with the angels

Her body is gone.

It was not the easiest choice, considering she was only a year old.

She just started being the best guard dog.

But her body had shut down and she stopped eating, yet was vomiting bile.

From the tests Dr. Bob did, he deduced that she only had a few days left, so it seemed like the best idea would be to allow her to go before she wound up suffering.

I cried so hard.  I'm pretty wiped from it.

But I do have to tell you about the people who were there at Dr. Bob's.

It seemed like this girl was a little clueless when she came in.

When she saw that I was in tears, she asked, "Is she OK?"

I told her she wasn't, that she was in renal failure, but I guess she doesn't really grasp what that means.  She replied, "We have some herbs to help that.  We saved a dog from a heart attack with our herbs."

Really?  So, when you saw a dog having a heart attack, did you just run screaming, "This dog is having a heart attack!  Quick!  Grab the herbs!"

Now, I'm all about the natural remedies.  I'll take natural over pharmaceutical any time there's an option.

But renal failure?  Her body had simply shut down and she was delirious, which was why she would just walk somewhere and stare into the nothing-ness.

We had suspected that she was not 'right' for a long time.  As in, since a few months after we rescued her.  We always thought that she was an 'odd' dog.

I can't tell you how many times we've said, "She's not like other dogs."

Dr. Bob's tests didn't show any actual poisoning, but that her body just did this on her own.  Her kidney has been failing for a long time and her body finally gave in.

I would have tried anything if I knew a year ago that her little body wasn't producing like it should.

We just didn't know.

But back to Flower Child.

Her mother was there and Hippy-Dip was telling her mother about a motorcycle accident and how the doctors are making the victim have surgery without pain killers.

I guess this is their first experience with the fact that this country refuses pain killers under every circumstance.  Yes, even surgery.

So, what was the mother's response?!?!?  "Oh, that's horrible!  She needs a new doctor!  I'm going to have to bring her my healing mat!"

Really?!?!?!  What fucking planet did you people come from?!

Oh, but the finale was when Dr. Bob's blood tests proved their dog had tick poisoning, and the girl's response was, "But, he doesn't have ticks!"

That was enough.

Through all my sobbing and dying from grief, I had to retreat outside to be alone and cry without all the stupidity.

Since coming home, I've slept away the tears and The Donkey has been acting out of control.

She also won't stop sniffing Papi's shorts.

It's as if she's saying, "I can smell the death.  Why can I smell the death!"

She keeps walking around searching for Pathetic Puppy.

The Thug is coming for hugs and won't stop talking.  He seems to be saying, "Where's my toy.  I liked that toy."

Jake-a-Like is needy.

Papi and I are so sad.

Her little spirit was more than alive, even if her body had been dying for a long time.

I whispered in her ear to come with me.  That she didn't need that sickly body any more.

That she could still be with us every day.

Amongst the angels.

i let go of sorrow, while holding on to love

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. 

Beautiful

The dogs slept through the ENTIRE night!

As in snoring, dreaming of chasing cane toads, and letting out the stinkiest farts, due to the hotdog nibs I've been giving them for training rewards.

Do you know how I KNOW they slept the ENTIRE night?

Because I didn't.

Not a wink.

Full on fucking insomnia.

It may be a double coffee day.

I'm not good at having naps in the day then trying to sleep at night.

It has never worked for me.

But what could I do?

Those little pills Dr. Bob gave me knocked me out.

And they really worked.

My ankle is very close to being deflated and boney once more.

Anyway, all night long, I had the pleasure of running a song through my head that I worked on all day yesterday.

You know the song.

There's no way you wouldn't, unless you live in a time warp bubble of some kind.

Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful'.

I'm trying to find as many positive, inspirational songs for the kids as possible, because the songs they choose are just about sex.

This whole country is all about sex.

As much as they are songs I am drawn to as well, with their contagiously characteristic beats of the Dominican Republic, I can't have them singing that for people from other countries when it's time to perform.

I know it's culture here, but I just can't chance that there's a Canadian predator in the audience who speaks Spanish, getting off because my little innocent children are singing suggestive lyrics.

So, I am translating 'Beautiful' into Spanish.

The translation was already online, but not the pentameter.

I've had to go through every single syllable and beat, to try to figure out the placement of each word.

I'll tell you, my brain has not had this much stimuli since the motorcycle accident, and that includes rewiring from brain injury.

It's so good for me.

Like, REALLY good.

Except for the obsession part.

Before the accident, I would have sheer infatuation with whichever song I was working on.

It was just part of my everyday breathing, that reverence.

Before the accident, I felt emotion with music and would frequently cry when a song I was working on moved me in the right way.

Yesterday, while working out the piano part for the song, that grace returned.

I was singing the English lyrics to get my singing/playing coordination down for the Spanish parts, when all of a sudden, I felt my heart being overtaken with elation.

The instrumentation, the melody, the words, they all came together to give me that feeling of the real reason I make music.

It actually happened.

I wiped the tears of joy away, thanking the angels for that moment.

I've been working towards that feeling since the accident.

I honestly thought I was broken.

I accepted that I would never feel like that again.

I felt I would just fake it for the rest of my life, but the real thing happened.

I spent 4.5 years rehabbing my body and mind from the accident.

Now it's time to rehab my musicianship.

And it is something beautiful.

Beautiful.

i fully approve of who i am, even as i get better

life is too short

No volunteering with medicine for dogs yesterday.

A monsoon hit!

Pool got filled, plants got fed, and me?  I spent the day in bed.

I thought I would cancel the day after I shed a few tears.

People can be so mean.

I left the queer 'community' once before, because it just seemed so toxic.

I returned thinking that perhaps it was just those that I encountered at that time of my life.

Well, this time around, I found even more poison than I did before.

I don't know what it is, but some of the meanest people I've ever met are in the queer 'community'.

At the same time, I've met some of the nicest people as well.  People that would lift me up higher than anything the nasty ones could put me down for.

With the proverbial 'mean girls', bullies and power mongers, there will never be anything I can do right.

No matter what I do in my life, they will take it, turn it, twist it into something else, to attempt to prove me to be bad and selfish.

But not the lovely people.

They confirmed what my heart knows; I'm a good person.

