zoom! there she goes!

Pain med hangover.

Fucking ouch.

I need pain meds to get rid of the fucking hangover from the pain meds.

Goddammit I hate pills.

I can't take the medicinal marijuana at night because they make me a bit, shall we say, 'creative', and my mind just won't slow down enough to catch some sleep.

But between the jaw pain and the back pain last night I needed to do something to help me sleep through the ouch.

So, today I suffer for sleeping last night.

However, I'm up and getting ready to head out the door.

I get to see two very sweet people today, one of them being My Gratitude Buddy.

So, I have to go get ready and look as pretty as this day will be.

I also gotta get out of this basement before the Dungeon Syndrome kicks in again.

Enjoy your Saturday.  I know I will.

all my relationships are loving and harmonious

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

What's your 'something'?

So, this may be a first.

I've never had my taxes done on time.

Once I even had 6 years of taxes to do.  That was fun.

But this year, I am so ready.  It's wonderful!  I've never done this before!

Probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don't run my business like I did before the accident.

Self-employment has it's benefits, but being an employee does as well.

Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come here to read about my taxes.

How about a little Papi moment yesterday?

"I can't imagine myself with breasts anymore.  It just doesn't seem like I ever looked right with them."

I had to agree.  He looks right now.  It was just a settled comfortable sight of my love.

There was a moment of uncomfortable thoughts within that space of calm.

"Honey, what will people think when they see me on the beach with scars on my chest?"

I replied with what I've been told by other people, and I'm pretty sure what my love has heard in the past, "They'll just think you had cancer and won't want to ask questions."

I felt so sad for mi esposo.  I've had the feeling of 'What will people think?' too many times.

It's so 'human' of us.

But really is it necessary?

Furthermore, is it possible to get rid of that?

People say they 'don't give a shit' all the time, but I'm willing to bet that there's something they think someone will notice, but won't tell anyone they have that thought.

I'm also pretty sure that everyone else who's walking around the beach is thinking that their something is what everyone is staring at, and consequently, they could care less about anyone else's something.

We're just a bunch of nutburgers wandering around hoping nobody will notice our somethings.

So, I don't think my love has anything to worry about.

My something is being worried that someone out there will see me like I see myself in the mirror and point and laugh.

Even though that's not realistic, it's what I think.

I've had people point and laugh for other things, ...

... like you balcony bitches ... you know who the fuck you are ... how's that karma treatin' ya? ...

... so, I can't say with confidence that it doesn't happen in reality.

I have more confidence in my something now, even if it means spending the whole day with shaking, sweaty hands and a tummy that's bent out of shape, I face the fear.

Then!  That's about the only time my something lets up; when I just ignore the voices that tell a different story than what I want to hear.

We all have a something.

Papi's will pale in comparison to his beautiful personality, and nobody will notice at all.

A nice summer glow will help matters when he goes to Mexico in May.

That's about all I can get out today, while I'm being trampled on by The Galloping Gazelle.

Yup.

He's ba-ack.

Giving cuddles galore and filling our dungeon with more giggles.

whether you think you can, or you can't, you are right

~ Henry Ford

My Old Lady Cart

It occurred to me yesterday that referring to my love as my spouse, and 'he', has now become effortless with only a slip up here and there.

I'm not cringing every time I have to say it, and I don't have the urge to want to tell the person I'm speaking to, "But I started out married to a 'she'!!" every single time.

Yeah, I did.

But now I have a 'he'.

A gorgeous, big-hearted, loving, generous, animal loving 'he', who describes 'fun' as the ability to taunt me by asking me, "Here!  Touch it!" as he pulls at the little hairs on his chest.

I am so glad I have this opportunity to get used to it all before we get to the Dominican Republic.   I don't need my love getting tranny-bashed when we get to paradise by my slip of a tongue.

It wouldn't be paradise anymore.

Speaking of paradise, I started my trek with counseling.  It was a teary hour, but it will get better.

I also want my paradise to include a P.T.S.D. free life from past traumas.

I want my life to be free of anything that would hinder our relationship.  I don't really have the energy to drag all that luggage to the Dominican.

I gotta get rid of it.

It's all a part of The Great DR Purge.

Oh ya!

Today was my first day riding the 'short bus'.  It was so nice to have a stress free ride to get out of my isolation and the Dungeon Syndrome.

AND!!

I went to the surgeon for my 3 week checkup and the splint and elastics are now gone!

Not that it makes any difference to the amount of food that trails down my chin in an effort to stain my favourite bra.

Oh, it's so nice when it's a sticky sweet substance.

That's my fave.

Anyway.

I don't have to wear the mouth crap and I look a little more normal now.

With the exception of the chipmunk cheeks.  They're still a bit round.

I do feel less stressed about time.  I have nothing but time until my next appointment.

I had enough time to go buy myself a handy dandy cart.

Yup.

My new fancy dancy old lady cart.

I have an old lady shopping cart to drag around with me so that I am able to bring my water, snacks and this here computer.

It's not so bad.  It actually feels really good to not be wasting gas in our monster of an SUV.

No, I don't like them, but we needed it and now we're stuck with it.

Or, I should reiterate, Papi is stuck with it.

My ride is much bigger than his.

My mantra today comes from my MC Guru:

 even through the thickest rain and darkest clouds, i can still see the light

Short Bus!!!

Well.

It's official.

I am a rider of the 'short bus' once more.

I don't actually mind.  I'm terrified on the road.  You would be too.  People keep trying to kill me!

... operative word; 'try' mother fuckers ...

Of course I have my personal chauffeur, Papi, but he's usually so busy sleeping off the Graveyard Coma that I don't get to utilize his services.

The one thing I'm happy about, is when I'm on the little bus, I feel safe.

It's a few tons of steel that has bars everywhere to hold on to.

Not to mention, my co-workers are so wonderful.

Well, I guess they're not really my co-workers if I can't do the job anymore, eh?

