Here's the thing, readers: I curse, real bad. It's not particularly ladylike and I try to keep it out of things on the internet, because you never know who is reading it. My mom, my old pastor, my girls, my future children, maybe they all creep on this blog. Or, maybe it's just my best friend and my aunt. But the cursing gets worse when I'm stressed out. And readers, I'm real stressed, although I'm trying to adopt more of a "Fuckit" attitude. That's right, one word. I've tried to adopt this attitude before, with little to no success. I just care too damn much. Yes, it's a giant problem. It results in anxiety and breakouts, even though I'm way too old to still be getting zits, and not being able to sleep until 3 in the morning and migraines, but I like that I care too much. My passion is one of my favorite things about myself. It pushes me. And I absolutely cannot stand people who don't give a damn. Frigging care about something. Please.
Anyway, I digress. The point of this post is to talk about how I am learning to let go. A little. I figured out last night that it is mathematically impossible for me to get an A in Stats. No dice, unless he curves the crap out of the class, which I don't think he will, because people like my freaking study partner and the Boy screw up the curve. (As an aside, dating someone who is smarter than I am continually shocks me. Granted, the ex was as smart, and probably smarter than I am, but he was smart in a different way. The Boy being smarter than I am, in the area that I am smart in, is really throwing me for a loop.) So I put down my calculator and said, "Fuckit." I can put in a ton of effort and anxiety and get a 100% on the final and still get a B, or I can chill the eff out and get my C- on the final and still finish with a B. I'm choosing to chill the eff out. I think the Boy is helping me with this. He does this thing where he takes the thing I'm flipping out about and says it in this totally serious voice and makes it sound ridiculous. And it's not like he's the first one that's done that. Bestie, my parents, probably previous boyfriends, they've all done it, but this is the first time that I'm actually getting it (even if it does drive me crazy). Perhaps it's just because this is the first time that I really have been working the absolute hardest that I ever have, and it's just not getting me where I want to be, and what more can I do than my best? Nothing, that's what. Point is, I can't infer causality. But there is a definite correlation (even if it is a meaningless one).
Anyway, I will be back home in 158 hours, and I can't freaking wait. Merry Christmas, y'all.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Prepare yourself for a rant
This whole Joe Paterno business is really making me upset. This guy says it a lot better than I can, but I just can't understand the support for him. Yeah, he was a great coach. And apparently, he was a great mentor to his players. But that doesn't change the fact that he didn't do enough to stop his DIRECT REPORT from raping children in his building and elsewhere. Maybe he did what was legally required of him by saying something to the athletic director or whomever it was that he told. But that wasn't enough, and we all know it. The graduate assistant didn't do enough when he turned around and walked away and let Sandusky continue raping a little boy in the showers. The janitor that saw him in the 90's didn't do enough when he walked away from Sandusky going down on a little boy. They didn't do enough, and they do not deserve our sympathies or support.
It's no secret that I've been abused, and it's no secret that I still struggle with the emotional after-effects, 10 years after it ended and 7 years after the offender killed himself (Ok, so it is kind of a secret here in that no one in the program knows, so I seem especially crazy when I get this worked up over it. If they knew, I feel like they would nod understandingly instead of leaning back from the degree of wrath that I barely am able to contain when discussing this issue). I would never wish these feelings of brokenness on anyone, and sometimes I wonder what would have happened if someone had known The Abuser was this way before--what it would be like to feel like a "normal" person. Paterno and the others at Penn State could have saved countless children from these feelings. They could have made it better. They could have saved these kids from a monster, but they chose to do nothing, to say nothing, and in their silence, they too, became monsters.
To be honest, I'm glad for the supporters, that they can live in a world where they don't understand how unspeakably cruel the code of silence executed by several people at Penn State was, that they can think that 50 years of doing something as insignificant as coaching football is enough to excuse him and the others for allowing this to go on, that they don't know the damage that was done, to somehow think it "wasn't that bad", or at least not bad enough to vilify them as they deserve. I'm glad that they don't know what this is like, a decade later, that they have never experienced pain like this. I'm glad for them. I pray they never understand why my heart races at the horror, why my face gets flushed and I start yelling and cursing in front of my professor, why I'm nauseous, why it brings tears to my eyes. I pry that they can stay forever in their state of hideously offensive ignorance. In the mean time, I hope to God that someone makes Paterno and the others understand why this was so unspeakably, grotesquely, horribly, terribly wrong, because they will never be able to make it right again.
