moronic

Describes me perfectly. 

I could teach a course in stupidity.

There are times when I think that I deserve exactly what I get, particularly the crappy stuff.

I am walking, talking, bumbling cautionary tale.

Stupid = me.

Lordy.

mood altering

I do this a lot.  Food is primary and is my drug of choice.  Tonight I met a master alter-er.  Is that a word?  It is now.

One of the things that I have been trying to be constant with is the domestic violence support group that I began attending when I was living in the shelter.  They make you set goals there, which makes sense because it is not a shelter that offers programs, it is a Program that just happens to have a shelter attached to it.

So, there was a schedule of stuff and you had to choose three things during each week.  They ranged from one-on-one therapy, something you have to be insane to not take full advantage of such a opportunity, especially since it is free, and all the way to Saturday Night Movie Night, complete with candy and popcorn.

I chose the therapy and a couple of support groups.  I took a stab at art therapy, but it was beyond lame and the woman running it was more interested in the stories of the women than any kind of therapy.  When she was not prying, she was condescending.  A sweet, middle-aged woman, simply doing her best to provide enrichment and self-discovery to the poor, pathetic, lower-class abused women.  Even I could have done better, and that is not all braggy or anything, given that I was pretty much of a mess myself.  But, she was a bigger mess.  That is not being judgmental, just more brutally honest than I usually am.  O.K., I am being judgmental out my ass.  The sessions were painful. Sue me.

Months and months and months ago, when I quit everything except for my volunteer gigs, I did so because I was at a point where it was necessary to dig really deep and really intentionally in order to continue to make some kind of forward movement.  A couple of painful sessions convinced me that I should really, really do what I do best.  Quit.  Run.  Go to ground and hide, hide, hide.

So, I did that for two months.  It did not help.  I still needed to do the work.  One week I decided to get out of the house and met a friend for coffee near the location where I had been receiving therapy.  My intention was to go there after visiting with my friend and try to make an appointment.  When I walked in, the first person I saw was my old therapist and I asked if it was possible to come back.  We made the appointment right then and the only session I have missed since then is the one where I had a panic attack and had to leave.  Quit.  Run.  Hide. 

Just a temporary misstep.

So, anyway, I went to the support group tonight.  The schedule got mixed up somehow and the person who wanted help with her résumé was not given her sheet until just before the support group began.  We are going to try to get together on Thursday or Friday so that she does not have to wait until next week.

So, there we are, all together in group, settling in, doing the beginning stuff, reading the night's meditation thing and as we begin to discuss it and another woman arrives. 

It has to be said.  She was high.  Really high.  The shelter is housed in an old Victorian (this city is chock full of those things) and has those high ceilings.  This woman was practically ass over teakettle up there. 

Now, all of us have movement issues.  At least those of us with PTSD.  Chronic, small and vigorous movement is one of the ways that our bodies try to deal with and release stress.  Being in a DV support group is stressful.  All kinds of things can come out, stimulated or triggered by what someone else might say, even something innocuous.  It happens all the time, so we wiggle and jiggle our feet, twitch, crumple or fold or tear paper, although it has been a very long time since I have seen a paper-tear-er. 

It was painful to watch her, hear her speak.  She was all over the place.  The things she shared broke my heart into even littler pieces than it is most days.  She was outrageous and funny and heartbreaking and I think she was able to recognize that she was all that and more, because she started to perform.  I have seem that many times.  I often wonder if I ever did it, but I have, perhaps mercifully, no memory of doing that.

There are currently two women in the group who have had family members, both mothers by the way although that is not essential here, gain legal custody of their children.  It was their lifestyles, of which abusive relationships were only a part.  Drugs of all kinds were taken by nearly all involved, them, their spouses, friends.  All in all, not a good environment for anyone, especially children.

Both of these women are bitter, and who can blame them.  And, I can say this with confidence, because each of them told of how they asked family and/or friends for help with their addictions and/or their situations, and no one helped them.  That refusal to help or become involved is something that I have experienced, and it is my guess that most of the women in that room, most of the women (and men, too) in abusive relationships have asked for help.  Like me, the response was probably sympathy, a vague promise to think of something to help, followed by a short and terse conversation/meeting in which the woman was told some version of "...it's not my/our business, I/we just can't get involved..."

