a few friends about my feelings of this, I'm greeted with a resounding, "But I'm worried about YOU too!"

I'm only worried about Papi.

He has vowed that the drinking will not be coupled with driving, and that there will be no more texting while on the road either.

I've been harping on him for years about the texting.  He is finally seeing the results.

All I have is the gratitude that mi esposo didn't die while I was gone.  It's all I have to stay in the now.

I hold him, because we just never know when someone we love will be snatched from us, either by a bad choice, or life and all it's daggers it throws at us.

Life.

Sometimes, I am just so tired of trying to get through it.

I know where suicidal tendencies come from.

This place where we are just so exhausted from what's handed to us that we feel we just can't endure another day.

Then we do, and we continue.

Some of us don't make it out alive.  Some of us give in to the voice that says, "That's enough.  Let's just go now, OK?"

Yesterday, the only thing that got me out of bed was the fact that 8 little creatures are depending on me.

I lied in bed shaking.

Stomach turning.

Blood curdling.

Toes curling.

Muscles buzzing, feeling like they're separating from my body.

Today, there are tears, but I know I have obligations, like the children's Christmas celebration at Dream Project.

I'm so grateful for these things that get me out of bed.

I'll endure another day because I'm in a never ending fucking ring match with life.

I'll just get up and keep taking the fucking blows.

i know i am braver than i can see

All hail the baby sister!

The pain kicked in.

It's amazing how much of a relief I get from the weather in the Dominican Republic.

All I can say is, I am so very grateful my brother-in-law shares his pain meds for his own horrible chronic pain.

Although, I will be suffering through the pain instead of utilizing his offer from now on.

I've had 2 rounds of awesome upchucking, and the bags under my eyes make me look like I am 100 years older.

Classy.

I haven't had to deal with my bitch of a back for 10 months, so it was a shocking reminder of how much pain I was in for all that time.

I really understand the need for morphine, codeine and all the other little pills I took all those years.

Yesterday, I had my family there to push me around in a wheelchair in the snowy streets of Banff, which was an amazing X-Mas gift from the family, not to mention the flight out here they helped pay for.

My 10 year old niece did a good job of pushing me into walls and into the middle of street intersections against the red light.

She loves me.

I think.

My baby sister is so very thoughtful.

She understands my food allergies and tries her best to accommodate me, while at the same time, taking care of her entire family.

She's a good sis.

I can't do too much while I'm lying around, so I just watch my teenage nephew go through the cupboards and fridge non-stop.

Since writing this, he's opened the fridge about 12 times and never really taken anything out.

Now the pantry.

Now back to the fridge again.

Of course, all of this is in between playing on his phone.

He hides in his phone and when he gets in trouble for it, he simply walks over to the fridge and pantry to pretend he's looking for 'something'.

With all the effort it takes to try to fool his parents into believing he's busy, he could actually do something with his time.

Most of the footage I have here is of him: "Look who's on his phone again!"

My baby sister has her hands full.

When she's not yelling at my nephew, she is repeatedly yelling, "No!" to my sugar addicted niece, as she incessantly begs for more candy.

Oh, there goes my nephew again.

He's switching things up and opening both the freezer AND the fridge at the same time.

Moving things around, sniffing something to see if it's any good, and now, putting it right back in again when it was not an odour he was impressed by.

Now, back to the pantry, staring at nothing, picking things up, putting them back down and walking away again.

Wait!

He actually took something out of the pantry!

Cereal!

Not that he's pouring himself any.

He just took it out and left it on the counter while he investigated what's on the stove.

And now, he just put the cereal box in the fridge.

Seriously.

I don't think Papi and I would be able to handle a teenager.

We would lose our minds.

Then again, it seems my sister already has.

i love my family for who they are

an apology

I'm sorry.

I left this place, but I came to realize, that was selfish.

I came to 'you' for your support a few years ago.

Some time later, I felt I needed to move away from this place.

I have since found that 'you' needed me, too.

After all that time you were there for me, I took myself away from 'you'.

I've had people tell me they miss me.

They miss my words.

They miss my stories.

They miss me.

So, I'm not retiring this blog.

I'm coming back.

Papi, too, told me it's good for me.

He also told me that no matter what anybody says, no matter how anybody judges me, this space is MY space with MY perspective.

I spent some time going through other social media sites and removed any bad energy, negativity and those who have hurt my heart.

I felt bad about it, for others' feelings, because people may feel slighted.

However, I do have the right to have my space be positive and lord knows how my emotions can be swayed I can be by mass ostracization.

I allow myself to focus on the love now.

This is a public space, but it is also an honest space.

A place where people can relate.

A place where 'you' can read my words and allow my honesty to help you realize 'you' and I are not much different.

I have a secret to tell you.

I didn't quit the blog because I felt it was time to move on.

I quit because I felt that I had nothing good to speak about, and that judgement from so many had finally taken it's toll.

Well, I know now that I have VERY much that is worthy to speak about.

I very much have greatness of life to share, balanced by moments of dire honesty.

I am able to walk on my ankle now, and am not in pain 24-7.  This helps lighten my moods, that's for sure.

I have one set ready for piano gigs, and am working on my next sets.

I've been spending countless hours playing my piano enjoying myself.

It has been really good for me.

Good for my heart.

A good break from everything.

I can't promise I'll be writing to 'you' every day, because my music must take precedence right now.

Which is OK.

But I want you to know that I am sorry for leaving you.

Your emails, notes, comments, words through Papi have all allowed me to realize that 'you' need me just as much as I needed you all those years.