Nobody can take that away from me.

Apparently, I'm bad for ENJOYING teaching children for free.  If I enjoy it, then it's only for my own gain.  Of course I gain!  How could I not?  These children make me happy and I teach them a skill.  We BOTH gain.

If I buy crab and lobster from Pescado Pal, the money goes to support his family and I get a meal I could never afford in Canada.  I don't haggle with him, I pay what he asks and we BOTH gain.

And to you who tried to silence me for my honesty?  I will continue to speak for those who are too afraid to do so, for fear of being hurt and ostracized.

I'm not afraid of bullies.  They're really nothing to be afraid of, as they are just weak people who try to build themselves up and above another person because their self-esteem is so low.

Strong people lift others up, instead of trying to pull people down to their level of misery.

I'd prefer to be equal, thank you very much.

My moment of hurt was healed by splendid hearts yesterday.

Then a little more so with a good chat with my Eternal Friend later on.

I am finding that the stronger and happier we are, there will always someone who wishes to attempt to take it away from us and steal our light.

I have even seen it in this blog.

When life is pummelling me to the ground, my readership spikes and I triple the amount of hits I get.

When life is good, it's the happy people who come to see what's up in our zany life of never ending entertainment.

Some people feed off the bad.

All I know is, I'm happy, and the 5 people I deleted from my cyber life yesterday will never take that away.

Hell, I could die tomorrow!

I'm not going to waste my precious last breaths on the 'mean girls' or the Hen Peckers.

I'll vent about it today, and then tomorrow, I'll probably have something wonderful to write about in this amazing life I am only fortunate enough to have created for myself.

You can hate me for enjoying my life if you want.  It's your choice as to how much sickness you want to spread.  I used to be that angry as well.  So, I understand.

We just had an earthquake while I was writing this.  Obviously, not too horrible for me to stop writing, but scary enough that it reminds me of how short our lives can possibly be here.

I forgive everyone who is troubled enough to try to knock me down, but I really don't have time for the negativity anymore.

Life is too short to look at anything other than the positive.

I'll continue doing good and receiving good feelings from it, no matter what you think of me.

Because you know what?

people admire me

joy.

Papi has been helping out with the dishes.

I am so grateful.

I have been so busy it hurts.

I'll turn him into Mr. Mom yet.

Maybe I'll have to get a little instructive on how to put away cutlery.

When he puts the utensils in the drawer, I open it up in the morning to find soup of forks, knives and spoons.

This way, that way, never in the proper piles.

It's torture for someone who is 'a little' O.C.D.

Anyway, I'm still happy, because it only takes me minutes to rearrange them into their allotted piles and start my breakfast.

Last night, I was up until 1 a.m. preparing for the kidlets.

I'm so excited to work with them today.

After seeing the kids at Dream Project perform their concert for well over 100 people last night, I am so pumped to get the village children up on a stage.

I dragged along Papi, who I thought would die of boredom, but I did it anyway.

When they were done and we were walking back to the car, he said he almost had tears in his eyes.

I said to him, "Do you understand now why I get get up 5 days a week at 6:45 and teach for FREE?"

Indeed, he understood.

I'll have it on the YouTube show in 2 weeks for you.

Papi has a GREAT idea for our little squirts!

I'm going to get them prepped and ready, then we'll take them to perform at all inclusive resorts.

They'll get an awesome meal!

Maybe I'll get their taxi paid for.

Damn.

I wish I had a bus!

I counted 40 children I'll be teaching.

I figure by X-Mas, when the rush of tourists come, we'll be ready!!!

Today, I'm starting with a Marc Anthony song:

It's funny, because I've never been a fan and never understood the big deal about him, but it is probably because I didn't understand Spanish.

But I'll tell you, thinking of these little beans singing the chorus, just like the choir of angels in the background of this song, I have chills.

The lyrics of the chorus sing:

I will laugh, I will dance

I live life

I'm going to enjoy laughing

And blammo!  I love the song.

I'll have the older ones sing the hard parts.

It's going to be so wonderful!

Can you tell I'm excited?

Anyway, I don't really have time to go on about it, because I have to prepare.

My Spanish has a lot of work to do.

Good g*d.

Perhaps learning songs will further my fluency as well?

And today's positive mantra is influenced by Mr. Anthony himself.

i will laugh, dance and enjoy life 

are we musicians born crazy?

I had a brief conversation with a wonderful G+ Friend who is a VERY creative and talented animator.

Check out his web page.

Yesterday, he touched on a subject that I've always thought about.

My theory has always been, that musicians are born with a certain amount of insanity, and are given the gift of music to deal with it.

It's the only way I can come close to meditation.

When I play, nothing else exists, except for the harmonics of music that fill the air.

I breathe in the notes, as they wipe my mind clear of all trouble.

There is no pain.

There is no strife.

No laundry, dishes, debt or fear.

There is only music.

I remember when I had the big ending, of hopefully my last and final nervous breakdown, when chemical imbalance really took me down, urging me to finally got on medication I so badly needed.

I was crying incessantly, and there was nothing that could stop me.

Except my cello.

I would play and the tears would stop, however, there was those 3 seconds that I had to stop to turn the page.

I would cry as I turned each page, then stop again as I played the song.

Crazy, huh?

Well, last night, I started to wonder about the brain and how it's wired.

Is it possible, that maybe we are born just fine, but when we play music, we establish contact with a different part of the brain that most don't use?

That angle where the key to unlocking it is made only through the connection of music and other arts.

A hidden passage that only artistic people haunt.

The dark side.

But then, what about people who have a chemical imbalance and have never had the chance to discover their craft?

How do they cope?

I have a friend, who just this week, began suffering greatly at the hands of fallen love.

It's the first time she's been 'in love'.

She is in so much pain from the jerk-oid who dumped her.

It's easy enough for me to say she shouldn't be, because she's the most lovely person and deserves so much goodness in her life.

Alas, tell that to her ailing mind that spits out the feelings of rejection and loss.

How does one cope without artistry to get them through?

I've never known the answer to that, because I've always had my creativity.

Even after the motorcycle accident, when my brain was rebooting from the crash, I turned to writing here.

I turned to writing my story, which lead to writing other stories.

