Life is kind of like organic chemistry. Well, at least my life, right now.
See, I have been studying Organic Chemistry for a for a little while now, and as I review mechanisms for my final in a few days, I realized that my life is like an Organic Chemistry equation.
It begins with a formula, simple and basic. It begins clean and clear:
End of Summer School--->Spain.
Suddenly, though, one has to examine the mechanism more closely. Wait, it can't just happen like that, its not that simple, other reactions need to take place before I find myself at my endpoint: End of summer school-->finals--->moving and packing--->Anniversary Party--->Goodbye Party for friends---->New York--->home again--->packing and over-all nervousness--->Spain.
And then there are transition states, oh those pesky transitions states, where bonds exist in a blurry half-formed state, and everything has a motion, but not a structure. In organic chemistry, I have never really struggled with the motions of the reaction, but the transition states? Oh, well those, those are another story. Transitions states have always given me trouble, because they are both there and not, both a mystery, and yet so transparently clear. In life, well, transition states are the car rides, the plane rides, the moments in between the moments, the moments where you have to stop, and think, what is happening? What am I doing to move myself from one place to the next? Suddenly little things, side equations, and catalysts become involved. Family, friends, transportation, time, money, weather, all those are my kind of catalysts. The transformation from one stage of life to the next, although simple when written out, becomes difficult to maneuver with the acids and bases of life effected the balance you need in order to carry out one's reaction.
That is my life, a serious of equations which, right now, lead up to a final product of Granada, Spain. After that? Well, a whole new set of equations will be set up, new equilibriums found. For now though, I am just trying to solve the basic equilibrium:
End of Summer School---->Spain
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sitting in a closet in the basement.
Alas, I am, in fact, sitting in a closet, in the basement of the College of Education. Its a tiny nook, with a computer, and a chair. Its quiet, peaceful, a little cold, and very awkward (did I mention the door to this closet/room is made of very clean and clear glass so everyone can see me?) Ahh, just how I like it.
Today, I turned in my final time card. I am done working for the College of Education, arguably the best job I have ever had. And now, its totally over. Things are starting to finalize, to solidify, to actualize into the present. And I, like anyone, really, am growing more frightened by the reality of my situation, and the looming monster of my future (albeit a friendly but intimidating monster, more B.F.G. than Frankenstein). Well, here I am, hiding in a closet, in a basement, in a far-off corner of Champaign. It may seem that I am hiding from a tornado, but in fact, I am hiding from change.
I talked on the phone a few days ago with a friend, Kailey, who is also leaving. She, actually, is leaving in less than two weeks, so her situation, far more imminent, is also far more frightening. As we laughed about our future lives, we discussed our shared experience. The fear and the excitement, the moments of awe and shock, the moments of exhilaration and humiliation. All of these things, coming, approaching, hurtling towards us at life-speed. When I think about it, this whole thing, well, its really a coming of age story. This is going to be one of those teen comedies where crass remarks are exchanged, some loser (the foreigner) pines for acceptance (into the new culture) and well, hilarity ensues. Its about growing up, and about walking away, realizing that no, I am not defined by my experiences here, but it will always be part of my life story. Really, its like college, not college in real life, but college before you go to college. You double and triple check your preparedness, you take counsel with those who have gone before you, you take recommendations from those who think they know better, and you talk A LOT about it. You think a lot about it. You worry a lot about it. You try to prepare yourself A LOT for it. But, when it comes down to it, its nothing like you expect. Its a journey that is simultaneously harder and easier than you hope. But you do it.
And that's it. I have to leave my little safety zone, I have to come out of the little nook in the basement, and go outside. I have to leave my little comfort zone, and experience what else there is around me. I have to put myself out there. That is precisely what I don't want to do and exactly what I am going to do.
Today, I turned in my final time card. I am done working for the College of Education, arguably the best job I have ever had. And now, its totally over. Things are starting to finalize, to solidify, to actualize into the present. And I, like anyone, really, am growing more frightened by the reality of my situation, and the looming monster of my future (albeit a friendly but intimidating monster, more B.F.G. than Frankenstein). Well, here I am, hiding in a closet, in a basement, in a far-off corner of Champaign. It may seem that I am hiding from a tornado, but in fact, I am hiding from change.