I think, of all the sad and heartbreaking things that have been shared by women in these groups, that the lack of asked-for-help and the loss of children to those who refused to help and then took covert measures to gain custody of the woman's children is the rotten icing on the entire experience for women (and men, too) seeking help.  Heinous.  Disgusting.  Disloyal.  It is a betrayal of the highest order.  Beyond the pale.

Now, I am not suggesting that the changing of legal custody is never a good thing.  In most situations where this happens, it is the best solution to what are mostly unsolvable life issues and just plain crappy and irresponsible choices of the people who lose custody of their children.  In most cases, the custody of a close relative is preferable to allowing children to flow into the public system.  It is often safer and certainly less stressful for the children. 

But, these two women have a valid point, betrayal-wise.  They were brutally honest about how they were not taking care of their children and that absolutely no good could have come from any of those kids staying in their original home environment. 

The betrayal comes from the feelings of shock they experienced, and that is in the realm of appropriate behavior, on both sides.  Those children should not have been allowed to stay in their homes with all of that mess.  These women agree.  No equivocation at all.  They understand that their children are better off without them, at least for now, at least until they get their lives back together.

But, the core of this is that along with the drugs and everything else, these women were abused.  I am not quantifying how that or how much of it was or was not a factor in all of the rest.  The fact is that they are in this shelter because their lives, their physical lives depend on being somewhere they will not be beaten, threatened, demeaned or killed.  Simple as that.

Despite all of the antics the the late-arriving-woman, she said something that struck me like a physical blow.  It sucked the air out of the room.

She said, "Yeah, they won't help you, but they will help themselves to your children."

peace

I still cannot write anything about any of the terrible things that have been happening around the world.  It seems as though we, individually or collectively, should be able to help ourselves stay safe and help those who are troubled or angry or ill or committed to a way of life, a belief, a practice that does not allow for anyone else to live, believe or practice in their own way.

Last year I saw part of Women Hold Up Half The Sky on Public Television.  When it became available on DVD, I immediately put myself on the waiting list.  It was, is, excellent and with significantly less of the colonialism found in other projects. 

A few weeks later I borrowed the Invisible War, a documentary about sexual abuse and misconduct in the U.S. Military.  Then, when I was having difficulty sleeping, yet again, I turned on the television and watched one of the Public stations, the same one where I first saw and learned about ...Half The Sky.  Independent Lens was on and after came another program, which I almost turned off.  It was Service: When Women Come Marching Home. 

Three documentaries that do not involve anything connected with my experience, but connected to me never the less.  Our lives, or struggles and challenges are different in the context of the lives we live, where we live, how much money we have, what our other resources are, familial, societal and political influences, but we are still connected by the mere fact of being human.  Age, gender, race, all of it means so much less than the energy we put into maintaining some notion of who we are, who other people are and how we are different from one another.  It is an illusion that does not serve any of us.

All I want is to live in peace.  And, I want everyone else to live in peace.  I heard something recently about how war and conflict and differences are essential to keeping the world running, that economic viability depends on military budgets, overseas aid, reparations and rebuilding.  Ending war would mean that millions of jobs would be lost, millions of families destroyed by the lack of jobs and the money they provide.  Countries would flounder and fail, with their citizens starving.  On and on. 

I cannot argue with that.  I am not smart enough, knowledgeable or educated enough.  The thoughts and notions I have may be wrong.  Maybe war is needed, in some sick rationalization. 

What I can argue with is how it is unconscionable to force women and girls and boys into sexual slavery.  How children should not be forced to work in unsafe and underpaid employment to satisfy the shopping habits of the more privileged of the world's citizenry.  How all of the human rights abuses are oh-so-terrible, but it is not a huge problem when innocent people, men and women and children, schools and hospitals are bombed in the name of keeping world peace, which mostly translates to you have something that I want, you will not give it to me and so I am going to make your lives miserable, kill those not even remotely connected to what it is that I want, until I get it.

In the meantime, I plan to do something proactive in my neighborhood.  I really do not know exactly what that might be.  Ummm, pick up trash or something.  I have no idea.  Last month I walked across the street, which might seem like something so insignificant to not be worth mentioning, but it was huge for me, being only the third time that I have been out of my home, on my feet, walking somewhere.  Anyway, I have been watching the dogs in the house opposite of my building and they are a cool group.  A pit bull, a lab and a lab and shepherd mix.  I asked to meet the dogs, but I really wanted to meet some of the people who live in that apartment building.  Well, that might not seem as though it is much of anything, but I know those people now and that is a connection.  It is a beginning. 