It was my means of escape when I didn't have the ability to play my music.

Everyone needs escape.

People knit, craw, make gifs, paint, write, play music, or even cook.

Creativity is so important to getting through pain.

But which of my theories is correct?

Are we born crazy and art is given to help us cope?

Or are we born sane and art opens Pandora's Box?

Either way, creative or not, I'd love to hear what you think about this.

I'd also love to hear how you cope if you haven't found your artistic inspiration yet.

In the meantime, I'll be looking forward to my new keyboard on Monday, and a new opportunity to play with the MusicMan.

My escape from insanity.

i am my own unique self - special, creative and wonderful

you will never win to addiction

I feel like death.

I couldn't eat yesterday.

All I could do was drink ginger tea, lime water, coconut water.

I just wanted to settle my stomach, but it still didn't happen.

He asked me, "Why are you so angry?"

Because I know that when someone tries to win over addiction, they will always lose.

Papi made his choice.

He 'should be able to have a beer every few days' without the consequence of me going into full on P.T.S.D.

He has quite blatantly chosen alcohol over me.

It's not like It hasn't happened before.  We always lose to addiction.

I had to watch someone fade away from heroin, and when I gave the ultimatum: the drugs or me, guess who lost?

We can never win.

I'm angry because I've lost.

I've lost the sober person I married 3 years ago.

I now have more pain to look forward to.

"Can't we just see how it goes instead of jumping to the worst case scenario?"

I've already seen worst case scenario.  I already know what comes next.

He says he won't get drunk in the pool and pass out, or go home with strangers, not knowing where he is or who he is with, again.

Well, the truth is, when you're a drunk, you can't make those decisions.

So, I lose.

Again.

I see this very much like a repeat of the past.

We repeat the same mistakes, until we get it right, don't we?

Perhaps the first time he drank and he wound up sobbing in the gutter in the DTES and I left to keep myself safe from the pain?  Perhaps that was supposed to be my only heartache with his addiction.

He said he would never do it again.  That he was done with the drinking.  That I could trust him.

But instead of learning from my past I've relived more pain.

I'll stick around for even more I'm sure.

I got so angry for my never ending tears to accompany my loss, while I was doing dishes, I had cleaned a knife and I dug it across my forearm about 8 times just to punish myself even more.

Yes.

It's the first time since I was in my 20's that I cut myself.

Not much.

Just enough to stop the tears.

They stopped.

Then I went a bit manic; house is cleaned, seeds are planted, bathroom is cleaned, laundry is done, microwave combined with wall and counter are scrubbed clean with Borax and PineSol, as is the stove and toaster oven.

There's more that I did.

I can't remember everything, because I was in a haze of trying to keep myself busy so I didn't cry anymore.

I did it right up until 10:30.  Then my body finally told me I had to lie down.

And what happened?

I started to cry.

"Why are you so angry?"

Because my love, you don't realize it, but you're leaving me.  I'm sure you'll have lots of fun drinking with the other neighbourhood drunk, Mr. Gummy.

So, I have a choice.  Stay here and live with emotional pain of losing someone to their addiction, or go back to Vancouver and live with physical pain of the cold weather.

Either way, I've already lost.

I suppose I'll choose the emotional.

It's easier, I've had it all my life.

i have a wonderful partner and we are both happy and at peace.

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 

what do you call the stage past 'fuck it'?

Papi and I needed a plan.

We waffled back and forth as to what to do.

When they did the biopsy, it seemed that the spot he made for taking the specimen wasn't where Mr. Lumpy was.

So, we're obviously going for a 2nd opinion, albeit, I'm bored of this game and have surpassed the 'fuck it' stage.

What do you call that stage?  What comes after 'fuck it'?

Well, whatever it is, we still had to talk about the plans and Papi wanted me to go back to Canada.

That caused me more stress than the new native to my body, Mr. Lumpy .

Couch surfing?

Living off take out?

Stress of getting around by bus with my bitch of a back that will inflict me with pain?

No thank you.

Then I called all the cancer places I could to see if there was any point in coming back or just staying put.

After calling 20 numbers, I finally got a human being who would speak to me at Willow Breast Cancer Support.

You want support?  Call them.  Because obviously, everywhere else could care less unless you're wanting to donate to 'the cure'.

We all know there won't be a 'cure' because they make too much money off the 'disease'.  But I'll get off my soapbox now.

So, after speaking to the absolutely lovely woman, she suggested my mother get the gene test, because she's already had ovarian cancer and it would be free for her.  If SHE has the mutated gene, then it would be free for me, too.

Sounds like too much work for someone who has surpassed the 'fuck it' stage, no?

Yes.

So, I spoke to my baby sister who became the big sister and had the plan set out for us:

1) Wait for results.
2) If the outcome is positive for cancer, off I go to live with her in Canada to get shit done.
3) If the outcome is benign, get a 2nd opinion when our insurance kicks in here July 1st.
4) Wait for results
5) If the outcome is #2, off I go to live with her in Canada to get shit done.  If the outcome is #3, ask my mother to get the gene test and make new plans.

Well, now that I've surpassed the 'fuck it' point and have calmed the fuck down, my gut instinct tells me there's nothing to worry about.

Mr. Lumpy is merely a part of me.

It now remains a little annoyance that my hand will go to day after day, with resentment for all the tears and worry it inflicted upon me.

Another story to add to the never ending drama that is my life.

So now?

We get on with things.

The garage is almost finished and ready for a door and window.

The trees around the casita are being hacked down to prepare for the last stage of renos so that we have an extra space for whatever we decide to do with it.

My veggie garden is budding and today, I will be planting more of my greens that I WILL be here to enjoy, because Mr. Lumpy is nothing but a speck of a nuisance.

The dogs have successfully destroyed more of my underwear.

I, too, have destroyed my underwear because of the Dominican valium.

Here's a forewarning for you.  Opt for the clonazepam and stay away from the valium.

However, if you choose not to listen to me and you have mass anxiety and panic attacks and desire to take the Dominican valium, don't fart.

It won't be a fart.

It will be a shart.

And that shart will be the biggest mess up your ass crack that you'll ever clean up in your life.

Maybe next time I take it, I'll wear some Depends.