I talked on the phone a few days ago with a friend, Kailey, who is also leaving. She, actually, is leaving in less than two weeks, so her situation, far more imminent, is also far more frightening. As we laughed about our future lives, we discussed our shared experience. The fear and the excitement, the moments of awe and shock, the moments of exhilaration and humiliation. All of these things, coming, approaching, hurtling towards us at life-speed. When I think about it, this whole thing, well, its really a coming of age story. This is going to be one of those teen comedies where crass remarks are exchanged, some loser (the foreigner) pines for acceptance (into the new culture) and well, hilarity ensues. Its about growing up, and about walking away, realizing that no, I am not defined by my experiences here, but it will always be part of my life story. Really, its like college, not college in real life, but college before you go to college. You double and triple check your preparedness, you take counsel with those who have gone before you, you take recommendations from those who think they know better, and you talk A LOT about it. You think a lot about it. You worry a lot about it. You try to prepare yourself A LOT for it. But, when it comes down to it, its nothing like you expect. Its a journey that is simultaneously harder and easier than you hope. But you do it.
And that's it. I have to leave my little safety zone, I have to come out of the little nook in the basement, and go outside. I have to leave my little comfort zone, and experience what else there is around me. I have to put myself out there. That is precisely what I don't want to do and exactly what I am going to do.
Monday, July 28, 2008
I almost cried, almost.
So, I have this really weird thing...something, I actually do not think I have EVER told ANYONE.....
in the mornings, I cry.
First off, to clarify, I am not a 'crier.'Although when I was young I will admit I was a 'cry-baby' I have out grown my ways, and now crying is a rarity for me. I mean, tears will be shed, but they are never uncalled for and I never utilize tears for pity's sake. When I cry, it is because I am upset, or really angry, but mainly because I am upset. There is, however, one exception: sometimes in the mornings I have an inexplicable need to bawl my eyes out.
It's this very, VERY strange habit of mine, and I cannot truly explain it, but I will try. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, and I have enough time, I watch television. I will take some time out, and watch part of the Today show, or if it's later in the morning, Oprah. Well, sometimes, even if it's something stupid, I feel this mysterious itching sensation right behind my eyeballs, and while I try to ignore it, it often shivers down my back. That weird feeling? Why, I do believe its an almost incomprehensible urge to cry.
Over what, you may ask? Oh, well, there is quite a range, from images of babies (yup, just babies, or baby animals, those really don't have to be doing anything, just sitting around, looking adorable) to people getting married, anything Ms. Winfrey discusses gets my tear ducts working, EHarmony commercials can overpower me, and today? Well, it was Samantha Brown's trip to Portugal on the Travel Channel.
Yes. It almost...ALMOST made me cry. Now, I think the obvious connection is that Portugal, in my mind, and geographically, is VERY closely intertwined with Spain. Well, when I see this woman, on her own, walking the streets of Lisbon (which is clearly a place made for me, I mean, Liz-Bon...c'mon, c'mon!), I think of my future experiences, growing nearer and more real by the day, and well, that itch-shiver combination strikes again. I held it back, I always do, but I did ALMOST cry during a Travel Channel special.
And now, my secret is revealed. Weird, right?
in the mornings, I cry.
First off, to clarify, I am not a 'crier.'Although when I was young I will admit I was a 'cry-baby' I have out grown my ways, and now crying is a rarity for me. I mean, tears will be shed, but they are never uncalled for and I never utilize tears for pity's sake. When I cry, it is because I am upset, or really angry, but mainly because I am upset. There is, however, one exception: sometimes in the mornings I have an inexplicable need to bawl my eyes out.
It's this very, VERY strange habit of mine, and I cannot truly explain it, but I will try. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, and I have enough time, I watch television. I will take some time out, and watch part of the Today show, or if it's later in the morning, Oprah. Well, sometimes, even if it's something stupid, I feel this mysterious itching sensation right behind my eyeballs, and while I try to ignore it, it often shivers down my back. That weird feeling? Why, I do believe its an almost incomprehensible urge to cry.
Over what, you may ask? Oh, well, there is quite a range, from images of babies (yup, just babies, or baby animals, those really don't have to be doing anything, just sitting around, looking adorable) to people getting married, anything Ms. Winfrey discusses gets my tear ducts working, EHarmony commercials can overpower me, and today? Well, it was Samantha Brown's trip to Portugal on the Travel Channel.