It's no secret that I've been abused, and it's no secret that I still struggle with the emotional after-effects, 10 years after it ended and 7 years after the offender killed himself (Ok, so it is kind of a secret here in that no one in the program knows, so I seem especially crazy when I get this worked up over it. If they knew, I feel like they would nod understandingly instead of leaning back from the degree of wrath that I barely am able to contain when discussing this issue). I would never wish these feelings of brokenness on anyone, and sometimes I wonder what would have happened if someone had known The Abuser was this way before--what it would be like to feel like a "normal" person. Paterno and the others at Penn State could have saved countless children from these feelings. They could have made it better. They could have saved these kids from a monster, but they chose to do nothing, to say nothing, and in their silence, they too, became monsters.
To be honest, I'm glad for the supporters, that they can live in a world where they don't understand how unspeakably cruel the code of silence executed by several people at Penn State was, that they can think that 50 years of doing something as insignificant as coaching football is enough to excuse him and the others for allowing this to go on, that they don't know the damage that was done, to somehow think it "wasn't that bad", or at least not bad enough to vilify them as they deserve. I'm glad that they don't know what this is like, a decade later, that they have never experienced pain like this. I'm glad for them. I pray they never understand why my heart races at the horror, why my face gets flushed and I start yelling and cursing in front of my professor, why I'm nauseous, why it brings tears to my eyes. I pry that they can stay forever in their state of hideously offensive ignorance. In the mean time, I hope to God that someone makes Paterno and the others understand why this was so unspeakably, grotesquely, horribly, terribly wrong, because they will never be able to make it right again.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Remembering who the eff I am
So this period of my life is all about growth and change. It's annoying that I'm doing all this growth and change now, and not several years ago like most people, but that's what happens when you live at home in undergrad. You don't have any growing pains at 18, you get them whenever you move away and have to figure your life out on your own. It's a lot harder than I expected. I took a lot of who I am and what I believe for granted.
Since I've been out here, I've adopted a "Yes Man" attitude and I just go along with things. Socializing almost every night (at least at first, before we had a crapton of work all the time)? Sure. Intramural Soccer? Why not? Make a website for the research project? Ok. Watch football? Yeah. I say yes now. These are all things I used to say no to, and while I'm glad I'm saying yes more, it's messing with my head. I'm becoming a different person. And I think I might like the person I am becoming, but I also kinda liked who I was before. I at least didn't dislike her. So it's disconcerting to think that she's going away to make room for this new, moreeasygoing? (no one who knows me here would call me easygoing, that's for sure) whatever I am.
And when I got my stats test back with a bad grade, I had this fatalistic freak out day. I cried. All day. On the phone with my parents in the quad, in the office with my roommate, on the most annoyingly bad service phone call with Bestie, all by myself writing an email to my undergrad advisor, I cried a lot. Big, heaving sobs. Stupid crocodile tears that refused to listen to reason, that didn't hear the "It's not so bad's" and the "You can recover from this's" and "You might be doing badly at the moment, but this is the first time you've ever been challenged in school and it's just taking some adjustment, it's not that you're too dumb to be here's". I seriously considered quitting. It's too hard to be here if I'm not going to hack it. I miss my friends and my family and good Mexican food and grid systems and getting enough sleep and watching TV and things being easy.
But then I woke up on Friday morning and thought to myself, "Self (oh, Mr. Evil WH teacher, how you still haunt me), what the eff. You are not a quitter. You are a hard worker. You are rise-to-the-bar-er. You do not let people tell you 'No'. You go after what you want. You make the best of things. You do not cry like a little bitch and take it. You make it work. Get your butt to school and figure it out". And I did. I have a study group, and I'm going to office hours more often, and I'm changing the way I take notes, and I'm making it freaking work.
I might be growing and changing, and I might be being slapped in the face by assumptions that I held about myself, but I refuse to change some things. Mystubbornness tenacity is one of my favorite things about myself, and I refuse to let that be beaten out of me taken from me.
