I had a long, continuous dream early this morning, and it was so intense that I just lay there when I woke from it, and couldn't get myself to get out of bed. The main character was a child at the end, and so I think I still had that kind of childish vulnerability when I woke. She was me in the beginning, and then the story changed and became kind of Alice In Wonderland-y, but darker, and the girl was about the age of Sarah Polley's character in Terry Gilliam's "Baron Munchausen." In fact I think the character in my dream was based on that one.

At first, as I said, I was me, and it was terrible. I felt and behaved like I was in Effexor withdrawal, I was at work, doing the run, but things went wrong and I and everyone else was awful. I went to dad's old house on Bentley Place to get some things I had stored there, and Philip was there, and at some point we were in a downtown area, I think it was loosely based on Asheville, based on the hills and the indoor arcades, and just the Bohemian feel. It was so, so crowded, I think there was an outdoor festival of some kind. Philip and I would hang around in these groups of people, and I felt so awful I kept going away without saying anything, and then he would follow me, but he was frustrated because it was embarrassing for him that I was being so antisocial. And I knew that I wasn't behaving right, but I just kept trying to get away, always trying to get away, like that nagging feeling of "wanting to go home," that I would get when I was depressed as a young adolescent. There was an interlude, a sort of unrelated story that was actually pretty long and involved and the details of which I don't really remember, and then the part with the child, the little girl. There were two starts to the story, one was the older Me walking through this indoor arcade full of people dressed up in costumes, as for a masquerade or a play (and there was a theatre and a play taking place, a children's troupe mostly), and a long open area with art on display, but I wasn't interested in looking at it. And then it was the little girl. Her story also began in her home, an old Victorian on a hill, and her grandfather did look kind of like David Neville who played the Baron in Gilliam's film. For some reason or another she was sitting out on the porch, after he talked with her for a while she went away, I forget why. She just ran off, either compelled to or just one of those things spoiled little girls do in stories. And there was an evil, a dark force, and she was in the arcade where I had been. So you see her story has two beginnings. She didn't feel the depression I had felt, but there was a sense of dread, of having no control, of things happening that were beyond her understanding. She had to wander, seeking something. I don't remember if it was something real, or maybe she was just trying to get out. She got trapped in the house, though -- I guess it was kind of Coraline-y, too -- and a small bee helped her find the way home, lighting the way through snowdrifts -- it was winter, you see -- through other peoples' yards, back to her home. And she ran up, and there was her grandfather on the porch, talking to her -- like the time travel in Harry Potter -- so she had to wait until he had gone, and her other self had run off again to resume her place in the same place in time (presumably) she had left.

It's stress, it always is. I've not had such intense feeling of dread in my dreams in a while, though, and it really did shake me. First it was depression, being out of control within myself, and then it was the child, with no control over her environment. Which is really more unsettling?

I'm feeling disheartened about my job search. I want a job in an office doing clerical stuff, preferably, but I'd take a receptionist-type too. I need it to pay at least $24,000 a year so I don't have to work two jobs anymore. And I have a feeling that lots and lots of people, many more qualified than me, are looking for the same type of job. I can't condone a sales-type job, I really don't want to do any more food-related work, and I've grown so attached to the idea of an office position that even hostessing doesn't sound that appealing to me anymore. I've taken my lunch early so I can type this whiny entry up. It's just that now that I've decided to look for another position and have started applying places, I've gotten this kind of frantic feeling, obsessively checking my phone in case someone's called me back. I'm just ready to be gone.

Listening to the radio, brief snippets from people in RI who have been unemployed for over a year, I realize I'm lucky even to have a job, even if it's one I don't want. Should I really be as choosy as I'm being? I can live off what I'm currently making. I have no extra money to save or for emergencies, but I can live. I have two jobs. Two!! God I'm lucky. All the same, I'm just tired. I'm tired of irregular schedules, tired of being "in charge," tired of no savings, no money to travel or just replace the two missing wheel covers for my car. Tired of coming home smelling weird, with hair frizzy from being under a bandana all day. My heart's just not in this job anymore, and this job requires heart to get it done right.