None-the-less, to me, they will always be my co-workers.  It was the best day job I ever had.

We didn't get to see too much of each other, until my motorcycle accident, then they saw me every day and it was wonderful!

So, I suppose now I get to see my co-workers a little more and that's just lovely.

Except for the ones that don't like me that much.

I'm a bit akin to a puppy jumping around saying, "Let's play!!" while the more mature dog just looks at it from the corner of her eye saying, "Bitch, I'm not in the mood."

I have a lot of energy to spare when I'm in top form.

I'm quite far from my original form, but at least they're not trying to flog a dead horse anymore, by doing their best to get me back to original shape to do the 'short bus' tour.

Now, I'm just rehabbing to get me to where I can be for my current state of my body.

I have arrived at my destination.

This is as good as it gets.

And I'll tell you, I'm grateful.

Compared to where I was 3 years ago, I'm walking, remembering more and you can't shut me up.

So, yeah.

I'm grateful for where I am.

I'm grateful for actually having the option of taking the 'short bus'.

It will get me out of my isolated area I live in, and into the thick of the city to see my friends.

There is nothing to complain about there.

It's a win win all round.

Someone else can drive and I get be panic attack free, I get to get out of this house and be flee the Dungeon Syndrome, I get to see my co-workers, I get to see my friends and neither Papi nor I have to worry when I get behind the wheel.

Then!

When I'm having a good back day and can walk to the bus stop closest to me, I could actually do a spur of the moment plan!

Life is good.

It's really really good.

Nothing can actually take away our happiness but ourselves.

We are also responsible for creating our happiness in the first place.

If I can do it, so can you.

Trust me.

i am able to take risks and try new things without fear

Papi get down from there!

It was tense.

It was really hard to talk Papi off the ceiling once he got up there.

We decided we weren't going to go away until the time came to look for property in the Dominican Republic.

Then it came; The invitation to one of my best friends' wedding in Mexico.

Well, of course we had to go.  He was my best man at my wedding and I love the bride-to-be to pieces.  She is one of the strongest people I have ever encountered in my life.

Then of course, there's my Godson; The Turkey, The Porkchop and the rest of the clan in that positive happy home.

Hell yes!  We're going.

However, this sparked my love to think of more opportunities for us to get a break from G'ma and the Dungeon Syndrome.

My love's aunt and uncle are coming to stay in May, and knowing that we could get out of this place and have a break from the G'ma really sounded like a good idea.

Until this.  "Well, if we're going to that wedding then we can go to the wedding for my half sister!" 

We really can't afford this one though.  It's in the Mayan Riviera.  That would cost way too much, but at first, my love announced, "We're going to both!" then skipped up and down the hall.

I'm not exaggerating.

"This is my happy dance!!" he crooned as he side step skipped up and down our tiny corridor.

The animals didn't quite know what to make of it.

Hell!  I didn't know what to make of it.

All I saw was our pending debt flashing before my eyes.  It a good cardio workout for my love, who has been stagnant since his hysterectomy 5 months ago.

It was so hard to convince my love that we have time to save for the one in October, but we can't possibly do that for the one in May.

His skipping stopped, and he looked like I'd just stolen his ice-cream cone.

"Honey, I've been through bankruptcy once, and I don't want to do it again," I pleaded.

I got myself out of that hole and learned about 'want' vs. 'need' and learned that cash for everything is the only way to stay out of debt.  If you can't afford to pay for it without credit, then you simply can't afford it.

However, I got sucked into a lot of retail therapy over the past few years.  You would too after all the hell we've been through since the accident in 2008, not to mention the hell I've been through personally since 2007.

We got sucked into, "We could die tomorrow!" thinking that allowed us to go into debt to get to our places of warmth every year.

But things are different now.  We have a plan to spend every day in paradise.  We don't need to bring along a looming debt to hinder our dream.

So, I did it.

I convinced my love that only one wedding will suffice.  The one we can afford to save and pay cash for.

But I must admit, knowing that there will be someone here to watch the G'ma in May does make me want to get the hell outta Dodge.

Maybe we can enjoy a Stay-cation perhaps?  It will give us time to get things ready for our massive Garage Sale Gala!

Get rid of crap we can't sell, and get a few bucks for the rest.

Anyway, I managed to keep us out of a further debt and I'm shocked I could do it.

Somehow, I edged one finger at a time out of the Gyprock above me.  His fingers were pretty much holding on for dear life.

I talked him down, but it wasn't without a lot of work.

Phew.  That was too close.

i am deserving of all the good things in my life

uh-oh.

I think I did too much.

I guess I'm not superwoman.

I suppose resting from a jaw surgery is really important.

Well, my body has informed me of this anyway.

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

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

Yikes!

And now?

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

My jaw had it's revenge.

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

Ok.

I'm listening.

It's my first surgery.

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

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

This is how exciting rolls ...

I tend to do this.

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

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

Oops.

Ouch.

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

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

i draw all things positive to myself

change

I just had such a lovely lunch with a lovely friend.

Like I said, my friends will fill me with as much love as I need.

She also reminded me that these same 'mean girls' haven't learned how to grow up yet and subsequently, don't know how to communicate around adversity.

What if they lovingly told me what I wrote at the beginning of this journey was 'wrong' in their eyes?

Then I would listen to their side and they would never have to be horrid toward me.

When a friend suggested I use a disclaimer, I saw her opinion as a great way to begin my learning.

Her point was completely valid.  These were my feelings, and not everybody feels this way.

It was my way of working out how to deal with such a huge issue in my mind.

I understand that a lot of what I've written in the past, especially at the beginning, could be taken as very hurtful to Papi and others who are in the process, or have gone through the male transformation.

However, my views around everything have changed and are continuing to change for the better.

I understand the I have P.T.S.D. from past assaults and abuse at the hands of bio-males.

I see where all my fear was lying.  I had to wade through a lot of mixed up feelings to get to the crux of the matter.

