and down i go ...

How do we wake up with faith and hope, then slide into despair and the Pit of Doom by the end of the day?

Or rather, how does my chemical imbalance continue to pillage my mind, stealing my light?

I don't know about you, but my emotions can change for the worst with one phone call.

That's what happened yesterday when that one phone call represented loss.

It has nothing to do with Mr. Lumpy, because of course, true to Dominican Time, the week wait has come and gone and there's no word.

In Canada, if it was serious, they would have called right away, but I have to remember where we live, and their idea of 'prompt'.

No, this phone call was a long awaited one that I didn't want to make, but bit the bullet and did it anyway.

It's my former recording studio/engineer mentor.   He had given me books to use for studying, and during the sewage flood in 2011, they were destroyed.

I suppose he has another person to mentor, as he had called 4 days into us moving here asking for them back.

I had tried to call him when the disaster hit and we had word about the loss of his books, but he's not too good at returning phone calls.

So, I left it, a few years past by and here he is calling me looking for them.

Well, we chatted yesterday.  I finally put some money into Skype and use that as my phone to talk to people back home, and called him.

But there was so much strain in hearing his voice and the reminder of all that is withdrawn from my life now.

The pain of knowing that the motorcycle accident took away so many possibilities, is sometimes too immense for my weak spirit.

He said, "You sound scared," but I couldn't tell him why, I just replied, "I am."  I flippantly blamed it on how hard things are here in this new world.

He didn't need to know I'm fretting over Mr. Lumpy, nor that I was on the verge of tears for having to hear the voice that helped me so much that I had to let go after my accident.

Letting go.  Asking my angels for more support.

My angels were so abundant in the morning, and by the evening, I was asking them to take me with them.

"Why can't you just take me now?  Why can't I go to a new life and try again, because seriously, what the fuck am I here for anyway?  Can't you just take me?  I want to be with my Fuzzy Family that are so lucky to have moved on to a new hemisphere."

When my emotions were submerging me under that colossal blanket of agony, I stared at the gun that lies on my bedside table for a little while.

I touched it with curiosity, thinking about how easy it would be to make it my last and final friend.

I won't do it, not because it's cheating myself of a life I was handed, but because I know how much pain I would bring to those who love me.  I would never intentionally harm anybody who loves me.

I need them too much.

To put them through that pain would be the worst act I could ever inflict upon another.

Instead, I cried until I couldn't breathe, then asked Papi for one of his magic 'put me to sleep' pills.

I guess, when I asked my angels to help me 'let go', they gave me a doozy.

I don't know why yesterday was the day I decided to call him, it just kinda happened.

Letting go of loss, people who have moved on, my prior life.

I had moments yesterday morning where I felt that I was really here for something, that I was here for benefit to this world in some way.

Then the night came and with the darkness brought the shadow in my heart that tells me there's no goal in my life.

Papi woke up late in the day, and told me all the things I'd done wrong while he slept to add to my already shattered state.

He even got mad at me for crying.

The way he speaks to me right now is unbearable, but he says the same about me.

Maybe he's really serious about trying to cut down on the pop and his withdrawal is making him mean, or maybe it's because he's in pain from falling off the ladder and has no more pain killers.  This also means he cut them cold turkey.

Maybe it's many things that I don't know about, but his tone made it all the worse.

I need love and trust from myself and from him if I'm going to make it through this life.

all my relationships are loving and harmonious 

change.

There's a chorus of dogs out there.

Dogs on the beach.  Dogs in my yard.  Dogs in the hood.  All of them barking at the same time.

To me, it's a beautiful sound.  Perhaps to others, it's not quite how they would choose to have their sound space invaded.

The Donkey is swimming in the pool, so the iron gate is firmly affixed, keeping her from bounding in and flailing her body around the kitchen spreading water everywhere.

Problem is, Pathetic Puppy is getting too big to fit through the spaces, but when that iron gate is closed, she keeps trying.

I envision the day she will be stuck in the gate and we'll be left trying to figure out how to get her out of the mess.

However, she is the most horrible puppy on the planet and will inevitably try again.

Oh, what trouble she is, as are the workers.

I am grateful that Dominican Daddy is here to tend to the garden, as they've started on the last phase of the renos.

We need a proper carport to protect the vehicle from the ocean air, eroding the car faster than our window hinges, and we need the casita to give us a space for something, anything.  Right now it's useless, as it only holds animal cages, drying used ziplock bags and suitcases.

Anyway, both of these spaces are where all my fruit trees are.

I'm so terrified that the workers will destroy everything.

The construction workers here are very much like those at home, and, I'm assuming, like those around the world.

Why are construction workers so damn destructive?  They come in like a tsunami, and anything in their path is wiped out.

They don't care about the plants, as they toss their tools, unnecessary wood, concrete and nails into them, not to mention, just trod upon then when they need.

Why?  What is this phenomenon of construction workers?

They're so good at building, but do they need the balance of destruction to keep them feeling symmetry?

If you're reading this and you're a construction worker, maybe you could enlighten me.

Maybe I'll ask my baby sister's husband as well.

Anyway, Dominican Daddy is trying to move 6 trees fast enough for these folks not to destroy them.

My most prized possession?  My mango tree.

I see new buds!!!!!  I just got her happy and healthy and she's going to have to move again.  Poor soul.

I hope this doesn't destroy my option for mangos in the fall.  After a 2nd move like this, I may have to wait until next season.

But you know what?  Trees are not the only ones who don't like change; neither do we humans.

After crying on my Plumber Friend's shoulder yesterday, I had enough Spanish to adequately talk out my issues, even if it was part speaking, part thinking.

