While writing my last post I though that I'd write this one on my insecurities. Apparently I wanted to feel bad. But then while taking a yoga class my thoughts shifted, and I instead felt a huge draw and inspiration to talk about what I want to do with what's left of my life.
Without exact details, as I don't want this to be my own little forum to call people out and accuse and shame, I can say I allowed myself to get small this past year. I let my boundaries get repeatedly walked on. I got into a hyper active state of conflict avoidance. And as part of making sure there weren't possible issues, I toned down who I was and what I wanted out of life. I pushed my aspirations aside because I felt they weren't supported...actually worse, weren't noticed at all. Key words...I allowed it. Now why I allowed it is another post for another day.
So what do I want to do? Here goes....
* I want to try stand up comedy again. I did it twice over 20 years ago. Never so scared in my life. But I like writing material, I like trying it out on people (I do it all the time and don't let you know), and I want to try again.
* I want to quit looking to others to validate my worth as a human (especially a woman).
* I want to write and publish a book. This feels cliche as it seems everyone and their brother feels their story is so special. OK, all our stories are special, so come write with me.
* I want to be a public speaker. What am I speaking on? To be determined. But I feel that's in me and I'd love it. (Likely because spouting my opinion on all things brings me great joy...LOL.)
* I want to say "No" without explanation.
* I want to learn to let cutting words roll off my back and not permeate me.
* I want to sing again.
* I want to go to Santorini, Greece (it's the wallpaper on my screen and I've longed to be there for years)
* I want to not give a fuck what anyone thinks.
I was listening to Glennon Doyle talk yesterday and my soul screamed in agreement, "No one knows what you should do because your life is an unprecedented and unrepeatable experiment. Nobody has ever tried to live with your pain, power, past, people and potential...Do the next right thing without asking for permission before and without explaining yourself after...The most revolutionary thing a woman can do is never explain herself."
Having major writer's block at the moment. Missed yesterday's post (all prepped to type it, tired, thought I'd lay my head down for a mere second and next thing I knew it was past midnight and I was still on the couch) so I feel like I need to whip out two posts today. So as I toggle through the thoughts I'm having all subject feel too big, too revealing, too raw. Giving myself my usual reminder that I call my blog Raw Bleach for a reason...to be honest, vulnerable and raw, yet my mind is fighting it hard.
So I went back to one of my favorite poems (memes? quotes? I don't even know what to call this) that's called "I hate small talk", and it lists deep things to talk about, explore and think about. I also figured out my subject for post number two today...
I love the line "I like people with depth, who speak with emotion from a twisted mind". This may be a little rude, and more than a bit judgmental, but I find most people have very little depth. Or if they do have depth it's never revealed. I love people while they also bore me to tears. I think this is why I struggle so much with small talk. As extroverted as I am, with a mouth that doesn't shut up, you'll find in social situations (parties where I don't know anyone, work events where you're supposed to walk around and mingle) that I want to hide in a corner, because I find the basic pleasantries so mundane. "Hi! How are you?" "Good. And yourself?" "Great. So big plans this week end?" "Oh we'll probably grill, do some yard work." "Yes, I really have to start working on my landscaping." Will someone please shoot me now!! I shut down with this shit. Yet if a stranger in the middle of Target were to ask me "Do you believe that the power of your mind alone can do magic?" and I'll be entranced for hours right there in the frozen foods aisle.
Now let me get off my judgment horse for a second and say this; for some people, for many, they are quite content with a life that's simply "OK". And there is nothing wrong with that. If "OK" makes them feel loved, safe and happy, then that's wonderful! I'm not into "OK". I want more. I want a lot more. I want amazing, I want mind blowing, I want fantastic...."Let me wake up and feel entirely proud that the girl in the mirror is me!" (lyric stolen from A Chorus Line).
I've been thinking a lot about how we process, handle and hold onto memories with others that are both good ones and bad ones. How do you hold in tension that someone that gave you one of your greatest and most special moments also hurt you to your core with their words and actions? A parent, a sibling, a friend, a lover. How do you still hold space for the good while admitting the bad was unconscionable?
I heard the phrase "holding in tension" about 10 years ago or so. It speaks to me. People fuck up. People who love us will hurt us. Hurt people will hurt people. Yet my life, my journey, my existence is made up of many experiences. Shouldn't I still celebrate the great ones, even if that same person went on to attempt to destroy me?