Yes. It almost...ALMOST made me cry. Now, I think the obvious connection is that Portugal, in my mind, and geographically, is VERY closely intertwined with Spain. Well, when I see this woman, on her own, walking the streets of Lisbon (which is clearly a place made for me, I mean, Liz-Bon...c'mon, c'mon!), I think of my future experiences, growing nearer and more real by the day, and well, that itch-shiver combination strikes again. I held it back, I always do, but I did ALMOST cry during a Travel Channel special.
And now, my secret is revealed. Weird, right?
Friday, July 25, 2008
My Dream...
I fell alseep while reading, only to wake up to the most frightening dream I had ever had.
While sitting in a row, at what seemed like a hospital, my ENTIRE family, (sisters, cousins, aunt, uncle, parents) watched a baby die on live television. I will not go into graphic detail, but it was incredibly disturbing. As soon as I could, I googled it meaning, this is what I found.
To see a dead baby in your dream, symbolizes the ending of something that is part of you
It is about talents or potentials that you allowed to die, or should have developed but you didn't put the time in to it....Or could also be a project or a plan that you were working on, and either you didn't follow through on it, or others discouraged you from it....
Baby can represent a hope or expectation you had carried in your heart or mind for a long time and it finally came about or was birthed forth. But the baby being dead symbolizes that the expectation or hope that was birth forth is dead or did not pan out. For example, you thought about dating a guy for a long time. Then it finally happen, but it did not last long. It died out quickly.
Babies represent things that are "New". Death represents the "End". You have been learning or doing something that is new for you. You are fearful of the new thing (baby) ending (dead). You are afraid of not being able to learn or be successful in the new thing.
Seeing as recent events have unfolded/will unfold. this dream, and it's meaning, are really scaring me with their accuracy. All I know I wish I didn't dream what I did.
While sitting in a row, at what seemed like a hospital, my ENTIRE family, (sisters, cousins, aunt, uncle, parents) watched a baby die on live television. I will not go into graphic detail, but it was incredibly disturbing. As soon as I could, I googled it meaning, this is what I found.
To see a dead baby in your dream, symbolizes the ending of something that is part of you
It is about talents or potentials that you allowed to die, or should have developed but you didn't put the time in to it....Or could also be a project or a plan that you were working on, and either you didn't follow through on it, or others discouraged you from it....
Baby can represent a hope or expectation you had carried in your heart or mind for a long time and it finally came about or was birthed forth. But the baby being dead symbolizes that the expectation or hope that was birth forth is dead or did not pan out. For example, you thought about dating a guy for a long time. Then it finally happen, but it did not last long. It died out quickly.
Babies represent things that are "New". Death represents the "End". You have been learning or doing something that is new for you. You are fearful of the new thing (baby) ending (dead). You are afraid of not being able to learn or be successful in the new thing.
Seeing as recent events have unfolded/will unfold. this dream, and it's meaning, are really scaring me with their accuracy. All I know I wish I didn't dream what I did.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Okay. No Looking Back Now.
It's Official. The one last thing I was waiting on has arrived. I have just gotten word that my visa has been processed and is ready for pick up. Even though I was pretty sure I messed it up, apparently I didn't.
That's it.
I'm going to Spain.
That's it.
I'm going to Spain.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A Real Weekend Escape
Gas is expensive. And it takes quite a bit of gas to drive to Kentucky. That was unfortunate. However, for a weekend, it was worth it.
I stress myself out. All the time, I sit at my apartment, in class, at home-home, at a coffee-shop, in the quad, in the shower (oh my god, in the shower), while walking around, while sitting around, anywhere really, I freak myself out. I worry. About what? About the immediate future, about the distant future, about the moments ahead, about the moments farther ahead. My biggest fear (beyond insects of all shapes and sizes) is the indistinct, looming monster of the future. Well, in the past months, these fears have grabbed a hold of me, specifically in the form of upcoming exams and hectic work schedules. No matter what I am doing, I am still, at least partially, worrying.
