sueeeus

finding me in me

I’ve decided to take a journey to find myself.  It’s been a long time, and I’ve lost track of who I am.  It’s easy to do, this business of getting lost.  Especially when one tends to be an emotional sponge.  I am so good at absorbing the emotions that surround me that far too often I don’t even realize that they’re not MY emotions!  In fact, it is only just now dawning on me that  more often than not, this is the case.  It’s an exciting discovery, really.  All this time I thought I was depressed or anxious, and simultaneously perplexed at how that could be.  And lo!  The internet has an explanation and a solution!  Step by step measures one can take to regroup and regain composure. I’ve known for some time that I  am blessed (or cursed) with empathy, but it was more of a general concept that I accepted, but hadn’t actually explored.

I found a bundle of information, and quite a lot of it seems to stem from Dr. Judith Orloff’s writings.  She has this handy dandy quiz, and since my answer is a resounding ‘yes’ to pretty much every item on the list, I can conclude for the moment (until Google reveals something new….  ….ah how I love the internet) that I’ve found my emotional type.

QUIZ: AM I AN EMPATH?

Ask yourself:

Have I been labeled as “too emotional” or overly sensitive?

If a friend is distraught, do I start feeling it too?

Are my feelings easily hurt?

Am I emotionally drained by crowds, require time alone to revive?

Do my nerves get frayed by noise, smells, or excessive talk?

Do I prefer taking my own car places so that I can leave when I please?

Do I overeat to cope with emotional stress?

Am I afraid of becoming engulfed by intimate relationships?

If you answer “yes” to 1-3 of these questions, you’re at least part empath. Responding “yes” to more than 3 indicates that you’ve found your emotional type.

(excerpted from How to Know if You’re an Empath)

Knowledge is power.  I can work with this.  I can follow some of the advice for finding balance.  I can give myself permission to accept that this is part of who I am, or how I am, and I can learn to live better with myself.  And others, by extension.

There is still quite a bit to unearth.  So many days I feel the need to just ‘hole up’ and regroup or recover.  Gather my little chickies, tuck them snugly under my wings and sit tight.  I don’t want to see people, go anywhere, talk to anyone.  I just want to be quiet.

And that’s okay.  Because that is part of me and what I need.

And it’s okay to be me!

crazy

He says nobody makes him more crazy than I do.  I’m just being me, and not conforming to the version of me he wants or needs me to be.  He’s out there, alone in a house, by himself, without me by his side.  He’s aching.  He’s lonely.  He can’t stand to be alone.  It makes him crazy.  It baffles him that I don’t understand how he feels (he thinks I don’t understand).  It rips his heart up to know that I’m not going crazy with loneliness and separation.  He may think that I love him less because I’m not missing him.  But I’m going crazy on my own over here.  My own version of crazy.

He has only himself to keep up with.  When his work day is done, he can rest.  I have children to care for.  Every aspect of their precious little lives is critical to me, and right now, their emotional health is even more so.  I remember being four and feeling like I was in the way.  I remember being eight and feeling like I couldn’t do anything right.  I remember, and those feelings, whether valid or not, contributed to the adult I became, and all of the emotional struggles I’ve dealt with along the way.  I find myself starved for time, racing through each day trying to scrounge up enough to give them at least a little attention, trying to lovingly direct them and instruct them when they’re bouncing off the walls and the furniture.  Literally.  They are boisterous little boys, and it’s their unbridled joy at simply being that compels them to jump on the furniture and play and have fun.  While I want them to respect property, I want to somehow teach them without squelching or scarring them.  God grant me the wisdom and patience to do this.  Truth be told, though, inside I rejoice that my boys exhibit such glee.  In my heart I say, “GO AHEAD!  Jump! Play! Laugh! Rejoice!”  (Please don’t hurt yourselves or anything, and please be respectful of others’ things, but don’t stop rejoicing, my beautiful little boys.)

loves of my life

I am exhausted.  It takes a great deal of time and energy to lovingly, patiently and kindly see to it that the teeth get brushed, the clothes get changed, the schoolwork gets done, and the bodies get clean.  Life with my kids is my priority right now.  They need me.  I need them.  I absolutely need to take this time for them and with them.  I need this for them.  I need this for me.