I feel like this is situational and there isn't a right or wrong answer. There are nuances, dynamics and issues that all come into play. So maybe for you if someone went on to harm you, the previous moment no longer held positive value for you? That's valid. But what if you can say something was great but that person also had severe issues and went on to project them onto you in a heinous and hurtful way? Oh shit...getting a little specific, huh?
Yin and yang representing the philosophy that life is incredibly non-dualistic, meaning there is a little bit of something in everything. In the good there is bad and the bad there is good.
I'm in a current space (which could change in an instant) where I'm trying to be in the moment. Being in the moment I can speak only to that moment and hold it dear. But this doesn't say that future actions of others don't deserve boundaries, repercussions and even my absence.
Sounds like I'm pretty bad ass about it, right? I'm not. Hard learning curve happening right now. I have many people I hold in tension for the good they gave me as well as the harm. I thank them for the joy but many times need to excuse myself from their lives due to the suffering they also caused. I say all this as only my experience and not something to model unless it actually speaks to you. I could easily see myself look at this 20 years from now and think "Oh what a naive fool!". Just enough light for the step I'm on.
Though I made the title of this post "Boundaries" it's way too big of a subject to tackle in a simple blog post. So I'm taking this from my point of view, my experience, my story, at this moment. I also add the disclaimer that I could be wrong about everything and later on change my mind.
I wasn't taught boundaries. As an Evangelical Christian, and a lowly female, I was taught to make everyone happy and say "yes". Everyone was considered above me and I was supposed to comply. Even when I'd rage about it, and fight in my head, in the end I usually did as told. I wasn't taught body autonomy. I wasn't taught that I could say "no" to an adult. Myself as a person, and all that encompasses, felt up for grabs by anyone.
With my highly extroverted and opinionated personality I did butt heads a lot. At one point I would have said I was a rebel as I did challenge people. But with many years behind me I see that I'm actually a rule follower. I'll bend the rules, go around them, reinterpret them in ways to feel like I haven't actually broken them. Yet even with my determined mind, I was slammed back to reality frequently in terms of boundaries.
I don't think I even heard of boundaries until maybe 12 years ago or so. When I did hear it the word sounded like being mean. And how interesting that I would believe that to tell someone they couldn't treat me a certain way, couldn't use me, couldn't touch me, couldn't say horrible things to me, was mean. I still struggle with suffocating my own feelings because I feel to put a person in their place would hurt their feelings and be mean.
Yet my lack of boundaries hasn't always been beneficial. I've seen recently how when I didn't put up a firm, and justified, boundary I actually hurt the other person in the end. Trying to be nice I would get in the way of a lesson they needed. And even if the lesson was painful for them, if they did the work, it could have been life changing. I've had to painfully put up a healthy boundary, definitely hurt the person, but with the true hope that they some day get the lesson.
Being nice is easy. Stuff your feelings, smile, say "it's no big deal", "I'm fine", and then change the subject before shit gets real. Boundaries are hard for me though I'm learning. And with each of my own personal lessons I find that the ground didn't open up and swallow me whole when I did the difficult thing.
I'm studying people with good boundaries. I watch how they interact, how they speak and how they carry themselves. Sometimes I even ask them for help.
And what's really the bottom line of all these boundaries? It's saying I matter. It's saying I count. It's saying I'm allowed to take up space in this world in the manner that feels safe for me. And it's kind of saying "fuck you" a little, right? :-)
I'm hearing the words "your story" used a lot these days. Telling your story. Owning your story. Living your story. Caught in your story. Releasing your story. What's your story? It feel like there are so many level, layers and angles here that I certainly can't tackle them all. But lets see what comes up.
My first thoughts about story is the chronological events that happened from my birth until today. In the telling of this story is where things go a little off, as there are other characters in our story, and their perception of what happened is often far different than our own. Our stories are then intermingled and you could even say a new story forms with each person that comes into the picture as the narrative progresses.
We are all the creators of our stories yet so often we get stuck on a certain aspect, usually something perceived as negative, that we believe becomes our entire story and furthermore can't be changed. I've heard after a painful divorce "No one will ever love me", after being cheated on "I'll never be able to trust again.", after a failure "I'll never succeed.". Sometimes even if the words aren't said out loud, it's playing in the background in our heads, and informs our choices. Our minds will work then to play out what we believe is our doomed story and it then begins a self fulfilling prophecy. I find those most caught up in their stories are also the ones who deny they have a destructive narrative happening. Myself included.