Later, talking it out with my Eternal Friend on our quick computer texts, she was able to allow me to talk it out to pinpoint how I need to conquer these drastic ups and downs of emotions of this grand move and gargantuan changes.

When I was in Vancouver, I knew how to make myself happy; go for coffee with a friend, hop on over to the gym, grab some really healthy comfort food, find someone spiritual to lead me, or make some music.

The list goes on, but I don't have all those options here.  I'm very limited.  So I need to change what makes me happy.  I have to find new ways to enjoy my life.

There is good out there, we just have to have enough time to find it, then enjoy it.

We found the first thing; a once a week trip to Sosúa Beach.

We're depressed until we leave the house.

Once we're out of the house, we stop fighting, we start smiling and our negativity seems lighter.

I truly hope that one day it will be the other way around.

Maybe, one day, coming home will bring us happiness and we won't want to run.

Speaking of running, workers are calling.

And off I go.

hardship helps me grow into a stronger person

Gratitude List, Day 9/10
1. I am grateful for electricity so I can have internet to talk to friends.
2. I am grateful for water, so I can be clean and healthy.
3. I am grateful for the puppies to make me laugh.
4. I am grateful for patience for the puppies.
5. I am grateful for the good people here who listen to my problems, when they already have their own.
6. I am grateful for the support of friends who have done what I'm doing.
7. I am grateful for my beautiful home.
8. I am grateful for fruit trees to distract me with their beauty.
9. I am grateful for this gratitude list to help me through the bumps.
10. I am grateful for my stubborn persistence to make myself happy.

mañana never comes

This power thing is really getting at me, considering we just spent thousands on a new inverter so we could have power.

I'm at the 'fuck it' point and if I had time to sleep all day, I'd be poppin' clonazepam right along side Papi.

Today, I jumped in the shower as soon as I saw the street power on, and managed to get a shower in mere minutes before the electricity and water were off again!  I'm clean!

When we would have a power outage in Vancouver, it would make the news, "No power!!!!!!!  People living with candles!!!!  Oh the horror!!!"

Yeah.  For a few hours.  Try a few days at a time, ongoing for a few months.

We had a light show the other night.

Power would come on for 2 seconds where all the security lights in the yard would turn on, then off again for another 10 minutes, alerting the bandidos that we were fair game and probably would be sleeping with the windows open, making us an easy target.

If I filmed it and sped it up, it would be like strobe lights.

When I call Mr. Sincere to say it's still not working, I get 2 responses, "Really?  No power?  I fixed it," and then "OK, Mañana."

Everything is 'mañana' here.  Everything.  The only problem is, it seems that 'mañana' never comes.

Somewhere in this is learning for me.

What am I supposed to learn?  Tell me and I'll go on the accelerated classes.

I'd love to have time and energy to just meditate and exercise all day to ward off the depression.

I don't need electrical power for that, and my body needs some release of stress and bad food due to no energy to cook properly.

However, I'm too busy driving around workers to hardware stores and waiting in lineups at the bank for 30 minutes, because we can't take enough from our credit cards on the ATM.

There is no, "I'm just going to the bank.  Be right back."  No, it's more of a day trip.

First, we have to drive forever to get there, because we're rural, then we've waited our turn in the line, the teller counts everything out by hand, because their counting machines will be fixed 'mañana'.

So he counts as I count with him, then he writes.  He counts again, I count again, then he writes.  He types one thing into the computer and then we count again and he writes.  Then someone comes over and approves it something gets entered into the computer, something gets written down and he counts it one last time to prove to me that it's the right amount.

This is all in between the moments people feel that they'd like to have a personal conversation with the co-worker next to them while we're waiting.  It's kinda comical, and I wouldn't care if I wasn't needing to find 'time' for myself instead of waiting at the bank.

Papi keeps saying all this will end.

I believe I'm in purgatory and I'll be in renovation hell for the rest of my life.  The sewage flood has nothing on this one.

It's also really hard to feel so alone in the daytime with all this.  The only people I have to speak to in the daytime speak Spanish and are not here for a hang out or friendship.  They're here to work.

However, while driving one worker to the store today, I did break down into tears when I was asking if he knew a really good electrician, as in REALLY professional to fix this job once, and get it done without having to pay through the nose every day we wait for 'mañana' to come so we have power.

Papi is so depressed, he just sleeps all day to escape it.

Papi says, "Go online and talk to friends."  You're not listening.  With what magical power will I find that magical internet?

He says, "Make new friends here."  I don't really have downtime for that yet.

When I do, it's at night when I'm so exhausted I can't even find the energy to say a word to anyone.  I just stare and drool.

When I have true time for the work of making new friends, it will mean that all this mania has ended, and I won't really NEED new friends at that point, it will just be a cherry on top.

I need my friends now, while I'm losing my mind from the lack of creativity, exercise and proper eating and loneliness.

I'd also like to feel like the rest of the pretty girls here who always look so clean with fancy clothes, fixed up hair, made up faces and smiles because they got enough sleep.

Yesterday, I seriously walked around with what looked like a Marge Simpson hairdo on my head.  A true fire hazard.

Take me away.

i am highly motivated to exercise my body as i find exercise fun

Gratitude List, Day 8/10
1. I am grateful for electricity and water.
2. I am grateful to keep searching for happiness, even if it's not here right now.
3. I am grateful for anti-depressants keeping me from completely going over the edge.
4. I am grateful for the puppies to make me laugh.
5. I am grateful for the patience for the puppies.
6. I am grateful for the good souls who allow me to vent without judgement.
7. I am grateful to be learning hard lessons, as I know one day they will pay off.
8. I am grateful to have enough food and a stove that works even when power is off.
9. I am grateful for a really good bed to allow my back to sleep.
10. I am grateful to get a few hours a day to spend with Papi.

the wild, wild west

We have clean water!

