Friday, November 23, 2012
The Day after Thanksgiving-Year 3
The day after Thanksgiving brings forth pictures of Black Friday, sales, the start of the Christmas season. When I was little, we always put up the Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. A tradition I haven't always kept. Usually, due to work, other times, just because I didn't feel like it.
I spent yesterday with my extended family. I haven't done that in a couple of years. There aren't as many of us around as there once was. The older ones have died off, or are in nursing homes. The ones that are considered the "older" generation now were there, minus my Mom of course and another uncle who had passed this year. There aren't that many kids either. The "kids" which I used to be one of were mostly there. Their kids now are in college, or out in the world themselves. They haven't gotten to the age yet to have little ones.
We watched home movies. I thought it would be a good idea to sit and enjoy a walk down memory lane. Most everyone enjoyed it, but it left me feeling more depressed than I thought I would. The whole lead up to the holiday has been tough on me this year. It's weird, but it has on my dad too. I didn't know this, of course, till a few weeks ago. It's odd how our emotions are in sync, even when we don't discuss it.
Decided not to put a Christmas tree up this year. Everybody understands of course, but when I say I am not doing the present thing this year either, I get the odd looks. Don't get me wrong. I like buying gifts for people and enjoying the bacchanalia that is the Christmas season as much as the next person. Just not this year. One, money is tight, as it is for everyone, and two, I just don't have it in me.
My Dad is fine, my kitty is fine, husband is fine, I am fine. Job is ok. Other than some financial stress, life is ok. This year, I see my Mom's face in every Christmas light, in every piece of holly or wreath. It's just plain hard. I guess people don't know how to act around those who decide they want to wear sackcloth an ashes at a joyous time of year. I have grieved these past 3 years, its true. But I have put off my grief to be the "glue" for a lot of people. My glue is cracked and flaking. I need to deal with some of my issues.
Maybe it will turn around for me in a few days. Maybe not. Either way, I intend to let it run its course..
Friday, October 5, 2012
Walking the Walk
Have you ever been talking to someone and you think, "This person has no clue what I'm going through and no idea what they are talking about."
I imagine you probably thought it and didn't say it, but it still bothered you anyway.
My little post today is about walking the walk, not just talking the talk. To preface, someone doesn't have to have gone through exactly what you are going through to give you advice or to give you comfort. But to give the cliched, "I know exactly what you must be going through" line is stupid. Don't say that to anyone. Ever. Nobody knows exactly what a person is going through, because you aren't them. Don't offer advice to people when they don't ask for it and don't be syrupy sweet with them. Sorry for the rant. Now on to my subject.
One of the most off-putting things a person can do around someone that is grieving, sad, or going through a tough patch is to offer advice about it and not do it themselves. Raising hand:::: Yeah, I've done it. It drives me crazy when other people do it, so I need to walk the walk. Can you tell that this is more for me than the reader? When I tell someone not to stress, I need to not stress about the same exact thing. When I tell someone to trust in God, I need to do it too. When I tell someone not to gossip, judge or do any other myriad of things I might say to someone, I need to not do it either.
What does the first paragraph have to do with the second? Sometimes people offer advice, comfort, or false platitudes to people that have lost a loved one, have a disease, have lost their job, or are just plagued by stress and anxiety and A)have never experienced anything even close to what you are going through B) wouldn't follow the advice they are giving if there was a gun held to their head or C)Both.
For readers of my blog, you know I lost my mother about three years ago. Now most people, unless you are very young or just plain fortunate, have lost somebody close to you. But everyone is different. You may not have been in the same situation or had the same exact thing happen to you the same exact way. The way people die or deal with death is as different as we are as people. Remember that.
Also, if I catch you saying I know exactly what you are going through, I might have to do something physical. After all , it will be for your own good.
I imagine you probably thought it and didn't say it, but it still bothered you anyway.
My little post today is about walking the walk, not just talking the talk. To preface, someone doesn't have to have gone through exactly what you are going through to give you advice or to give you comfort. But to give the cliched, "I know exactly what you must be going through" line is stupid. Don't say that to anyone. Ever. Nobody knows exactly what a person is going through, because you aren't them. Don't offer advice to people when they don't ask for it and don't be syrupy sweet with them. Sorry for the rant. Now on to my subject.