I keep forgetting to write a letter to the president like I've wanted to. Or when I sit down to do it I can't organize my thoughts well enough. Or I just don't try hard enough. I used to think I was talented, that I had the potential to be a fairly decent writer. I'm just out of practice, too many years not doing assignments and then not doing anything at all. Journaling has made my style pretty free-association. If I get this blog off the ground it will be a good chance to practice writing in a more organized context, but the momentum on that is kind of lost now, too.

I see meat everywhere in this world and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I'm just defective for having as much compassion as I do for the animals. Even my brother has gone back to meat. Citing health problems. On the one hand, I do understand. On the other, I think, what if he just wasn't taking appropriate vitamins? What if he wasn't eating right? He's never exactly led the healthiest lifestyle. What if going back to meat is just the easy way out? And then I think, what makes the easy way also the wrong way? Is it? What if my depression could be cured or prevented by eating a big steak every day? (I don't think it could, but I'm just saying) If someone told me, if you eat one of these every day, your chemicals will balance themselves the right way and you'll be as content and at ease as anyone?

I don't have the desire to go back to school to pick up that all-important BA, but I'm terrified that if I don't I'll be in the service industry forever. I know I'm capable of performing in these jobs just as well as the ones with degrees. It just doesn't look like it on paper. And the paper is all they get. God I hope I get called on this one City job I applied for. It would be perfect. I'm so nervous and stressed about it. I don't even want to work today. I've finished the bread run and I just want to stay back here pouring my frazzled little heart into these keys. I feel fine just doing this.

Just drank a 10 oz dose of Magnesium Citrate. Crossing my fingers.

The vulva has got to be the most annoying piece of flesh on my body. Gateway to my reproductive organs, it is the thing most prone to irritation, infection and discomfort. I've been subject to unexplained discharges for years, maybe normal, maybe natural, maybe not. Who knows! That's the beauty of female sexuality and body awareness. I have no idea.

Actually, I know better now than I did before. Yeast infection, bacterial vaginosis, Trichomonasis, all have tormented me at one moment or another. Somehow I can never be free of all of them at once. Just finished treatment for the Trich. So the odor is gone, but now I'm itchy as hell, still excreting something. The same treatment also deals with bacterial vaginosis (ask me how I know that), so it's probably a yeast infection. Whoopee. I can either call up the doctor's office and have them send a prescription to my pharmacy, or try my luck with the suppositories. Gotta love those suppositories.

I had weird dreams about moving to new houses; one was a new construction, and the model was really cool, we liked it a lot. It was kinda in the middle of nowhere though, off some rural highway. The other dream we (we being my family as it was before the divorce -- weird.) moved into this old house that probably looked like the exterior of the old Bates house from Psycho, but I never actually saw the outside of it. Inside was a mess, it was ancient and looked like the furniture was mostly from the 20s-40s, but cozy, spacious, carpeted and full of staircases that led to attics and attic-style rooms. I loved it. The previous family had moved out a month before, but they'd left all their shit: the furniture, obviously, and food in all the cabinets and fridges (there were many), plus they'd left things almost as though they'd just disappeared from existence suddenly. There was an open bag of tortilla chips lying on a table, there was an open 2-liter bottle of Coke, completely full, etc. We started wondering why they'd left things such a mess. But I was excited to wake up the next morning and start cleaning, getting things livable. I thought, I'll start from the top of the house and just work my way down, cleaning as I go. But I realized the main floor should probably get done first, since that's where we'd spend most of our time.

My stupid cat for some reason decided my leg was its enemy and bit the shit out of it through my jeans. What the fuck. It still smarts, dammit.