But hey, I'm starting my therapy for all this pretty soon ...

... although i'm sorry to say i was supposed to already have an appointment and forgot ... brain injury ... so much fucking fun all the fucking time ...

I'll have more healing and learning to share with you.

I also understand that hearing things that are hurtful would place a certain amount of fear in those who now choose not to trust my feelings.

I see that.

I also see that the hearts that surround me have never done too much to really 'side' with my feelings, they just 'sided' with my heart.

They supported my heart until I could support it on my own.

They told me when I was wrong.

They didn't try to hurt me for already hurting.

These are true friends who are familiar with honest feelings, and didn't disown me for them.

They are open honest hearts who recognized when it was time to lift someone up, not bury them further in their hole.

However, the biggest part of this that we needed to talk about was the fact that I really believed I was the only person they did this to.

Yeah, yeah, narcissistic, I know.  But I couldn't fathom these people being mean to anyone else.  I think I almost thought I deserved it for a while there.

Yet, it's not just me.  They kick others when they're down as well, so it has absolutely nothing to do with me.

I only hold my own responsibility for my own actions.

Like allowing them to hurt me to the point of tears in public.  Or, allowing my pain of being rejected to grant my suicidal thoughts to start yacking at me.

... nobody invited the suicidal girl to the party!!!!! ...

That won't be happening from their harshness anymore.

Also, I'm responsible for learning from my weakest moments, so that I may heal my fears.

I am really amazed at how far I've come in 16 months.

I know I've changed for the better.  My friends know I've changed for the better.

Anyone who doesn't think people can change, has never had anything about them that they've felt needed changing, and they stay stuck in their own shit.

For their sake, for the sake of all the people who hate me for my honesty, I hope one day they too will change.  I hope they will see their responsibilities in the pain they've inflicted upon myself and others with their bullying.

It's possible.  Change is possible.

i am healing the past, while living in the present

Fuck you and your elitist panties.

I told Papi I wouldn't write about this to 'you', my imaginary friend, but it's so hard not to when I'm so angry.

This is where I work it out.

Hen Peckers.

I'm not the only one they've done this to.

They kicked another of my friends when they were down.

Seems the only way they can feel powerful, is to find someone who's hurting and twist that knife in their backs just a little bit more, to really hit home that they're not good enough for them.

Elitists are so fucking ridiculous.

In the grand scheme of things, they really don't matter.

They have no feelings for anyone except themselves, so when it's your turn to be in the Pit of Doom, they'll get you as well.  It doesn't even matter if you're best friends with them!

The queen bee will instruct all their minions to do as they're told.

These chicken shits who are afraid of losing their 'cool' status will adhere to their every word.

To me, these are the losers that are not cool enough.

I dealt with them in high school.  We all have, unless you were one of them.

But even still, I remember being part of the 'cool' kids until they turned on me as well.

These Hen Peckers are the same 'mean girls' that we all had to deal with in high school.  The only difference is they never grew up.

However, something tells me that when they were in high school, they were hurt by the 'mean girls' just like us.

Then, as a chronologically aging 'mature' person, they figure the only way to be more powerful than another, is to hurt someone even more, even when they need friends the most.

I'll tell you, the more I learn about my queer community and their elitist panties they put on every morning, the more I can't wait to move the the Dominican Republic and get the fuck out out this bullshit and hang out with goats.

Unconditional love from a non-elitist.

Come on people!

Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?

Where do you think all this hatred is going to take you?

Nirvana?

When we're all in the old farts home, I'll be talking about all the lovely souls that filled me throughout my time of need.  I'll be talking about how incredible my life was and that I lived it to the fullest with honesty.

And you bitches?

What will you be talking about?

You'll still be gossiping about how the lady at the next table doesn't deserve to be sitting at yours because she's not cool enough.

Fuck you.

This year, when I'm out and about in the community, I am going to hold my head higher than I ever have, because I know the truth about these 'mean girls'.

I am going to walk with all the friends who have been maimed by their harshness, and hug them every time the 'mean girls' cast their stares down their noses at my sweet friends who deserve the love we have for each other.

I think you'd better change your underwear.  They're getting a bit skanky now.

i attract only healthy relationships

munch.

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

I started with that yesterday.

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

Dungeon Syndrome.

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

I ate!

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

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

Then!

I ate tamago!

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

So happy!!

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

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

I have plenty to bitch about.

I'll be back tomorrow.

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

... sigh ...

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

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

Back to my life.

i am strong and healthy

normal? really?!?

So, Papi told me it's normal to get depressed after surgery.

Having that information is good, because I can tell myself that it's going to end, and that it's not coming from any other reasons.

I suppose all the sugar in my diet didn't help matters.

Like I told you, sugar is very problematic for my system, emotionally and physically.

Anyway, I feel like my body is one big sack of rotting potatoes, molding and morphing into another organic substance.

I'm so exhausted, that to just lift my arms isn't worth the effort.

So I won't even bother reaching for a drink of water.

My Boifriend called and I was so grateful he had more to talk about with himself, so I could just listen.

It was fun to mumble on the phone the other day to The Yank as well, but I can't feel my lips so it's hard to move them around.  They might fall off.

Oh, I'm obviously too tired to stay on topic.

Depressed.

Normal?

Horrible.

Every muscle in my body sinks into the couch.  If I got a little warmer, maybe I'd just melt into the leather.

Sir Bark-a-lot would probably just lick me up.  Actually, I'm pretty sure the whole Fuzzy Family would join in.

Part of what got me into this state was that yesterday, I decided today I would work on some music, but I just didn't have the will.  I just didn't have the strength.

The other part is the G'ma.  I was invited out to a games night/St. Patrick's Day sleep over with My Person, and originally I had said yes, however, Papi brought up a good point: we'd both be out of the house while G'ma was sleeping, because my love has to work another graveyard. 

That's not going to work.  We can't just leave the 96 year old Alzheimer's patient alone throughout the night.