It's such a sigh of relief!

Seriously.

You just don't know what you've got sometimes.

In Vancouver, an inconvenience would be your water was off, and you didn't get your morning shower.

Then you'd go on Facebook and scream it to the top of the mountains!!!!

Well, when your water is brown from infestation of sewage filth, it's a little more than an inconvenience.

This was not quite as horrible as the sewage flood we had a few years back, because we are still living in a house that is in one piece, with all our belongings.

However, the thought of sponge bathing with my excess water from my reverse osmosis machine for the rest of my life was definitely more than a thought of great inconvenience.

But no more.

We're flushing our toilet and it's clean water.

We're washing our dishes in clean water.

Today, I'm going to shower.

In clean water.

Then!  We're going to fill the pool back up with clean water.

Clean water!!!!!!

We have some really good professionals working on our house now, thanks to the Pool Man.

Who, incidentally is coming by this morning to look at our pool.  We know we're doing things wrong.  We need a little help.  Just putting things on paper will not work for us.  We need some good tutorial.

We also need more tutorial for our gun.  Like how to clean it.

Not to mention, more bullets for the gun.

Someone got shot a week ago, not even half an hour from here.

That's not the scary part.  Shootings happen a lot here.

The scary part is that it was a home invasion with a masked man.  He also shot the dog, but both are alive and healing.

Earlier on that day, the same guy also robbed someone else and shot their dogs dead.

It's us expats and gringos that are the target.

The uber politically correct back home got all uppity because we need security, but the stats have now shown that it's actually more dangerous for expats to live here than in Mexico.

Of course, Mexico is all over the news, because it's so popular and so many Canadians and Americans go there.

However, the murder rate is worse here.

Now, I'm not saying that we're going to be out there with duelling guns and armed warfare back and forth.

Papi and I certainly are not going to be hiding in bushes with camouflage on, waiting to attack.

But I'll tell you one thing, there will be a shot fired in an attempt to deter the person who may have made it past our wall with broken bottles lining the top.

If it doesn't work, I'll gladly hand over all my goodies and retreat.

I think what the scariest part is, is that it happens so often now, that the people on the DR1 Forum seem to talk about it like it were just an every day occurrence.

People aren't even batting an eye now.

That, to me, is the scary part.

That it's become 'normal'.

I suppose the shooting of a bullet off the balcony once a month to remind people we have a gun is a really good idea.

Yup.

The wild, wild west.

One thing that I know though, if I die here in paradise, I did it after I reached a goal in life.

A, 'look at that view' and 'I'm feeling so much less physical pain' goal.

Yet, I will be talking to my angels a lot more now that I know they're listening, in hopes that they'll keep us safe.  They listened with Psycho Kitty!!!  He's much better now!

Oh, but I'm still buying more bullets.

i am drawing from my inner strength and inner light

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

Sap alert!

I don't have much time to write.

I've been too busy making Valentines for my love.

That and those tacky little Pillsbury Heart Cookies.  I'd post a link, but the mother fuckers who made this forgot to put it on their website.  So here's a pic of the evil wheat and sugar bites of heaven for those lucky enough to be able to eat them.

This Valentine's Day is so much better than last year.

Last year I felt I was hanging on by a thread.

This year, I'm more than hanging on to my love.

This year, the only thing hanging by a string is my profession of love.

Pretty pink and read mushy hearts bursting with adoration for the person I'm so deeply in love with.

We've been through so much in our relationship; the accident, the miscarriage, the flood, the transformation.

All of the above are enough to destroy a relationship by one alone.

I am so fortunate to have this kind of love.  There is someone for every person out there.

Please allow me to be your Valentine if you're still searching for yours.

I'll even dedicate one of the hearts to you.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.  I hope that your can find love today, be it from a child, family member, friend or partner.

forgiving myself is far more important than getting others to forgive me

Anger is better than tears.

"Honey, you made my toast too light.  It's just heated bread."

My god, I have the pickiest spouse on the planet.

I like my toast toasted.  So, naturally I would assume this would be good for Papi, as well.

Nope.

"Honey, you made my toast too dark.  I can't eat it."

Really?

I remember when I heard these words and I asked, "So, really you just want heated bread, right?"

"Yes!"

I thought I had it down.

But now it's too light.

Our toaster oven doesn't really have a number setting, it just has a pic of the dark toast and a pic of the light toast.

But honestly, there's no pleasing Papi when it comes to food.

I tried to make something healthy for him so that his infection riddled body would start to heal.

I made the trashiest healthy stir-fry I could muster.

However, all I have to work with is wheat free, dairy free and sugar free foods.

Broccoli, hamburger meat and quinoa were the main ingredients, along with some sesame oil and Bragg's 'soy sauce'.

Well, Papi ate half of the meal.  That's pretty good I'd say, considering today's toast went straight into the bin because it wasn't quite right.

Helloooooooo Goldilocks!  You're missing a few blond curls!

Anyway, Papi is starting to feel better, but the nausea is impeding my love's strength.

My dearest love is losing a lot of weight and it scares me.

When I lose weight, my mind says it's good, even if it's not.

Yet, when someone I love loses weight unintentionally, I get scared.

Probably because the rational part of my brain equates it with my own mental anguish of the eating disorder.

I'm starting to feel better with this whole Xmas Meltdown.  I should!  It comes every year and every year I get better at fighting it off, depending on what's going on at the time.

I decided to be proactive, yet again, in finding cash that we're owed.  I went directly into the office of the person who has been evading our phone calls and not sending our cheque.

The flood was a year ago.  Give us our fucking insurance money already!