In the event that I continue to be unable to find a job, I might want to expand on some of my volunteer work, maybe add a fourth day.  There is a church near to me, where I could walk.  The provide slightly more than a half-day's supportive environment for anyone who cares to stop by, but their intended population is our city's homeless.  Those fortunate enough to find shelter space can stay only at night to sleep.  They receive breakfast before they are asked to leave for the day, and dinner when they return at the end of the day. 

In between, they are expected to look for work, use resources at Workforce Development, take advantage of classes, workshops and things like that.  And, yes, it is suggested that they come and see me for help with their job searching.  I love that part, naturally, and it forms the most important part of the work I do. 

The church program helps to fill some of that time for them.  They provide lunch, all kinds of beverages and, most importantly, a place to go when you simply do not have any other place to go.  It is warm in the cool seasons and toasty in the summer, but it is warm to the bone all of the time.  That place provides, for some people, the only decent human contact they have.  There are not any official programs beyond food, companionship and safety, but there is every kind of help, advice and assistance that is needed and for which a request has been made.  I love that part, too.

I plan to find out if I have any muscles I can exploit to increase my ability and willingness to take risks.  Maybe that could be doing something more political.  I am pretty sure that I do not want to work towards helping someone be elected, but there are plenty of organizations that have political agendas as part of their community or charitable work.  I might start by learning more about the ones that help veterans.  I could do that. 

I believe that it is these kinds of local ideas that can help change the world.  At least, it is the realm in which I can become involved. 

In the more meantime, I will be choosing to make a small donation to a few of the legitimate organizations that exist for some of this stuff.  Or, I just might go and buy a case of readers (reading glasses) for the shelters and two of the charitable service organizations with which I am intimately involved.  And, I will continue to do the best work I can, as long as I can.  As much as I want and need a paying job, it is one of my dreams to find work doing what I love, and that is some extension of what I already do, helping those who have run out of resources.  Nothing means more to me. 

It has been a week since the bombings in Boston, MA.  Nearly that long since the explosion at the Texas fertilizer plant, where the owners were holding more than 1300 times more of a reportable chemical, one which is used in creating bombs.  Mass shootings.  A garment factory fire in Bangladesh.  Slavery.  Abuse, neglect and exploitation.

God help us.  Make a difference. 

moneh

I wonder what I could cut out of my budget to be able to afford a couple of lottery tickets each week.

I think, am pretty sure, that I might be serious about this.

Outrageous dreams.

 ******************************

feelings

Today a quote popped into my head.  Uninvited, which is important because it was my intention to do nothing for a couple of days.  Sure, cleaning up a bit around here would be nice, but doing nothing is nicer. 

I am exhausted.  Adrenally exhausted.  I recently learned that there are more than the two stimuli of adrenal function.  It came during the self-defense demonstration of three weeks ago.  They are fight, flight and...new to me in concept, but not practice...freeze.  I am well experienced, well practiced in the art of freezing.  At first I was upset that freeze was my response to what happened to me, that flight and, to a much lesser degree, fight never occurred to me. 

I am sitting here, stronger than I have perhaps ever been in my entire life, less stressed and learning to craft this new life, and I am gobsmacked that whilst I often longed to escape, to find some way to run away, fight never, ever, ever occurred to me. 

It never occurred to me.  I never once thought about fighting back, with words or actions.  The most I ever did was beg for forgiveness for whatever I had done wrong, and in later years would ask what I could do to stop being in trouble all the time. 

How could I have lived all this time and come to this advanced age without ever fighting back?  Even now I do not ask for anything.  I am certain that this divorce mess has continued for so long because I am so passive.  Whatever happens just happens.  I stress about it, but I do not ask questions or ask for progress.  The one time my therapist told me to call my attorney and ask about where we were with the financial stuff, I promised that I would.  When I got home I did not call.  Too much.  So, I decided to send an e-mail.  It took me so long to compose how I wanted to say that, that I received an e-mail from her office, informing me of what they had next done.

