Living Proof

I'm waking up. My eyes are starting to open again. With all negative things in the world that may lurk around, I'm starting to actually see the vibrant colors in the fall leaves. Strange things have been happening. I was having a bit of a hard time financially. It was my fault, because I didn't gauge it right. I always used to tell my friends when they were having problems meeting their quota at work, "Don't worry, God always makes up for it." This time, I sort of lacked the faith that God would make up for it, until I opened an envelope with an apology for a lost payment. "What lost payment?" Apparently, I had residual income that was stuck in cyber limbo somehow. Usually any money from writing falls into my account electronically, however this time, they cut me a check for the same amount that I was desperately needing. Fearing the overused cliché, "nothing's a coincidence" -- I still believe that to be true.  I was always a positiv...

It hit me just this morning: I don't care. You know, as a part of my faith of being a Christian and trying to wrap my head around all of these horrific events that are taken place in the world, my thoughts on this is, I really don't care anymore. It sounds very 'gloom n' doom' -- but it's not supposed to come across that way. For instance: this world we live in is so very temporary. We're only here for a fraction of what it's like to be on the other side (whatever you deem to be the other side), so why does this place, this earth, this world, matter? I'm speaking in terms of being feared by terrorists, or getting freaked out by ebola becoming airborne and hitting the United States. What about Anton Nolen who just beheaded a co-worker after he had just gotten fired. He was trying to convert them to Islam and failed miserably. ISIS is here, or -- they've been living among us for a very long time. There are Muslim extremists who plan to behead...

Before I start my letter to Kathryn, let me just say that it's very disappointing to see so many people still committing hate crimes. It's truly terrifying, because I look at these folks who allegedly had beaten up two gay men while walking down the street and they look like people I would hang out with -- they looked normal, well dressed and friendly. Was it because they were in that wolf pack mentality? When large groups are together, if one lashes out, usually the others follow. I guess humans do it too. I wonder if the situation was a bit different, say two women holding hands walking down the street -- would they have attacked them too? Gay is gay, right? But in my opinion and experience on being a lesbian myself, I find that gay men and transgender people get the worst responses from the general public -- or should I say, the ignorant public -- the hateful public. And not to say that lesbians don't get their share of idiots crossing their paths, but there is a sl...

There are so many reasons why couples fight and quarrel with one another. Some spats have nothing to do with the topic they're arguing over and some are quite explosive and targeted towards an "offense". Anyway, it's always one spouse thinks they're doing absolutely everything while the other thinks they're doing the same, when actually, they're really not doing diddly squat. The only reason why I'm letting you in on one of our spats this time is because…it's kinda funny. Being that work from home and have time during the late afternoon to clean, shop and cook, etc. - I usually start preparing dinner the night before, like defrosting meat or just prepping the veggies for a pan of something or other. I get up early in the morning with my wife, cook her a full breakfast - nothing 'continental' like muffins or pastries along with her coffee. I really cook healthy breakfasts for her. When she gets home, she is usually served a gourmet dinne...

Me at 8 years old. Mom caught me kissing a girl one day after school. I was only 8 years old. We were playing "house" and well, I was the husband and my friend was the wife. We played this a lot. "Stop that!" Mom shouted. Soon enough, my friend's mom found out and we weren't allowed to play together anymore. "Normal" kids rode bikes and played kickball. "Normal" kids played with their Barbie Dolls and played "dress up". At the age of 8 years old, I rode ATVs and hung out with a lot of boys. I had a few female friends, but I was never interested in the things they were. I played video games and went off to the sandpits to jump off ramps with our motorcycles. We did pretty dangerous things. One night, I prayed to God asking for something strange. I wanted to wake up with a "pee-pee" - a boy's "pee-pee". I always remembered Mom saying, "Ask and you shall receive - pray to God about whatever it is yo...

On a clear day, without a cloud in the sky, we'd run over to the sprinklers in our one piece bathing suits, hopping around carefree. It was usually while waiting for the pool to officially open. Grandma would be plucking peas out from their pods in a huge cast iron pot and husking corn outside on the patio while watching us all play. It was a simple life. Our greatest concern was running out of iced tea. Mom would be inside preparing dinner and getting everything ready by the time Dad came home at 5pm. Dad would start the barbecue grill up and if you weren't already sitting around the picnic table, you'd hear him yell, "C'mon! It's gonna get cold on yaz'!" After dinner, we'd usually wash up and get into our PJs and then gather around the living room television set to watch All in the Family, Carol Burnett and Happy Days . Happy days… I don't remember a sad one back then. I wanted to grow up so bad. I wanted to drive a car and do adult...

"There's nothing wrong with you. It's just anxiety." Those words lingered inside my mind, "it's just anxiety," as if it were nothing - as if it doesn't keep me up all hours of the night to the point of being nonfunctional the entire following day and eventually, tearing down my immune system. So, I'm left lying in bed for the next week or so sick with a fever. I've asked a million and one times, "How do you fix it?" They all want to throw pills at me, but they don't want to work for their pay - I mean, really work, like helping me cope with this disease. And it is a disease. Crying hysterically to my psychiatrist, "I. just. don't. want. to. live. anymore." They usually jot down onto their notepads, "She's very 'put together' and knows how to deal with this. She'll be fine. She's just venting again." "Again."  The seizures keep me up at night. The sleep study techs...