He wasn't impressed that I strong armed him into saying out loud, in front of the receptionist who witnessed it, "Yes, I can guarantee your money will be ready by the end of the week."

I may be a short 'woman' to this gargantuan, walking slime ball, who wouldn't look me in the eyes, but I'm a lot tougher than I look.

If this prick doesn't have our money when he says he will, I'll be taking a walk over to our local cable company's 'news dept' and have a chat with them about Wawanesa's less than proper ethics.

I'm getting angry now, which is much better than crying.

Here's today's gratitude for an even better new year to come:

I'm grateful that I have enough spunk to carry through with fighting for my rights.

I'm grateful for the world's greatest baby sister who adamantly said she'd send us money in this difficult time, and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

I'm grateful to be married into a family that are supportive, making me feel like I have a surrogate 'dad' to tell me it's all going to be ok.

I'm grateful that Psycho Kitty hasn't dismembered my cats yet, and is starting to come down to our basement area in peace.

I'm grateful that mi esposo is now holding conversations and behaving like the brat I love.

Jesus lives!!!

Ok.

I'm pretty sure Jesus is stalking me.

Let's back up for a sec.

Remember the sewage flood and The Great Sewage Flood Purge?

It's been a while since I've been to the attic to see what clothing I have.

Well, if I'm being honest, the brain injury didn't even allow me to know about all that existed up there.

I now have a brand new bunch of dresses to choose from!

The real reason I was up there was to find my winter puffy coat.

Found it!

And guess what I found in the pocket?

Seriously.

Of all the people that could receive this little gem, this agnostic verging on atheist is the last one to actually appreciate this gift.

I'm pretty sure that if I believed in 'God', I would be shouting from the mountain tops that he's sending me messages.

No.

It's just Jesus, and here is my gift:

I thought it was probably the Tranny Terrorist making a funny, but my love assured me he didn't do it.

Honestly.

Who's the one who keeps getting the zealots at the door?

Who's the one who incessantly has to explain to the G'ma that I don't believe in her 'God'?

Who's the agnostic verging on atheist who gets royally pissed when people try to push their beliefs on her?

And who's the one who has Jesus in their pocket?

Me.

I don't really get it.

It definitely wasn't G'ma who put this gem in my pocket.  G'ma can't get up the stairs.

g'ma has just left for 3 months!! my blood pressure has resumed normal levels ...

So, there's a mystery in the house, and I'm pretty sure I know who did it.

Yup, it's Jesus, and he's stalking me.

I don't deny that he existed, but I have a hard time believing that he's always hangin' around me.

Though I just have to wonder, who's the devil who keeps taunting me with all this!!??!?!

Hang on!!

Maybe it was the ghost of G'pa.  I occasionally feel him in the house, and apparently he was a real joker.

So there it is!  I just figured it out!!

G'pa has combined forces with Jesus and they're playing games with me.

Papi always says, "I wish you got to meet G'pa."

I have, Papi.

I have, and he's a cheeky bugger.

gramma dramma

Every once in a while I get a bit coocoo from the dealings of a 96 year old with Alzheimer's.

For the longest time after my accident, I heard, "You're still not quite right, are you?"

It's bad enough that I tell myself I'm not perfect, but to hear that negative question day in and day out, I was going a little nuts about it.  She's laid off of that one a bit, but there is always a replacement question to deal with.

I'd go up the 'my they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs', and open the door handle as quietly as possible, tip-toe through the kitchen, and move like a burglar out the door to my salvage of a vehicle.

Never will the old bird admit that I'm doing much better than I was when I first got hit.  I'm walking, remembering most things and happy, ...

when i allow myself to be hehe ...

... so shouldn't I hear, "Wow, you're doing so good and look how far you've come!"

Anyway, my point is, after the diagnosis of Alzheimer's,  I felt a lot more able to care for the old fart emotionally, because I felt so sorry for her.  She needs us.

However, in the past few days, I've been thinking of renting the movie, "Throw Mama from the Train."

They may have some suggestions of how to deal with the old poop who thinks that every breathing moment in my life is to be spent tending to her needs.

I don't mind tending to her needs, but when I have to have the same conversation 4 to a thousand times a day, I lose it just a little bit.

Ok, maybe it's because I'm having a wicked PMS and want to kill everyone.

Or it could be the fact that I'm taking care of my spouse who is healing from a surgery, I have 2 film scores to work on and one of the composing programs still hasn't made it to my door, 5 critters to tend to, 3 days of physio a week along with 3 more visits to the gym to practise what they've told me to do, and the wing nut 'gma to deal with.

Somethings gotta give, and it seems to be my patience.

But when an old lady asks your spouse, "Is Andréa mad at me?" it makes me feel like the biggest ogre on the planet. 

wtf is the matter with me?!?!

And here's where I gotta wonder what goes on in my own brain though: I walk in and hear the same questions from the g'ma, without so much as a 'hi' first and I want to run and hide from her.

So in order to run and hide, I walk down the 'my they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs' to our basement abode, and after a quick, "Hi honey," I launch into, "I'm going to lose it," and proceed to repeat the same story I repeat every day: the story of the g'ma who repeats every question, every 30 minutes of every single day.

Who's the one here who is losing their marbles?!?!?!  Seriously?!?!?!

and now you get the joy of listening to me vent ... lucky you ...

I should be able to just buck up and figure out that she's not doing it to make me lose my mind.

that's what the assholes in life are for ...

