Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

I can't even proof read this. Here it is, warts and all.

So, we can add another gold foil star to the Doc Was Right sheet on the fridge. I went into the bathroom, starkers, and clipped my nails and combed my greasy hair out and turned on the bath. Instead of a fill up and a soak, I went for our "European Shower", crouched down in the tub with the shower head on a hose thing and washed my hair, deep deep deeply conditioned it, shaved my legs and underarms, and scrubbed myself raw with my scrubbie glove and my last bit of soap. The draining water was, well, better off gone down the drain than on me. I got out of the shower and deodorized, moisturized, combed, oiled, primped, and even spritzed on the teensiest bit of Tom Ford's "Black Orchid." I've only ever shared that scent with Doc. And he liked it on me, but hated the after-spritz in my bathroom. It goes well with my pheremones. But the key is, I feel worlds better, he was right.

I got it years ago from Alisa Marie Bellatini (holy name drop!). We collaborated on a book that never panned out. Publishers wanted to know why I had a Manager and not a Literary Agent. They didn't like the answer that I wasn't an author first, I was a performer/artist. And in the early to mid 00's, the denizens of the printed word were not impressed by my online presence or accomplishments without help from Corporate America. So she eventually gave up on me. They all do. But it was a blast while it lasted. We would spend hours on the phone each day, me typing and sending her files, her proofreading and having me make changes in real time. She greatly encouraged my creativity and didn't fight me when I wanted to include journal entries as written, instead of corrected and edited. I wanted a completely organic feel to it. I also wanted to present art and poetry germane to the subject of the book. Yeah, the publishers were not impressed. I still have the manuscript. I really don't know if I'll ever touch it again. I spent a lot of time on it. There is no mass market for it.

Judging by the complete lack of response with my most recent "confessional" poems, there is no mass market for anything not tainted by fiction. As honest as I am, there is always someone with a semicolon tattoo and a coming out story that is bigger and better. And I am not pandering. I will continue with the confessional stuff as long as it comes out of me. I'll be back to mixed metaphors and generous use of the word, "buddy" soon enough.

I'm back to my happy self. I will never not take my Latuda again. If I have to eat four cups of yogurt to pack in the calories at med time, I will. The script was called in by Doctor B himself, the minute Robin gave him the message that "it had changed my life". He didn't want me to have to go a day without it. The pharmacy will call sometime tomorrow. Doc is going to pay for it himself. I think his mentioning of the bag of medicinal pot the other day was a sort of test. Which would I choose? The Latuda, every time. So, he is paying for it.

And he bought me two femme blouses today. One isn't that femme. It's a bit clingy, but plain, except for the sleeves, they have a thick lace insert over the tops of the wrists that intrigued me. The other one was pure girly. Lace and gauzy black fabric and cross laces in the front with an empire waistline. I thought he would like me in it. I was right. It turned out that by joining the site and confirming my email, I got a bunch of money off, and the shipping was cheap, if slow. It's too hot to wear them now, anyway. It's supposed to be in the triple digits next week, happy Autumn. I got the two blouses, including postage, for under $25. It was a special occasion. He felt bad.

See, Doc is really good at reading people. Especially Asians, who I find impossible to read. So I just assume he can read me. But he is completely NOT in tune with my subtle. Today, we finally had a chance to have a long talk. I told him straight up what I was upset about, what I've been writing in here, the "r" word. He crumbled. He had put it out of his mind and thought I had, as well. I did. That much he was right about. Neither of us saw it coming up again. It traumatizes him that he was capable of it. I told him in the flashbacks, it's never him, it's always a stranger. He said, "Good, please be mad at him, and let me help you." That is all I wanted to hear. My best friend, being there for me, getting me through a rough patch. I've forgiven him, and as long as he understands that I will never forget, it will be fine.