It doesn’t mean I love him less than I did before.  It only means that I recognize now that far too often in the past year I’ve shuffled them aside in my endeavor to be a couple, and that is something that I should never have allowed myself to do, and something that I want to ensure does not happen again.

I’m going my own kind of crazy, wondering when and  how I will ever have a little time to myself so that I can at least try to collect my thoughts and calm the storm that is raging in my head.

tunnel of lights

I’ve been coming to terms with the commute and yesterday found some moments of joy in the early morning light.  As I drove along the southbound express lanes, there was a point before daylight where the street lights aligned with the reflectors on the freeway lane dividers and the effect was as though I were driving through a tunnel of lights.  It was lovely.  Magical, even.  Amidst that moment of wondrous reflection, I noticed the city lights to my right.  Had I stayed in my former residence, I would never have had the opportunity to behold this jewel of a city in this special time before daylight arrives, and a jewel it is.  We have such a beautiful city skyline, and it sparkles in multicolored splendor.  I felt my face softening with the smile that emerged as I basked in gratitude for the privilege of beholding this beauty.  Blessings abound if we but open our eyes.

city lights

That said, leaving the house a few minutes late can double the commute time, which is nothing short of excruciating.

morning blur

Today I spent the day working in the fancy facility that happens to be much closer to my home than my normal office.  The Taj.  It’s a beautiful building with expansive windows and skylights, a skybridge to its sister tower, numerous escalators and elevators, and casual conference seating areas scattered about the atrium on all levels of the building.  I noticed a dry cleaning drop box and a DVD return box.  I was a bit perplexed until I stumbled upon the employee resources area where one can rent movies, pick up their freshly cleaned clothes, and shop for gifts and various sundries.  There is a bank branch area with a live teller.  A live teller!  Not just an ATM machine.  There is a company store, separate from the other gift shop.  There is a [commercial] coffee shop with baristas and pastries.  Baristas!  The cafeteria is enormous with several themed dining options.  It felt like I was in a city or a shopping plaza.  It was overwhelming.  Far from my comfort zone.  I walked out on the terrace and found a private bench nestled among giant planters filled with foliage where I hid had my lunch and breathed deeply the wonderful crisp November air, trying to fend off the anxiety.  My work facility is a customer facing area, so our digs aren’t too shabby.  Or so I thought, before I experienced The Taj.  They have dry cleaning and DVD rentals.  We have complimentary hand sanitizer.  I think that all those amenities are intended to sum up to the conclusion that The Taj is a great place to work.  But I don’t think it’s a great place for me.

I was considering spending one day a week at this facility, but am having second thoughts.  The facility is huge, and the building where my counterparts work is not The Taj, so maybe it will be palatable after all.  I will explore further before I decide whether I want to branch this direction or not.

Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet’s eye
You may find him
If you may find him

There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know him
If you may

Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the sun God will make for your day

Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way

And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it

While the sand
Would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus

Be…

(Neil Diamond, from the Jonathan Livingston Seagull soundtrack)

~*~*~

Be.  It was my defining word for this year, and this year is nearly over.  I’m finding myself struggling again.  I’m over-extended and overwhelmed.  It takes all the strength that I can muster to hold it all together.  I’m suffering from the people pleasing blues.  And it’s not all that easy to be a full time working single mom. Blah blah blah. I know, I’m preaching to the choir (just let me have my pity party, please?)

People think that I am smarter than I am.  I can’t seem to fathom why people don’t just choose to be open and trusting and kind and loving.  How foolish is that?  It’s my default state and it leaves me wide open for all manner of attack.  The thing is, I don’t expect attack, and very seldom do I experience attack.  It seems ironic that the attack I perceive is not from those without, but from those within.  My own people.

“Only in his hometown, among his relatives and in his own house is a prophet without honor.”

That would be Mark 6:4.  Yep.  There’s nothing new under the sun.

I exhaust myself.  This reactionary emotional hair trigger is a beast that I have yet to master.  I’m looking for that quiet, calm place where I can have some clarity.

Sueeeus Maximus.  What does she want?  What are the desires of her heart?  What is she all about?