Or perhaps just feel the emotions and hyperventilate.

Cleaning up a few tears is much less of a job.

i trust in the process of life

Paradise is NOT a 'place'.

The party.

Unlike any baby shower you'll find in Canada.

Canada?  Ladies only for the most part.

Silly games to keep us entertained, refreshments with a few tame drinks.

Music on, really only for ambiance.

Baby shower in Dominican Republic?

Co-ed, rum being chugged before it's poured into the glass.

Music so loud, there's no point having a conversation.

I filmed people dancing instead.

Our Fave's Mom looked so damn beautiful.

I've never seen her look so good, because the poor thing is so damn pregnant, she doesn't have the energy to fancy herself up.

Damn she's beautiful with her hair down and those massive breasts spilling out of her Spanish style top.

I actually didn't recognize her at first!

I had a tour of their fruit trees, pigs and chickens.

We're talking at least 20 fuzzy, baby chicks too.

Holding them to give me so much love that I need right now.

They chirped in my ear, "I love you, it's really good to be alive!"

Yeah, you're not old enough to know how bad life really gets.

Oh, but you won't be saying that when it's YOUR turn to be in the pot of food they were cooking for the party last night.

I was also the tester of the food to see if it was good.

Good?!?!

Oh I can't even tell you the flavours they use here.

I was grateful to be the tester.

Papi kept disappearing.  Understandable.  His social anxiety is worse than mine.

He was supposed to be behind the camera to keep himself busy so he didn't feel uncomfortable, but people were shy in front of him.

He handed it back to me.

The 2nd time he disappeared, I went to the house to get the flash for the camera.

I saw it.

A pint of beer poured.

My heart stopped, my stomach erupted through my head and the tears were being held back with all my force.

I was supposed to go back and take pics of Our Fave's Mom opening her gifts.

No time to cry.

As soon as I was done however, I went home to find that Papi didn't drink the beer.

Not because he came to his senses, but because he was caught in the act.

His way of dealing is to relapse.

My way to deal with depression is to get so angry that my yelling actually scares away all the animals, for fear that they will be pulled into the eye of Hurricane Andréa.

Normally, they see me as all love.

I'm hurting and scared and feel so isolated, so when there were no friends to speak to by way of internet, well, I lost it.

Papi's grieving.

Today we put down Psycho Kitty.

Poor little critter has had enough.  I keep begging him to go to the angels on his own, but he's just too much of a fighter.

I've had enough of watching him suffer, not being able to even open his mouth enough to eat.

Papi's had enough of watching his little love slowly die before him.

Beyond the dying cat, there is so much exhaustion and trouble to deal with that we're at the point where we half heartedly spoke about the convenience of there being two guns for a double suicide.

This is not paradise.

Paradise is not a place.

Paradise is in your heart.

A beautiful view of the ocean does not cure a mental chemical imbalance.

i offer a sincere apology to those affected by my anger

i am insignificant

I feel bad for The Yank.  She couldn't have come to visit at a worst time.

It's not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

Usually one can pick the other up, but we both have shit going on.

Papi is feeling like he has no purpose.

That when he left his job, he left his intent in life.

I've reminded him that when he gets to the Dominican Republic, he will have MANY people to help and he will not feel pointless in this life any more.

I feel insignificant.

Like I just don't matter.

There was a time when I used my music to feel like 'someone'.

I needed that.

I needed to feel like I was loved, even if it was through my craft.

I felt needed that way.

That option left me after the motorcycle accident.

Gone.

I was ok with feeling like 'nothing' for a long time.

However, yesterday really made me realize just how 'nothing' I really am.

I am insignificant.

I'm not needed.

There are a handful of people who love me, and for that I'm grateful, because if I didn't have them, it's times like this that I'd surely disappear.

I tried to say goodbye to a few people at the synagogue yesterday, but soon realized, not too many people cared, so I left in tears.

"We'll miss you," they lied, with a smile on their face.

No, you really won't.

Maybe one day, you'll look at that seat and remember when I'd sit there, but you won't miss me.

I'm not important enough.

That seat will be filled with someone else.

Probably the passive aggressive guy who likes to comment that it used to be his.

Yeah, buddy?

Well, then get your ass there on time and it can be yours too.

Early bird gets the worm.

It was mine.  Not any more.

He can have it with his daughter who really believes the world revolves around her.

Imagine how she's going to feel when she realizes it doesn't?

She'll feel insignificant.

She'll feel like nothing.

She'll feel just like I do right now.

Not very fucking important.

I have no place and it doesn't matter, because there's always someone to replace me.

I just fade into the woodwork like the pretty little wallflower femme I am.

Nothing.

I used to hold people's attention.

Last night, the saddest words I dread to hear came from Papi's mouth, "I wish you were with it like before the accident.  I wish you were lively again."

I had to remind him, "Yeah, morphine will do that to ya."

It's really not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

He hides it so much better than I do.

I just want to disappear.

Oh yeah, right.

That's what we're doing.

Sometimes, I wish I could really believe the positive daily mantras I write here.

i matter and what i have to offer this world matters

lucky bitch?

Do we ever stop looking to the other side of the fence, wanting more?

It's a strange phenomenon.  No matter where we get to in life, there's always more we wish for, or maybe it's just me?

Since we've bought our dream home, we constantly hear, "You're so lucky!"  We are, and we're also lucky enough to be very grateful, which is to our benefit of knowing joy.

There's something that people have to understand, though.  If I hadn't have been hit on my motorcycle and had to rewire my brain for walking, memory and function, I wouldn't have had this 'luck' of having a beach front house in paradise.

We'd have a home, but not the beauty we have right now, with the opportunity to rest our bones.  We would have to work more than full time.

Still, there's something that I long for, that I can no longer have.

Months before the accident, I was in the process of finishing my latest HECTOR CD, was an intern studying the process of being a studio engineer/producer and was working my way up the ladder in the music industry.

During this time, I had a conversation with Chad Kroeger about my music.  True to the boys club of the music industry, he was going on about 'what sells', and without even hearing my music was telling me I wasn't good enough.

Indignantly, I declared, "You know what, I KNOW you'd like my music, so I really don't GIVE a fuck."