I was feeling pretty optimistic about this whole "new year" thing, but today (the 3 hours I've been up) has just been shit. Not really helping me get motivated to do the stuff I wanted to do. Plus the GI has still been acting up. I feel like I need to do a juice fast or detox or something, just clean out my whole fucking system. I have this image in my head (and it's not pretty) of my whole colon (that's six fucking feet of intestine, mofos) being crammed with feces it's unable to move. Laxative city, here we come.

Still, I know if I just put on a sweatshirt and go clean all the junk out of my car I will feel much better.

I was so bummed to open my eyes and still be in this bedroom and not in that cool old house. It was so full of cozy attic rooms. I love cozy attic rooms.

I feel like my whole abdominal region is a mess. Mild, sharp pains, general nausea, gurgling from I don't know which organ(s). Paying attention to my body is one of the most difficult things for me to do. I don't even know which organs are where, beyond the heart, lungs, and brain. I feel so stressed out and out of control. I feel like whenever I need someone they're not available, and it's not a deliberate thing. It's more like coincidence. Everyone goes at the same time. Everyone leaves before I get a chance to ask. Some of it is my fault, having okayed time off for two of my most useful employees for the same week. It's hard to be gentle with myself for my flaws when they cause me such trouble further down the road.

I am exhausted and depressed, and feel so unconnected to anyone that I would rather just float away. But this job is like a chain around my neck, attached to a heavy weight, keeping me here. If I don't find somewhere else to go, find some way to sever this chain I don't know what I'll do. I can't stay here. I allow myself to get trapped too easily. Circumstances don't allow for my moving on easily. Job markets being what they are.

Trying to remember to breathe. In here, by myself, I had an opportunity to remind myself. But I still just want to curl up into a ball and cry and cry and make the bad world go away. That's depression for you.

I know that moving wouldn't solve my social issues, but everything here just feels so stagnant. I've been attached to the same group of people for so long, not really connected in any meaningful way, and I feel like nothing will ever change. It can, though, I know. I meet people through work; if I have a different job, I will meet different people; it doesn't have to be in a different city or state. I do find it hard to imagine I will find people here that I can bear, though. Or anywhere. I have this disease in my head that convinces me I am so different, so unlike anyone else in the way my brain works, that I cannot have friends in the way other people do. Cannot make connections my consciousness longs for.

There have been a few, of course, who I envied, loved, attached myself to, and developed an inflated sense of my importance to them. It still smarts.

I wish I weren't feeling ill, so if I went home I could just make cookies or something frivolous like that. I wish I weren't me, so I could get myself out of this rut, or never be in it in the first place.

I may be entering a "low" period in this relatively mood-stabilized life I have. It's hard to tell just yet, but the last few days I've felt weary, it's been harder to mask or just deal with the frustrations at hand, and all I've wanted to do today is sleep.

One of the things I hate about my depression is that I've almost never experienced that telltale "loss of appetite" that's always listed as a symptom of generalized depression. I mean, if I'm going to have this affliction, I should at least get some free weight loss out of it. That's always been my perspective, anyway.

The reason I thought of that was because I had a ginormous lunch after work today, I mean seriously stuffed myself. I never have been very good at moderating my consumption of really delicious things. Hence the 2 pieces of pie yesterday.

When I'm at work I feel like it's this out-of-control environment where things have been set in motion and changing or derailing anything is almost out of the question, if I could even find time to try. I think that's why I spent a lot of yesterday in the office putting bows on jellies, because it was something small I could focus on and keep myself from freaking out. I spent the last few hours today holed up in the office, too, working on the schedule for the week after next. Sure, it was something I needed to do, and I did answer the phone a few times, too, but still, I knew even as I was doing it that it was just an excuse to sit down and not deal for a while.

I keep telling myself I just have to make it through December, but I have to remember that, come January, there probably won't be any more jobs in this town than there are now. Much as I don't want to, I need to get used to the idea that I will probably be stuck in this job for more than just another month. Just take some deep breaths, and get used to it.