Guess what?  It’s so simple, really. She just wants to live joyfully.  To love and be loved.  To laugh, to smile.  To understand and be understood.  To listen and to hear.  To give and to serve.  So why all the scrutiny and judgement?

I just want to be.

And to be free to love the one I love.

Good grief.

I stand in condemnation and read the words on the page that summarize conclusions about my personality, my issues, my mental state.  People who love me have taken it upon themselves to make conclusions about me, and speak authoritatively, as if they know.  As. If. They. Know.

If I rise up in indignation, does that mean there is credence in the accusations?  If I were innocent, I wouldn’t have anything to be angry about, and why would I care what anybody says or thinks?  That’s a bunch of bullshit, though.  I care what people say and think, whether it has credence or not.  THAT is one of my personality flaws.  Whether or not it matters, whether or not it’s true.  I only want goodness for everyone and for myself.  From the time I was a child, I was hyper sensitive to these things.  Always wanting to do the right thing.  To please everyone.  Not to let anyone down.  It’s the core of me.  Do I need therapy to correct that?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  What is wrong with trying to be good?

I actually HAVE had counseling for that very thing.  The bottom line:  if the manifestation of my people pleasing tendencies serve me well, amen.  If they don’t serve me well, then pay attention and be aware.  Case in point.  I kick ass in my professional life.  Kick. Ass.  People pleasing has served me well.  I’m an over-achiever.  I get things done single handedly that take entire departments to do.   Cradle to grave.  Me.  Just me.  Requirements. Design.  Architecture.  Business model.  Business case. Construction. Test. Debug. Release. Communication.  Training. Process definition.  Project management.  Change management.  Documentation.  The business. Analysis.  Diagnosis.  Troubleshooting.  Corrective  action.  Tracking.  Statistics.  Marketing. Support.  Administration. Business focal. Technical focal.  Information Technology focal.  ALL OF IT.  And my reward?  I’m respected in my field, by my peers and my management.  I’ve been promoted as high as I can go.  I’m recognized and esteemed.  It serves me well.

And what of my mental instability?  I’ve blogged ad nauseum for years.  I work through my stuff here.  Openly.

“What you’ve been through since your divorce is kind of making it seem like your marriage to Gadget wasn’t that bad after all.  At least you had some stability.  I envisioned you crusading forth like other single moms, but that’s not the path you’ve taken.”

Now that’s a kicker. The suffocating abyss in which I lived was preferable to the life I live now.  I’ve met a lot of men in the last two years, but I haven’t paraded them through my kids’ lives.  Met, not dated.  Yes, two men have come and gone in that time.  Does that make me unstable?  Of course I would rather have met the right one and stayed with him.  But I didn’t.  How the hell does anyone know whether someone fits unless they try?  So I’ve tried.  God bless me for picking myself back up, brushing off the dust, and starting over again.  So why the condemnation? Mama ain’t no ho. I’m not going to put myself or my children in harm’s way.   And even if I were drunken and delirious and high and completely blind in the moment, it would become evident in very short course, and I would snap out of it and that would be that.  So why drag someone through the dirt and invoke unnecessary pain?

I’m not trying to fill a hole in my life with somebody or some thing.  I stand strong as a complete human being.  I am good.  I am whole.  I am not broken.  I DON’T NEED ANY BODY OR ANY THING.

I want somebody though.  Want!  Not need.  I want to spend the rest of my life with one and only one man.  The rest of my life.  Every breathing moment.  I want to be a devoted and loving wife to a devoted and loving  husband.  I want my kids to grow up with a positive male influence.  I want them to have a step-dad.

Who the hell has the right to tell me I shouldn’t want these things?  It’s MY life.  My decision.

I’m feeling scattered again.  Oh, I don’t like to feel scattered!  I like to know the boundaries of my world, as they constitute my comfort zone.  The perimeter can be very extensive, but I so very much like to be aware of what the perimeter is.

I’ve been house hunting and man hunting — up to my internet mischief.  It’s exhausting!  Add to that the cold that is trying to catch me.  My throat is a battleground.