I stormed away, but felt a tap on the shoulder.  When I turned around, it was Chad with a look on his face seemed to say, 'you'll never work in this town again', but instead he verbalized, "You know what?  That was really fucking cocky.  Now I wanna hear your music."

Just a few months later, I was in the throws of feeling like I was walking on a canoe and having 5 minute memory, never mind having the cognitive know how to turn on my computer, or how to work my recording programs.

Forget about holding my bass guitar!

So, 'luck'?

I still have such execrable distress for everything that has been stolen from me by losing those 4 years to recovering from that motorcycle accident.

Last night's torment was no less loathsome.

I needed to take some of Papi's clonazepam, because the angst I was feeling made me want to shrink into inadvertence.

Once that accident happened, my life changed.  In 4 years of the music industry, you become nobody once more, and you need to start from the very beginning again.  Everything I worked for was erased in those 4 years.

Oh, and the hard work of getting my life back to liveable has worn on my face, leaving me with a few more wrinkles and grey hair.  I'm no spring chicken and I certainly don't have fake tits.

My love had to remind me, that at one point I was short-listed by Courtney Love herself, for Hole, and that I should be proud of what I accomplished prior to that fateful day.

I allowed myself pride, then almost cried that my performing career has been stripped from me in a second's worth of time by a woman who made an error in judgement, when her illegal U-Turn changed my life.

So, when people sometimes get a little bit green with envy, or those who really don't like me wonder, "How the hell does someone like her deserve that?!" I have to remind myself and others, that they're just looking at my life from the wrong angle.

When someone says, "I want your life," I wish I could say, "You really don't know what you're saying."

What if I never got hit and inherited that big record deal?  What if I landed that big gig as the bass goddess of rock?

Would I have this life with mi esposo?  Would I be have been so fortunate to be as happy as I am now?

My life changed, and I can't say for better or for worse, it just changed.  Life will change for all of us, sometimes the way we want, sometimes not.

One thing I can say is, I have learned what it means to go with the flow of it, even when it brings tears of loss.

My life has been quite the ride.

Sometimes, the changes and loss really hurt, but someway, somehow, I have to believe there is still a magical life of music out there for me to continue with.

Every cloud has a silver lining, and currently, mine has an ocean view.

i am successful

i'm dying inside.

Remember all those mornings I would wake up with swollen eyes?

They would look like they were used as a punching bag while I was too busy crying to notice anyone beating the shit out of them.

I have them today.

Right now, my demons have a hold of me and are eagerly dragging me further into the rancid Pit of Doom.

I was supposed to be home, not in the Pit of Doom, but there's a small problem.

I won't go into massive details right now, but let's just say I won't live with drama that I never asked for.

I'm sleeping in someone else's bed, when I should have been sleeping in my own with my loving spouse while we celebrate the sale of the home, and our next adventure.

I thought I lost my phone, but at least, the very least, I found it in my friend's car as I did my usual, "Hey!  Why don't we leave it on the front seat?" game, and it wasn't stolen!

I guess I can say I'm grateful for that.

However, I excitedly looked to see a message from Papi, but there was nothing.

I left a message saying how much I love him, but that would not make sense to someone when at the same time, I left my home.

It's not really my home anyway.

I came home to The Yank having lived in our room for a few days, and it no longer looked like our room.

I came home to a 'Sold!' sign on our front lawn.

I came home to my spouse relapsing.

Besides, it's no longer my home anyway, and when Papi and I have a chance to deal with the current stressful situation, it still won't be my home.

So, I'm just getting a head start on not having a home, by sleeping in my friend's bed until the drama has ceased.

I don't ask for drama.

I ask for peace.

I ask for love.

I ask for the best life possible.

I ask for happiness.

I ask for gratitude.

Crying alone in fear for my spouse's safety is not the best life possible, is not happy times, is not something I'm grateful for, nor is it peaceful.

At least there is still love.

And yet, here I sit, crying so violently, that I can only wish each tear was one step closer to death.

If tears could kill, today I would wish for them to do so.

I suppose that Beatles song is right.  Love is all you need.

I'm being ripped and torn inside because I love so much.

I'm on an endless loop of tear after tear because my love for Papi is so deep, I could feel our connecting dissipate while I was away for the weekend.

I didn't get my usual texts of love, because Papi had a distraction.

A down and dirty, nasty distraction that will stray even the most loving hearts away.

I was chosen second over this demonic liquid.

This evil poison that will whisper in his ear, "You can drink socially!  You're fine now!"

From the phone messages I received last night, he is not a social drinker.

Every sip he poured into his mouth is a tear that is rolling down my face today.

I'm broken.

There are no kings men or horses to put me back together again.

There is only one person who can do that.

i have a wonderful spouse and we are both happy and at peace.

sadness is leaving us

Yesterday was the day and we told her the night before.

I can't tell you how hard it was to see her have to go through the acceptance that she has to go live somewhere else.

It's her home, where she wanted to die.

No longer.

Now she's moved to a much safer place for her little old lady legs to walk around.  Everything is accessible.

Except her house.

We have Papi's uncle here to help, and they've gone through a lot of G'ma's stuff.

Some of the memories of pasts are damn sweet!  We found Papi's kindergarten report card G'ma kept.  It was so fun to read Papi was a shy one in the beginning, but soon opened up to the rest of the class.

So hard to believe!

There is so much stress in this house, and we're all trying so hard to hold it together.

Lord knows my bitch of a back is not complying.

Between losing one of my besties, gramma drama, and getting all of our belongings out of the house, my back has forced me to take the worst of the worst drugs.

Morphine fucking sucks.  Let me tell you.

The craziest part is, G'ma is doing better with all of this than we are.  All three of us are one bundle of mess.

Tears.  Stress.  Sadness.  You name it, it's under this roof.

All I can look forward to is moving upstairs into the light and get my brain out of the Dungeon Syndrome.  We've been living in this dark basement for too long.

Papi's used to it.  He's been here since birth.

Me?  I never enjoy the darkness.  It brings too much crud to the surface.

Soon, we get to enjoy bright open windows of sunshine.  That is of course, if this damn city would stop raining.