I just saw all my freedom simmer away, like those little bubbles of water in a frying pan.  They just fizzle and burn, until eventually all they are is a tiny 'poof' of steam.

I just was told to stop driving, which isolates me in the furthest depths of my city.  Then the option to actually get out of the house to escape the dungeon was crushed because someone has to babysit the old fart and my love is working.

Yup.  Wallowing.

My bottom lip is swollen from the surgery, and a little bit more from the pouting.

After I succumbed to the acceptance of not going out, I realized, I'm too fucking tired to do anything anyway, so I started to keep a tally.

Every time that crazy old fart yells down the stairs, "Is the cat down there?" and then rolls her walker throughout the house bellowing for Psycho Kitty, I mark it down on a tally.

She was at 10 before she started drinking her sherry.  After the sherry she calmed down.

... hmmm ... i think i see a plan forming here ...

At least it was something to giggle at, instead of curse her, every time she screams down to my space reminding me that this is not really my home.

It's hers.

I thought about eating again, but eating means I have to actually remove myself from this spot.  Not to mention, I would have to clean up my mess of a mouth afterward.  That's a big commitment to make.

I just need to sit here and wallow until I get out of the Pit of Doom.

What's good however, is that I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with My Gratitude Buddy and now, also with my MC Guru.  I get a double helping of gratitude every day!

I thought that I wouldn't have anything to be grateful for, because I just lied here all day, but I was wrong.

There's always something.

I'm grateful that this depression is normal and will end.

it's not about getting a chance, it's about taking a chance

To those who hate, thank you!

I was asked to name my friends that I would call on to have a hello or a hang out.

I started blurting out names of all the hearts I adore so much.  I didn't get through them all, it took too long for me to remember names, so when my eyes started to raise to the ceiling to try to think my way out of the brain injured 'duh', he cut me off.

Only problem was, it was for the evils of law, so I was forced to divulge their names on paper.

As I wrote, I started to think about the phrase:

If you can count on one hand five good friends, then you are lucky.

 
I realized I have more people I can call friends than I have fingers on both hands.

Throughout my life, I've been a people pleaser.

What I learned by looking at this friend list, is that these are the only people I need to please.

Not necessarily so much that I need to, but these are the names of people that deserve my love.

I had to go through this list and add phone numbers and I kept it for myself so I could inform them that they've been named.

I looked at the list all day yesterday.  It was so beautiful.

It was so incredible that I could look at the people I love and know that I'm loved back.

It was comforting to hear each of their voices say, "You don't have to be sorry.  I'll fight for you in any way I can!"

It was amazing to feel that I have such a solid group of friends, that I will never have to worry about being lonely.

There was another phrase I heard today that hit home, oh so well.  It went something like this:

People who are busy pleasing everyone around them will find that they're so busy worrying about what others think of them, that they're actually the loneliest people on earth.

I get it now.

There were many years where I wasn't one of the 'cool kids'.  I felt hurt that people didn't contact me instead of me always being the person to call them to initiate a hello, or that I wasn't special enough to be invited to the outings I saw on Facebook.

I thought that if I just kept being super nice to the people that I wanted to be friends with, they'd see that I was worthy!

I was very lonely and could never find that confirmation that I was loveable.  I just wanted so badly to be loved that I spread myself very thin, leaving nothing to fill myself up.

I've stopped trying to please people.

I've realized that the only people I can please are the ones who want me to.

... bow-chicka-bow-bow hehe ...

Anyway, seeing this list in front of me, I now know where to place my energy of people pleasing.

I can now see that all the love I give will be returned in kind by these people.

I don't need to collect hearts anymore.  I'm filled.  I'm fortunate.

I also have the hen-peckers and rah-rah-trannies to thank.  If they hadn't shown me how much hatred they're capable of expressing, I may have never had to start collecting hearts from scratch again.

I want you to know, that you'll never please everyone.  You can't possibly do that.

Choose who you're going to spend your time and energy on.  We only have so much in us to give, so save it for someone who will give back and refill your supply.

Write down the people that you love, that you know you can count on to love you back.

If you can count them on one hand, you're doing very well.

If you can't, maybe now is the time to start changing what you think is a friend.

I've had to do it, and it's really not so bad.

I got so much more out of it than I ever knew I would.

i know that i deserve love, and i accept it now

Candida!!! Horror of all horrors!!!

You may be pleased to know that I've showered.

It's amazing how much body hair can grow in a week.

Wow.

I think the only time in my life that I've had longer armpit hair was when I first came out and noticed all the lesbians around me grew their pits.

So, I thought, "Hey!  If they don't care then neither do I!"

That was short lived.

I'm not that kinda girl.

They were shaved.

I remember the performance I had and I exposed my newly shaved underarm to the club.  "I shaved just for you!" I belted out between songs.

As soon as I flashed my flesh, one of my silliest friends came to the stage and licked my freshly barbered pit.

I squealed with laughter!

Today was not as monumental.

I just shaved that shit off.

But you'll be happy to know I'm less stinky now.

AND!!

I can open my mouth wide enough to take pills without squirming in pain every time I tried to shove those horrid little bastards in my yak.

I was told yesterday that I wasn't drinking enough liquid or getting enough nutrition.  They said I was malnourished and dehydrated.

They told me I need to be drinking orange juice, pop and any other kind of sugary liquid I can get my lips on.

This is problematic in so many ways.

I have candida.  I've never really talked about it to much with 'you', my imaginary friend.

I mean really, when I started talking to 'you' about Papi being a transgender person and ...

... oh whoa is me ...

... how the fuck am I ever going to get over it?!?!

... hehehe ... silly wife ... we'll always love papi no matter what ...

How the hell would I make a segway from my love going through male transformation into, "Hey, by the way, I have candida."

Well, I guess I did today.

I don't eat sugar in my diet and I only eat one serving of fruit a day.  I've always just told people I'm allergic to it, because it's easier than talking about what it really is.  Not to mention the fact that too much sugar makes me a lunatic and homicidal.