The house hunting is proving to be very similar to the internet dating experience.  I’ve been to view several houses lately, and what they look like in real life is a far cry from what they look like in their on-line photos.  Rooms look impressively spacious, only to find they are tiny cracker boxes.  Earlier this year I was intent on finding a home with a view, maximizing the tranquility of my sphere –proximity to work, neighborhood safety, proximity to my family, and a view of mountains and salt water were my top priorities.  Frustrated with that, I refocused on vacation properties.  I thought I could buy a weekend home with the view and tranquility, and remain in my current home for the day-to-day living.  I’ve since reconsidered matters again, now that my Brutus is in school, and raised the school ratings above the desire for a view.  It has come to my attention that we don’t live in a particularly good school region, so I would like my boys to have the benefit of better schools and the stability to grow up with the same set of people.  Better views and better schools come at a price, so a similar home to the one I have is far beyond my means.  While there are beautiful and affordable homes available the further one extends from the city, and there are pockets of better schools in the outlying regions, the commute and proximity to family are prohibitive.  I don’t want to add any further stress to the world in which I live, so I have to be mindful of the effects of a difficult commute.

Add to this the pursuit of togetherness.  If only I knew what I wanted, or what would work best for me.  I know much of what I don’t want, but to quantify what I want and what I’m capable of is very difficult.  So far, it’s been an iterative process that has consumed years of my life, because I don’t know how else to approach it.  The current mission statement that best describes what I  think I want is “a respectful, respectable alpha male sex machine who is okay with me having my way when it’s important to me“.  In a nutshell.  Ha!

Meeting men is easy enough (with the online venue).  Determining a definite ‘no’ is easy enough as well.  Encountering a possible ‘maybe’ is very, very rare, and if it happens, I don’t know what to do next, other than tread softly, try not to cast forth too many pearls, and hope to remain clear headed and open minded.  None of which I am particularly good at.  (Oh, how my dad would cringe at my split infinitives and dangling participles, were he alive and reading this.)

It’s all so hard for me!  I just want to be settled down.  To know where home is.  To know with whom my heart is safely entrusted.  I want a simple and beautiful life.  (Yes, I know, I know, I already have a simple and beautiful life.)

Recently one of my new-found cousins (I have new-found cousins!!! [squeals with glee]) shared an article on FaceBook about the top 5 regrets people have on their deathbeds.  The first one, I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me, was especially timely for me.

In general, I avoid conflict and confrontation and tend to be a peace-keeper.  Having a peaceful nature isn’t in and of itself a problem, but the undue stress I subject myself to when navigating the tides of potential conflict is.    Case in point.  Gadget recently approached me for a loan.  I know.  Unbelievable.  I should know by now that any time he actually talks to me or is even remotely amicable, he is just playing me, working me, trying to get something from me.  I’m such an idiot.  An idiot, because I even engaged in the conversation in the first place.  Even more so, because both he and his wife were there.  That is some nerve, to team with the 28 year old new wife to ask the solvent, fiscally responsible 46 year old ex wife for a loan (oh, 25k, by the way).

The details are a work of art in themselves.  It would be a consolidation loan, to include all the moneys he already owes me, plus whatever other outstanding debts he’s managed to accrue in the year and a half since we’ve been divorced.  A loan from me to pay me back what he already owes me.  Hello?

The blinders I wore when I married that man.  Please.  I can only remind myself that I have my boys.  I have my boys.  I have my boys.

I was in the middle of the funeral arranging and real estate purchasing fray and told him I’ve got too many things to do right now, so I will think about it when I get some time.  I should have just said no, right then and there.  Couldashouldawoulda –the bane of my existence.

Part of me was angry that he would even put me in a position like that.  He knows that my nature is to help, and he knows that it’s hard for me to say no.  The problem is, he’s like a black hole.  He sucks energy and resources and life, without replenishing.  At some point it has to stop, which means I have to make it stop.  Hence the divorce.  Hence the need to say ixnay on the oanlay.  He cries his crocodile tears and racks up his layers of lies.

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

Saying no to him is being true to myself.  It’s an epiphany of sorts.  In a way it seems selfish, when I have the means to help him, but truly, it’s finally sinking in that I have to take care of myself (i.e., put myself first in some things) so that I can do what’s most important in my life, which is take care of my kids.  The best possible care.