Our home in this vault is pure chaos.  Our belongings are all leaving and we have nowhere to put our stuff that was in it.

Hence, it's hanging off the ottoman, my piano bench, our kitchen island and surrounding floors.

Mess.  Kinda like our minds.

One thing I can look forward to, is the moment the Uncle has left the building, we're moving on up, into the light.

Anyway, back to the G'ma.  She was amazing at taking the whole experience in stride.

When we went back to the home with a 2nd load, I couldn't find her.  She wasn't in her room, and she wasn't in visiting her sister.

I inquired of the nurse, "Would you have any idea where G'ma went?  She's already M.I.A.!"

She giggled, "She's probably up at the 106 year old's birthday party on the 2nd floor."

Off I went in search of the old fart, and sure enough, there she was, eating cake, drinking tea, and already organizing an evening game of crib with 'Dorothy', who said to G'ma, "You're the answers to my prayers!  I have the table, the board, the cards and the money!!"

G'ma is going to be just fine and will probably be running the place within a week.

Of course, it's going to be hard for her at times, but the fact that she's already mixing in with people had my heart filled with so much joy for her!

No longer will she have tears in her eyes from loneliness.

Hell!  They even bring a cart around a couple times a day with cookies and tea, just in case the old folks need a little sugary love.

Love.

Plenty of it there in her new home, and she's a two minute drive for us.

I'm so happy she's doing so well.  It takes one of the stresses out of the equation.

You hear that, bitchy back?  Now calm the fuck down and behave!!!

i am willing to let go of the past, so that i can create health now

Would you like a nice slice of "Fuck-it-all?"

I'm not really in the mood to be writing today, but for you, I will anyway.

Here's my cake.

 

The two friends who actually showed up for my party wouldn't let me eat it as is.

They made me cut it.

Here's the inside.

When 12 of the 14 people called on the day of the party to say they couldn't show up, at first I thought, "Woohoo!  More cake for me!"

But it's a hell of a lot of cake to eat all alone.

... alone ...

I've been giving away a lot of it, and I've learned my lesson, yet again.

15 years ago, I told myself I would never celebrate my birthday again, because people don't show up.

When they don't show up, I get let down.

I would get so hurt, because I felt I wasn't important/loveable/popular enough for my close friends to give a shit to come celebrate my life.

This round, I know I'm loved, but the cosmos just do not allow me to honour my life by way of a gathering of loved ones. 

I guess being gathered by people I love is just never going to be in the cards for me.  Every time I'd be left alone on past birthdays, I would spend my whole day crying, wondering why I'm not good enough for the people I'm close to to show up.

Granted, this time, every single person had a good reason for not being there, but it still didn't take away from the fact that it hurt that everyone but two bailed on my day.

Of course, My Gratitude Buddy showed up later on just to be here on my day, even if it wasn't for the party.  I can always count on her and the other two that showed up.

Even on my actual birthday yesterday, only one person called me.

Here's ironic for you; it was my mother.

I spent the day wishing I never said I'd celebrate.  I spent the day wondering what the fuck is wrong with me?

... i spent the day crying and admitting to someone about how on my birthday, every year, i secretly wish i was dead and i hide from the world... shhh ... don't tell anyone ...

Being left alone this time around is different.  I know they love me.  It's just that I went against my better judgement and thought that people would actually show up because it is my last birthday here in Vancouver.

Didn't matter.  People got sick or whatever and again, yet again, my heart was broken.

I spent $350 on steak, salmon, cake enough to feed an army, alcohol for my drinking friends/family and the list goes on.

I could've used that for the bills that are screaming at me.

I'm pretty much just going to cancel my week, eat cake and cry the sugar out of every pore in my body.  I haven't actually stopped crying since My Gratitude Buddy left late Sunday evening.

And people always ask me, "Why don't you ever celebrate your birthday?"

Well, when even the closest loving people in my life are somehow energetically stopped from coming, there's just no fucking point.

You can bet I won't be bothering with a 'leaving the country party'.

Nobody will show up.

I'll just go away quietly and build a new life with Papi.  I can always count on Papi to make my day wonderful. 

And to give me clonazepam to stop the tears.

if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting

goodbye.

We had such a beautiful send off for The World's Loudest Snorer.

We all met at one of her favourite parks.  Really, it's one of every dog's favourite parks in the lower mainland of Vancouver.

Here's a blog dog's eye view of Bridgman Park.

Fortunately, we didn't have to walk very far to get to her spots she enjoyed.

Coincidentally, this was where I'd go for my lunch breaks when I was a piano teacher.  I would bring my Dearly Departed Gypsy to this little nook in Lynn Creek, and I'd watch her play with water, rocks and logs while I enjoyed my food.

Then I'd have to endure the wet dog smell in my tiny little hatchback of a car for the day.

Anyway, here we were again, only to say goodbye when the craziest thing happened!

It was the same damn thing that happened when we released my Dearly Departed Gyspy's ashes in the water at Ambleside Beach!!

... which is sorta like doggy disneyland if you want the visual ...

Dogs appeared like magic, and chased the ashes while they were carried away by the current of the ice cold water.

There was one who knew The World's Loudest Snorer, and another who didn't.

They chased the sweet loving energy as it traveled amongst the water.  It was as if their spirits had embraced the departed as they left.

When it happened with my babygirl Gypsy, I laughed because it would have been the only time that she was ever chased by another dog.  She would have never willingly allowed it.

No, she was a crotchety bitch from the day I got her.

Anyway, when the same thing happened with The Snorer, it was like the connection to my long lost girl was reaffirmed.  It was like she was right there with me, to say she's never going to leave me.

It was as if she came to take our recent loss's heart and guide it to where she needs to be, so that the newcomer may find peace and happiness.

There was also a few more amazing things that happened.

When we got there, there was another woman who had come to see her Fuzzy Family member off to be with the other dog's spirits.  We all embraced her and asked her to stay for our goodbye as well.  She had tears, we had tears, but all in all, she was a part of the healing as well.

Out of the thick of the trees came a dog I thought I recognized!  Could it be?

I turned around to see if my friend was there, then waved her over.

The moment she saw us, she said, "I could tell you were having a funeral ceremony, because she always seems to find those who are leaving us.  She finds these ceremonies everywhere she goes!"  She is another one to send off the spirits.