Also, an official thank you to Mom and Dad, Bestie, Roommate, and Undergrad Advisor for talking me down from the ledge. I know it seemed like I wasn't listening to you and was actually pretty rude to you all when you tried to make me feel better, but I appreciate you. I came around eventually =)
Since I've been out here, I've adopted a "Yes Man" attitude and I just go along with things. Socializing almost every night (at least at first, before we had a crapton of work all the time)? Sure. Intramural Soccer? Why not? Make a website for the research project? Ok. Watch football? Yeah. I say yes now. These are all things I used to say no to, and while I'm glad I'm saying yes more, it's messing with my head. I'm becoming a different person. And I think I might like the person I am becoming, but I also kinda liked who I was before. I at least didn't dislike her. So it's disconcerting to think that she's going away to make room for this new, more
And when I got my stats test back with a bad grade, I had this fatalistic freak out day. I cried. All day. On the phone with my parents in the quad, in the office with my roommate, on the most annoyingly bad service phone call with Bestie, all by myself writing an email to my undergrad advisor, I cried a lot. Big, heaving sobs. Stupid crocodile tears that refused to listen to reason, that didn't hear the "It's not so bad's" and the "You can recover from this's" and "You might be doing badly at the moment, but this is the first time you've ever been challenged in school and it's just taking some adjustment, it's not that you're too dumb to be here's". I seriously considered quitting. It's too hard to be here if I'm not going to hack it. I miss my friends and my family and good Mexican food and grid systems and getting enough sleep and watching TV and things being easy.
But then I woke up on Friday morning and thought to myself, "Self (oh, Mr. Evil WH teacher, how you still haunt me), what the eff. You are not a quitter. You are a hard worker. You are rise-to-the-bar-er. You do not let people tell you 'No'. You go after what you want. You make the best of things. You do not cry like a little bitch and take it. You make it work. Get your butt to school and figure it out". And I did. I have a study group, and I'm going to office hours more often, and I'm changing the way I take notes, and I'm making it freaking work.
I might be growing and changing, and I might be being slapped in the face by assumptions that I held about myself, but I refuse to change some things. My
Also, an official thank you to Mom and Dad, Bestie, Roommate, and Undergrad Advisor for talking me down from the ledge. I know it seemed like I wasn't listening to you and was actually pretty rude to you all when you tried to make me feel better, but I appreciate you. I came around eventually =)
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Feeling Ornery and Argumentative
So tonight I was commenting all over Facebook telling people that I think they're wrong. Normally, I just do this in my head, because I find internet comment wars annoying and tedious, but tonight I just couldn't hold back.
Someone posted some blog/article about that "bootstraps" college girl who paid her way through school and how that sign is probably complete BS, which is actually probably true, but judging from my own experience of college and my lack of debt and the fact that my parents contributed less than $4,000 for tuition, etc (unless you count rent, which I partially paid for like a year? year and a half?) and they did help with my car(s), but I also paid a LOT of money for them--more than what most of my friends paid for their craigslist cars, and the fact that I ate out and shopped and such to my heart's content, I would say that it is, to an extent, possible to work hard and not have debt when you graduate. It totally is. And for some reason, I had to say it was. I couldn't just let it go.
And then someone posted about shoes. And I love shoes. And I have way too many. I like pretty things. And if you added up all of the money I've spent on shoes, it would probably horrify me. But these shoes were $700. For one pair. Of beautiful, but highly impractical shoes. And I was just like, "No. You cannot spend that much money on one pair of shoes. Go feed an orphan." And I realize the hypocrisy in my statement, but there is a line. I'm not sure where it is, but there's a line, and $700 crosses it. And I just had to say something.
And then a staffer from my old church/job posted about how he doesn't like it when he hears the students are at parties where there's drinking. Which I find completely ridiculous. If the student isn't drinking, it's not "of the world" to be there. It's actually probably a good thing. There's a sober person making sure that no one is choking on their vomit or driving drunk or having risky, unprotected sex in the bathroom (I know, because I was that sober student at plenty of drunken parties). It's being an example of someone who can have fun without being drunk. And he drinks! I've seen it! Which, by the way, I think is totally kosher. I drink plenty, but I do so responsibly and legally (I mean, when I was younger, there were a few instances of illegal underage drinking, but that's not the point here). My point was, I don't see how this is a problem. Is it ideal? No. But you know what? I would rather have kids like Brother or my cylinder girls at the drunken party than sitting around in their Christian bubble being all judgy. And I just can't let it go.