Granted, I’m not particularly surprised to receive a message from him this evening that he won’t be able to pick up the kids in the morning, after all.  Is it coincidental that he knows I have a 10am appointment, since I made sure to confirm a few days ago that a 9am pickup would work, so that I could make the appointment in the first place?

I’m an idiot to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Again.  I should know better by now, not to make any plans.

I’m kind of pissed off, right now.*

kinda cute for a pissed off idiot, and kinda digging the stud and loop look

*Prior to the schedule change, I was going to write more about the epiphany, liberating thoughts, and being true to myself.  It was going to be a much more bright and positive post.  Alas, I have gone off on a whinge.  Again.

In Situ –  May 17th.

It’s going to be another bulleted post, since I’m lacking inspiration.  Or something.

• I thought I had a concept for a book the other day.  I played it out in my mind, and it was material that could be spun as a humorous tale.  The only problem was that it had nowhere to go.  I wanted a charming ending where the funny albeit wry bumps of the journey made it all worthwhile, but my imagination fizzled…  …however, it was very exciting to almost have a novel-worthy idea.
• I’m hoping to develop an addiction to exercise.  I’m finishing week 6 of the c25k program, and am pleasantly surprised that I actually look forward to the runs.  Who’da thunkit?
• Someone broke into and robbed the house next door to mine yesterday, and I was home and had no inkling whatsoever.  I have security cameras recording to a DVR, and retrieved some footage that might be helpful to the police.  Surprisingly, I’m not freaked out.
• I feel myself cycling back into a semi-anxious state, and need to do some regrouping and thinking over of things, in hopes of learning why this happens, time and time again.
• I stumbled upon a view property a couple of weeks ago, dismissed it, then stumbled upon it again last week and decided to take a look.  It was love at first sight, so I put an offer on it.  It’s a long shot, whether or not I’ll be able to buy it, but I’m strangely peaceful about it.  Whereas I’m anxious in general (see above bullet), I’m oddly and sincerely serene in accepting that if it’s meant to be, it will be.  Wow.

In retrospect – May 20th.

It’s been a strenuous week.

Independently of one another, my sisters and I have been dealing with a cloud of anxiety and depression that fell upon us over the past week.  We talk about these things, and speculate.  For one sister, there could be post partum influences.  My beautiful nephew, the sweetest bundle of perfection, is little over one month old.  For the other sister, there could be other health related influences, as she has adopted a vegan diet.  For me, the usual.  I’ve written ad nauseum regarding the yo-yo that is my emotional state.  We did speculate, however, that someone in the family was failing, and this funk in which we are immersed is the pre-stress to what lies ahead.

In some ways the news of my dad’s passing comes as a relief.  It’s an explanation for the anxiety and depression that has clouded us for the past week.  No longer do we have to question our individual selves, wondering “what is wrong with me?”  (I still do, though.)  It also strengthens our sense of connection we have with each other.  We are empaths, within our sphere.

My family.  Oh, I love my family with a fierce and abiding love.

~*~*~

I haven’t been able to breathe well for the past few days.  Allergies and stress are doing a number on me, and I am congested and have a headache from the lack of oxygen, I imagine.  I can’t breathe, I can’t sit, I can’t focus, I can’t stand the feel of anything on my skin.  It’s a good thing this is an exchange weekend — I dropped the kids off with their dad and I have a full evening and a day to be alone and process.

(This may be a very long post.)

By the time I finished my work obligations today, I felt like I was going to pass out from the physical manifestations of the compounded stressors.  I thought that a jog would help me to breathe and take my mind off of things.  I did a 5min warm-up, then jogged for 25 minutes straight, followed by another 5min cool down.  Yay me.  I really did it.  And it did help me to breathe (for that half hour, anyway).

Hello C25K week 7.

And then I curled up in fetal position in my kids’ bathtub and let tepid water rain on me while I cried.  (My big beautiful soaking tub doesn’t have a shower, and I had a strong urge to curl up fetal and be rained on.  I don’t know why, I just did.  And the kids are gone, so I could.)

~*~*~

The police were interested in my video footage, and a digital forensics detective came to my house to work with me to retrieve the evidence.  How CSI.  (I want to use an exclamation, “How CSI!” but I can’t muster it, except in reference.)  It took some coordination, because I happened to have had a very full workload this week, coupled with the flu-like symptoms that were kicking my @$$, as well as all the other bulleted items (see above).  It did feel good to be able to help, and it gave me a pleasant sense of community.