I am grateful for you, and grateful for those of you who spoke up and made me realize I'm wanted.

'You', are awesome.

'You', are great.

'You', made me feel loved.

Thank you.

i am motivated by peace

goodbye

All good things must come to an end.

I believe that time has come for this blog.

It started out I needed it.

I needed 'you', the reader I didn't know.

I needed support from those who have walked the same path as I.

I needed to see my counter go up, up, up, every day from readers I don't know from here to Russia, in hopes that they would show me how to love myself and be proud of who I am.

I needed so much love.

I believe I've found that love, for myself.

I've fought through the tears of those in an entire 'community' who intentionally hurt me.

I've fought through the tears of losing my butch.

I've fought the good fight with anorexia and depression, and I still continue to give my chemical imbalance a work out, only now it's with a machete instead of boxing gloves.

Still, none of that changes the fact that I've needed a life change to change me.

Oh, how I got it.

It's time to move forward.

It's time to finish writing those novels I started.

Maybe on the balcony with my morning coffee as I look out at the white noise.

It's time to get up in the morning and turn on my programs to compose music just like I did before the motorcycle accident.

Which is really why we are here.

To have a life beyond the suffering I was dealt from my bitch of a back.

I'm almost at the 5 year mark of healing from that disaster.

My Living Day Anniversary.

It can't heal my brain injury and subsequent memory fail and loss of balance, but I can strive for the life I once led.

As a different person.

I have changed.

We all change.

We all grow, if we try.

I grew.

It's time to put that growth to music now that I have the ability, with the help of loving tropical heat, to sit to do so.

I'm not saying I won't return.

Of course I need my soapbox every once in a while.

My opinions are strong and I lead them with conviction, regardless of how many people try to silence me.

Perhaps it's time to start a wave here?

Power to women?

Power to those with cancer and chronic pain who are denied the simple, ethical relief from that hell I know so well.

To not give local anesthesia to a child who needs stitches in his head is barbaric.

I've suffered 4 months of pain of a torn ankle ligament without meds.

Perhaps I need to make some pain relief in the form of cookies to help those who need it.

There's a lot in this country that could use a voice.

I may keep my voice for here.

Or, I may just knowingly live with the 'rules', then break them.

I don't know.

What I do know, is it's time to step away from my morning ritual of blogging.

I'm not saying goodbye to 'you'.

I'm just saying it' time to start that New Life List.

i am the only 'sign' i need

misogyny

Yeah, it's been a few days since I've posted.

I'm not sure why, but I needed to be silent for a bit.

I am having a rough time at the school.

I completely understand the lack of respect toward women in a developing country, but it doesn't make it any easier when the people who give me a hard time aren't even from the Dominican Republic.

You think the boys club in Canada is bad?

Yeah.  No.

Like for instance, this one cretin bought all the teachers a coffee, except me.

Guess who's the only female music teacher?

After our performance for the teachers in the school, the mother of one of the girls I teach named and thanked every music teacher for all they do.

Except me.

Even though I am the one who teaches her daughter, being the only female at the school I am not worthy of acknowledgement.

I work hard for these kids and I don't ask for anything more than my happiness and some gasoline to get there, which the woman who runs the place STILL hasn't given me.

But she pays all the men.

Still, Papi and everyone else says, "Just leave the school."

But I can't leave these girls.

Oh, did I tell you?  the only instrument they let the girls play is piano?

So, if I leave the school for this reason or that, guess who suffers?

Girls.

There is a school here that is solely for girls: Mariposa DR Foundation.

I'll write an email to ask if they have a program there for music.

One thing I am grateful for, however, is MusicMan.

He constantly and consistently thanks me for my work.

When the dude with a Jesus Fish tattooed on his arm bought everyone a coffee except me, MusicMan got a cup from the kitchen and shared his with me.

MusicMan is lovely.

It almost made me cry from the love.

He has no idea what he did for me that day.

Knowing that everyone was thanked for their teaching except me, at the end of the class he said, "Thank you for your work with the children."

When I texted him to tell him I needing a day away from the school to go back to the doctor in Santiago for my ankle this week, he chose the best day for me to be away, then again texted, "Thank you for your work with the children."

He is a special man.

He is not Dominican, he is from Peru.

Maybe they have more respect for women there?

Or maybe he's just one of those gems in this world that makes everything better and worth the pain.

That lovely example of Christianity, JesusFishMan, doesn't even make eye contact with me, and he's not from the DR either.

He's American.

He treats me like I'm some kind of abscess.

I've come the the conclusion that anyone who flaunts their JesusFish is an asshole.

I am not feeling the love.

We all know how much I need love.

I am however, sticking by these children who appreciate my leadership, and MusicMan, because I definitely feel the love from them.

They are the reason I stick around.

Their joy of getting through a song makes up for the misogyny.

i seek a new way of thinking about this situation

rust and white noise

Did'ja miss me?

We had intermittent power for 3 days, hence, I haven't showered for 3 days.

The pool is a slimy mess, but that was my makeshift bath yesterday.

I'm pretty sure me going in there and bathing is the majority of the dirt they're vacuuming out of the pool right now.

Plumber Friend is teaching Dominican Daddy how to clean the pool again.  He needed a refresher course.

Papi resisted having anyone else clean it, because he's as O.C.D. about his pool as I am about my dishes.

I would rather have my dishes pile to the ceiling, waiting for me to wash them, than have Housemaid clean them.

I can do without the chunks of food left on the plates when she 'cleans' them.  I'm pretty sure it's because Housemaid needs glasses.  That's just not something people can normally afford here.