But now?   I'm shoving in Canada Dry Ginger Ale, Tropicana OJ, SunRype apple juice and coconut ice cream by the litre.

My body is telling me it's not impressed.

And it's not just the sugar I'm cramming in my belligerent beak.  It's the fact that I had to be on antibiotics for a week.

Both of these add up to a nasty time in candida-land.

Oh.

Dearest boys, if you don't know what candida is, stay in your little bubble of ignorance.  You don't want to know.

Dear girls, stop squirming with the thought of a yeast infection.

Dear helpful healthy tips people, yes, I'm taking my acidophilus.

Anyway, I don't stink.

Now I just have to deal with the fact that I'm fucking hungry and have been craving bacon for two days now.

you never know how strong you really are, until being strong is the only choice you have

My Day of Doom.

Well, it looks like they're going to take my driver's license away again, but for good this time.

I think that when I really know something is final, I get quickly into acceptance.

Either that or I'm just so wiped from the jaw surgery that I don't give a fuck right now.

Upon my visit with my doc yesterday, we were filling out more forms ...

... if you want to really know what hell on earth is, get hit on your motorcycle, then live to fill out a gagillion forms for the rest of your fucking life ...

... and the question came up about driving.

By all three of us talking it out, my doctor decided she was wrong in granting me permission for a driver's license.

My argument was that there are many people with a disability out there who drive, and that I feel I drive fine.  However, I was reminded about all the other people out there that keep trying to kill me.

... what?!?!? you mean it's not all about me?!?! ...

The point of the discussion was, that Papi doesn't feel safe when I'm driving and personally, I'm fucking terrified every time I get into a vehicle anyway.

My P.T.S.D. has calmed to the point where I don't have panic attacks that have me turning blue in the face, but I still feel the edge, and with my brain injury, when I get stressed, I don't think clearly.

When I drive I'm stressed.

If someone were to come around to try to kill me again, ...

... keep on trying bitches ... apparently i'm immortal ...

... both my doc and Papi said that I'm not reacting fast enough to get away from the crazies out there who have been adamant about removing me from earth.

I'm not safe to protect myself, therefore, I'm not safe to be behind the wheel.

I was pretty upset, understandably, because my love has never really pushed the fact that he's afraid when I'm behind the wheel.

I was also very embarrassed and felt a little humiliated, because I've tried so hard to get my life back to where it was before the motorcycle accident.

It felt like failure.  Failure to drive.  Failure to work.  Failure from healing 100% from this accident.

Upon thinking it over for the past day, what I realized is, that by not driving, I may have less stress.

This is good for anyone really, but for me, less stress will definitely make my life better.

Although, what is hard about where I dwell in this city, is that I'm in an area with the privileged, so the buses really suck.

Not to mention, when this bitch of a back is in a flare up, it will take me half an hour to walk, or rather, wobble, to the bus stop.

I guess I'll have to get reinstated for the short bus I was a driver for, then became a passenger on, then tried to get back as a driver twice, but failed, and now I'll be back to a passenger.

Make sense?  Probably not.

It will be a new journey for me.  I have the feeling I'll be talking to 'you', my imaginary friend, from coffee shops all around the city.

I'm trying very hard not to let my independence being stolen from me affect me in a negative way.

I'm still learning as I go as to what 'letting go' really means.

One thing I can say is, there's always a reason for everything.

Perhaps, I'm not immortal and my big ending is looming around the corner, waiting to knock my invincibility down.

Perhaps, I'm not supposed to be hit and taken from my music yet.

Perhaps, if I just let it go, it won't be as bad as I fear.

sometimes, not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck

Ooh, that smell!

Someone smells.

It's not the dog.

I haven't actually changed since I got back from the hospital.

Just one big pajama week.

However, I'm beginning to offend myself.

I just lifted my arm to pet The Golden, and caught a whiff of catastrophe.

Seriously though?

Do I really care that my dearest Papi can smell me from 5 feet away now?

Normally, I would.

Even though my love has seen me at my previous worst, this one tops all worsts of worsts.

I'm not looking or smelling my best.

If my pungent odor isn't super hot and attractive, I'm also a living chipmunk with great yellow bruised cheeks, and bad breath that now rivals Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Hot.

I mean really, if I was concerned about being attractive during healing from jaw surgery, then I'd change.

But right now?

I don't really give a shit.

I mean really!

I've got coconut ice cream drizzled all over my clothes, and yes, that includes my socks, and there's something that looks like a rat living on my head.

Bad hair day like you've never seen it.

Anyway, just thought I'd come tell 'you', my imaginary friend, what's on my mind.

I suppose now I'll drift off into another sleep.

I'm actually surprised my brain has allowed me to spit this much out.

What I'm happy about now, is that I'm done all my antibiotics.  Now I am not forced to eat anything while digesting these little demons.

Eating is more of a bother than I have ever experienced.

So, fuck it.

In this case, food is way over rated.

I'll just sit here all stinky.

 i treat my body with respect

Emotional Day 4

There was almost a breakfast dish served that consisted of a 96 year old Alzheimer's patient/child today.

I'm going to do my best to hide in my dungeon, lest she push me over the edge and I turn her into stew.

I didn't need to have a baby of my own.

I've got the G'ma.

Not the best person in the house to have while someone is healing from surgery.

There is no chance of recovering with the old fart up there.

Papi's sleeping because his body is used to being that way until about 3.  You know.  The Graveyard Coma.

I did my best to support the old bird, but as I stood before her with the ice packs, the chin strap, the swollen face and inability to speak, the old poop upstairs still managed to make everything about her.

Her little old lady feet shuffled in the absolute wrong direction I wanted her to go.  She was actually trying to bully me out of the way because I was weak!

"Gramma!  The HandyDart driver is waiting!"  I squeaked in my very best ventriloquist voice.