And I read a Dr. Isis blog about nursing in public and got annoyed at the commenters who were all "we can flash boob whenever and you can't be offended that I'm whipping out my boob in the middle of this CONFERENCE PRESENTATION.WHILE I'M THE ONE PRESENTING" And I was like dude, feed your kid, whatever, but use a freaking hooter hider. Have a modicum of consideration for the people that are around you. As much as the breast is about feeding an infant, it is also an erogenous zone, and it is sexualized, and frankly, I would be similarly uncomfortable if a dude I was in a meeting with took his shirt off/unbuttoned it so that a large part of his chest was exposed. Even if he had spilled something. We wear clothes in public. I've been around plenty of nursing women, and while it is very natural and beautiful and whatever, it's also weird to see my friend/colleague/family member's boob. It just is.
And I don't know why I can't let it go. I don't know why I HAVE to say something, but I do. Whatevs.
Someone posted some blog/article about that "bootstraps" college girl who paid her way through school and how that sign is probably complete BS, which is actually probably true, but judging from my own experience of college and my lack of debt and the fact that my parents contributed less than $4,000 for tuition, etc (unless you count rent, which I partially paid for like a year? year and a half?) and they did help with my car(s), but I also paid a LOT of money for them--more than what most of my friends paid for their craigslist cars, and the fact that I ate out and shopped and such to my heart's content, I would say that it is, to an extent, possible to work hard and not have debt when you graduate. It totally is. And for some reason, I had to say it was. I couldn't just let it go.
And then someone posted about shoes. And I love shoes. And I have way too many. I like pretty things. And if you added up all of the money I've spent on shoes, it would probably horrify me. But these shoes were $700. For one pair. Of beautiful, but highly impractical shoes. And I was just like, "No. You cannot spend that much money on one pair of shoes. Go feed an orphan." And I realize the hypocrisy in my statement, but there is a line. I'm not sure where it is, but there's a line, and $700 crosses it. And I just had to say something.
And then a staffer from my old church/job posted about how he doesn't like it when he hears the students are at parties where there's drinking. Which I find completely ridiculous. If the student isn't drinking, it's not "of the world" to be there. It's actually probably a good thing. There's a sober person making sure that no one is choking on their vomit or driving drunk or having risky, unprotected sex in the bathroom (I know, because I was that sober student at plenty of drunken parties). It's being an example of someone who can have fun without being drunk. And he drinks! I've seen it! Which, by the way, I think is totally kosher. I drink plenty, but I do so responsibly and legally (I mean, when I was younger, there were a few instances of illegal underage drinking, but that's not the point here). My point was, I don't see how this is a problem. Is it ideal? No. But you know what? I would rather have kids like Brother or my cylinder girls at the drunken party than sitting around in their Christian bubble being all judgy. And I just can't let it go.
And I read a Dr. Isis blog about nursing in public and got annoyed at the commenters who were all "we can flash boob whenever and you can't be offended that I'm whipping out my boob in the middle of this CONFERENCE PRESENTATION.WHILE I'M THE ONE PRESENTING" And I was like dude, feed your kid, whatever, but use a freaking hooter hider. Have a modicum of consideration for the people that are around you. As much as the breast is about feeding an infant, it is also an erogenous zone, and it is sexualized, and frankly, I would be similarly uncomfortable if a dude I was in a meeting with took his shirt off/unbuttoned it so that a large part of his chest was exposed. Even if he had spilled something. We wear clothes in public. I've been around plenty of nursing women, and while it is very natural and beautiful and whatever, it's also weird to see my friend/colleague/family member's boob. It just is.
And I don't know why I can't let it go. I don't know why I HAVE to say something, but I do. Whatevs.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Things I tell myself when I don't wanna do it any more...
So I had my first stats test last week, and I was fairly nervous. I don't think that I like this thing where school is now hard. I miss school being easy. School being hard gives me anxiety. And that is really all I'm going to say about that. Besides the fact that it makes me a little sick to think that I will continue taking tests until I am at LEAST 28, which, in my opinion, is far to old to still be taking exams. FAR TOO OLD. I mean, that's 23 years worth of tests. Uuuuuugggghhhhhh. I better be a freaking genius when this is over. As much as I love what I do, there are certain aspects of it that I really hate. Like taking tests. But I just gotta remember: I don't wanna be doing anything else.