But as for the pool, Papi has given in and allowed Dominican Daddy to have the lessons and be the cleaner.  Besides, Papi is honestly dying from heat.  He could barely move when we had the heat wave last month.

Not to mention, Dominican Daddy will need to know how to clean it when we move, because the next people won't know how to deal with it.

If they're anything like us, this will be their first home and they'll have this dream about living on the ocean, just like we did.

We don't ever want to live on the ocean again.

When we move, I'll have to buy all new instruments and computers.

Even my clothes are disintegrating from the air here.

Seriously!  My sarongs are falling to pieces.

When we first heard the ocean non-stop, it was pleasing.

However, there comes a point when you'd like to just have a word with mother nature and say, "Would you mind turning off the white noise?  It's kinda making me crazy.  Thanks."

It was so beautiful when I first heard it.

I remember opening my door that first day.  I thought the sound was wind pounding against the house in a 'welcome to the DR' storm, but it was just the waves I was hearing.

I enjoyed every morning doing yoga to the sound of the waves crashing.  Papi enjoyed lying in the pool at night listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean.

Here we are, 10 months later, and that sound has become similar to living on a busy street in the city.

You know how you hear continuous cars, honking, sirens, people talking really loud, and all you want is just to have quiet time?

Oh, you get quiet time in the middle of the night.  There is a silence from the drone of the city for a brief moment if you're up that late, or early depending on how you look at it.

But waves?  They never stop.  Ever.  White noise.

They've become white noise!

So, our stint on the ocean has become our temporary home.

In about 5 years, we'll probably move up into the mountains, where the rust won't find us on its daily regimen.

Not to mention, this house is old.

Living without electricity, leaving us with no shower for days on end is really frustrating this femme who is used to being pristine and fancy.

Now I'm stinky and dirty with holes in my clothes.

I lost it the 2nd night of no power and took my anger out on Papi.

There just comes a point where you want the niceties of a developed country.

I just wish the cold of Canada didn't hurt so much.  We would have never left if I could handle it.

Yesterday, when Plumber Friend got our power back on, I took the opportunity to play my piano for an hour without any back pain.  That's the whole reason for being here.  The ability to really live.

For Papi, it's the ability to really relax after so much hard work in his life.

It's fitting that the day we lost our power was our 1 year anniversary of buying this house, and beginning the journey of moving to this beautiful country full of lovely people.

I love it here.  I don't ever want to move back to the chill of Canada.

This is home.

Rust and white noise included.

i am led by my dreams

baby, baby, baby, oh!

your sunday sillies youtube show ...

Well, those little pills were sorta working.

The trade off is not worth it though.

I am up until 3 or 4 each night with acid reflux and nausea.

Not into it.

All I need to do is wait for the residency, then I can find some natural methods of getting me past this pain.

I wasn't looking forward to the weight gain either.

I've put on enough from 'resting' that I just don't know how much more the Anorexia Monster can handle before he makes life rough for me.

I have boobs.

That's when I know I've put on weight.

Nice and all, but I'll pass thank you.

Last night, I went against doc's orders and went out for dinner with Papi.

There really is nothing to eat in the house and I really can't cook.  It's too much for me right now.

Anyway, we got to talking to a woman who wished to give us her unborn child, because I can't get pregnant.

Papi got way too excited about it and seemed like he wanted to seal the deal.

He even went so far as to say that he wouldn't be drinking as much if there was a child to take care of.

Last night we had a friend say we weren't ready for taking care of a child because we had started drinking.

I dunno, I have to disagree.

We're not raging alcoholics hanging out down at Main and Hastings looking for a fix.

We're just enjoying ourselves in our new life.

And as for the worry about my mental health, well, I keep things under control with my meds.  Now that I've found the reputable ones, I'll be fine.

I've seen a lot worse with people who are able to have children.

We'd give a child a good home, with healthy food, and loads of love and life experience to teach them.

Fortunately, upon speaking to him this morning, he changed his mind about this particular child.

Phew!  I would love to adopt a child, but this woman had been drinking all night and I'm not into a fetal alcohol baby.

She also wanted to live on our property for 4 months at the end of the term.

Unfortunately, we could have an issue with this.

Within a certain amount of time, if someone is on your property and you're caring for them, you're actually responsible for them for all time to come.

That's a 'rule' here.

I tried to explain both of these points to Papi last night, but he was in a fog of, "I want a baby!!!"

I would love a little tyke to help grow.

But this child is not the right one for us.

Besides, we really don't have the money for an adoption right now.

When we do have the money, we'll find a child who is already born to someone who is too young to care for a child and raise the child for her.

There aren't too many unwanted children here, because the family helps.

It's sorta part of life here.

You get money from the government for helping to raise a child, so people have their children very young and keep them.

There aren't too many women here who don't have a child.

I'm sure there's a little bean out there who's spirit is waiting for us.

The right timing is all we need.

Our time will come, but if it doesn't, that's OK too.

I continue to go with the flow of life.

i answer questions about my dreams without getting defensive

i can see clearly now

I ebb and flow.

Today, I love my life.

Maybe it's because the nerve pills the doc gave me are working and I'm not in as much pain?

Maybe it's because I'm abiding by his 'rules' and resting more?

Maybe it's because the Prozac has really kicked in and the fog has lifted, allowing me to see the good in my life.

Apparently, to some, all I do is sound miserable lately.

It's possible that for the past few months I've been 'a tad' on the negative side.

OK.  Yes.  It's true.

But that's OK, isn't it?

I'm human, and I can't always be happy.