Her retort almost made me choke.  "But he's not supposed to be here until 11!"

It was 11:15.

She thought her only worry in the world was getting her make up on to visit her sister.

WRONG!

Do you see this person standing in front of you with chipmunk cheeks, a permanent ice pack and face sling in front of you?

You say you can't hear me.

You know why?!?!

Because I had mother fucking jaw surgery you crazy old bat!

I was forced to literally rip her lipstick out of her hand, almost as if she was experiencing her terrible two's once more.

I was more than ready for the toddler temper tantrum to follow.

I walked her to the door while she struggled with all her might to get back to the bedroom to put make-up on.

The dear HandyDart driver at the door didn't recognize me, his co-worker.

Hell.

I don't even recognize myself.

But you could see it in his eyes that I was going to lose it on this old lady if she just didn't get out of my swollen face space.

He helped out.

"C'mon, Betty, let's get you to the bus."

He gave me a side glance and reassuring smirk of, "I've got it from here."

I closed the door and cried a couple of tears.

Not because of the pain, but because I was frustrated and couldn't yell loud enough to communicate with the craziest lady on the block.

... that would be the old bird ... my day will come on some other 24 hour period ...

Not to mention, I still hadn't taken care of my own broken jawed self today.

All I wanted to do is get back to my cozy hole in the couch that I've created.

My water, my facecloth to wipe up the food from my face, the remote control, my bib, my pills, pain killers and phone.

The phone is really only so I can play Angry Birds.  I can't talk right now anyway.

Well, she's gone now.

Time to drizzle ice cream down my chin and wait for the pain killers to kick in to relieve me of physical pain, even if there's not a damn thing I can do right now for the emotional turmoil of having to deal with a 96 year old while I'm recovering from surgery.

this too shall pass

Day 3

I feel crooked.

I guess that would be because I've had a crooked jaw all my life, and now that it's aligned, it doesn't feel right.

I'm still not up for much chatting with 'you', my imaginary friend, today.

I'm told I'm going to have chipmunk cheeks for over a month. 

I'm too impatient for that!

I am appreciating the unlimited ice cream.  Well, coconut ice cream that is.

That's really all I have to say.

I'm a little more on the bitchy side now that the shock has worn off and it's not fun to be losing the majority of my liquid food down my chin, as it rolls down my handy dandy chin wrap.

I look like a true baby with a bib.  Only way I can do this.

Especially this morning's pea soup for breakfast.

Sleep is my friend.

I still don't recognize myself in the mirror.

But at least my lips can touch now, even if I can't feel them.

Maybe today I will start to get more of the food and liquid in my mouth!

i take care of my body's needs

48 hours.

I really have wonderful things to say about Mount St. Joseph Hospital, but Florence was seriously the highlight of my short, but well taken care of stay.

I don't have much energy to really get much out right now, so I'll give you a synopsis in pictures.

I was pretty excited to get this ball rolling.

I was also pretty enamored by the headwear.  The anaesthesiologist asked if I had big hair under there.  You think?

It was sexy time.

So, of course I needed my documented Angelina moment.

However, I did need a good close up of the Peter Pan Knee High Socks.  How lovely of them to supply for a femme!

 

Right after the surgery, Papi started taking pictures.  I thought I looked bad in this one.  This was only the beginning.

 

 

This was a hospital filled to the gills with religious paraphernalia.  There was even a picture of Jesus holding the arm of a doctor holding a scalpel in and operating room.  It was the first thing you see when you walk into the lobby.

That was a bit creepy.

But Papi had to up the ante with a good old prayer session, complete with crucifix.

Jesus was looking a little skinny at this point.  They should be feeding him a little more.

 

Well, I ventured to the washroom and saw that there could be some trouble brewing in my face when I saw this. 

But honestly, the most epic moment was when I took off all the face goodies and cleaned my mouth on my own.

 

 

Who the hell is this person staring back at me?!?!

There it is folks!  The surgery I've always wanted.  I secretly had a desire to look like a chipmunk.  I fooled you all.

But seriously.

I'm pretty sure she looks a little like Manson.

Well, I wasn't feeling like leading a flock to homicidal tendencies, but damn!  Look at those eyes!

Anyway, the bruising is setting in.  You'll probably get a kick outta that too.

Oh!

My lips touch today.

i am receiving healing energy into all areas of need.

Check it!

I am currently healing from jaw surgery.

In the meantime, check this out:

http://discovermusichere.blogspot.com/2012/03/sharing-beat-with-bluelight.html

My good Blogger Friend gave us at BlueLight a lovely review.

Breathe, just breathe ...

I get my jaw surgery tomorrow.

I haven't been too afraid.  People go through it all the time and Papi lived through top surgery, followed by a hysterectomy that was laced with infection from antibiotics.

So, when my love kept asking if I'm stressed out about going under the knife for the past week, I really just shrugged most of the time, "Nah.  Not really."

Until today.

Honestly, it really wasn't until Papi kept reminding me that it's not normal to be so relaxed about surgery.

That's when I said it out loud.

"Only thing I'm afraid of is after the surgery.  I'm afraid I'm going to stop breathing and die."

My love looked at me with big confused eyes, "That's a pretty big fear.  I'd say that's enough to be afraid of."

Yeah, I guess so.

But technically, I'm not afraid of 'the surgery' and I'm not actually afraid to die, because I know dying is peaceful.

I'm afraid of the general anaesthesia.

What if I stop breathing and they don't know?!?!

I guess I would probably listen to the little voice that says, "Hey, Andréa!  If you just drift away now, you could move aimlessly forever, never having to worry about anything ever again!"

I've been thinking about the last time I had a simple anaesthesia, and how my body couldn't remember to breathe on it's own afterward, coupled with my pulse slowing toward a stop.

The voices guaranteeing eternal tranquility were violently smashed by the distant beeping of a machine.

It was so annoying!  I knew that every time the alarm bells went off, the ladies would come in to help me expunge my breath that was stagnant in my lungs.