So how do we release our story and write a new one? Work, honesty and a belief life can be different. I hate hearing there is only one way also. For the alcoholic that finds AA, works the steps, and lives in freedom, there is another that drowns in that program. What speaks to one person can be annoying, even damaging, to another. For the lucky few they find it early in life and can do a rewrite many times. Then there's the rest of us...
For myself I like a tangible act; writing, ripping up and burning. It's funny that though I'm scared of fire that burning something is the most cathartic to me. And though I hate religion I do love the ceremony of it all. I do love a ritual and I'm allowing myself to make my own, as someone made all the others up anyway!
Perhaps the most difficult part of starting a new story, or getting out of the one you keep telling, is forgiveness. May I say how much I hate forgiveness! I understand the need for it, for the situation, for myself...but I fight it hard. Admittedly that most difficult part of forgiving is to forgive myself. Mistakes upset me. Having others see me falter is embarrassing and shameful. I suppose there is even a part of me that feels I need to beat myself up about it in order to not do it again....unfortunately that's probably the worst decision and most likely to result in it happening again.
On a good day I know these things (prepare for a lot of paraphrased Maya Angelou quotes): I did the best I could with what I had, and when I knew better I did better, I have nothing to prove to anyone, and why I write..."there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you".
Many of us have spent our entire lives being told we're too much. Too loud, Too talkative. Too wild. Too untamed. Too caring. Too sensitive. Too much. I posted a meme recently that said, "Society: be yourself. Being yourself: no not like that". I feel that hard.
I walk this line between doing what I want at full volume and keeping it at a level people can handle. I have friends who I watch their lives being their full selves, no inhibitions, no care of criticism and living out loud. I want that. I touch it periodically. Then the snide remarks come crashing in on me "Could you just take it down a notch?" "Calm down!" "Not so loud!" And it feel like verbal punches to my core.
So what would it look like for me to live fully in who I am? Rainbow hair? Possibly. Ridiculous outfits? Sometimes. Speaking without concern for your opinion? Whoa...now that's getting scary. And there it is...acceptance. We all want it though why are some of us able to function without it and others of us seek it like a drug?
I feel like the answer lies in "Nature, Nurture or Both?". You're born with it. Don't give a fuck. Live life on your terms. Or from your early years you were told you mattered, were already accepted, so you felt the freedom to let it all out? The lucky few get both.
What if you got neither? I know I sure didn't have parents telling me "You can be anything you want to be!". I can't even fathom how that would feel. From my vantage point no one thought I'd be anything. Yet there is something in me that fights it.
Studies were done trying to figure out why some children could come from sad upbringings: abuse, neglect, poverty, and yet they succeed where others crumble. The one determining factor was an adult in their life (teacher, relative, coach, etc...) who believed in them.
I can only recall one adult, really one sentence, where I felt fully believed in. I was in my senior year of high school in a creative writing class. I loved it! We had a writing assignment and I thought my piece was pretty funny. Got it back from the teacher and he said, "This is Letterman material.". (For you young people David Letterman was a late night talk show host and comedian.) I felt seen, heard and appreciated. Letterman material.
But I've also had a long life of being too much. Even good friends have asked me to "tone it down". What's so funny in all these instances of being "too much" is not once in my life have I gone all the way. Oh that was too much? I could have done so much more. But the clock is ticking...
My good friend and I speak every morning, and in our conversations we frequently challenge each other and push each other towards true happiness. She showed me a quote from Once Upon a Time where the question was asked "Who are you protecting?" and it jumped out at me. Because the answer wasn't that I was protecting myself so many times.
Who do I protect over myself? First thought is the feelings of others. Though I'm opinionated and blunt I never want to be hurtful. I've shut up many a time, or softened possibly more than I should, in order to protect someone who I felt I needed to be delicate around on the subject. I became my mother's protector at an early age. She had what I'd call a functional breakdown after divorcing my father. Functional in that she held a job and still maintained the basics of life, but her decision making went to shit. And I picked up the pieces and needed to be watchful for her and what horror might come next. Protected my child of course. But this feels deeper than all that.