Maybe I should go up the 'my they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs' and answer every one of her questions before she's even asked me.  The monologue for this week's answers would go something like this:

a) the man across the street has cancer and is going to die, and you're not allowed to call his grieving wife 5 times per day anymore,
b) you're going to Alberta for 4 months so that I can handle taking care of Papi, the 5 animals and the house,
c) my love is healing perfectly fine from the surgery, and yes you did see him today, yesterday and the day before,
d) psycho kitty will be fine here while you're gone, and no he's not coming into our basement dwelling to kill my cats,
e) my cats are doing just as well as they were 30 minutes ago when you asked me,
f) your sherry is in the same place it's always been, and no we're not rationing it to torture you, it's just that you forget you've already had a glass and drink too much,
g) the tv is not broken, you've just pressed the wrong buttons,
h) your phone is not broken, you just forgot to charge it,
i) yes I still have pain from 3 years ago and I'm not quite 'right',
j) the stove is not broken, we unplugged it because you were leaving burners on, and now, after you've flooded us out of our home, we don't want you to burn us down next.
k) yes, I know how to load the dishwasher I've been loading for 3 years now.

all done with a fake 'i'm the sweetest most patient person' smile on my face and suppressing the urge to say fuck off.

Well, I could go on, but these are just off the top of my head.  We've tried writing down everything for her, but she'll just ask anyway.

So, is it PMS?  Homicidal tendencies?  Too much pain?

One, or all of the above?

Someone pour me a tall dark glass of 'fuck-it-all'.

Papi's DIY mojo is back.

It's DIY time again.

Papi will be in for his surgery on Friday.

o god, my heart just skipped a beat ...

After my love's uterus has suffered the art of Dr. Scissorhands, I will be taking care of mi esposo until Papi can care for himself.

So, while we're preparing, we did the obligatory massive shop at Costco, so mi esposo could carry heavy things that we may need.

ah for fucks sakes, we forgot kitty litter!!! aaaaarrrrrgh!!!

Furthermore, there's also a few things around the house that need to be taken care of before Papi is down for the 6 weeks.

One such thing?  Putting up curtains.

It's crazy, but since the sewage flood, we haven't had curtains on our window.

Being no stranger to stalkers, ...

and a few restraining orders required to keep me safe ... yikes there's scary folks out there!

... I figure that because the coocoos have come out to play, it's time to put the curtains up.  You never know, said scary folks may also be homicidal and feel the need to watch us before fighting their way past 6 animals to carry out instructions that the voices told them to do.

... nah ... me paranoid? i can't imagine why you'd think that!

Off we went to the cold room and found all the necessary tools: hammer, leveler, screws, chiprock anchors, and of course, the power drill.

Papi has been certified for medicinal cannabis for anxiety now, because my love has been getting panic attacks from fear of the surgery.  Well, yesterday was my love's first attempt at getting friendly with the little drops.

It was probably not the best time to think about putting up curtains.

The last ones we put up, someone pulled them down while we were in the Dominican.  I thought it was fine, because the curtains were crooked anyway.  It would give us a chance to put them up properly.

I asked if I could help, and of course was granted a, "Yes!" but it didn't work out that way.  I'm pretty sure the happy drops had  something to do with the manner in which Papi went full bore into drilling without measuring.

Well, here's the first attempt:

So I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to measure things baby?"

"Nah, It's gonna be fine."

After putting in the anchors, my love said, "Oh, that didn't work out so well."

At this point, I decided to document the famous Papi DIY project with the full fledged Papirazzi, because it's just so entertaining for you all to feel my pain.  Then I heard, "I thought we were going to do this together?"

"Yeah, so did I," I giggled with a reply, "but then you went all commando and started drilling without my help."

I thought I'd add in this pic just for the full effect.  Notice the cord dangling from Papi's thigh.

my what a big drill you have papi!

Next I heard, "Well I didn't mean for that to happen."

oh, you mean this?

I think there will some new 'rules' in the house:  No power tools while under the influence of medicinal marijuana.

Papi put the anchors in anyway, and as we put the curtains up, Papi said, "Ok.  So just don't pull on the curtains and it will be fine."

Ok, but I'm pretty sure the hole is supposed to be round to hold in the anchor, no?

Well, we have curtains.

But if you ever are invited to come to our house, don't touch them, or look behind them K?  We'll just pretend that they're perfect.

And that concludes Papi's DIY for the day.

There will be more.

We still have 4 days.

oh my stomach ...

And now, I'm back in the closet.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

You see, this blog of mine is supposed to be about me.

It's called: Andréa's Healing Journey.

However, it seems that the majority of my posts are about the Tranny Terrorist, or the DIY phenomenon I occasionally experience.

Yeah, sometimes I hijack this blog and actually make it about me, sneaking in a little bit of wining about my bitch of a back, or ghosts.

Well, the point is, it's still much more entertaining to talk about mi esposo and the amusement he brings.

So!

I'm getting my article published on Thursday, and the paper didn't want a picture of only the actual writer.

No!

They want Papi in there too.

Why?

Because it's alllllllll about Papi.

And that's ok.

Takes a bit of the heat off me.

Anyway, we got these pics done and the sweet photographer we met yesterday will choose the best one.

Hopefully, she won't choose one of me that looks like I'm in trauma.

Or worse, choose one of me that looks like a beaming, braces infused, bucktooth grin that only a mother could love.

I tend to do these things with my mouth:

nobody said the brace face was going to be sexy ...

So, we'll see which one makes it into Xtra on Thursday.

After our photos were done, we didn't celebrate.

No.

Papi drove me around the city, and changed all his I.D.

You see, my love received a birth certificate that has been changed to a male gender.

It has been quite the process for Papi.  All his ID has to be changed; driver's license, SIN card, medical, you name it.

However, there is one that I'm not happy about: Our marriage license.

It now says I'm married to a man, and I begin my first step to becoming an invisible queer.

I can't really accept that part yet, and I'm still grasping with all my strength to the butch I married.