But I didn't want to breathe!  I wanted to sleep!

I wanted to continue in the bliss of passing away into another realm of reality, with the option of seeing my Dearly Departed Gypsy once more. 

It was harmonious and they just kept fucking up my chill out!

Way to harsh my mellow bitches!!!!!!!

But I suppose they'd be looking at law suits if they just let me toddle off to the great dog park in the sky. 

Plus they were really nice ladies and they probably genuinely wouldn't want me to die.

It was just that I found it quite the nuisance having to continue to breathe and be alive.

As soon as that electronic beast from hell would croon it's song of agitation, I was like a kid being woken for school.  I laid as quiet and still as I possibly could in hopes that the ladies would just leave me be.

They never did.  "Breathe, Andréa, breathe!  There ya go!"

Please, just 10 more minutes?  Isn't there a snooze button on that fucking beeping monster?

Yeah, that's about the only part I'm afraid of tomorrow.

You may not hear from me for a few days.

It's not that I stopped breathing, it's just that I will probably be in a pain med induced coma.

Or a pain med party.

The latter depends on what candies they give me at the hospital.

Besides, you may be bored reading my blog for the next 2 weeks anyway. 

I'm pretty sure all I'll have to bitch about is the liquid diet I'll be thrown into for 2 weeks, followed by a baby food diet the 2 weeks after that.

But I'm not afraid of the surgery.

the more love i put out, the more i receive

Cat Food of Champions.

G'ma's Alzheimer's is becoming a bit of a comedy routine.

We've taken away her ability to feed Psycho Kitty, because she was feeding him every time he squawked.

Oh, and how he squawks!

All fucking day.

He and Mr. Moustache ...

... rest in peace little one ...

... would croon together, now it's just Psycho Kitty, and he has to make up for the loss of his best friend and brother by speaking all day long, every minute, every breath.

Unless he's eating, sleeping or assuming the stance in the bathtub.

Yes, the stance.  I'll have to share a picture with you.  I haven't caught him in the act today, but this is something you have to see, so it will be on my list for 'you', my imaginary friend.

Anyway.

So, there's G'ma, translating every meep out of Psycho Kitty as, "Please, can I have some more?"

And more was given.

All day, every day.

So we took the food away, and Psycho Kitty kept meowing, so G'ma had to come up with a plan.

That's when I went up and saw cereal in his kitty dish.  Cat's shouldn't eat human cereal for food.

However, the old fart upstairs thought it the best Plan 'B'.

"G'ma you can't give the cat cereal!"

"It's not cereal, it's his food.  It was in the cupboard."

"No, G'ma.  These containers are yours.  You eat this, not the cat."

"But, I don't eat that!"

Oh, but yes you do, you old coot.

It's your All-Bran.

You ask for it all the time.  That and your prunes.

Along with the cat food, Papi and I also have to hide her pills and her hearing aid batteries, not to mention we have to distribute her sherry.

The pills are obvious.  She forgets.

But the hearing aid batteries are because she thinks they need replacing every day. 

No, you decrepit old bird.  You're just deaf and there's only so much that little gizmo can do for you.

And well, hiding the sherry is because you forget you've already had a drink and we'll find you upstairs in front of the TV in a sherry coma if we don't watch you like a toddler who gets into everything.

Yes.  We have a child.

She's 96 years old and feisty.

And I just heard the same story 10 minutes ago that I hear every morning when I go up to feed Psycho Kitty and let out the one and a half dogs.

"The TV's not working."

"Yes, it is G'ma.  It's just that you push the wrong buttons."

"No, I press this one."

Exactly.

Grant me the serenity.

life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dancing in the rain

jaw surgery diet.

In three more sleeps, I'll be waking up to get my jaw surgery.

I'm actually looking forward to it.

Not the pain.

Not looking forward to that part.  We all know how well I deal with pain.

But I'm looking forward to my teeth matching up.

My brace face is looking really buck toothed these days.

My friends are sweet and say they don't notice, but I feel like a donkey.

So, after the surgery, my bottom teeth will match the front teeth and I'll be chewing like the majority of you out there!

Mind you, that's a good month or so after the surgery.

There won't be any chewing for a while.

First two weeks I'm on a liquid diet again.

This is the reason I'm going crazy eating everything I know I'll miss.

I'm going to load so many veggies into my system that I just might look green around the gills.

Not to mention, the wheat-free muffins, diary-free chocolate bars, coconut 'ice cream', peanut butter on kamut toast, and many many more lovely treats that won't be consumed by this belly for a while.

The two weeks after my liquid diet I can move on to mush.

Baby food.

You know the drill.

Then after the two weeks of mush, I can start attempting to chew normal things again.

Anyway, this is how I got past the rationale with my doozy of an eating disorder that has told me I should gorge on these treats of tragedy.

Yeah.

Zits will be in abundance.

So will the mirror of doom. 

Whatever.

The post-op sheets told me I'll lose 5-10 lbs on the jaw surgery diet, which in their words is; 'nothing to be of concern'.

Are you serious?

Concern?

I saw that and jumped for joy!

It's kinda like the amitriptyline withdrawal diet, or like the Mexican parasite diet.

Those were really great diet regimes.

Now I'll have a third to add to the diet methods I'm always in search of.

I'll get my jaw surgery diet after I allow myself all kinds of treats.

And veggies.

I'm going to miss my veggies the most.

I know it sounds crazy, but I crave collards, chard and kale.

And chocolate.

But I have 3 glorious days to eat as much of them as my blood can handle.

I'm also still off the coffee in terms of the 'addiction' to it.  I've had 2 coffees in a month and a half.  I'd say that's pretty damn good.

After my liquid diet, there will be coffee.

Every day.

The way your 'god' intended.

i create love by expressing love, compassion and understanding

man hater?

Feel free to talk to me today.

I'm not feeling homicidal anymore.