One of the most off-putting things a person can do around someone that is grieving, sad, or going through a tough patch is to offer advice about it and not do it themselves. Raising hand:::: Yeah, I've done it. It drives me crazy when other people do it, so I need to walk the walk. Can you tell that this is more for me than the reader? When I tell someone not to stress, I need to not stress about the same exact thing. When I tell someone to trust in God, I need to do it too. When I tell someone not to gossip, judge or do any other myriad of things I might say to someone, I need to not do it either.
What does the first paragraph have to do with the second? Sometimes people offer advice, comfort, or false platitudes to people that have lost a loved one, have a disease, have lost their job, or are just plagued by stress and anxiety and A)have never experienced anything even close to what you are going through B) wouldn't follow the advice they are giving if there was a gun held to their head or C)Both.
For readers of my blog, you know I lost my mother about three years ago. Now most people, unless you are very young or just plain fortunate, have lost somebody close to you. But everyone is different. You may not have been in the same situation or had the same exact thing happen to you the same exact way. The way people die or deal with death is as different as we are as people. Remember that.
Also, if I catch you saying I know exactly what you are going through, I might have to do something physical. After all , it will be for your own good.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Marking the Day
Birthday's means different things to different people. To some folks birthdays are THE day. They are the one day of the year that is just about that person. To others, its just another day. For some, its a milestone to be achieved or even endured.
For me, my own birthday has meant all of these things and more. I am the only child of an only child. I have a brother and a sister, but not from my Mother, and my Mother had siblings, but not from the same Father. So, though we had siblings, we were still only children. For each of us, it meant starkly different things. In the beginning it was similar, though. We were both well loved, youngest children, who were given as much as our parents could offer us. In my Mom's case, that wasn't much, but she was loved. But as we grew older we took starkly different paths. Both of us were shy children. I can hear those that know me laughing, but it was true. My Mom was not encouraged out of her shyness, but allowed to become more reclusive as a child and even into teen years. I, spurred on by a mother who wasn't going to allow that to happen again, was pushed to do things, even things I didn't like. She would say, "Just try it, if you don't like it you can quit."
So I did 4-H, Brownies, played volleyball, basketball, took horseback riding lessons, did competition rollerskating, raised rabbits, choir, band, the list goes on. Sports were not my thing, of course, but that is a story for another time.
The point of all of this is, that my Mom made my life special, every day, not just on my birthday. She pushed me to do things and broke me out of my shell. Do I still have moments of shyness, even now? Sure I do. But that confident woman she she striding across a room at a networking event and giving a firm hand shake to a perfect stranger, an executive, or even the Mayor of Muncie, didn't just pop out of the womb that way.
So tomorrow, as I celebrate my birthday and this weekend as I think on Mother's Day, I will consider how two only children changed their lives, with the grace of God and became more than we thought we ever could be.
Marking the day and Marking the time.
For me, my own birthday has meant all of these things and more. I am the only child of an only child. I have a brother and a sister, but not from my Mother, and my Mother had siblings, but not from the same Father. So, though we had siblings, we were still only children. For each of us, it meant starkly different things. In the beginning it was similar, though. We were both well loved, youngest children, who were given as much as our parents could offer us. In my Mom's case, that wasn't much, but she was loved. But as we grew older we took starkly different paths. Both of us were shy children. I can hear those that know me laughing, but it was true. My Mom was not encouraged out of her shyness, but allowed to become more reclusive as a child and even into teen years. I, spurred on by a mother who wasn't going to allow that to happen again, was pushed to do things, even things I didn't like. She would say, "Just try it, if you don't like it you can quit."
So I did 4-H, Brownies, played volleyball, basketball, took horseback riding lessons, did competition rollerskating, raised rabbits, choir, band, the list goes on. Sports were not my thing, of course, but that is a story for another time.
The point of all of this is, that my Mom made my life special, every day, not just on my birthday. She pushed me to do things and broke me out of my shell. Do I still have moments of shyness, even now? Sure I do. But that confident woman she she striding across a room at a networking event and giving a firm hand shake to a perfect stranger, an executive, or even the Mayor of Muncie, didn't just pop out of the womb that way.
So tomorrow, as I celebrate my birthday and this weekend as I think on Mother's Day, I will consider how two only children changed their lives, with the grace of God and became more than we thought we ever could be.