I don't want my marriage license to be ambushed, so I did something slightly wrong.

I kept our old marriage certificate, and we told the lady at the counter that we lost it in the sewage flood.

Right now, it's sitting beside the sexy picture of the butch I married.

Pretty much looks like I'm starting a shrine to remember my dearly departed butch.

is that so bad?!?!

It's right there in my composing room, so I get to see it every day as my eyes wander around the room, listening to my musical mind about what note, sound or feeling I need to find to portray the essence of a film.

I keep my love frozen in time to keep me company.

one day at a time.

9-1-1 Emergency!!!

A few nights back, I was in a snoring competition with the chihuahua when all of a sudden, I was woken by an alarm going off in the house.

I'm still undecided as to what woke me up first; the actual alarm, or the Sir Bark-A-Lot that I have taught to howl when sirens go by.

Oh, I taught him good.  I never knew a chihuahua could howl so well!  And yes, he worked it for the full 15 minutes of ear piercing sirens.

Cats ran this way and that, trying their damnedest to trip me up.  I was scrambling around the house with my arms in the air like a demented lunatic, muttering, "Fucking," this and, "What the fuck," that about some fucking noise that I swore I've never heard before.

You see, it wasn't the usual alarm that erupts while I'm cooking, so I was confused as to where this sound was coming from.

Well, if I'm being honest, the confusion was really because it was 4 a.m. and my nerve pills were in full effect, not to mention it was the night of the Budder Bar that I had apparently eaten too much of.

So to say the least, I was not of sound mind, and I couldn't quite hear properly, because I wear ear plugs to sleep.

yeah ... i mean business when it's coma time ...

However, I was able to figure out it was coming from my office.

I entered, all bleary eyed, and removed the smoke detector from the ceiling in a desperate attempt to shut it the fuck up!  I found a little hole, tried poking it with a pen, then considered ripping the wires out of the contraption because I was going to lose it if it didn't stop screaming in my face.

Amongst the howling chihuahua and the screaming siren, I tried calling Papi, but had no luck.

My love was obviously passed out on the job and had the ringer off.

Oh, I'll try again, because maybe mi esposo is actually working and isn't near his cell.

No dice.

At this point, my eyes are starting to open, and I have one ear plug out.

I'm getting serious now!

I tried to poke and prod the detector hole with an even skinnier pen, when I realized the alarm wasn't coming from this gizmo.  It was coming from the box in a nook in the wall.

It's an alarm system we used to have connected before the sewage flood.  It shouldn't be going off!  It's been disconnected!  WTF?!?!?

Ok!  I'll call Papi's work line that only the privileged are allowed to have.

As I was dialing, I went to the top of the 'my didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs and punched in the code on the alarm display box. 

ahhh ... the silence was deafening ...

I then heard Papi answer and I explained what just happened.  My love proceeded to call the alarm company from his cell as I heard the one ended conversation.

Oh damn.  They've already called the Fire Department.

Sure enough, within a few seconds of receiving these words, I see flashing lights outside our front window.

I casually strolled out the front door, giving a wave, as if I was greeting a long time friend.  The firefighters came rushing out of their truck, axes in hand, with full gear ready for the fight.

"Um, hey, how's it going?  Um, there's no fire."

Boss-man firefighter replies, "Well what are we doing here then?"

Still in a bit of a Medicinal Cannabis/Nerve Pill stupor, I shrugged with a teen style, "I dunno," and waited for them to award me with the answer.

When I realized that they must've thought I was a wee bit simple, I added, "Oh, well, our alarm went off, even though it's supposed to be disconnected, then they called you."

They shook their heads and gave me the death stare while they walked away.  I don't blame them.  They had to scream out of their cozy place, jump into gear and holler their emergency to the peaceful, empty streets of Vancouver at 4:15 a.m.

As I was closing the lights off around the house, I saw someone coming up my basement sidewalk dressed in black, and used a flashlight to bang on the window.

Oh great.  The cops were called too.

I went out, hoping to clear up the issue without sir officer figuring out I wasn't 'all there', but lo and behold, it was my neighbour.  Ah yes.  The alarm company calls our neighbours until someone answers as well.

and a good fucking morning to you too!

Papi instructed me what to say, as I still couldn't form complete sentences.

Eventually it all ended and I went back to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I really wondered if it was all a dream, until my love informed me the next day that we're going to be billed for the Fire Department showing up.

I'm not sure which had the most effect on my inability to function.  Brain injury?  MC?  Nerve pills?

Nah ... it's really just another day in our reality show/blog household.

The 96 year old bird slept through the whole damn thing.

Commence Countdown.

My cats are pouting.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, most of life is returning.

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

extreme makeover ...

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

6 weeks.

44 days.

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

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

No denying it now.

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

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

It will be a test for my heart.

change ... she is a comin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In 6 weeks ...

Suddenly, I don't feel so well.

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

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.

tranny lover

Ok.  So I'm a pack rat.

More technically, a hoarder, but I don't allow my gems to take over my life, and really it's my grandparents fault.

Having a partying kind of single mother, I'd be shipped off to stay with the grandparents most weekends.  I learned from them that you never get rid of anything!

you never know when you might need it

So, this experience of a sewage flood, resulting in our belongings taken away, has really opened my eyes as to what I 'need' vs. 'want'.

i swear one day i'll make it to minimalism!!!!

I've gotten rid of 3 full boxes so far and it's feeling good.  Besides, we have to get rid of everything when we move to the Dominican Republic.  Can't really travel with my dear 100+ year old, upright grand, Heintzman piano.

i'm already grieving our goodbye

I'll tell ya though, today when it was time to leave my part time, return to work shift, I was not looking forward to coming home to the boxes.

they loom in hallways and nooks, calling out to me, "don't bother opening me! just toss me away!"