MY SISTER IS INSANE.

Her views on courtship (despite, or perhaps because of, her own torrid past) are practically Amish. I feel so badly for her teenage kids right now. Especially the eldest, who is just aching to get out from under that roof. Wish I had a spare room to offer her. (wouldn't that be cool!)

We survived Thanksgiving at the bakery. I still get these waves of frustration at the owners, and I am seriously starting to ponder the rationality of moving to the mountains... I do love the mountains. I think the unemployment rate can't be quite as bad as in Charlotte, so finding a job in the first half of next year couldn't be that hard to do. Sure, I got no formal edumakashuns to speak of, but what a skill set! Just got to blow the years of dust off that resume. Surely some hippies will hire me.

I don't know, the idea of moving away from my hometown -- the only town I've ever really lived in -- is pretty terrifying. And a lengthy process. Job hunting and house hunting must be done simultaneously, along with wrapping up jobs and dwellings here. And then I think, what if I hate the job I get? What do I do then? Well, look for another. The idea of, "just keep moving forward" is something to remind oneself of periodically. No freak-outs, no panic, just keep moving. This door's locked, move on to the next one.

I've gotten way out of the practice that I initially intended this reborn journal for. It's frank and honest, for the most part, but not really as... I don't know. Maybe this is what I meant it to be.

I would like to get into the habit of meditating. I keep trying, but I never do it at home, and once a week isn't that great for developing one's skills.

I've had a couple conversations with my mom about my feelings concerning my eldest sister which have left me feeling rather more agitated than less. I feel she misunderstands, or thinks it's more of an issue than it is. My most recent experience of this was just yesterday. She had asked several weeks ago if I would be interested in coming along with her to my sister's for Thanksgiving luncheon, to which I gave the very indirect and passive-aggressive response, "it wouldn't be my first choice, but if YOU want me to go I will." I realize that was a mistake. I forget, sometimes, that my feelings aren't always clear to others because I keep so much in. I have to remind myself that even though I have thought at great length on this subject or that, unless I communicate it to other parties they will never know. And I never said to her straight out, "I don't want my sister to be a part of my life right now." I think now she's gotten the impression that there's some animosity between Steph and I (she used that word in our conversation yesterday!), that there's ANYTHING between us. But it's almost the opposite. There's nothing there, except that I think she's crazy, and she probably thinks I'm going to Hell.

People say to me, "you may not get along with them, or have anything in common with them, but they're family, and family matters." I say, Why? And maybe years from now I will feel differently about it, will suddenly see how important the bond of family is. But for the most part my siblings are people I would not like if I met them without this relationship between us. And I find that frustrating, and I am unable, at present, to use the simple fact that we share the same parents as a reason to put myself in the position of having to interact with them on a regular basis. Of pretending I care. Of pretending to be happy for another pregnancy. With certain exceptions, I find the in-laws much more palatable than the Snows themselves.

I'm not trying to get bitter or resentful about my siblings. I sat down last night, because it was nagging at me, and tried to write out what it was about Steph that makes me want to keep away. And I did. It could be the kind of thing that we could just talk about, work out in rational, civil dialogue, and maybe more assertive, more confident people would. But I go into those types of confrontations swinging wildly and irrationally, like I'm used to losing (which I am). I am not strong enough to have that conversation with her. I may work up to it in time. For right now, though, I am just keeping my distance from all of them. Until I'm ready to learn to respect and love them for who they are instead of wishing they were what I feel like they should be.

I've been thinking about this off and on for the last month or so: that I want to create my own holiday or tradition wherein I give meaningful gifts to loved ones. It bothers me to celebrate Christmas every year as though it were still My holiday, as though it were something I believed in. But I do believe that, looking past the ludicrous commercialism that's developed around it, there can be value in sharing with loved ones from our hearts.