~*~*~

My sister told me she had a dream in which I whispered in her ear that I got the house.

~*~*~

I got the house.

~*~*~

I was serene at first (see bullets), then lost it amidst the fray of details that accompany real estate purchases, compounded with the hovering anxiety (see bullets), burglary (see bullets), and the passing of my father, in addition to that which is my life, i.e, commitments to my job, the demands of he who is two, and the challenges of he who is six.

I don’t actually have the house.  I have a verbal agreement via the chain of agents representing me, the seller and the seller’s bank that the seller’s bank will accept my offer.  My part is signed, and the ball is in motion.

Someday I may write about how it is perfect for me.  It’s small but it’s big.  It’s old but it’s new.  It’s Asian but it’s American.  I can look out any window and see salt water, trees and sky.  It speaks to me.  It’s meant to be.  It will be.

~*~*~

Some day, not too far hence, I will be able to look back on this time.  By then, these things that are closing in on me now will all be taken care of.  But in the next few days my siblings and I have to make our best guess at figuring out my dad’s last wishes, take care of his body, arrange a funeral, contact his siblings and friends, write and publish an obit, look for  a university or other appropriate place for his extensive library, and start to settle his estate.  Also in the next few days I have to choose a lender and commit to a mortgage and proceed with the remaining details of my real estate transaction.  Later I will have to get the new house ready, pack up and move my household, find a reliable renter for the house I live in now, find a good daycare for my children, and enroll my six year old son in school.  (Amidst all this there are plans to travel to Idaho to attend a 30 yr high school reunion, travel to Oregon for my niece’s wedding, travel to Oklahoma to visit my mom, grandma, and aunt, and travel to Arkansas to visit a friend. –This was going to be the summer to see everyone, and I was going to introduce my boys to their grandfather.  We were even planning to make the trip during our first available weekend, which might have been next weekend.  Alas.)

Things will settle.  By September, the bulk of these matters will be a thing of the past.  Today, this moment, it seems overwhelming and I’m exhausted (can’t breathe, can’t sit, can’t focus, see above).  I know we will all get through (barring the end of the world tomorrow, that is).

Right now, I just want to be alone, eat kimchee and rice, and say goodbye to my dad.

I’m grateful that I can be alone, this day of all days.

hope springs eternal

Spring is springing and I think I may be getting ahead of the seasonal blues, so I am hereby stopping the Wellbutrin XL therapy.

Today.

Now.

We shall see shortly whether or not this is (was) a good idea.

It’s another one of those days where I have everything in the world to joy and rejoice over, yet I find myself short of breath, anxious, and wanting to find a place to curl up and escape from who knows what.

meet the new boss, same as the old boss

I wish I could put my finger on it.  I don’t like it.  I actually stole away from my kids for a moment, under the pretense of changing into my jammies, and curled up in fetal position, in the dark, on my bed.  Two minutes, maybe three.  A brief, silent explosion of tears.

The only thing I can think of is an accumulation of things observed in my periphery.  Recognizing an estranged friend of a loved one and waving a greeting.  Relief that my little guy is finally eating again, after nearly a week of intestinal distress, and with that, possibly the realization of pent up anxiety and helplessness over his condition.  Knowing there is anguish consuming people I love, and not being able to do anything about it.  Feeling the ripples caused by my movements in and out of the lives of people around me.  Breaching comfort zones.  Guilt over not calling my dad to wish him a happy birthday.  I sent him a Ben Franklin, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call him.  Frustration with myself for allowing the simple business of life and living to affect me so viscerally and physically.

Fear, perhaps?  Fear that someone or everyone will notice that I’m not, after all, perfect.  Me, the girl with the golden life, unable to meet my own expectations.

Oh, who knows.  I’ll go to sleep tonight, and wake up to a brand new day with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and all of this will be a thing of the past.  I will wonder how I could possibly ever fall into such a funk.  I will be perplexed, unable to understand it, so I will shake my head and dismiss it.  I might even tell myself I won’t let it happen again, because it makes no sense and there’s just no reason for it.  I might even believe it.

Until the next time.