But I am a little cranky at something someone said today.

Why is it that just because a woman is a lesbian, they are automatically deemed a man hater?

I'm just a people hater.

That is, of course, only with creepy people.

Male, female or trans.

And yes, this guy falls under the category of unpleasant.

It's not that I don't have anything to base it on.

He ogles.

Really disgustingly.

Not to mention, I witnessed him picking up a hooker.

That's right, he's a gross, repulsive john.

So, just because Sir Bark-A-Lot gave his best, 'Get outta my fucking house!!' bark he could, doesn't mean that I trained him that way.

Yes.

This person actually said, "C'mon!  You can't train a dog to hate men too!"

Nope.

Listen creepoid.  He just knows you're no good.

I didn't feel the need to tell him that Sir Bark-A-Lot even barks at my closest friends, including My Gratitude Buddy!

The sweetest butch on the planet even gets the rude 'Get outta my fucking house' barks.

He's just very bad-mannered.

Normally I would do my best to continue with the 'Please don't bark like that' training, but today, I figured the more I allowed him to yap, the less time this repugnant person would want to spend in my house.

Covering myself up with baggy sweatpants and a frumpy sweatshirt was my best option to hide from his leers.

It was successful.

Thank you oh yappy one.

You made my day.

Now I have to go fill my space with positive, loving energy.

Perhaps a little incense to wash away the air of your being in my presence?

Yup.

Now that I've got that out of my system, I feel much better.

Onward, ho!

i accept my inner beauty and feel it radiate from me

pain in the ass. literally.

Don't get in my way today.

I'm feeling a wee bit homicidal.

That bitch of a back has turned into a full blown muscle spasm.  There will be no moving from this spot until the pain killers kick in.

You know that saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all," and how we usually ignore it?

I'm going to ignore it today.

Fuck you bitch of a back.

Fuck you for not letting me sleep last night.

Fuck you for making me feel depressed because I can't exercise and get stronger.

Fuck you for this one step forward 3 steps backward day.

Fuck you for deciding to crap out when I'm finally able to eat full meals, so I can lie here like a sloth and put all the weight back on that I lost.

I guess I need to let that one go.

I'm eating again after a month and a half of that mother fucking amitriptyline withdrawal and that's a good thing.

Can you see all my fucking joy today?

There is no fucking joy today.

There wasn't a lot last night either, when I couldn't get off the floor from pain and had to be helped to the bed to lie in agony.

I'll have to work extra fucking hard to write to My Gratitude Buddy tonight.

I guess I could start with:  I am grateful I'm not working, and therefore am not technically losing any income for this day that will be spent in the La-Z-Boy wincing and whining.

I am grateful Papi got me a chocolate bar so that I can wallow in my pity pot and eat comfort food.

I am grateful I don't own a gun at this particular moment in time.

Ok fine.

I still have gratitude.

But that doesn't mean you want to get in my line of fire today.

I'm still feeling homicidal.

And slightly leaning towards turrets syndrome.

I am mother fucking miserable.

Here's your positive fucking affirmation for the day.

no matter how many mistakes i make, or how slow i progress, i'm still way ahead of everyone who isn't trying.

Yeah.

So-fucking-what.

Caballo! 9-1-1!!

My dearest sweet Papi is my hardest critic when it comes to my blog ...

... next to myself of course ...

... and told me what I wrote yesterday wasn't correct on his part.

Apparently, I get things wrong.

Therefore, I should probably wait to write my blog until the grand poo-bah reads it so I can be given the thumbs up.

But I won't.

:)

I didn't have time to redo what I had done, so it just got deleted.

Anyway, let's recap.  I drove my friend home from surgery from awayyyyy out in Coquitlam.

Probably wasn't the best choice for my back, but I said I'd help my friend and I did.  My bitch of a back will shut the fuck up as soon as today's pain killers set in.

Then I came home and took care of the G'ma.

She's being so good.  I know that when people have Alzheimer's, they go through a happy phase.

I believe this is what we've got here.

She's really not being too demanding, and it really makes for us to want to help her more when she doesn't get mean about what is on her agenda.  It's nice to be around nice people.

For the rest of the afternoon, there were many memories I couldn't shake.

It was the upbringing I had in that neighbourhood I visited earlier in the day yesterday.

I don't have all my memories of that time, they will come back one by one, just like the rest of my memories have been doing.

It's kinda neat in a sick sorta way.

Having your memory bumped for a while means you don't know what you're forgetting.

You can't miss something that you never knew you had.  With the lack of memory, I never know what memories have been blown into oblivion.

However, when those memories return, they're a bit like watching a movie of your past.

The twinkling of neurotransmitters can almost be felt firing, in an effort to show you the pictures in your mind.

One of the best memories?

We lived across the street from Moore's Poultry when I was a short person.  I remember paying 10ç for a horse ride.  My friends and I would go every day we could.

They would let us ride them around our neighbourhood.

After my horse visit, I'd play with the pigs.

It was an acre of lovely land for these creatures, full of lush trees to shelter them from the sun, beautiful green grass for them to nibble on, and the best part was that I could simply cross the street to bring the big equestrian oafs their treats.

Once, one of the horses came to my house to visit me!

My mom is not really a fan of anything with four legs.  So she called the cops.

The conversation went something like this:

Mom: Yes, hello?!?!? (you have to really envision the panicked 'mom' voice) There's a horse in my yard!!!!
9-1-1: A horse, ma'am?
Mom: Yes!!!!!
9-1-1: I'm not sure why you're calling us about that.
Mom: Well, I'm afraid for our safety and the kids!!!!!!
9-1-1: Ma'am, the horse will probably just get bored and leave.  There's nothing we can really do about this.  It's not our job.

Horse left.

Mom breathed breathed again.

But I was so proud that my horse friend knew where to find me.

And I was so grateful to relive this memory.

i choose love, joy and freedom, and open my heart to allow wonderful things to flow into my life