It is just asking, and asking for information at that, but it feels like confrontation to me.  It feels like creating problems and hurt feelings and inconvenience for the askee.  It feels like being confrontational.  It feels aggressive.  I cannot be that, I can barely form a coherent phrase or sentence to make the most simple and insignificant request.  I am working on this, doing the best I can to stop being silent when it is not in my best interest to be so. 

I decided two days ago that it is all right to dream.  You know, have dreams about what I want in my life, what I would like to do, or go or think.  And, if I am going to have dreams, then I should have some that are outrageous, desire for something that I will never have.  At first that seemed stupid, that I should be more realistic about wanting something, some aspect of my life that could be helpful or meaningful. 

I kind of know what those things are.  I want this divorce to be over.  Final decrees and court orders mean absolutely nothing.  No one wants to enforce them.  Oh, sure, they will put forth some effort, but only if you have the ability to bury the problem, support the effort with tons of money. 

As for the divorce stuff, I have said this so many times.  In order to gain compliance for the decree and court orders, all of which have been ignored since the beginning, I need to have several tens of thousands of dollars to go back to court and seek new judgements, which will probably be ignored as well, resulting in the infusion of more and more money. 

If my ex had manned up and divided our resources from the beginning, well, I would have the money to go after and try to get my share...but...but...but if he had done that, I would not have to go after him.

It is all so frustrating.  Maddening.  I should be able to let this go, get on with my life, but not being able to find a job, I cannot manage to stop worrying about having enough money.  If I were to get really sick I would be totally screwed.  Any major illness or disease would chew through the money I have in just a few months. 

I am trying so hard to stop my fears about this, doing what I can to stay healthy and decently fed.  I am walking as much as possible, taking all of my meds, sleeping well, staying intellectually stimulated, trying to find the humor in everything.  Ev. Re. Thing.  I am.

So, I am having dreams, one actually, that I might feel brave enough to express someday, and I am working as much as possible at my volunteer gigs.  You just never know when there might spring up a connection to a job.  It happens.  And, I am not caving to my fears, I am staying hopeful, determined to have the best life possible.

Then, today, this crazy quote.  I remember the quote, but had to research a bit to find the author.  It is Teresa of Ávila, and whilst she is remembered for many things, this is apparently the one that stuck to me.

"There are more tears shed over answered prayers than over unanswered prayers."

That cannot possibly be right.  Can it?  All I have are prayers, or hopes or dreams or whatever they can be called.  They are all I have right now. 

This cannot be right.  Yeah, I know about the adage to be careful what you wish for.  I get that, the whole concept of how what we want might not be what is best for us.  There is a context of prayer that we do not pray/ask/petition for something specific, but that our request and desire be for what is best, for the person (even ourselves), the circumstances or the outcome.  That is because, even in our intimacy with our lives and the lives of those about whom we care, we truly do not always know what is best. 

All I can do is to hope that what I want is good for me.  Perhaps outrageous dreams are not in my best interest, but, frankly, that is all I have.  I should not have to give that up too.

working

I applied for a job this afternoon.  Having one now would be wonderful, even though it would be few hours each week and would mess with the maintenance payment I get each month from my ex.  It is only a couple of hundred dollars, and if I make that amount or close to it, the payments stop.  Like forever, so if that potential job ends because the company goes belly-up (...I swear, it had nothing to do with me working here...) or some damn thing, the payments cannot be reinstated.  Is that the right word?  Maybe.

So, big picture, I would not be out all that much money each month, just a few hundred, and it would be glorious to eliminate that one, last connection to him.  That would be the coolest frakking thing ever.

So, there you are, me hoping to be considered a wonderful asset and be hired to help people spend money.  What?  Yes.  But, in my defense, the stuff that they would be buying are things to help them with their creativity.  They can enrich their lives by making cool, and occasionally useful, things.  It is a craft materials store.  I applied for three areas, cashiering (running a cash register at the front of the store), sales associate (helping people find stuff and keeping the stock all filled up and tidy, probably some stockroom and receiving, too) and class instructor.  The nice thing about that last one is that I would be able to help create the classes, but the icky part is that, unless I develop a following of people who want to take classes, it would not be any kind of reliable schedule.  Maybe I could get enough hours by doing a combination of those things.

Probably not.  I would like to work there.  Part time would accommodate my physical disabilities.  It might be enough money to be able to keep my car and allow me to buy better food.  When I filled out the application, there was a part where you could list the times or days that you were not available to work.  I did that, as well as filling out the text box where you could explain why you wanted a weird schedule.