Wasn't it OK to fall a few years ago when I couldn't pull myself out of the Pit of Doom because my love went through a sex change?

I figured out something last night.

Change is hard for me.

Change of a new country.

Change of having finally been an ambulatory person, forced back into a hobbling, crutching, Limping Lesbian for 2 months.  Not to mention, a country that refuses to administer pain relief.

Change of losing friends who have resentment about us moving somewhere were I wouldn't have pain and Papi could finally heal from his emotional wounds that nobody has ever really seen.

Yeah.  I've been miserable.

Chronic pain and loss do that to me.

And just to be clear, yes, losing friends has hurt me.

You who have abandoned me have achieved what you set out to do.

You win!  You hurt me.

I'm sorry I had to move for my well being.  And I'm also sorry I am the type of person who will hold that resentment for a long time.

I feel the need to say fuck you for dumping me for bettering my life.

You who have stuck around to listen to me whine?

You are angels!  You are true friends and I only wish I could move you all here to be with me.

Want to come live in a Casita?  It's real cute!

I'll make you eggs and toast every day and you can have unlimited coconut water.

Anyway, eventually, I'll find friends here that mean a lot to me.

After I speak Spanish better, maybe?

Or perhaps when I find people, who are good to others, who speak English?

They're few and far between here, I'll tell you.

But hey, my bitch of a back doesn't hurt as much.  That was the whole point, no?

Yet, now I feel sad because things are not as we thought they'd be.

I'm here so that I could be out of pain and do music.

However, music has been scarce.

This life is not what we thought it would be.

Still, today, I feel the tide has changed.

The rain is gone because the anti-depressants are doing their job, and I have a gorgeous view in my life once more.

Just because you live in paradise, doesn't mean you're in heaven.

At least there are still angels.

i love and approve of myself

is there a secret i'm missing?

This 'no walking' thing is impossible with 4 horribly behaved puppies.

Especially when you wake up to great piles of crap you have to pick up.

Then, if dealing with that didn't hurt enough, at first glance, I thought there was vomit all over the couch.

Upon nearing the sofa, I found out otherwise.

No, it was my entire bag of quinoa strewn from one end to the other.

Do you know how hard it is to sweep up quinoa?

It becomes static and flies everywhere when you brush it.  It doesn't go into the sweeping pan.

You know Mexican Jumping Beans?  It's sorta the same.

So, after I picked up the great masses of dog droppings on the floor, ...

... have you SEEN the size of the thug and the donkey?!?! imagine the poops ...

... I went to work on the quinoa.

Only to find, somebody with four legs had peed on the other side of the couch.

We're back to that again now, are we?  I thought we passed that puppy phase and everyone was allowed back on the couch again!

Oh, this couch is not ours.

The crap was beside it.

The piss was on it, and yes, there was quinoa in the piddle.

The quinoa was torn apart and pushed from one end to the other, and I sure hope the Fuzzy Family had a good time with the quinoa party, destroying a good chunk of my food that I don't have the strength to get up and cook.

No, this couch is not ours.

It belongs to them.

Those stinky little bastards we love so much.

How do we love such horrible creatures?!?!?!?

I did my best and cleaned up the crap, sopped up the piss, pouring vinegar on in hopes of squelching the putrid aroma that will fester in this heat for days to come, then swept as much quinoa as the pain would allow me.

"Rest.  No walking," the surgeon said.

Right.

I'll get to that after I go speak with Our Fave's Mom and Little Angel who are at the gate.

They know how to reel me in, and I'm just not rude enough to wave people away.

Sure, I'll walk so you can show me the gorgeous little boy with eyes from the heavens that entice me into watching this little tyke grow.

Oh, make sure to bring WeeHeart with all her enchanting energy as well, so that I couldn't possibly say, "I can't talk today," and follow my doctor's orders.

And for sure, bring along someone from the village so that I can't have a private conversation with you about the fact that your family has been lying to us and we can't be godparents with dishonest people.

"Rest.  No walking."

Who the hell on this earth can do this?!?!?  Can you?!?!?  How the fuck is this even possible?!?!?

If you know how to do this, please, enlighten me.

"Rest.  No walking."

Sure, right after I let the people in to come fix the washing machine, because our clothes stink so bad, you can smell them in Canada.

"Rest.  No walking."

Oh look!  Pescado Pal is at the gate wanting to sell me his hard working wares he caught in the ocean.

I've been up since 9, but it's now 12:30 and this is the first time I've rested my ankle.

"Rest.  No walking."

Well, my foot looks pretty swollen again.  This is not a good sign.

Neither is the pain that's shooting, or the throbbing that accompanies it.

Oh, but I'll rest.

Later.

i am capable of making healthy choices

i want to be an angel

How did 2 days go by without doing a blog?

For that matter, how did a week go by without being able to get to editing my Sunday Sillies?

It's Sunday, and there won't be any YouTube show sillies today.

I'll be working on them, but I think that with the amount of insanity this household and life brings, I will be publishing every 2 weeks now.

Really, right now, I'm supposed to be at a birthday party.

It's basically right outside my door.

But Papi said I'm not allowed to go, because I've been treating my ankle too horribly.

He says that most people with this injury are laid up for at least 3 months, that I have to rest more and do less.

We all know how much I like to rest.

I'm a work-a-holic outside of the house.

In the house?

I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.

I don't know what it is, but as soon as I'm out of the house, my depression lifts.  Yet I can't relax in my yard, or I'll have every child in the neighbourhood screaming for me through the fence.  Relentlessly.

It doesn't help that I'm bitchy from pain.