Marking the day and Marking the time.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Holy Week-2012
Another year and another Holy Week is here. If you read my blog at all, you will know that last year was very difficult for me. That is because Easter always falls a few days before my Mother's Birthday, as Mother's day falls a few days or ON my birthday. So spring is always bitter sweet for me.
This year, it isn't that bad. Has it occurred to me about the time of the year? Yes, of course. However, it just doesn't seem to bother me as much this year as it did last year. Mom has been gone 3 years this coming November. So this is the third easter without her. However, I plan to spend it with as much family as I can. My Aunt Una, a spry 96 will be spending the day with me, my husband and my father. It will be a good day and a memory maker.
Holy week isn't about me though. It isn't about easter bunnies and peeps either-though those are fun too.
I had a dream last night about Jesus. No, really. Bear with me.
I was in a house that I used to live in and we were needing a exorcism. (Yeah, don't ask me where this came from.) A pastor I know was performing the exorcism. Just a point of order, Baptists don't exorcisms as a rule. But moving on. I was talking to the pastor as he was cleansing the house and I said the only thing they are afraid of is the Risen Christ. He agreed. So we started invoking the name of Jesus and guess what...well, He sort of appeared. We were suddenly outside the house and all these people appeared on the hillside with us and we started following Him where he was going. I fell into step with Him and we started chatting about this and that. Actually it was very comfortable like I was catching up with an old friend I hadn't seen in awhile. I asked Him why he was here and He said, because you wanted me to be here. I found this interesting but said nothing. We went into a house on the hill (dreams aren't easy to explain) and someone came up and grabbed his hands to look if there were holes in his palms. I gave this person a dirty look and He said it was ok, He held out his other hand and pulled a large wood piece out (looked like a splinter) and he sort of sucked in his breath like we do when we rip a piece of skin off our leg or something. He grimaced. I felt my heart drop into my feet and I said, "oh I'm sorry." he sort of nodded like you do when someone is just being nice and I caught his eyes and said, "No, I'm REALLY, really sorry. (me meaning in my heart, I'm really sorry you had to do what you did...because of me)" He nodded and smiled and said "I know..." again, this time with feeling, but a warm smile a friend would give you. A smile that elicited the inclination to hug someone.
This dream left a huge impression on me. And yes I really did dream this and I didn't exaggerate. Actually there are parts of it that I didn't even share. I'm sure a dream person would have a field day with this, but most Christians will find it endearing and not just a little bit convicting.
I feel like I was close to Christ. We were friends, and it was very comfortable. I pray that my Holy Week is like this. Spending time with my Lord and buddy.
I hope its like this for you too.
This year, it isn't that bad. Has it occurred to me about the time of the year? Yes, of course. However, it just doesn't seem to bother me as much this year as it did last year. Mom has been gone 3 years this coming November. So this is the third easter without her. However, I plan to spend it with as much family as I can. My Aunt Una, a spry 96 will be spending the day with me, my husband and my father. It will be a good day and a memory maker.
Holy week isn't about me though. It isn't about easter bunnies and peeps either-though those are fun too.
I had a dream last night about Jesus. No, really. Bear with me.
I was in a house that I used to live in and we were needing a exorcism. (Yeah, don't ask me where this came from.) A pastor I know was performing the exorcism. Just a point of order, Baptists don't exorcisms as a rule. But moving on. I was talking to the pastor as he was cleansing the house and I said the only thing they are afraid of is the Risen Christ. He agreed. So we started invoking the name of Jesus and guess what...well, He sort of appeared. We were suddenly outside the house and all these people appeared on the hillside with us and we started following Him where he was going. I fell into step with Him and we started chatting about this and that. Actually it was very comfortable like I was catching up with an old friend I hadn't seen in awhile. I asked Him why he was here and He said, because you wanted me to be here. I found this interesting but said nothing. We went into a house on the hill (dreams aren't easy to explain) and someone came up and grabbed his hands to look if there were holes in his palms. I gave this person a dirty look and He said it was ok, He held out his other hand and pulled a large wood piece out (looked like a splinter) and he sort of sucked in his breath like we do when we rip a piece of skin off our leg or something. He grimaced. I felt my heart drop into my feet and I said, "oh I'm sorry." he sort of nodded like you do when someone is just being nice and I caught his eyes and said, "No, I'm REALLY, really sorry. (me meaning in my heart, I'm really sorry you had to do what you did...because of me)" He nodded and smiled and said "I know..." again, this time with feeling, but a warm smile a friend would give you. A smile that elicited the inclination to hug someone.