Well, for the weekend, after finishing a Spanish exam, I drove down to Kentucky. Four hours, behind the wheel, listening to anything that came on the radio (which shamelessly included Enrique Iglesias' "Hero," which, although meant to be ironic, was sung quite loudly by all passengers in the car). I saw a friend that I had not seen for over a year, and I went to a town that I honestly did not think I would ever see again. After investing a sizable amount in gasoline, however, I spent very little extra money.
The irony of the entire trip was that I did exactly what I do every weekend I go home. I sat around, I drank no alcohol, I watched plenty of television, I stayed up late talking with friends, I saw a movie (try to guess which HUGE BLOCKBUSTER OSCAR-BUZZ MOVIE I'm talking about!) but it was a vacation.
At first, I assumed it felt so much like a vacation because I was gone, away, in a different place. But then I thought about it, I spent all my time in either Allison's actual apartment, in the halogenated barn that is a Wal-Mart, or in a relative's living room parked infront of a television. These weren't vacation locales, and yet, somehow, I felt more far away from my worries than I have been ever before.
I realized it, when we were driving around during Saturday, what it was. Allison, describing her family, mentioned her grandfather's motto, and although I am TERRIBLE at quoting things, I do remember this: "Everyday is a holiday." I realized at that moment, that Allison wasn't just a friend, she was a tour guide, leading us not to the lame traditional tourist places, but instead teaching us all about the inner heart of a culture. Just as any tour guide, she taught us the history (of her and her family) and she also lead us into a new place. Being with a local we were introduced to the real lifestyle of Kentucky, a very different lifestyle, a lifestyle that saw every day not as a chore, but as a celebration.
That is the lifestyle of Louisville, or at least that of the people we met there. Everyday is a holiday, and if we don't celebrate it, well, then its not much fun is it? We did nothing special, and yet, somehow, I have never felt more free. All those worries, all those fears? Gone. Now, these people, like anyone really, have worries. Allison, even I will admit, has more legitimate worries than I do, and yet, somehow, its not scribbled all over her face. Instead, she is smiling. Reality is there, its definitely not all ice cream and rainbows, but instead of focusing on the harder terms of life, they embrace the moments of joy and freedom. Why? Because she lives life by a very different motto, one that actually keeps her....wait for it....HAPPY!
I stress myself out. All the time, I sit at my apartment, in class, at home-home, at a coffee-shop, in the quad, in the shower (oh my god, in the shower), while walking around, while sitting around, anywhere really, I freak myself out. I worry. About what? About the immediate future, about the distant future, about the moments ahead, about the moments farther ahead. My biggest fear (beyond insects of all shapes and sizes) is the indistinct, looming monster of the future. Well, in the past months, these fears have grabbed a hold of me, specifically in the form of upcoming exams and hectic work schedules. No matter what I am doing, I am still, at least partially, worrying.
Well, for the weekend, after finishing a Spanish exam, I drove down to Kentucky. Four hours, behind the wheel, listening to anything that came on the radio (which shamelessly included Enrique Iglesias' "Hero," which, although meant to be ironic, was sung quite loudly by all passengers in the car). I saw a friend that I had not seen for over a year, and I went to a town that I honestly did not think I would ever see again. After investing a sizable amount in gasoline, however, I spent very little extra money.
The irony of the entire trip was that I did exactly what I do every weekend I go home. I sat around, I drank no alcohol, I watched plenty of television, I stayed up late talking with friends, I saw a movie (try to guess which HUGE BLOCKBUSTER OSCAR-BUZZ MOVIE I'm talking about!) but it was a vacation.
At first, I assumed it felt so much like a vacation because I was gone, away, in a different place. But then I thought about it, I spent all my time in either Allison's actual apartment, in the halogenated barn that is a Wal-Mart, or in a relative's living room parked infront of a television. These weren't vacation locales, and yet, somehow, I felt more far away from my worries than I have been ever before.
I realized it, when we were driving around during Saturday, what it was. Allison, describing her family, mentioned her grandfather's motto, and although I am TERRIBLE at quoting things, I do remember this: "Everyday is a holiday." I realized at that moment, that Allison wasn't just a friend, she was a tour guide, leading us not to the lame traditional tourist places, but instead teaching us all about the inner heart of a culture. Just as any tour guide, she taught us the history (of her and her family) and she also lead us into a new place. Being with a local we were introduced to the real lifestyle of Kentucky, a very different lifestyle, a lifestyle that saw every day not as a chore, but as a celebration.