I also have a sneaky suspicion that I got fake Prozac.

They do that here.

They make fake pills and it's Russian Roulette as to whether or not you're going to get the real thing.

Don't they know better than to fuck around with Prozac?!?!

Assholes.

Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?

I've been extremely agitated these past few weeks and I could blame it on the chronic pain, but there's something more.

The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.

Normally, it's a fleeting moment before I go to sleep at night.

I've had it every night, for longer than I can remember.

I envision myself blowing my head off.

Every night.

I don't know why, but it just is, and there's not much I can do to stop the vision.

However, through the years, I've just learned to live with the vision and shake it off with a 'what the fuck??!?  Must we do this every night?!?!?'

These past few weeks though, they've been coming throughout the day.

Everything seems so difficult to do.

Everything seems like I just want to give up.

I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with my newest Gratitude Buddy.  I still know that EVERY DAY there is something to be grateful for.

But still, as I go on through my day, I can't help but feel the aftershock of all the hurt I've received over these past 9 months of living in what we thought would be 'paradise' and who we thought were 'friends'.

I feel exhausted from fighting to stay out of the Pit of Doom.

Everything feels like a battle, and both Papi and I had the thought at the same time last night, "This life here is not what I expected."

The vision I see in the mirror is disturbing as well.  The Anorexia Monster is in full force and the weight I see in the mirror is the weight that presses on my mind.

I'm having anxiety for no apparent reason at all.  I just feel terror and I don't know why.

This is not rational.

This is the underlying depression eating away at my heart, and I'm a fucking bitch when I'm depressed.

I'm having a really hard time hiding it from everyone around me, and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't been getting enough medication in to my system, having been sold fake pills.

I feel the pull of demons can't find my strength from the angels.

Instead, yesterday, I begged the angels to take me with them.

I want to be an angel.

it is always too early to give up, so let me give it some more

Send In S.W.A.T.

I think the move here has Papi and I living in some kind of battle zone.

I honestly don't know what the hell is going on.

Papi's done enough damage to his own body, and it seems that I'm trying to maim every limb of my own.

Started with Mr. Lumpy, but I guess a boob isn't a limb, is it?

Then I progressed to a dog bite on my hand that had me out of commission of playing an instrument for a week.

Next, we move on to my fucking ankle.  I don't need to say more about that.

Then I burned my calf on a motoconcho exhaust pipe.  It's really nasty.  I'll have to really take good care of it so it doesn't look any more infected than it already seems.

Then yesterday, the pin of my crutch fell out, my crutch crumbled and I fell to the ground giving my bitch of a back a run for her money.  I'm not impressed with the fact that I can barely move my neck today.

Oh, but earlier in the day?

I received another dog bite, this time on my forearm and wrist.

Fortunately, that pain only lasted overnight.  It's feeling much better now.

How did I get a new dog bite you ask?  Or maybe you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Picture a 4 door Toyota Corolla Sedan.

Now.  Picture a massive crate with two cats in the back.  Got that?

OK.  Now add in 6 dogs, which Papi has lovingly nicknamed, The 6-Pack.

Granted 2 are small, but the other 4?  Including The Donkey?

Yeah.  It was something out of a comedy routine.

We were getting our house fumigated for the problem with ants and termites.

All the animals had to be out with us.

It was quite the task trying to find things to do for 2 hours, but we did it.

Then, as we were 2 minutes from home, The Donkey decided she wanted in the back.

The Thug said, "Fuck you and your big fat ass!" and it happened.

An all out dog fight in a tiny Corolla with The 6-Pack and a crate with 2 cats while I'm going 80 km/hr on a highway.

The cats pissed themselves in their crate and I slammed on the brakes so hard that Papi hit his head on the front windshield.

Still, the dogs continued fighting.

I, being the lunatic I am when they fight, screamed my best Psycho shower scene scream and I did it again; I tried to stop the fight with my hands.

I am so grateful that The Thug isn't out for blood, or there would be more than a puncture on my forearm.

I wouldn't HAVE a forearm if he was actually trying to hurt anyone.

But it was bad enough that I couldn't move my fingers.

We got home and I had to pay the fumigator.  Handing him the money hurt bad enough, but then he wanted me to sign for the receipt.

THEN! he wanted to shake my hand!!!

I was sweating bullets trying to keep a look on my face that didn't say, "I'm a dolt who likes to put my hands into dog fights between a Pit Bull and an Irish Wolfhound.

Last night as I was licking all my wounds, I reclined on the couch wondering what the fuck is going on, when The Thug and The Donkey decided my ankle was the perfect place in which to have a wrestling match.

They twisted it to the side and it is now more swollen and I can barely walk on it again.

Seriously.  What the fuck is going on?  I'm afraid to move for fear of doing anything more.

I was afraid to have sexy time with Papi last night for fear I'd sprain my vagina.

Don't worry.  I didn't.

This morning, I have two massive welts on my leg, from what I couldn't tell you, but it kinda looks like a flesh eating disease, one in the shape of Africa and the other like Great Britain.

I won't even go on about the bug bite that looks like I have a new knee on the back of my thigh.

Send in the S.W.A.T. team.

I need back up.

My mind, body and spirit are united for my highest good

 Gratitude Day 8/10
1. I am grateful my dog bite was only a bruising of the bone.
2. I am grateful for ice packs.
3. I am grateful I didn't sprain my vagina.
4. I am grateful I didn't hurt myself more when my crutch broke.
5. I am grateful I have time to wash my hair today.
6. I am grateful for fresh coconut water.
7. I am grateful I get to look out at the ocean while I write this.
8. I am grateful I can find gratitude every day.
9. I am grateful for this list forcing me to find gratitude every day.
10. I am grateful for dead bugs all over the yard, instead of live ones in my kitchen.

dropping weight

When I write in my blog, it's stream thinking, and I allow the weight to be lifted from my mind.