It was absolutely incredible to see these intuitive creatures join in and show us that even though we are hurting, there is still so much joy to come from our Fuzzy Families.

There is an extended Fuzzy Family that we don't really give credit to.  It's important to remember how connected these creatures are to us.

Our ceremony was followed by a picnic and playing in the park with my Godson and the rest of the family.

I realized two beautiful things on this day.

One, I am part of their family.  These beautiful souls accept Papi and I as a couple of token Honkies.  They love us just the same as if we were born to the family.

Two, The Godfather and I have no fucking idea what we'd do if we were called on to be permanent parents.

Does this:

... look like we know what we're doing?

Good god!!  The Turkey doesn't even want to get a picture with us.

Never mind.  He's still a part of our lives right now.  So is the energy of the sweet spirit who left us for good on this day.

regardless of the situation, life goes on

halle-fucking-luja

I had another moment of bliss.

Joy of living!  Gratitude for life!  That feeling of elation, because I understand life's secret!!!

It occurred to me at that moment, that I have really lived my life.

I have lived within the permission it has given me, but none-the-less, I have lived.

It doesn't matter that I've had times that have been difficult.

What matters is that even through the turmoil, I still strove to make myself happy.  I didn't do this for anyone else but myself.

I have given myself a gift that nobody can take away from me.

At the same time, nobody else could give it to me either.

I saw my dentist the other day.  Here was this man who has a wife, 2 beautiful children, a breathtaking office view of our amazing city, that consequently, we get to enjoy while he's drilling our mouths, and he really has no money woes to speak of.

All the things a lot of us would kill ourselves with stress to have.

Funny part was, he was envious of the fact that my music is transferable to other countries.

He said, "You are so lucky you can move your talent to the Dominican Republic and do it from there.  I'm stuck here."

I have lived.

I continue to live.

I plan to live a hell of a lot more.

Friday night, I realized that I have created the happiness in my life.

No matter what has been given to me, I find a way to get happier as my life goes on.

I am no where close to believing in some dude up there in Birkenstocks, a toga, with hair and a beard that could use a little trim and dye job.

But I realized, that what I do believe in, the belief in the exchange of positive energy, is my belief.

I could exchange all the beauty other people find in that three letter word I'm supposed to believe in, with the word 'energy' and I finally have a way to relate.

I had tears of overwhelming joy, which were a little embarrassing.  However, My Gratitude Buddy and all the other sweet souls who comforted me made me feel welcome to have my feelings.

You see, I attended the Shul for the 3rd time again Saturday.  What that building lacks in size, more than makes up for it with positive messages and love.

It truly is a place of peace.

I realized that my agnostic verging on atheist struggle has begun to rest.

I am ready to let go of the atheist within me.

I can believe in energy.

I don't have to call it what the zealots prefer I call it.  I have a belief system and it works for me to keep me happy.

The most wonderful part about this, is that in my 3 visits to that place of Judaism, I have found some more people who consider themselves agnostic.

They, too, are searching.

They, like me, are needing more than just a few words in some silly book to tell them how to think.

There are so many free thinking people I have encountered in that building of love, and I realized something yesterday; I fit in.

I've found my place where they allow me to be who I am spiritually.

I have been building my belief of energy since my spiritual breakdown 10 years ago.  I can now say that I'm well on my way to understanding what people mean by praying.

I couldn't get it before, because how could I ask some imaginary dude for help?!?!

I still can't use the word 'pray'.  It's too much of a reminder of the evil in my Catholic upbringing.

But I can say I create positive energy around me.

Those tears of joy washed away my strife of searching for my place.

I have a new path.

It sure is a beautiful feeling.

today's mantra from my MC Guru:

let's live life with joy instead of judgement ~ don miguel ruiz

the omen.

It's part of life.

It's something we all have to face with our loved ones, may they be our Fuzzy Family, our chosen family, or our blood relatives we're close to.

Everyone has an expiry date.

But somehow, it's just a little more painful when it's our Fuzzy Family.

We can't tell them, "It's going to be ok now."

The old, one-eyed Golden is really starting to go downhill.

We had to bring him in for pain meds, because his front joint has possibly become arthritic.

Poor Papi had to carry him out to the grass so he could tinkle.

Of course, when you bring them in to the vet, they act like they're fine.

Yet still, there was no denying that he was having a hard time limping about the office.

There's also no denying that his Ghost Face is becoming a little more prominent.

There were tears from Papi and G'ma today before the vet visit.

Our vet is no nonsense.

"I don't know how long you will want to treat him for the pain.  That's up to you.  But he's old."

Yeah.

We know.

We won't be letting him suffer.

We will try to make him comfortable and it looks like I'll have to start using the towel method to help him up the stairs.

There is not a hope in hell that I can pick up the 80 pounder anymore!

20 lbs is my limit, and that's on a good day.

But when he's gotta get out to piddle, he's going to need my help.

This could be tricky.

The saddest part, is he doesn't get to go to work tonight.

He loves his job.

He takes care of the hearts that need love at the safe house mi esposo works at.

The Golden will walk them to their door when it's curfew.

Well, that may be because he gets cookies for doing so, but still, he loves those ladies and he loves his job.

He will nuzzle into them, spreading good cheer, and allowing them to forget about their fears/pain/trauma for at least a moment.

While I was recovering from the worst of my jaw surgery, he was the one who laid beside me, his head on my lap, his one, caring eye looking to me, as if to say, "I wish I could help."

It's part of life.

Preparing to say, "Good-bye," to our best buddies.

Yeah, I've done it a few times in my life, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I suppose that with the state The Golden is in right now, he won't be one of the critters to make it to the Dominican Republic with us.

This house has sadness.  There is a knowing of foreboding doom.

It's a right of passage; learning to let go and say farewell.

I still haven't let go of my Dearly Departed Gypsy.  I also still feel Mr. Moustache in the house.

They never leave us in spirit.

This is something I'm grateful for. 

Their love lingers.

Today's mantra, from My Gratitude Buddy:

i am hitching my wagon to a star

Storm has passed.

So.