This dream left a huge impression on me. And yes I really did dream this and I didn't exaggerate. Actually there are parts of it that I didn't even share. I'm sure a dream person would have a field day with this, but most Christians will find it endearing and not just a little bit convicting.
I feel like I was close to Christ. We were friends, and it was very comfortable. I pray that my Holy Week is like this. Spending time with my Lord and buddy.
I hope its like this for you too.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Spring Time! Spring Time?
I've always liked spring time. Not LOVED it, but I like it. I can hear the collective gasp from lovers of sunshine and warmth after a long winter. Let me explain.
When I was a child, I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms. Let me rephrase that. I had a pathological fear of thunderstorms. If it was a lovely spring day and a dark cloud came up, as they are wont to do, I would go into my bedroom, draw the blinds and watch the tv, hugging my map of Indiana that my parents had given me to track the weather advisories. Don't worry, they weren't enabling me, they knew I was a control freak and it helped me to know where the pesky storms were every second of their trek through Indiana. So, as winter would go away, I knew one thing. It was time for tornado sirens, storm watches and my eyes glued to Bob McClain the local weather man. Back in those days, we didn't have the weather channel and buff Jim Cantore out chasing storms. We had a guy in a studio in Indiana, with 1980s technology showing us where the storms were going. "Swoop" McClain was my connection to sanity in those days.
Well to those of you on the edge of your seat, I "did" grow out of my fear of storms. However, one thing you realize when something scares the living daylights out of you, one has a tendency to learn quite a bit about that thing. At least, that's what I did. Know your enemy-that was my policy.
This has changed quite a bit, since the invention of the internet. Now you can google anything you want and know far more than any person should ever know about a topic.
I was thinking back before the internet the other day, pondering if I would ever have gotten over my fear of storms, if I would have had 24/7 weather channel and google at my fingertips. There are so many people now with obsessive tendencies that get their feeling and thoughts ramped up by the almight google.
While I was tracking those storms, I had an encyclopedia at my fingertips as well, to look up symptoms and such. Born to be a researcher...that's me!
When I heard on the radio that they were no longer going to be printing Encyclopedia Brittanica, I took a pause. For my generation, and those just a little older than me, the world has really changed. Would I have ever thought when I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation in the 80s and 90s that the "PADD" Picard read from would now be in my possession? That books were becoming things of the past and all the worlds knowledge (good and bad) was at my fingertips as long as I typed in the right search word?
I don't know about you, but I kind of miss tracking my storms on my paper map of Indiana and watching for Swoop McClain's weather forecast.
It taught me this. Today's fear may be tomorrow's misty nostalgia.
When I was a child, I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms. Let me rephrase that. I had a pathological fear of thunderstorms. If it was a lovely spring day and a dark cloud came up, as they are wont to do, I would go into my bedroom, draw the blinds and watch the tv, hugging my map of Indiana that my parents had given me to track the weather advisories. Don't worry, they weren't enabling me, they knew I was a control freak and it helped me to know where the pesky storms were every second of their trek through Indiana. So, as winter would go away, I knew one thing. It was time for tornado sirens, storm watches and my eyes glued to Bob McClain the local weather man. Back in those days, we didn't have the weather channel and buff Jim Cantore out chasing storms. We had a guy in a studio in Indiana, with 1980s technology showing us where the storms were going. "Swoop" McClain was my connection to sanity in those days.
Well to those of you on the edge of your seat, I "did" grow out of my fear of storms. However, one thing you realize when something scares the living daylights out of you, one has a tendency to learn quite a bit about that thing. At least, that's what I did. Know your enemy-that was my policy.
This has changed quite a bit, since the invention of the internet. Now you can google anything you want and know far more than any person should ever know about a topic.
I was thinking back before the internet the other day, pondering if I would ever have gotten over my fear of storms, if I would have had 24/7 weather channel and google at my fingertips. There are so many people now with obsessive tendencies that get their feeling and thoughts ramped up by the almight google.