As I write how I'm feeling, answers to problems come out.

When I write, it's public.

When I write, it's honest, and I leave details in that other would not, for fear of how they might be judged.

When I write, sometimes it gets me into trouble.

Usually, when I write, I am able to take those words and deal with the issue.

This time is no different.  I'm feeling much better today, however still feeling on the edge of tears and feeling quite a bit of anxiety.

It hurt my friend that I mentioned her here instead of talking to her first.

On the flip side, it also gave way to receiving support and love from friends.

Papi and I worked things out for the most part.

After talking about why we hurt each other with words, I learned that I said things that were hurtful too.

Like saying that what he was working on the new fans for himself.  When really, he was working on it for us and the cats.

I implied that he's selfish, when I know he's not.

He's very giving, sweet and compassionate.  When he's not depressed, that is, not unlike myself.

He apologized, as did I.

I took a few more steps today.

Now I'll behave and not get too overzealous with the thrill of it.  I vow to take the best care of my ankle I possibly can.

I would do it for the dogs.  I take care of their health issues with love.

So, I will take care of my own with the same attention and care.

After this weekend, I think I should be able to start making healthy food again and take off the weight I've put on lying about eating really bad food.

I'm having grave issues with what I see in the mirror.  It's not pretty.

I limited my food intake yesterday to try to calm my mind.

This is the worst thing I could do to myself while I'm trying to feel better.

This does not fix my heart.  This hurts me further.

Today, I'm starting my day with coconut water.

I hacked them open with a machete and was donned the beautiful, healing energy from those fuzzy orbs.

I don't have any coffee.

Let's hope the coconut water keeps me from lashing out.

The dogs are needy and making me crazy.  They can feel my energy.

They want to help, but they're not helping.

They act out, because my emotions are in a whirlwind.

They feel me.  They act accordingly.  They are my indication.

I've been quite aggressive with them, telling them to leave me alone.

The Thug was actually depressed last night.  That broke my heart.

My pain and anger has prompted a sweet, loving soul to hurt at the sight of me falling.

If we think our emotions are our own and don't affect others, we have got to give our heads a shake.

We affect others greatly when we are in this space of depression.

Depression makes us selfish.  We only think about ourselves.  We can try as we might to think of others, but we just can't do it when we have that fog.  It comes out forced and forged.

I don't want to be selfish.

I want to think of these little loves that I adore so much, and not push them away because they're trying to help.

They are trying to protect me.

I suppose I should do the same and start eating better for my mind.

I need to lose weight.

In my heart.

i dissolve all blocks to reaching a healthy weight

Gratitude Day 2/10
1. I am grateful for coconut water.
2. I am grateful my friend forgave me.
3. I am grateful Papi and I love each other enough to work things out.
4. I am grateful I took some steps today.
5. I am grateful for the rain to feed my garden.
6. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family's love.
7. I am grateful for gratitude lists.
8. I am grateful we have electricity.
9. I am grateful I can use a machete.
10. I am grateful I can find gratitude. 

one more day.

"Rest." they say.

They just keep saying I need more rest.

OK.

So, today, I'm going to rest by the river.

We've been invited to a river party.

Chicken.

Potato salad.

One person who speaks English for Papi.

A different view than the bedroom walls and ceiling for me.

We're bringing the lounging chair from the pool for me to lie on like a princess.

Kind of embarrassing.

No matter.

At least I'm getting out of this bed to rest.

Because they keep saying to rest.

Fine.

Carry me to the river and I'll do so.

They better let me have this cast off tomorrow.

My good foot can't take it anymore.

Neither can my spirit.

I think what's getting to me is the fact that I spent so many years lying around after the motorcycle accident.

I fought for years to get up off my ass, but at least then I had good pain meds to keep me from losing my mind.

When we got here, I finally started to live again.

So, take that away from me and you'll have a miserable femme.

I don't want to rest.

I want to live.

I want to do things.

I want to be off my ass.

I did my time after the accident.

This is like a cruel trick.

I finally get to start having a life and I'm knocked back down.

Fuck you, whoever decided this would be a good trick to play on me.

They just keep saying to rest.

I've rested for years.

Tomorrow we find out if they take this bitch off.

I can't wait to make myself a salad and homemade, healthy dressing.

Papi's menu of hotdogs, pasta and toast is killing me.

Tomorrow.

I get to see if I'm done with this punishment.

i express my needs and feelings

A.W.O.L.

So, I've been off the blog for a few days.

I've been kinda 'troubled'.

I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."

But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.

At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.

Now?  My other foot?  The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?

Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.

Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.

I'm truly losing it now.

I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.

But seriously.

Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.

They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.

They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.

We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.

Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.

He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.

Like stealing from him.

Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.

I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.

I know they're desperate.

I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either.  I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.

We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.

Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.

One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.

It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.

So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.

For that matter, I haven't been filming either.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.

It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.

One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.

Yeah.

Not very thrilling.

I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.

I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.

I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.

And for entertainment tonight?

Drink more wine to stop the whining.

i like long walks

Peeping Juan is back.

While The Guard was here, he noticed Peeping Juan staring in on our yard.

Normally, I would consider Dominican Daddy to be a sweet man, incapable of intimidating anyone.

With the exception of kids in the village that is.  Oh, but how they listen to him.