I scraped my way out of the Pit of Doom.  Fortunately, Papi was there to save the day when my pain killer packed smoothie spilled all over my composing desk.

Yeah.  That was a nice effect to put on the already fucked up day.

Oh, and the reason I was in my music room was because I was going to try to compose to take my mind off everything.

Alas, my cords have gone missing from the video and I had no AC to make music.

So.

I spent half the day crying tears of frustration.

I spoke to me dear aunt who stopped the tears with some chuckles.

I stared at the wall, drooling for a few hours.

I finally got hungry and I made some dinner.

I am still on a quest to make Papi healthy food that he likes.  Last night I made my usual steamed veggies with quinoa, and some broiled chicken.

I was thrilled that my love was even entertaining eating my lovely organic veggies on this day, so the steamer was put together with ardor!

Carrots on his side, kale on my side, shared broccolini and daikon in the center, and a nice sweet pile of quinoa on top to heat with the steam.

I excitedly brought the dish to my love, even though it looked boring in comparison to mine.  I like a little tahini drizzled on top for added calcium and protein.

True to any spoiled child, I heard, "There are people who eat things separately, and people who eat things together.  I'm one of the people who eats things separately."

listen mother fucker, i just spent a day sobbing over bureaucratic bullshit, and made you and i a nice dinner ... eat the fucking food and be grateful for fucks sakes!

Papi is a manchild.  If I want my Tranny Terrorist to eat well, I have to suffer the supper of perfection.

"It's just that I don't like all my food mushed together in the same plate!  I want to eat each thing separately so that I can only taste one thing at a time."

Oh, dearest Papi.

You make me forget all about what I was upset over, with your zany ways.

My love had a great idea for our evening.  He brought out the Wii Guitar Hero.

This game is insanity for any actual musician.  The beats are counter-intuitive.  You actually have to play the note ahead of where it should be.  I sucked!!  I wanted to play on the beat!!!

So, after failing a few times and letting down my band mate, because I was playing music the way it should be, I was demoted to singer.

This should have been better, except the songs were stuff I'd never heard before.

I sounded like a polecat in heat.

So bad in fact, that Sir Bark-A-Lot actually started to howl when I'd follow that little line up when it told me to.

As I crooned with the rat dog, Papi was trying to maintain his composure and nail his guitar hooks, the Bucket Head whined, and the cats ran around trying to find shelter from the pain of the din.

It was perfect.  It was exactly what I needed.

I was able to finally laugh at the end of the day.  It may have taken me all day to get to the point of my daily mantra, but I did it.

I laughed.

This morning I'm feeling much better, because 'today' is the 'tomorrow' I waited for 'yesterday'.

It's always a better day 'tomorrow', and besides, there's no mail to bring me down today.

All I have to worry about is getting my love, the new found chauffeur, to drive me around, considering I temporarily have no license.

That and trying to figure out how the fuck I'm going to make food for Papi 'his way' so he'll eat the goddam veggies!!!

'Today' is good.  I weathered the storm of Hurricane Andréa, and lived to tell the story.

i have hope ... i am able to see hope

Back off bitches!

The Hen Peckers are at it again.  Only this time, they're attacking Papi.

don't you fuck with my baby, bitches!! i don't care if your a he, a she, both or none of the above, your behaviour grants the title 'bitches'!!

The Trans Clique is spewing their defamation about my love on forums.

They have no idea about mi esposo's situation, but they feel that Papi should be following their orders.

like tiny little soldiers we all fall in line ...

Papi's job is a difficult subject that my love and I have spoken about numerous times, and mi esposo doesn't take this job for granted.  Papi is very aware of the transition being discussed amongst management at this company, and is waiting for them to figure out this issue on their own.

You see, my love started working at a transition safe house for abused, mentally ill women a few years ago.  Only 'women' can work there, and only 'women' can be housed there.  However, there has been an M-F who was taken in.

The women were uncomfortable with this transgender person at first, because she still had a penis and walked around with a short house coat.

Yet, over time, they became used to the soul inside and accepted her as one of their own.

Stress the words; over ... time ...

The women there adore my love.  Rightfully so!  Papi has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known.  Mi esposo is perfect for the job, because of this.

Abused, mentally ill people need to have this love in their lives, just as much as they need consistency.

I know that these souls would be heartbroken if my love were fired from this job, or even if Papi left by choice.

My love has been slowly telling these broken souls in a sweet way, that they have to be prepared for the day when mi esposo must say, "Farewell."

Slowly ... over ... time ...

It's giving them a chance to mentally prepare for the day when they have to let go of Papi, when it's my love's own time to depart.

Papi knows that time is ticking and that there will come a day when mi esposo must say goodbye, but just like in a romantic relationship, right now is not the 'right time' to break up.

Well, when my love was written about in the newspaper, the trans mafia read it, and are now spitting words of venom over the fact that mi esposo is still working in a facility that employs only 'women'.

What ever happened to free thinking, not being labeled by society, and supporting one another by understanding each other's own journey is just that; their own?

Nope.

The clan is saying that my love is double dipping and being a woman when it's convenient, and being a male when it's advantageous.

One of the biggest ring leaders is adamant that nobody label them as male or female, so how dare they label my love as only a male?

Papi shed a few tears from the hens pecking at my love's beautiful skin.

Cliques.

They are just insecure, scared beings who can't be alone from the clan.  They don't allow free thinking.  They demand you be just like them so they will accept you.

Papi and I are both one in the same kind, who allow each other to think how we feel.  We correct each other when we're too far away from PC thinking that may hurt another.  We love each other and the friends we have, because they, and we, accept each other for who we are.

We don't fit in to these mobs.

We and our friends don't fit in together.

So, in an essence, we are doing our very best to weed out the cliques one by one, find the real friends that we deserve, and feel the pain when the Hen Peckers break our skin.

My love is not hurting anyone by being at work.  Quite the contrary.  Papi's presence would be terribly missed.

If Papi triggered anyone into feeling that my love is an intimidating male, mi esposo would ask to be moved to a different facility in the company.

It's not the pack's choice.

Go on then.  Live your own life.

We'll be living ours with the people who show us love.

Looks like Papi will be making his own Trust List.

and yes.  it was difficult for me to type 'his', so shoot me.