I hung around work as long as I could and filled out forms.  Not something people would want to do when their shift is done, but it was definitely easier than coming home to the hoarder who can't decide what to toss and what to keep.

One of the forms was to ask for a leave so that I could help Papi with the after care of the top surgery.  I feel so guilty asking!  I was off for 2 years post motorcycle accident, then tried to go back, re-injured myself and was off for another 4.5 months.

As soon as I'm back full time, I go for my holiday.  Then I come back for half a week and want to leave for 6 days to help my love.

I really feel like I'm being a bad person milking the system, but damn!  I've never asked for time off to help with a spouse.

Then the moment I was afraid of happened.

I was asked why I needed the time.

"My spouse is getting surgery and won't be able to lift arms, and there has to be someone there to drain the fluids.  It's not here in Vancouver, so I have to travel."

"Oh really?  Where?"

"Florida."

guilt settling more and more ... i'm not taking an extended holiday ... no ... not a holiday trust me!  every inch of me still carries that evil catholic guilt, even though i'm a non-believer ...

"Florida?!?!?!  Why the hell do you have to go there?"

I told her.  Her jaw dropped.  I don't think she wanted to know much more, but you could see her mind ticking, thinking as to why a 'woman' would want their breasts removed.

She thought it was from cancer.  I felt like just letting her think that, but the reality is, everyone at work would know about it in seconds.

I wonder what's worse; having false sympathy that I'd have to keep lying about to cover my tracks, or living with the sideways looks from people at work when they find out what's going on in my life?

Obviously, I told her the truth in not so many words.  I'm just no good at lying.

But damn.

I just start handling all this and now it's like a mud slide, taking all parts of my life with me.  Trees, homes, cars, all of it being washed down the hill.

All my friends don't even know.  Some of my family members don't either.  But now work will.  Everyone is going to figure it out eventually, so I might as well get it out in the open.

**sigh** c'mon Andréa ... make your entrance out of the closet you Tranny Lover ...

The big day!

You know when you have an important goal in mind and a date set to it?

For instance, quitting smoking, starting a diet, going back to the gym etc.  We usually give it a Monday or the first of a month.

Well, since the sewage flood, we've had the wrath of Mondays and month beginnings as times we're told we'll have our home put back together.

For the past 5 weeks, we've been told all our belongings would be back on 'Monday' so many fucking times I'm beginning to feel like I'm re-experiencing a dead beat dad.

Never showing up.

I just want my king size bed.  I want my favourite yoga mat.  I want a choice of clothing other than these fucking jeans I've been wearing for 4 and a half months straight.

Mind you, since the most recent re-injury, I may have to lose a few pounds to get back into my sexy jeans.

maybe i'll start monday?

I also figured out that my experience in the bathtub in the bathroom with no door became a conversation piece for the restoration workers.

One of them announced, "OK!  You have a bathroom door now!" and the houseful of workers all laughed.

yup ... my panicked 'don't come in i'm naked!!!!' moment must've been a fun hoorah for you buggers

I think what's going on with Papi and I is really surrounded by this being let down every Monday to have our lives back in order.

Ever since the great 'pajama attack', Papi thinks my sarcasm is sensitivity and I think my love is a bit too cranky for my liking.

Well, yesterday mi esposo had a reason for the crankies I guess.

METAL MOUTH!!!!!

My love got braces!  I get mine in two days, that gives me a few days lead of teasing Papi about the funny face that's going on.  The head start of silliness makes me happy.

HECTOR has a CD release party in June.  I'm going to be singing through the braces.

sexayyyyyy

Oh god.  Here's the cleaners.  Back for the last of the final clean.

Gimme my fucking bed already!

Wait!  What's this I see!??!?!

A MOVING TRUCK!!!!!

HERE COMES OUR STUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Brace Yourself

"Brace yourself, they're going to look really bad."

oh for fucks sakes ... really?!?!

Not the words I want to hear the moment I come to an assimilation of acceptance.  Maybe it just means that this is just one more moment of a 'step at a time'.

However, Papi's words got worse.

**sticks fingers in ears** la-la-la I don't hear you

"The nipples could die and I'd be without them like Anonymous."

We know someone who had their top surgery done and we've always wondered why he didn't have nipples grafted on after.

I think it's possible we now know why.

"My nipples are going to look worse than the rest of the area."

I honestly haven't said a word at this point.  I am still carrying on with my own imagination of just how bad it could get.

here we go again ... dear imagination: did you not learn from the 5 foot clitoris?

Then without skipping a beat, the gruesome twosome talk was over and switched to another topic, "Honey, I can't be in some dingy place it will make me more upset on top of the pain I'll be feeling from the surgery.  I've tried looking at two star places and even three star, but I just can't stay in one of those places to save money."

It's going to be an expensive venture, but Papi thinks that it's all going to work out, so I have to trust it all will too.

My love really hasn't had to learn about money.  The house we live in has been mi esposo's home since birth.  It's an upscale neighbourhood with upscale tastes.  Even still, my love's family wasn't as well off as the people around here, but somehow the idea that money does come from thin air is an attitude Papi has adopted.

I know I could stay in one of these places, but I also know that the moment my love started looking at this, that there would be no way it was going to happen.

I have to agree with my love a little, "Yes.  We really don't need you bringing home bedbugs and scabies."

So, now the bill has just gone up.  I'm still wearing Papi's 1 karat engagement ring, but I really feel that it must be parted with.

One thing I CAN say is, next year's holiday is NOT going to be as extravagant as we've been used to.  I am a wee bit stressed about the bills that will be mounting from braces, jaw surgery, my love's top surgery, paying off this year's holiday and the extras we paid for during our sewage flood restoration.