So, while he was looking at Peeping Juan staring into our yard, he gave the man the best stink eye I've seen in a while.

I was shocked.

Not just stink eye.

'Staring him down' stink eye.

'Barely blinking' stink eye.

That Peeping Juan never looked in our yard again.

That is of course, until he figured out we don't have The Guard anymore, and while Papi and I were in the pool, he realized I was topless.

We sorta thought we were free of the bastard, so we tried to enjoy our freedom.

I had wrapped my leg in plastic bags, put it up on the ledge and allowed the rest of myself to finally melt into the cool water, reclined on our seating area with my head resting poolside.

It was absolutely lovely.

I thought maybe I could do this more often.  Just have many plastic bags ready.

When Papi told me we had an issue, I damn near flipped out.

Papi said, "Don't freak out.  He has a gun."

I decided, "Fine.  Then I'll chop my mother fucking coconuts with my mother fucking machete and show him I'm capable of chopping his mother fucking dick off if he tried to come near me."

Off I crutched to my coconut chopping area, angrier than a stick poked hornets nest.

Every chop I did I said something that sounded good with exertion.

Didn't matter if it was in English.

"Can you!  Get me!  The!  Ant!  Killer!!!!"

There were ants everywhere.

It didn't matter.  He doesn't speak English.

For all he knows, my anger was saying, "I will!  Chop your!  Dick!  Right!  Off!"

It was my intention anyway.

Even though I was on crutches with a cast, I thought, if this is how I can yield this right now, give me a week, bitch.

You will not be messing with me.

He caught me on a Hurricane Andréa day.

I took all my anger out on that coconut, and the best part was, when I was finished, I had some lovely coconut water to enjoy from my labours.

I imagined myself as a cannibal serial killer, drinking his fucking blood.

I watched his perch as I drank the beautiful healing water.

I'm so angry now about this prick.

When the new people move in, I will tell them what their guard does and request they find someone who isn't a creep.

The new neighbour will understand.  He's an Canadian ex cop.

He won't want a person staring into someone's yard like a predator on his dime.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now.

Mother nature gave me a nice fucking visit, so now I am not an old bag.  Yet I'm still cussing out my uterus for doing the only fucking thing it knows how.

I stopped eating the wheat so my brain is much more manageable.

I have accepted this fucking cast and crutches and am trying to tough out the pain like I did with my bitch of a back for 4+ years until we finally got here to Casa Paraíso.

I managed to play my piano yesterday and just sucked up the pain in order to give my heart some well needed practise, learning the new song MusicMan and I are working on: Jesse & Joy - ¡Corre!

And I showed myself I can still cut a fucking coconut despite my current situation.

Guess what tomorrow's task is?

Coconuts galore!

i am badass

gravity work your magic.

Oh, the ebb and flow of emotions.

Looks like that wave has crashed into the sand today.

Hurricane Andréa is upon us and she is one massive shitstorm.

I have the feeling I'll be wearing the cast for more than the 3 weeks they told me.

I'm still having a lot of pain.

So, having pain means, I'm trying to rest with my ankle up.

Resting too much means my bitch of a back acts up, because it does NOT like to be lying down with all my organs pressing on it for too long.

Fuck you back.  Like I need your fucking bullshit right now.

Then there's the meals I'm being fed, which are increasing the weight of fat pushing against my back as well.

Papi isn't much on cooking healthy food, so whatever is easiest for him is my meal; hot dogs, pasta, cornchips, chocolate.

I'm rolling around like a bloated manatee and having a major issue with my chemical imbalance.  Wheat makes me a little freaky.

Fuck you food allergy crazy brain.  How about we lay off the fucking wheat spaz-out, OK!?!?

Then, add in the fact that my cycle is a week and a half late.

I'm NEVER late.

I highly doubt Papi got me pregnant.

But I'll tell you, this is the PMS people use as an excuse in murder trials.

Perhaps it's due to stress?

Or, perhaps, all that sweating I'm doing has nothing to do with the crutches and the exertion it takes to get around.

Maybe I'm just going to stop that monthly womanly hell all together now and I'm having hot flashes sent directly from hell itself.

I'm old enough to be freed from my womanly duties.

You know what I don't understand?  If my fucking uterus won't give me a fucking baby, then why the fuck do I have to suffer through womanly hell every fucking 3 weeks?!?!?!

Huh?!?!?!  A big fuck you to my uterus.  If I could, I'd rip you out myself you fuckwad!

Not to mention, when I don't exercise, my brain gets a wee bit off kilter.

Anyway.

Put it all together, and I'm a fucking mess today.

I got up and cursed Papi's name a few times when I saw my bread wasn't put back in the freezer.

I'm glad he wasn't up, because after that, I really lost it.

I found our new cutlery in the cutlery drawer on top of all the old cutlery in a colossal clusterfuck of silver.

Swearing his name, I ranted, "What!?!?  Am I living with a fucking child?!?!?  And those fucking dishes!!!  I'm wobbling around in pain and you can't help with the fucking dishes?!?!?!"

When I finally had my coffee I calmed down a little, and remembered that there are many factors adding to my bad attitude today.

That it's not the cutlery or the bread.

I'm not myself today.

I started feeling messy yesterday when I couldn't get the mother fucking free video website to work so I could watch a fucking show and take my mind off the fact that I'm not able to play my fucking piano and ease this fucking insanity.

... excuse the run on sentence ... just felt right ...

I signed up for a free month of Netflix to watch Breaking Bad.

It was a good distraction to watch violence and anger played out by someone else, instead of spewing pea soup with my head rotating a few times.