My guess, from past experience, is that any special accommodation request is a certain and direct route to the trash can, that place where all dispirited and disheartened résumés take their final gasping breath.

It is not the first job application that bore no fruit, and it will not be the last.  The best thing about the application is that I now have one more company contact experience that I can use with my clients.  Yay.

It was a weird application in an increasingly weirded-out world of on-line job applications. 

There is one company, a chain restaurant that times you out if you are not fast enough in answering the questions that follow the place where you insert your personal information.  They give you twenty seconds, if memory serves, to answer each one.  If you spend too much time on any of them, the process dumps you.  If you navigate survive that section, then you get a lump amount of time to finish the next section.  And, so on.  If at any time you time-out, you get dumped, the process ends, and there is not any way to re-enter the application process.  And, it is not as though they are an outstanding company, having faced some interesting discrimination charges over the years, so my best guess is that whomever created that particular application process did it at least partially for their own, personal amusement.  Rat bastard.

The frustration of some applications is that you have the opportunity to upload your résumé and then proceed to enter everything that is already on that résumé.  It is part of the screening process, whereby the less valiant applicants effectively weed themselves out of the process.  Convenient.

Increasing numbers of applications are adding barriers and time limits as part of this application-pre-screening thing.  I understand that this is resource effective for companies.  I understand that companies filter so that they do not have the time and expense of holding endless first interviews.  I share with my clients that there are essential attributes of applications to which they need to pay attention.  That it is in their best interest to carefully and accurately and patiently do their best on those applications.  It informs the prospective employer that the applicant can read, comprehend what he/she reads and is able to follow directions, as well as using the experience to draw their attention to the aspects that frustrate and stymie them, that elicit a response of some kind, maybe make them want to give up.

An important handicap for many people, way too many of my clients, is lack of comfort using computers. 

I read something a few years ago about how most people hold the notion that most Americans and other citizens of the developing world (or some frakking nonsense) have at least fairly regular computer access.  I think that public computers in libraries were used as an example.  Arf?

Fewer than half of us, based on my own unscientific and vastly amateurish research and estimation, have even occasional access to a computer, much less regular or to a computer that has Internet access.  Specious as it may be, I am sticking to it.  I work, every single week, with people who know and understand that computer skill may just be at least partially essential to finding and keeping a job and do not have any way of using a computer or learning how to use one.  Public libraries?  Arf? 

So, I also teach computer use.  In the meantime, I type for them and guide them in navigating the job seeking path in which computers are essential.  In our city, there are a mere handful of companies who still accept paper job applications.  There are a few who prefer it, that old way of finding and hiring employees.  Bless them, but they are a distinct minority and, well, the whole computer thing is just what it is.  On-line job applications are now the norm, and it is already becoming more complicated and simpler at the same time.

It is an effective way for companies to steward their resources.  A few of the largest companies in our state no longer do their own hiring.  They use placement agencies and have offices and staff for these agencies on-site in their facilities.

That is how I spend my days.  Typing, training, teaching.  I do a fair bit of counseling and cheerleading as well.  By the time someone comes to me, they have exhausted most other resources.  To sit, thigh-to-thigh with someone who has nearly given up on a job, sometimes any forward movement in their lives, is the most important thing in the world to me.  More important than my friends.  More important, on occasion, than my family.  Absolutely more important than my own, stupid, puny problems and worries.

Without this work, I most likely would not be where I am today.  I love this work more than anything.  I think it shows.  The process is difficult for my clients.  No one has ever asked them to examine their lives the way that I do.  No one has taken the time to ask the right questions and draw out and honor the dreams and hopes and needs they carry in relation to having gainful employment.

In regards to this work, I am more fortunate than anyone should ever expect to be.  I know it and I honor it.  It would be nice if I could be paid for it.  That is not going to happen, so I have to find a job for myself.  Gosh, I hope that this results in at least an interview.  If I am going to fail to get this job I would love to put myself out there and be part of the failure process.  Nothing, no effort, is ever wasted, and I can take all of this back to my work, the real stuff that I get to do in my little bat cave, whenever I like.

Yoo-hoo, crafty store.

ethics

Where are they?  Nearly everyone with whom I have been in contact for the past week seems to have forgotten what it means to live an ethical life.