That is the lifestyle of Louisville, or at least that of the people we met there. Everyday is a holiday, and if we don't celebrate it, well, then its not much fun is it? We did nothing special, and yet, somehow, I have never felt more free. All those worries, all those fears? Gone. Now, these people, like anyone really, have worries. Allison, even I will admit, has more legitimate worries than I do, and yet, somehow, its not scribbled all over her face. Instead, she is smiling. Reality is there, its definitely not all ice cream and rainbows, but instead of focusing on the harder terms of life, they embrace the moments of joy and freedom. Why? Because she lives life by a very different motto, one that actually keeps her....wait for it....HAPPY!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
i've got, what, ten minutes?
Yeah, I have ten minutes. And in that time, I will post another blog. And no, I haven't left yet. In fact, I am safely buried underground, tapping away in the undergraduate library, sipping an expensive cup of coffee that I really should not have bought. Being a huge fan of 'dollar cups,' as I lovingly call them, this $2 espresso royale coffee is doing nothing to ease the guilt of spending my parent's money (even though it is 'fair trade' thus easing the minor pangs of guilt I feel toward third-world countries).
Oh no.
Has my blog turned into one of those navel-gazing, self-absorbed blogs, that discusses (read with airy, obnoxiously pretentious voice) "my journey"? Bleh. I'll try to avoid that.
Really, what I am writing about is the newly acquired information of my stay in Spain. The fact is that I now know my host family. Yes. I have a name. And an address, which I immediately google-mapped, only to find that it just appears to be a orange roofed house about a mile and a half from my school.
Yup. I'm creepy. I google-mapped. I love google. In fact, one could argue, I am developing a bit of crush on the company.
But on to more important things, I have a name. I have a family, a mom, a dad, a son who works, a daughter who is married but still comes over for dinner. A family that loves theater, and runs a shop, and that considered themselves 'cultured.'
I can only deduce that they read my letter to them, a brief intro about me which outlined the basics:
1. I was born in Russia, I came to America when I was a year old
2. I like to draw, and I like Art History, and museums
3. I like to cook, I like dogs, I like kids
4. I am shy at first, loud later.
And maybe my (Spanish) family, after seeing number 2, realized they should explain that they themselves are also 'cultured people.' But, alas, I have stumbled upon a problem. I am not a 'cultured people.' I watch VH1 reality shows, and eat fried chicken. Sure, I like museums, I want to devote my life to them, but I still love me some mashed potatoes and cherry pie. So...let's hope that they are 'cultured' like I am 'cultured' which is moderately, at best.
Oh no.
Has my blog turned into one of those navel-gazing, self-absorbed blogs, that discusses (read with airy, obnoxiously pretentious voice) "my journey"? Bleh. I'll try to avoid that.
Really, what I am writing about is the newly acquired information of my stay in Spain. The fact is that I now know my host family. Yes. I have a name. And an address, which I immediately google-mapped, only to find that it just appears to be a orange roofed house about a mile and a half from my school.
Yup. I'm creepy. I google-mapped. I love google. In fact, one could argue, I am developing a bit of crush on the company.
But on to more important things, I have a name. I have a family, a mom, a dad, a son who works, a daughter who is married but still comes over for dinner. A family that loves theater, and runs a shop, and that considered themselves 'cultured.'
I can only deduce that they read my letter to them, a brief intro about me which outlined the basics:
1. I was born in Russia, I came to America when I was a year old
2. I like to draw, and I like Art History, and museums
3. I like to cook, I like dogs, I like kids
4. I am shy at first, loud later.
And maybe my (Spanish) family, after seeing number 2, realized they should explain that they themselves are also 'cultured people.' But, alas, I have stumbled upon a problem. I am not a 'cultured people.' I watch VH1 reality shows, and eat fried chicken. Sure, I like museums, I want to devote my life to them, but I still love me some mashed potatoes and cherry pie. So...let's hope that they are 'cultured' like I am 'cultured' which is moderately, at best.
Monday, July 14, 2008
So, it begins....
Well, I am not away. Actually, kind of? I mean, I am not in Buffalo Grove, my home-home, but in Urbana, my school-home. Needless to say, I am definitely not in Spain.