I'm fucking sick of this.

And like I said, I'm pretty sure this fucking cast is staying on for longer.

I'm not impressed and I'm losing it.

However, what goes down, most definitely comes back up again.

Today's mission is working on patience.

everything happens for a reason

here comes the fight ...

Bed.

All day yesterday, all day today.

Shots of pain in my foot and leg, and it didn't help that The Donkey did her best to knock me over again today, and I tried to save myself by using my ripped ankle to get her off.

Furthermore, I suppose going out Saturday night wasn't the BEST thing for me.

Housemaid looked at me like I was a wimp and kinda laughed at me when I said I just couldn't come by for the invite for a Sunday party in the village.

Yeah, well, my body isn't quite as strong as it used to be.  I gave up being strong after the motorcycle accident.

I accept these shots of pain as a warning.  I allow them to tell me I've done 'enough'.

I had told her I wanted to lie down for a few days until Papi got here, and I should have followed my intuition instead of allowing for someone to persuade me otherwise.

I feel so bad for the dogs.

I hear them acting out.

I read the sadness in their eyes that they can't be near me.

I sense the confusion.

"Why are these other people feeding me, but we're in the same house?"

It's OK my little loves.

Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP and you'll feel things are back to normal.

I'LL feel things are back to normal.

The cats will be miserable again, because the dogs will be in the room.

That's OK.  They had a lovely week with some isolated time with me.

The inverter went out last night.

It wasn't the best sleep, listening to the white noise of the fan to try to keep me cool.

It was pretty hot, but Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP to fix everything.

Papi's coming home tomorrow!!!!!  TOMORROW!!!!!!

At least I'll have my love to take care of me.

I'm staying in bed another day.

I think it finally hit me, after I realized that I truly have a nasty injury last night.

I can't just up and run about with a cast on my leg.

Housemaid will just have to find someone else to party with.

I know that she enjoys my time, as does Our Fave's Mom, as she called me a total of 16 times yesterday.

I understand, she's back in town and would love me to see Little Angel, but when you're tired and hurting, you kinda just want some quiet time.

I'm just too exhausted to even try to speak Spanish, so I studied it instead.

I spent the entire day filling out flashcards in the awesome new flashcard program I found: StudyBlue.

When I switched from iPhone to Galaxy, I had to make a whole new batch, and that's still considered studying.

An entire Sunday, filling in flashcards, instead of talking.

I'm tired.

I hurt.

I have a lot of healing to do.

I didn't even go downstairs for a healthy dinner.

Chocolate was on the menu, as I didn't have to get out of bed for that.

The novelty of my first cast has worn off and now I'm into the injury depression.

Chronic pain will do that.

I anticipated it, but hoped I could stay busy enough for it not to hit me.

No matter how much Housemaid tried to entertain me, there's just no escaping the injury depression.  It really is unavoidable.

It has arrived and Hurricane Andréa is just around the corner.

Time to mope in my bed, just in time for Papi to return.

You poor soul, Papi.

I am grateful for prozac.

Oh, but I'll fight that bitch tooth and nail, all the way down to the Pit of Doom.

i have the ability to choose happiness

what to do?

All I want to do is sleep.

Pain meds will do that to you.

However, Housemaid has other plans for me.

After it took ALL DAY just to get downstairs, make breakfast, pay a bill and buy more pain meds, I told her, "I think I'm staying bed for a few days."

My intention was that I would just stay in bed until Papi came home.

She was shocked and said, "No!  Andréa!  My friend invited us to a party!  You HAVE to go!"

I'm not too good at these crutches.

My balance is bad enough with 2 legs.

I've tried to shower, but having that one leg out of the shower doesn't make for a completely clean body.

I feel like a sticky mess, and now I'm supposed to look pretty for a party?

Plus, I'm sweating so much from working these aluminum gizmos.

At least I got a lot of Spanish studying accomplished over the last few days.

I really was meant to slow down.

When I'm better though, I need to work hard.

We just figured out how much we owe for all the bills we incurred from Casa Paraíso, and damn, it's NOT good.

We're going to be living QUITE frugally for quite a while.

No problem.

Prince Papi will have a crash course in how it was for me for all those years when I lived EastSide.

I had MANY years of practise, and here, it's just part of life.

Most people live dangerously on the edge, yet still have enough money for beer.

I can get a sugary treat for 10 pesos when I'm jonesin' for it.

Or make a chocolate bar last 6 days by only having one chunk a day.

Then Papi told me that the wife of the creep has begged me to come back to teaching.

Part of me wants to go under the conditions that he's not there.

However, no money in the world can make up for the possibility that something could happen with this guy.

Yeah, I need the money, but is there a chance that I could get raped for teaching?

Or suffer more disgusting comments that he somehow thinks are appropriate?

Wife says he would never hurt anyone.  Of course she says that.

All I know is, I responded to the wife and explained that I would not be in a safe environment, but she asked if I could teach her child in a different house.  Like maybe a neighbour's house.

What if the creep sees me?

Do I continue, because I need the money, and trust that he will leave me alone if he sees me?

Or do I continue on, looking for other students, eating less chocolate?

Would I be doing the wrong thing by going against my word of keeping myself safe?

Or would I be empowering myself by attaining an income under my terms?

All I know is, the creep never told her what it was he did.

She said he mentioned 'something about my skirt flitting up with the wind'.

Right.

Dude.

You left out the part about your pecker standing at attention, pointing to it and telling me that was 'my fault'.

What to do?

I could really use the money.

i know my inner self will guide me to the right decision