(I know I said I was going to be taking a break ’til the 17th, but something important just came up.)
I have four adopted lil sisters. They’re wonderful women who ended becoming the female siblings I never had growing up. A great thing for a transgirl to find. Part of what makes them so wonderful is that often it’s months between contacts with them, and it just doesn’t matter. Everything is still there.
I also have a best friend, her name is Anya. She’s an unbelieveably beautiful, intelligent, and artistic person, who makes these cheesecake cupcakes that have to be tried to be believed. I love having time with her so much. She’s, amongst other things, my favourite shopping, and lunch buddy. Anya, thrift stores, and a plate full of well cooked dead animal is pretty much my perfect afternoon.
I’m very, very, VERY sick at the moment. It’s been eight solid weeks of Hell. And not the hot sexy version of Hell, with the succubi, and the delicious looking androgynous dark fallen angels either. No this is the sort of Hell where the universe, through some wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey technique, runs the contents of a dozen people’s bowels through just mine. Oh and makes a point of my having foulness running out of every orifice, every, fucking, day!
It means that I barely leave the house. I haven’t been able to walk my dogs for weeks now. My Partner in Crime is picking up that duty. I spent part of Xmas dinner in the bathroom being sick, no reflection on the food by the way, it was delicious.
It also means I’m being a fucking awful friend to everyone, but especially Anya. I’ve flaked on her I think four times in a row now. The last time, less than twenty minutes ago. So I’m sitting here writing this with tears of frustration, anger and shame on my face, because I’m continually letting down one of the people I love most in the world. And I’m scared because I don’t want a horrible unbridgable distance to grow between us.
Anyway this post is more by way of saying sorry to Anya, than giving advice on how to work around these issues. I have no advice to give, I don’t know what to do, or how to fix this. All I can do is say this.
I love you Anya, and I’ll make this up to you as soon as I have any control over my body back.