Yeah, thats what this is all about, like every other person in the world, I have created a blog to discuss my 'experiences' and travels in other countries/towns/cities/states/streets...
And I'm startin' early, my friends, startin' before I've even left. ha.
Heres the plan: I will blog. Probably everyday, or at least as often as possible.
I will post, or email, or whatever, so that everyone knows I've put something new up.
Pictures will be posted, embarrassing stories shared, foods will be described in sensuous detail, etc.
And then, I will hopefully get some responses. Love responses. I will kill for responses. I will respond to responses.
So, yeah. That is the plan, and the best part? I can become part of YOUR daily routine: wake up, check the email, check this blog, check cnn.com, check email again, and then finally begin real work.
And that's my plan. And I hope everyone likes it. And I apologize for spelling and grammatical errors, although I will try my best to edit before posting. And I hope that there won't be a lot of "I'm depressed and lonely," posts, because, let's face it, those aren't fun to read! NOT. AT. ALL. We're all depressed and lonely sometimes, why drag the whole boat down with me when I'm sinking? Isn't it better to just climb back on?
If I am in fact, depressed and lonely, which I am sure there will be days, I'll call someone. No need to post my emotions for the world to see, that's just being emotionally slutty. I save my sad phone calls for those few people I love most, not anyone and everyone. That's just gross. And I'm a classy lady.
So those are the ground rules I have set up for myself. And hopefully, everyone agrees they are acceptable.
Now, time for me to freak out about leaving in 43 days. I have done a few google searches about Granada, and these are the highlights:
The last Muslim stronghold in Spain,
the Alhambra,
grilled sardines,
many bars offer free tapas with purchase of drink,
less than an hour from the coast,
popluation:472,638,
really amazing.
Yeah. That is pretty much all I know. And I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one. Let's compare my hometown of Chicago:
The first city of the Midwest
the Sears Tower
deep dish pizza
many bars offer free ESPN with seating,
right on the coast of Lake Michigan,
population:2,833,321,
really awesome.
Yeah. I'm sure I won't experience culture shock at all. Definitely comparable places. Not scared. Nope, totally confident.
Totally.
oh god.
Yeah, thats what this is all about, like every other person in the world, I have created a blog to discuss my 'experiences' and travels in other countries/towns/cities/states/streets...
And I'm startin' early, my friends, startin' before I've even left. ha.
Heres the plan: I will blog. Probably everyday, or at least as often as possible.
I will post, or email, or whatever, so that everyone knows I've put something new up.
Pictures will be posted, embarrassing stories shared, foods will be described in sensuous detail, etc.
And then, I will hopefully get some responses. Love responses. I will kill for responses. I will respond to responses.
So, yeah. That is the plan, and the best part? I can become part of YOUR daily routine: wake up, check the email, check this blog, check cnn.com, check email again, and then finally begin real work.
And that's my plan. And I hope everyone likes it. And I apologize for spelling and grammatical errors, although I will try my best to edit before posting. And I hope that there won't be a lot of "I'm depressed and lonely," posts, because, let's face it, those aren't fun to read! NOT. AT. ALL. We're all depressed and lonely sometimes, why drag the whole boat down with me when I'm sinking? Isn't it better to just climb back on?
If I am in fact, depressed and lonely, which I am sure there will be days, I'll call someone. No need to post my emotions for the world to see, that's just being emotionally slutty. I save my sad phone calls for those few people I love most, not anyone and everyone. That's just gross. And I'm a classy lady.
So those are the ground rules I have set up for myself. And hopefully, everyone agrees they are acceptable.
Now, time for me to freak out about leaving in 43 days. I have done a few google searches about Granada, and these are the highlights:
The last Muslim stronghold in Spain,
the Alhambra,
grilled sardines,
many bars offer free tapas with purchase of drink,
less than an hour from the coast,
popluation:472,638,
really amazing.
Yeah. That is pretty much all I know. And I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one. Let's compare my hometown of Chicago:
The first city of the Midwest
the Sears Tower
deep dish pizza
many bars offer free ESPN with seating,
right on the coast of Lake Michigan,
population:2,833,321,
really awesome.
Yeah. I'm sure I won't experience culture shock at all. Definitely comparable places. Not scared. Nope, totally confident.
Totally.
oh god.
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