He saw the wounds without the bandages today. He was surprised. He had thought I'd cut the bandages large for the wounds. Nope. They are 5" long red stripes with bruising 2" out all the way around them. I was pressing down hard on that eraser while rubbing my skin off. The bruising is the worst. I'm not fat, not even plump. I am just terminally out of shape, so my thighs have a life of their own when I walk. That means the bouncing around of the skin while I walk. Clearly I did not think this through. Every time I cause myself pain on the stripes, Trent Reznor's voice growls, "That's what I get!" in my head. So, yeah, Doc was shocked to see the extent. I'm not allowed to close my bedroom door anymore for a while. And I might have to move the one dresser at the foot of my bed so that I can always be seen from the doorway. Just for a while. Those were the agreed upon conditions for the no-hospital treaty. Talks were intense. Tears were shed. Practicality won out in the end. As much as he teases me for not doing anything, he acknowledges that I do everything around the house, and when it comes down to it, I'm not a bad housewife for a schizophrenic. It's the least I can do. He's stuck working for Evil Corp for the foreseeable future to keep me insured.

Speaking of, we're about to step into battle with Social Security. I want to opt out of Medicare. I don't use it. It has never done me any good, and it costs me $100 a month. If I can opt out, I can have that money to help pay the taxes on my SSI. Since the IRS thinks it's fun to tax the disability money of people just over the poverty line. Thanks, GOP.

You may not have heard, if any of you are interested in Amazon Prime, this Friday, for only Friday, sign up as a new account holder and only pay $67 for the year (down from $99). That's about what we saved in postage in the year we were members, so we're signing up under my name on Friday. They claim to have improved the lending library, and have 40,000 free movies. Full disclosure, when we had it last, we weren't able to find a movie on Prime that we were interested in that was free. All of the movies we looked at had varying rental fees for Prime Members. We didn't spend hours and hours searching, but eventually ended up just searching Netflix first. And we have very eclectic tastes in movies. I love anything from 1940-1970, especially musicals and film noir. Doc likes the 60's-80's action flicks before technology and special effects took over all the action. We both love comedies, foreign and domestic, and documentaries. He likes TV series of a variety of tastes. So, if you order online a lot and use Amazon to do it, it's worth saving the postage and getting your stuff quick. If you like reading indie authors but can only handle a book a month, the Lending Library is worth it (if you want the big name authors and read more than one book a month, Kindle Ultimate is the plan for you), and if you love Top Gear for the hosts, their new show will be on Amazon Prime, because Netflix thought the show's proposal was too pricey ($160mil). So, if you want to try it out, Friday is the day. You can save $67 on shipping just on Xmas this year. Almost everything that is shipped directly from Amazon (instead of outside vendors) is eligible for Prime free shipping. That is the biggest bargain of the membership, as far as I'm concerned.

Oooh, I keep getting whiffs of myself. I smell yummy! Alisa Marie Belletini used to spoil me rotten with high fashion (that was her thing, she was the producer of MTV's "House of Style" if you're old enough to remember that, like I do) trinkets. Designer's t-shirts, and the perfume vials, and headbands, and articles from expensive fashion magazines, and programs and invites to shows and events. Such cool stuff. I never went through it all. I have it all packed away for safe keeping. She also got me a bottle of lotion that you have to use so little of that I still have some. It is the only lotion I have ever, EVER used, that doesn't clog the pores on my arms and make me sweat and develop little zits all over my arms. I am hesitant to go to the website of the maker for two reasons, 1)They may not make it anymore, and 2)It is probably $60 a bottle. Though if it lasts 9 years . . .

So Doc and I touched lightly on my self-identification as asexual for the last two years. That, though we have been together romantically, it was for him, not for me. And I didn't mind, usually, doing it for him. But I was pretty much dead inside regarding sex. He's fine with the gender-fluidity. That was one of the reasons for the femme shirts. I've been dressed like a boy for several years now. I can dress like a girl when we go somewhere together. Maybe to the Bellagio Atrium. I hear they did an enchanted forest for autumn. And I missed the Asian Summer display, that I REALLY wanted to get photos of.

Holy shit. I didn't think I was going to write much. 1792 words later . . . I can't even proof read this. Here it is, warts and all.
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