While I was tracking those storms, I had an encyclopedia at my fingertips as well, to look up symptoms and such. Born to be a researcher...that's me!
When I heard on the radio that they were no longer going to be printing Encyclopedia Brittanica, I took a pause. For my generation, and those just a little older than me, the world has really changed. Would I have ever thought when I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation in the 80s and 90s that the "PADD" Picard read from would now be in my possession? That books were becoming things of the past and all the worlds knowledge (good and bad) was at my fingertips as long as I typed in the right search word?
I don't know about you, but I kind of miss tracking my storms on my paper map of Indiana and watching for Swoop McClain's weather forecast.
It taught me this. Today's fear may be tomorrow's misty nostalgia.
Monday, March 5, 2012
MSA Awareness Month
March is MSA awareness month. For those of you that have followed my blog, you know that my mother died of this disease in 2009. I will say "probably" died of this, because one of the hallmarks of MSA is that it is so hard to diagnose that some people never really get a full diagnosis. Mayo clinic said she had it, and I figured they were pretty good authorities. I have been posting pictures of my Mom, not too long before her death on Facebook. Doing so, has brought back some unpleasant and not so unpleasant memories of those few years. I didn't take any pictures of my Mom as she struggled through her final months, as some people did of their parents. I am glad I didn't, actually. Not to mention, she would have never allowed it anyway!
But the point of all this, aside from wanting to blog about MSA for the awareness month, is that when someone dies of a disease like this, you never really get over it. Not really.
Memories of what happened day to day and what happened the last days of their lives come back to you at the most odd moments. Dying isn't always as picture perfect as it is on tv. It isn't a misty water colored memory, as some lead you to believe. Its pretty brutal stuff.
Truth be told, I didn't hang around much while my Mom was dying. My Dad couldn't stay, he was so upset, so I drove him around, took him to my house, etc. I sat with her, came in and talked to her, but my husband, my sister and her brothers and sister did most of the sitting. This isn't something I'm proud of, to tell you the truth. I wish I could have been one of those people that sat, holding my Mom's hand, telling her it would be ok. Well, it wasn't ok. She knew it and so did I. She struggled at the end, cried out a lot, pulled at her legs and wept. She didn't want to die. Was she afraid to die? No. But even those most prepared for death aren't ready to leave their loved ones. I had a hard time because it was like she was trying to tell me something over and over again. But her ability to talk had gone and she couldn't let me know. I talked to her finally and told her that she was dying. Nobody had bothered to tell "her." They told me, my Dad and anyone else who would listen. But they didn't tell her. So I did. I asked her if she understood. She nodded yes. She was calmer after that, much calmer. It was time to stop fighting.
But, I still wonder what she wanted to tell me. Did she want to tell me that she wasn't dying, to help her? I knew she couldn't swallow. I knew she couldn't eat or drink. I knew she wasn't going to live. I asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital. She shook her head no. I asked her if she was afraid to die. She shook her head no. My husband said that he thought she wanted to say so much to me as she passed and just couldn't and it made her crazy with sadness.
I won't know, this side of eternity, what she wanted to say. So it will haunt me. Was she upset I didn't stay by her side every minute? Probably. I wasn't there when she took her last breath. She wasn't alone, but I wasn't there. The one person that should have been. Something else that will haunt me.
I had a dream Saturday evening. To preface, I have dreams like this often. They aren't like dreams where you just "dream" about someone. They are actual visitations. I know this doesn't hold with my beliefs, but it happens. My Mom has visited me often. But this time, it wasn't her. It way my Grandma. Grandma has been dead for 8 years. I asked her why she was here. She told me straight up that she was sent to tell me to stop worrying about things. Leave it to my Mom to get exasperated that I wasn't listening to her, so she sent Grandma. She was there clear as a bell. I was walking down the hall of a building and ran into a woman and she turned around and it was Grandma.
I know I've blogged about this before, but all this MSA stuff reminded me of it.
Not very poetic. But what is on my mind.
But the point of all this, aside from wanting to blog about MSA for the awareness month, is that when someone dies of a disease like this, you never really get over it. Not really.