At times I think I protect my younger self by not fully acknowledging all that happened. I've had times telling someone about an experience I had and I wasn't prepared for the shock on their face, nor their response saying, "I had no idea you were so abused!". That was abuse? It was pretty normal in my circles. When a way of life, being spoken to, being treated a certain way is all you know you don't even consider words like abuse, neglect and being marginalized.
I protect my past. (Though this blog is blowing that protection away.) I don't trust what people do with the information. I've been judged, laughed at, gossiped about and looked down on. Even when I let you know something, no matter how juicy, I won't tell it all until I'm sure you can handle it. Most can't handle much.
I've protected, apologized, gotten small, let boundaries be broken and allowed myself to be walked on. Those days are gone. You've been warned.
I've had a few situations recently where someone I cared about purposefully, and with full intent, said things to hurt me. Both of these people I loved, were close to and would never harm. Though each situation was different the common thread was their purposeful cruelty to cause pain. I'd been truthful with each of them, something incredibly difficult for someone who hates conflict, but choose my words carefully as I chose to be as kind as possible. Instead of listening to hear me they chose rage.
It's the ultimate betrayal when you are vulnerable with someone, brutally honest with your insecurities, trusting that can hold these things for you with care, only to have them venomously spit back in your face. What gets me most though is the intention. The calculation that's involved to think up the ways that would be most damaging to another's heart and soul, and then to act on that knowing full well what the outcome will be to them. With that level of thought it's hard not to believe that there isn't some glee and joy in knowing the pain they will cause.
So I of course need to ask myself where I have done this. I've done it to both of my parents numerous times. Did it to my ex husband. I expect there are many other instances I'm not remembering. And what was at the core of my need to say such vile things? Hurt. Deep intense burning hurt. As the saying goes, "Hurt people, hurt people.". So much hurt.
Where do I go now? I've been purposeful also and have chosen silence. No retaliation. No endless spewing of words to cut deeper. I'm walking away and letting karma sort it out.
Do I forgive them? Whoa...slow down now. These fuckers do not deserve forgiveness!! Yeah, yeah, yeah I know forgiving is for me and not them, holding onto bitterness is like you drinking poison and expecting them to die, blah blah blah. I'm a shitty forgiver. My mother liked to say, "You remember every bad word ever said to you since birth!" I'd reply, "And most are from you!". Yes, I'm a bitter bitch. Even if you've hurt me and apologize, though I will smile and tell you it's all good....I remember.
So this is quite the conundrum; while I'm this zen master who can walk away and not go into full retaliation, I harbor all the bitterness and anger. If I can go all therapy language on this, I clearly feel I need these feelings as protection. You hurt me and I need to remember so I'm prepared for you to do it again. Or so I can prevent from you getting anywhere near me to cause me suffering. Frankly it's amazing I let down my walls at all.
There are some truths I can say about myself here: at my core I'm a kind person, an honest person and an accountable person. And I can say with both of these individuals that my side of the street is clean.
I feel the word triggered is overused. I see it used as a joke and I feel it takes away the impact from those who truly have a visceral response to a moment. Now though I don't have a psychology degree, I've sure been in therapy long enough to speak like I do. Anyone can experience a trigger. Our minds can be drawn back to an experience through smell, sight, feel and countless other ways.
Speaking only from my own experience but a full on trigger for someone with PTSD is much different than a bad memory coming back. Your body feels like the trauma is happening again. I call it a panic attack on crack. Even when you can logically tell yourself that this isn't the same, there is a pathway in your brain that goes back there and you physically feel it all again.
I've been hyper triggered recently. Before I share this story let me assure you that I'm safe and fine. All is well. A friend helped point out to me that my adrenals were firing on all cylinders and my mind was reliving the past, even though in the present I was safe. She would repeatedly remind me "You're safe now. What you experienced was in the past." Yet the body/mind connection is amazing in what it believes. I found I was behaving, and my body feeling, as if it was all happening again.
I've spoken in previous posts about being hyper vigilant about my safety. Yet this comes out in unexpected ways. You would think I carried a gun, mace, multiple locks on my doors, security system...I do none of that. I'm always aware of the exits, I know my escape routes, I look for places to hide. Watching and watchful. I don't talk about it. You would never know what I'm doing. It's pretty much involuntary at this point.