My head.

It hurts.

Along with my neck, my back is dying.

I have a lot to do today, and only so much energy.

I also have to 'brace myself' for Papi's scary top surgery.

Commence bracing ...

Love-Able

Cherry blossoms.

Their fragile petals bloom with immeasurable power.

"It's spring!  It's time for the winter demons to leave," they say.  Their pillowy strength reaches for the sun, cleaning the air for a new season.

They take over the streets with happy sights as I drive these pink enveloped tracks.  A renewal of vitality with their injection absolving my veins.

It's time for spring cleaning.

It's time for our belongings to be returned to us.  I clean in preparation.  I'm readying myself for the purge.  I say goodbye to pieces of myself that I thought I needed.

I don't 'need' them.  They are filler.  Items meant to satiate.  Ironically, all they do is make a room more confusing.  Too much to look at in one sweep of view.

Upon opening a bewitched box that hasn't been visited in 5 years, I brace myself for a goodbye to my spiritual past.  A time when I tried so very hard to believe in a 'god', 'goddess' or any kind of 'higher power'.

All I could come up with was molecules of energy.  There is energy in this box.  I could feel it's past attempts speaking to me with liveliness.

Positivity.

This magical box carries a time of immense healing.

This enchanted box also contains words to myself from the past:

On Sunday, March 15, 1992 @ 11:30 at night, you cried.

You envisioned yourself with a love and that beautiful thought was replaced by being broken up with.

You cried.

You wrote 2 poems.

You thought you are not the one to ever have a relationship.  You don't believe love could enter your life.  You believe that you are destined to be alone forever, because you are terrified of being hurt.

It's much easier to be lonely than to be rejected.  You realized that all those times you cried because you were 'lonely', were really because you were too frightened to love and be hurt again.

And again, and again.

Your eyes were swollen and you realized there was no way you could get up the next day at 5:30 a.m. to go to your aerobic class.

So.

How do you feel today?
 
Today?  I feel a hell of a lot better than when this note was written.

Life can still throw adversity my way.  I'm not sure why this path is so rocky for me.

It just is.

But I'll tell you, my heart is much stronger than when this note to myself was penned.

I am lovable.  I am capable of being loved and that relationship I always imagined is here.

I'm living the dream.

Yes, I cleaned out the house from the flood.  I cleaned out items that are not necessary to this new world.  I'm ready for more healing from my past.

I will continue to keep this note.  I will read it again in another 10 years perhaps.

I will keep these words as well.

Comparatively Speaking ...

Rat.

He's a crafty little fella.

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

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

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

It was so hard not to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEITHER!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what about when my love comes home without breasts?

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

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

It's pretty tiny in comparison, really.

"Permission to scream, Sir!"

We really need our friends.  More importantly, we need to have good friends.

I had the pleasure of speaking to a blogger friend yesterday, albeit on the Facebook chat.  It didn't crap out on us and that was a great thing.

What happened while I was chatting with her, was that I realized just how much pressure I'm under.  I'm a survivor, so I tend to downplay events in my life.

However, this is mostly out of fear that people will think I'm whining.

echos of my mother; 'you have nothing to cry about'

But goddamit.  There's a hell of a lot going on.

First of all, while living in this rubble, I am feeling like I'm completely out of control.  It really hit me this morning.

I lied in bed hoping that I would just fall asleep again, because if I got up, I'd be welcomed by a minimum of 3 strange men in my house.  Granted, I'm getting to know them and they really are very nice, but none-the-less, there are people in my house that I have to wade through just to get to my coffee.

The thought of starting my day amongst these people had me lying as still as a corpse.  I think I was just hoping it would all go away.

It didn't.  The second I sat up in bed I had a cat yell at me.

The animals.  They want to be fed the moment I'm up.  Trying to find them a place to eat is a challenge too.  Today, I just left the 2 most scared up with Papi.  I just couldn't handle wrangling them up while my head was splitting.

they're not going to starve.  they can eat later.

I've had a migraine since the crying session 2 nights ago from the other stressor.  But 'you', my imaginary friend know all about the male transformation affliction.  Do I really need to say anything at this point?

top surgery, whiskers and pronouns, oh my!

I haven't had a balanced meal in over a week, due to the fact that we have no stove.  This messes with my psyche.  I need proper nutrition or this brain of mine will cease to function.

pretty much ... yup ... TILT!!!

I have embarked on my music once again, now that my brain injury has given me the space to do so, but this creates a whole other can of worms.

A LOT OF WORK!!!!!!

Now, normally, I embrace work.  I'm a bit of a border collie.  You keep throwing the ball, I'll keep chasing it.  But the feeling of trying to get anything accomplished in a house where there is a full hunt for shoes is really hard.

i don't know what these men do with my stuff ... seriously!!!

Being in this disaster is a bit like our own version of Survivor.  I'm not sure how many people could live with saws, hammering, dust, paint fumes, no stove, no tub ...

yes ... you heard me right ... i am stinkin' it up big time ... offending myself!!!

... and the same pair of jeans for 4 months straight.

No, I don't think many people could handle this.

Then there's the fact that we just lost a pet, my love has had a small relapse ...

even though i don't believe there's any way to measure a relapse.  a relapse is horrifying no matter the size ...

... and now I have to go back to my doctor to talk about my blood work.  It's never good when they want you to come in.  At least my ultrasound didn't show anything life threatening.

I'm almost back to my job.  It will feel like a holiday while I'm away from this mess.

Mess.

Yes I am.

I am a walking sty.  I think anyone would be.

I'm beginning to understand why I am on the verge of explosion every second breath.