I realize I could simply adopt the pagan holidays around solstices and equinoxes, but, not being a follower of pagan practices, the movements of the sun and the moon and "official" beginnings and endings of seasons bears only slightly more meaning for me than Christmas or Easter. Or Ramadan, Yom Kippur, whatever. No, my desire is for a truly secular holiday, a celebration of gratitude, love and kinship that I can put my heart into.

For many Thanksgivings now I have spent some small amount of time reflecting on the comforts I have that so many do not, and simply being grateful for the company and fellowship around the great meal. It is the only nationally celebrated holiday that really has any meaning for me, since the two Big Ones are based on Christian mythology and I am a nonbeliever.

One doesn't need to schedule gratitude or kinship, or have a reason beyond wanting to to give a friend a present. The fact is, though, that I personally operate better if I do have it on the calendar in some way. Since my desertion of religion I have struggled with varying degrees of guilt for not appreciating friends and family, for not doing for them the kinds of thoughtful things they have done for me. I always mean to, I simply forget before I can manage to stop procrastinating. A deadline, as it were, for something that means so much to me will be not only useful but beneficial as well. The coming of the holiday will serve as a reminder to me that I will, in whatever way I can or feel most strongly towards, do something for my friends and family, and I will also serve my own peace of mind in doing so.

It will be a very small affair this year, since I have given myself so little time to prepare for it, but I plan for each Thanksgiving hereafter to be not only a harvest feast with cheap wine and little-known relations, but a true Giving of Thanks to those who mean the most to me, and an opportunity to give any small gift I believe will have meaning for myself and those who receive it.

Got to thinking again tonight about my stupid brother and sister. wtf. Mostly it's katie, but I have this image in my head like they're in league together or something. I think I'm kind of crazy. But I also think they're completely irrational and selfish. So there.

I feel very frustrated and alone right now. Stupid (lack of) friends, stupid abandonment issues. Stupid brain. If this feeling keeps coming back for a few more days I'm going to have to get back into therapy. I hate that.

And I HATE people talking to me like they know what's best for me. I don't need that shit.

Grr.

Sometimes I think words cheapen the feeling they're meant to describe.

Maybe I just lack the skill to describe them. I am no poet.

We are such a sad, selfish people. It can seem like our consciousness is a blight.

In nature animals kill each other, are killed, live, reproduce, die without any feelings we know of, without any awareness. We are the only things on this earth (that we know of) whose existence truly is centered around self-awareness. Divergence is not only frowned upon, it is practically illegal. One is not human if one is not self-aware.

My old therapist told me before that it was not natural, not healthy, that I was unable to separate myself from the event of a stray cat taking food to its kittens, that my meditation on the futility of life and existence for those creatures and subsequent depression was something I must work to fix.

But who will cry for those creatures if I do not?

Another argument is that all life must end, death is inevitable for all things and we might as well make the most of it while we're here. Love life, revel in it. There's a certain seduction in the beauty of life. And the stillness, the ugliness of death scares us. Terrifies us, in the truest sense.

I am probably just crying for myself, and not any poor dumb animal, after all. And to think of that I must cry even more.

Okay, lessons learned: 1) I can go 8-12 hours without noticing NOT having taken my meds, 2) best to take them AS SOON as I've noticed. This was the fastest-thinking most level-headed response I've had to this problem so far. So yay me! I still shunned the telephone all day, but that's not completely unusual even under the best of circumstances.

So far, so good. Just need to have some breakfast and take today's dose, and hopefully all will be well.

I think I forgot to take my meds this morning... we went to brunch and I wore a skirt with no pockets. Normally I would have put the pill in my pocket so I'd be sure and find it later if I forgot during or right after breakfast. Twelve hours later I am slightly agitated, the early stage of antidepressant (or whatever) withdrawal. I just took my pill, and hopefully I'll sleep through the worse parts of this feeling and the drug will re-integrate itself into my system before I wake up.