I found out that one of the delays of the past several months is because someone on my legal team misplaced some important paperwork and because it was misplaced, she forgot to do what needed being done.  Now they are hustling to catch up, but it has broken a little more of my heart in the process of learning this. 

It is never a good idea to count on anyone.

I met a friend for lunch yesterday and afterwards she wanted me to accompany her on an errand.  She drove and when we pulled into a parking space, she mentioned that her handicapped parking tags would be expiring at the end of this month.  I asked why she had them, figuring that she has some physical issue that is not easily recognized, which is the case for many people who can use these tags.  She told me that it was from her father and that she has continued to enjoy the benefits of having it.  He died a couple of years ago.

I met with a client yesterday morning, in order to speed up the process for her.  She had very little information for creating her résumé when we first met last Wednesday.  She was really struggling and I agreed to meet earlier than this Wednesday to help her.  She needed to gather the information we needed to move forward.  So, she shows up on time.  Great.  She, unfortunately, did not have time to get the information.  I sat there and wondered what she thought we were going to do without it, but decided to allow her to come to that idea by herself, which she immediately did.  Cool.  But, she wasted the time for both of us.  I offered to squeeze her in on Wednesday, but it is more convenient for her to come another day.  I declined.  I am not going to give up another non-work day for her. 

One of the regular library employees is also one of my clients.  He is looking for a better job, one that brings in more money, something I totally respect.  It is expensive just living simply and frugally.  He is also an interesting person, with strong connections to his community and has some cool visions for the kinds of community-supportive work that he would like to do.  He cannot keep track of his résumé, and asks for copies a couple of times each month.  I provide those at no cost to my clients, and I am glad to do it, so no problem there.  The issues I have with him are that he constantly asks me to write grants for him and that is something I no longer do.  Writing grants is a total pain in the ass.  It takes a lot of time, that is spent making absolutely certain that every single, minute thing is done properly.  Those days are over for me, and he is charming about it, but he refuses to stop asking.  It seems disrespectful, which brings me to the other issue I have had with him. 

He was part of the team that planned for my safety during the period leading up to my divorce.  Once we had the final decree, that meant a change to less restrictive movement for me in the facility.  Cool.  Two weeks after that final hearing, he came to my office to chat.  He wanted to chat about me giving...not lending...him a lot of money for his community project.  I thought that he wanted to just talk about it, then realized that he was waiting for me to offer money to him.  So, I asked him if he was wanting me to offer money to him.  He replied that, yes, he was hoping that I would donate money to help move his plans forward.  I told him that I did not have any money, had no prospect for having any and that it was unlikely that my ex would comply with the court orders to share our resources.

Big picture-wise, none of this matters much.  I have the sense that people believe that they can expect and receive all manner of help and support from me.  That is mostly true.  I love helping.  It feeds me, it fuels and supports me.  Frankly, given a choice, I would not change anything about the way I am and how I live and how I do stuff.  Being active and connected during all of this has been an important part of coming through relatively intact. 

But, I would never do any of these things to other people or society in general.  Never. 

Being forgotten, even for a little while, really bothers me, and it is not because I have paid so much money for this divorce, although maybe that is a part of it.  I feel like I am expected to feel gratitude for the scraps that I may...or may not...receive.  That I should be slavishly grateful for whatever happens.  Sadly, I am that pathetically grateful.  I cannot find a job and having even a small portion of my share would be wonderful.  I feel selfish for wanting that money.  I know that I am not, but I still feel that way.

My friend and my client.  Well.  I admire both of them for being proactive about themselves and their wants and needs.  I cannot easily do that.  Enough energy spent on that.

My fellow employee, even though I am a volunteer, I sort of consider the rest of the people there to be my co-workers, in a way.  That experience, months ago as it was, has changed my relationship with him.  My guess is that I thought it to be more than it actually is.  Maybe he is just friendly to me because he sees me as a resource for him, which would not be all that bad, but it really is one-sided.  Oh, the reason I even mention him is that as I was leaving the building after yesterday morning's client, he asked me for another copy of his résumé, which I went back upstairs and sent to the printer for him. 

I am feeling a little alienated this morning.  Everything that happens to me is by my own design.  I am responsible for these kinds of interactions and relationships.  I am just being a cranky and crabby complainer today.  Oh, pity me.  Suck it up, baby.