New thing that I've learned/had confirmed about myself: I actually really really enjoy teaching. Quite a bit. I was in a terrible mood Wednesday, but then I went to tutor and it made me feel so much better, because I realized that I DO know SOME things, and I can convey them in a coherent manner to someone who doesn't know these things. It was really nice.
Also new-ish in my life is I'm dating. Not that I've never dated before, but I'm dating someone new. It's new. It's not a big deal, but he loves Disney movies, too, which automatically makes him adorable. If there is something worth telling, I'll tell.
This weekend was Fall break at my school, and more than half of my cohort went home/their Undergrad institutions to visit (which I totally should have done when I realized that I actually don't really have anything on Monday or Tuesday either), making this the least eventful weekend I've had since I moved out here. It was nice though, because I got to go to bed early, and sleep late, and I went to church this morning, and did my cognitive midterm, and cut a lot of coupons, and went shopping (which I definitely should NOT have done). Plus I didn't have to deal with the craziness of non-rev travel, which is always nice.
Anyway, I'm now going to take my last few hours of nothing-to-do-ness and watch tv online. Because I can. And it shall be glorious. The end.
New thing that I've learned/had confirmed about myself: I actually really really enjoy teaching. Quite a bit. I was in a terrible mood Wednesday, but then I went to tutor and it made me feel so much better, because I realized that I DO know SOME things, and I can convey them in a coherent manner to someone who doesn't know these things. It was really nice.
Also new-ish in my life is I'm dating. Not that I've never dated before, but I'm dating someone new. It's new. It's not a big deal, but he loves Disney movies, too, which automatically makes him adorable. If there is something worth telling, I'll tell.
This weekend was Fall break at my school, and more than half of my cohort went home/their Undergrad institutions to visit (which I totally should have done when I realized that I actually don't really have anything on Monday or Tuesday either), making this the least eventful weekend I've had since I moved out here. It was nice though, because I got to go to bed early, and sleep late, and I went to church this morning, and did my cognitive midterm, and cut a lot of coupons, and went shopping (which I definitely should NOT have done). Plus I didn't have to deal with the craziness of non-rev travel, which is always nice.
Anyway, I'm now going to take my last few hours of nothing-to-do-ness and watch tv online. Because I can. And it shall be glorious. The end.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Neuroticism and Unrealistic Expectations and Gender-normative behavior, oh my!
This something I started last week that I want to remember, but is not how I necessarily feel anymore:
Graduate school is an interesting beast. I'm smart, I know this. I am not being conceited, it's just what is. And typically, I do well in school. It comes easy to me. I have a curious mind that likes to learn new things. Never before have I felt completely lost for more than a day or so. Eventually everything clicks, and I just get it, at least well enough to be amongst the best in the class.
It isn't like that here. Here is like I'm drowning in my inability to make myself understand, but it's like I think I'm swimming along all nice and successful (ok, not successful, but I'm not sinking) until I get my first assignment back and it's like some nefarious riptide has grabbed hold of me and is dragging me under and swirling me around until I don't know which direction is up. And the truth is, I didn't do that poorly. I actually got a B, which is perfectly respectable. Not near the best grade in the class, but not near the worst, either. And you know what? I actually expected to probably get a B on this assignment. I knew I didn't get everything right, because there were some things where I didn't understand what he was asking. But he wrote "there were more things that were a little off here than I expected." Reading between the lines I see, "I had better expectations for you, and I'm actually pretty disappointed. You should have done better, and I now see you as less than I did before." And that B now feels like a D. I went and talked to him, and I feel a little better, but I really kinda don't. And I feel guilty any time I do something that isn't work. And I feel guilty because I want to sit on the couch and watch a Disney movie or 90210 or something, instead of reading about the visual cortex. Or doing my next problem set. Or failing at making a website. Or coming up with a research proposal or something.