So how did these reactions even come about? (I'm going to type fast, no editing, we'll see what comes out) After my parents divorced my mother got involved with multiple violent men. Married one of the monsters. When other girls were trying on prom dresses I was hiding knives around the house and thinking up the best way to kill him. I was told no matter what I heard downstairs that I had to stay in my room or he'll kill me. I was suicidal, drinking, smoking and doing anything I could not to feel. Our first time making a run for it we were forced to move in 1 hour. Entire house, no warning, 1 hour. Though my parents' divorce was horrible and bitter my father took pity on my mother and got a bunch of women from his Christian singles group to help pack. I was thankful for them but also wanted to slap a few bitches as I saw the looks they gave my mother and I. As we were leaving the current man walked up. In my head I was screaming to myself to get a knife and kill him. I stood there immobile until my father pulled me away. The bigger monster, the one she married, is where I truly honed my skills. The cycle was he'd go on a rampage, my mother would run to my friend's house and I would meet her there. She'd take what little money I saved, as he'd taken all of hers, take my car, again because he took hers and I'd say OK but you have to leave. Then she'd go back. I got used to hiding in hallways, peering out the side of a window to see where he was, checking my car's backseat, looking for all the escape routes. She would be crying as I told her to shut up so he couldn't hear us. She'd sob and tell me how smart I was as I'd find a way out, hide us or find some creative way to keep us safe. I was 18.
My heart is racing typing that. I suppose I triggered myself. This is a hard one to publish. Possibly the most difficult. I guess my core point was to ask yourself if you're really triggered or just having a bad memory. But that's not fair. The pain and suffering on this earth wasn't given out fairly. What I would consider a bad day may have been the worst moment of your life. I guess we're all allowed our triggers.
I watched 2 videos yesterday which sparked a challenge for myself. One was by Glennon Doyle, whose words have really spoken to me (though her book Love Warrior left me disappointed in the end, I'm excited to read Untamed), and the other was by my friend Yoga Spice (whose daily video encouragements have been a base for sanity these days). Glennon spoke about being a writer and talked about how when she started she told herself to write a post a day, write for an hour and let it go. No drafts (which I actually don't do either), no critique, let it out and keep moving. Spice talked about doing, not trying, doing it. I'm completely stir crazy right now, lonely, sad, so why not?
Though I just said no critique above, I'm already upset with myself. Looked back and saw my post about My Next 90 Days, which didn't happen. My post about Hope for 1 Year, didn't happen. But as a reminder, and perhaps giving myself grace, I also looked at my post I Get Derailed Easily and thought about all that occurred to make me immobile.
Here goes...
First thoughts here are I have nothing to say. Don't feel like talking about Covid19, or being shut in, or how tired I am while doing nothing. It's all so overwhelming. I know at it's core this is a lack of control for me. Though in truth we're never in control. "Bad things" can happen to anyone, any time, anywhere. Yet it was that perception that if I did everything "right" I'd be protected and OK. Nothing feels OK right now.
Talking to a friend recently and the words hope and faith came up. Two things I don't recall ever having. I've thought back as far as I can and there has always been hyper vigilance for survival, which got progressively worse as life tumbled into unimaginable hell. Even in childhood there was never a foundation of feeling I'd be taken care of.
I feel like I've already blogged about this memory but I'll do it again anyway as something else might spring up from it. When we were living in Louisiana and there was an outbreak of burglaries followed by arson. The burglars would watch the house and wait until the family was out of town, steal everything they could then torch the place. One night we were called outside to our neighbors home to see it engulfed in flames. It was a large beautiful home on a few acres. The fire department was called but they wouldn't come as we were outside city limits. Neighbors were scrambling to find some way to put out the fire. Attempts were made to take the water out of a swimming pool up the hill, buckets of water were thrown on it which did nothing, the garden hose was being sprayed on it but it was like spitting into a bonfire. As the fire got bigger you could hear glass shattering, guns going off and sounds of the structure crumbling. We all finally stood there helpless. Many were crying but I stood back in shock and unable to move. Not too long after this we went on a short week end vacation. Driving back I thought about watching our neighbor's house burn and became overcome with fear that we'd return to that. I asked my father as we neared our house, "Daddy, will our house be burned up?". He replied, "It could be. There many be only a pile of ashes." I was around 8 or 9 years old. To get to our house you turned a corner before going down a hill and couldn't see the house until you began the decent down the hill. I sat as high as I could trying to look over the hill and holding my breath. I sighed with relief as I saw our house was still there and not on fire. At no point in any of this did either of my parents give support or ensure I'd be taken care of.