Memories of what happened day to day and what happened the last days of their lives come back to you at the most odd moments. Dying isn't always as picture perfect as it is on tv. It isn't a misty water colored memory, as some lead you to believe. Its pretty brutal stuff.
Truth be told, I didn't hang around much while my Mom was dying. My Dad couldn't stay, he was so upset, so I drove him around, took him to my house, etc. I sat with her, came in and talked to her, but my husband, my sister and her brothers and sister did most of the sitting. This isn't something I'm proud of, to tell you the truth. I wish I could have been one of those people that sat, holding my Mom's hand, telling her it would be ok. Well, it wasn't ok. She knew it and so did I. She struggled at the end, cried out a lot, pulled at her legs and wept. She didn't want to die. Was she afraid to die? No. But even those most prepared for death aren't ready to leave their loved ones. I had a hard time because it was like she was trying to tell me something over and over again. But her ability to talk had gone and she couldn't let me know. I talked to her finally and told her that she was dying. Nobody had bothered to tell "her." They told me, my Dad and anyone else who would listen. But they didn't tell her. So I did. I asked her if she understood. She nodded yes. She was calmer after that, much calmer. It was time to stop fighting.
But, I still wonder what she wanted to tell me. Did she want to tell me that she wasn't dying, to help her? I knew she couldn't swallow. I knew she couldn't eat or drink. I knew she wasn't going to live. I asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital. She shook her head no. I asked her if she was afraid to die. She shook her head no. My husband said that he thought she wanted to say so much to me as she passed and just couldn't and it made her crazy with sadness.
I won't know, this side of eternity, what she wanted to say. So it will haunt me. Was she upset I didn't stay by her side every minute? Probably. I wasn't there when she took her last breath. She wasn't alone, but I wasn't there. The one person that should have been. Something else that will haunt me.
I had a dream Saturday evening. To preface, I have dreams like this often. They aren't like dreams where you just "dream" about someone. They are actual visitations. I know this doesn't hold with my beliefs, but it happens. My Mom has visited me often. But this time, it wasn't her. It way my Grandma. Grandma has been dead for 8 years. I asked her why she was here. She told me straight up that she was sent to tell me to stop worrying about things. Leave it to my Mom to get exasperated that I wasn't listening to her, so she sent Grandma. She was there clear as a bell. I was walking down the hall of a building and ran into a woman and she turned around and it was Grandma.
I know I've blogged about this before, but all this MSA stuff reminded me of it.
Not very poetic. But what is on my mind.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Facebook: The snapshot of your life
I was scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed this week and looking a the "friends" posts there. I was taken by all the people that had been part of different times of my life. There were friends I had known since I was a kid, family, work friends, friends from different churches I have attended, work colleagues, the list goes on.
You have no idea how many people who touch over your life. Facebook just has a way of putting it into one place. I thought about some of the friends from my high school days meeting friends I have now and if they would be talking about the same person. Am I different than I was then? Assuredly in some ways, yes. But I wonder if there are similarities they would find interesting, even all these years later.
I look at all the people there and wonder, do they really know me? Do they know the REAL me? Do they want to know the REAL me?
I ponder these things at great length and wonder if people would still like me if they knew the REAL me. I always feel like I have a mask on, sometimes even with those closest to me. I put on a mask for whoever I'm with. Don't get me wrong, I have certain principles and beliefs that don't change no matter who I'm with. But in some way I am a chameleon.
So, my goal this year it to try to be the same with everyone. I think I'm doing better with this, because frankly, its too exhausting the other way!
You have no idea how many people who touch over your life. Facebook just has a way of putting it into one place. I thought about some of the friends from my high school days meeting friends I have now and if they would be talking about the same person. Am I different than I was then? Assuredly in some ways, yes. But I wonder if there are similarities they would find interesting, even all these years later.
I look at all the people there and wonder, do they really know me? Do they know the REAL me? Do they want to know the REAL me?
I ponder these things at great length and wonder if people would still like me if they knew the REAL me. I always feel like I have a mask on, sometimes even with those closest to me. I put on a mask for whoever I'm with. Don't get me wrong, I have certain principles and beliefs that don't change no matter who I'm with. But in some way I am a chameleon.
So, my goal this year it to try to be the same with everyone. I think I'm doing better with this, because frankly, its too exhausting the other way!
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