Last night I baked. Granted, it was from a mix, but I busted out my beautiful Kitchenaid mixer (it makes me feel like such a grownup to have a Kitchenaid mixer) and I made some delicious brownies (with marshmallows) and some chocolate chip cookies, because someone in the program doesn't like brownies (I'm fairly certain he's an alien, but whatevs, more brownies for me) and asked me why I wasn't planning to make chocolate chip cookies like a normal person. Anyway, baking felt good. It felt nice to be doing something for someone else (and also, if I had left them here, I would have eaten enough of my feelings to have to engage in retail therapy because I would get fat). It felt nice to not fail (they were delicious and the cookies didn't fall like they normally do). And I was doing ok until I realized that I was disassociating from school to spare my feelings and doing something more gender-appropriate to compensate. And then I felt bad. And then I thought about how sometimes I wish I couldn't readily identify that what I was doing was disassociating from school and instead associating with a gender-normative behavior as a coping mechanism to make myself feel better for doing (semi) poorly on a (somewhat) male-dominated task like statistics, because sometimes ignorance is bliss. And then I was like, who cares? I like baking. And I'm not going to let myself get hung up on why I like baking. If it makes me feel better, I should just let it go, right? I mean, I'm not self-medicating with alcohol or drugs or anything, so I figure it's fairly harmless.
Anyway, I'm working on adjusting my expectations, both for the world, and for myself. And I'm letting go of some of the crazy. Or at least I'm trying. Whatever, I could be more crazy. And sometimes I'm endearing. And now I'm justifying. And procrastinating. Back to work I go.
Graduate school is an interesting beast. I'm smart, I know this. I am not being conceited, it's just what is. And typically, I do well in school. It comes easy to me. I have a curious mind that likes to learn new things. Never before have I felt completely lost for more than a day or so. Eventually everything clicks, and I just get it, at least well enough to be amongst the best in the class.
It isn't like that here. Here is like I'm drowning in my inability to make myself understand, but it's like I think I'm swimming along all nice and successful (ok, not successful, but I'm not sinking) until I get my first assignment back and it's like some nefarious riptide has grabbed hold of me and is dragging me under and swirling me around until I don't know which direction is up. And the truth is, I didn't do that poorly. I actually got a B, which is perfectly respectable. Not near the best grade in the class, but not near the worst, either. And you know what? I actually expected to probably get a B on this assignment. I knew I didn't get everything right, because there were some things where I didn't understand what he was asking. But he wrote "there were more things that were a little off here than I expected." Reading between the lines I see, "I had better expectations for you, and I'm actually pretty disappointed. You should have done better, and I now see you as less than I did before." And that B now feels like a D. I went and talked to him, and I feel a little better, but I really kinda don't. And I feel guilty any time I do something that isn't work. And I feel guilty because I want to sit on the couch and watch a Disney movie or 90210 or something, instead of reading about the visual cortex. Or doing my next problem set. Or failing at making a website. Or coming up with a research proposal or something.
Last night I baked. Granted, it was from a mix, but I busted out my beautiful Kitchenaid mixer (it makes me feel like such a grownup to have a Kitchenaid mixer) and I made some delicious brownies (with marshmallows) and some chocolate chip cookies, because someone in the program doesn't like brownies (I'm fairly certain he's an alien, but whatevs, more brownies for me) and asked me why I wasn't planning to make chocolate chip cookies like a normal person. Anyway, baking felt good. It felt nice to be doing something for someone else (and also, if I had left them here, I would have eaten enough of my feelings to have to engage in retail therapy because I would get fat). It felt nice to not fail (they were delicious and the cookies didn't fall like they normally do). And I was doing ok until I realized that I was disassociating from school to spare my feelings and doing something more gender-appropriate to compensate. And then I felt bad. And then I thought about how sometimes I wish I couldn't readily identify that what I was doing was disassociating from school and instead associating with a gender-normative behavior as a coping mechanism to make myself feel better for doing (semi) poorly on a (somewhat) male-dominated task like statistics, because sometimes ignorance is bliss. And then I was like, who cares? I like baking. And I'm not going to let myself get hung up on why I like baking. If it makes me feel better, I should just let it go, right? I mean, I'm not self-medicating with alcohol or drugs or anything, so I figure it's fairly harmless.
Anyway, I'm working on adjusting my expectations, both for the world, and for myself. And I'm letting go of some of the crazy. Or at least I'm trying. Whatever, I could be more crazy. And sometimes I'm endearing. And now I'm justifying. And procrastinating. Back to work I go.
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