Though my father was a pastor I don't recall ever feeling "God" would protect me. He was incredibly negative, as was his family, so the focus I felt from him always came back to obedience and fear of punishment. As my life went on the other shoe kept dropping. And dropping. And dropping. All the prayers and begging in the world didn't stop the trauma from happening and continuing. I get punchy whenever I hear someone say, "Well things can only get better!" No bitch, they can get much worse. They can turn into a nightmare you could have never perceived or dreamed up. And then when you think you can't take anymore it can all explode in your face.
My hope and faith is in myself. I believe in my own resilience. I know I can hustle like no other. I know I can survive what would have destroyed most others. It's not a happy place to be, to live a life with your dukes up and looking for the next thing to go wrong. It's exhausting but for this moment it saves me.
Let's start this by saying I truly doubt I'll have any profound thoughts at this time. We're all living this surreal existence of fear and unknowing. We look for what little we can control yet are often immobile to even act on these things. Our choices will truly affect the world...and that's daunting to say the least.
I woke up around 5am with a fear I couldn't quite place. Unsure about what day it was, as seems to happen every day, and feeling like I was forgetting something important. I then remembered my one task for the day was to bring my son face masks. He works at a coffee shop, which apparently makes him part of Food and Agriculture and essential. Even though he's 21 I've wondered as a mother if I'm allowing him to risk his life...for coffee. Should I go into my savings and pay him to stay home? Should I have made him wear a mask sooner even when we were being told they won't work? Have I done enough?
Though I hate the cold, and it was a brisk 19 degrees, I drove with the windows down. I wanted to feel the air. I wanted to feel the cold I detest so much. I see how my response to this has been to numb myself: Facebook, food, substances, and even beneficial things like yoga (should I take more than 2 classes a day? That's still maybe 3 hours...there's too much time to think). I gave him the masks (one being a makeshift one I made out of a bandana...fearfully watching the how to video and feeling the weight of fear as what if I do it wrong...), told him more were coming and he went into his job. I glared at his job thinking what if he catches this and dies all because some covid invested mother fucker wants his morning latte.
I have so much anger and I'm directing it nowhere and everywhere. Livid at our idiotic president "China lied to us." No, your vain orange ass was on the golf course. Shut up! Anger at myself as I'm worried there were times I didn't sanitize enough, or did I touch something after I washed my hands, or did I not clean the groceries well enough....will my mistakes kill someone? Or me? Livid at a God I don't believe in and annoyed at the posts I'm seeing about their God's special protection for them...too bad he said, "Fuck Italy!", right? So angry.
Driving back home the sun was rising in a beautiful orange ball. Sunrise is my favorite and I had no memory of the last time I'd seen it. It gave me a single sigh of relief and familiarity before the fearful thoughts came back. I see it will be sunny, and though it will be excruciating on my hip, I plan on walking far. I want to walk until what I'm seeing is no longer familiar. I want to walk until I'm hurting. I want to walk so far away. Yet we're all in this, we're here, and there is nowhere to hide.
Another of today's tasks, which I've avoided for over 2 years, was to go through a box in my storage locker. This box is a mish mash of things I threw in it as I was moving out and leaving my husband. I labeled it "Shit I can't deal with right now". But today was finally the day...I feel like hell anyway so why not go all the way? It was all random items, thankfully with no sentimental value, thrown in a big mess. Though two of the items gave me pause. One was a big bottle of hand sanitizer! Has the universe finally smiled on me?! The other was a card that said, "Be here now". Ugh. I don't want to be here now yet that's really the only choice. We are all here now.
So I look out my window at the sunshine and remember how it makes me happy. I feel gratitude that I'm in a warm home, cat asleep on the floor in front of me and a belly full of chocolate chip cookies. I look at the art on my walls that so perfectly reflects my personality and see how far I've come since packing up that box of shit I couldn't deal with at the time. I think of those that offered to help me get masks for my son and remind myself there is still goodness in people. I remind myself that my choices in life are still mine and no government, person or thing can take that away from me.
I'm here now.