Watching a movie filmed from the perspective of a paranoid schizophrenic does not help.

I think the fact that I'm "addicted" to this drug bothers Philip. I think he prefers not to think about it, which he doesn't have to, most times. I'm pretty good about taking it, so he doesn't see so much of this.

I prefer not to think about this addiction, too.

My sister is having ANOTHER baby. I really don't know how I feel about that.

I had a dream last night about dad. It was another one where he was supposed to be dead, but there he was. I was kind of outside of time, and I didn't realize what the date was (that it was after the date of his death) until pretty late in the dream. I woke up before I had a chance to ask him about it.

It was a family trip, loosely inspired, I think, by my trip with Cynthia to Boston. Roger and Harron were hosting, taking us around the city, and Betsy was there, and possibly Ellie and Susie & Mike. And Dad and I. I think my mind hasn't really decided what death means. I know he's dead, intellectually, but day-to-day it's not so much that he isn't alive anymore, it's more like he's just not here. I can understand why people are so inclined to believe in an afterlife. It almost makes more sense than believing the one we love simply no longer exists. I think it's easier for our minds to believe in spirits and afterlifes than to contemplate Nothing. We are such a complex brain.

I am very hesitant to lean in any direction spiritually. In fact I try to avoid it entirely. I try to base my opinions on what scientific facts we know, and stay away from speculations and mythology. After all, any story we make up to explain something we don't understand is just that -- a myth.

In other news, all the natural disasters have gotten me pondering the end of the world, though it's probably just the environment responding to pollution and climate change. Think: "Mother Earth Maaaad... Mother Earth SMAAASH!!!" The Incredible Hulk is big and green after all.

Also, I am trying to decide whether or not to invest in the Ender's Game comic books that are coming out, or have come out already. Hm.

My farts smell kind of like sauerkraut today.

I smell my farts. I mean, how can you not be curious? If nothing else, I want to know what other people smell if I happen to do it in company.

When did it become taboo to fart in public, anyway? Like belching or discussing bodily functions, it's somehow rude or inappropriate. It it a Victorian thing, or does it predate even them? Any why? They're natural parts of human function. Everybody gets gas, just like everybody poops and pees. Scientifically, it's fascinating. Yet it's something only mentioned (in the crudest of terms) when people are trying to be funny. Kind of like anal sex in ancient Greece. It was considered "unclean" and was generally disapproved of, but it showed up often in comedies and comedic paintings -- it was so crude and ridiculous that it was funny.

I don't know if it's better that some subjects are just not broached in conversation, or if we should attempt to liberate ourselves from those ancient chains of decorum and polite society. I certainly wouldn't want to hear graphic details about anyone else's sex life or something. So maybe I should just keep my mouth closed about it.

Philip and I had a short vacation trip to Myrtle Beach -- one of those free 4 day/3 night packages his boss always gives away at the Christmas party -- which I haven't really had time to reflect on since we got back because I've been working almost constantly since then. Overall it was great. The only timeframe I could get when I called to make the reservations was Tues-Fri, which turned out perfectly because, while there were still a fair number of people around, it wasn't nearly what it might have been over a weekend. Besides, it being September, it wasn't the insane place it becomes in the peak season.

The drive down was the most stressful part. I had looked up directions on Google and copied them down (not precisely as they were given, but I believed I understood them), but Philip had turned on his GPS thing that's a service that comes with his phone. It was a little irritating since I trusted myself to get the directions right. Then we got to some point where the two roads we were supposed to follow split off from each other... I think I must have written it wrong or something. The GPS pointed us in the right direction, but my confusion led us in the wrong direction for about 15 minutes before we pulled over and bought a map. The fact that Philip had the GPS on was confusing and hurt my pride kind of a lot. I was kind of angry at that point. I did my best not to take it out on him, since it wasn't really his fault. On the way back he started to go for the GPS thing again, and I asked nicely if he could just leave it be and trust me. He replied that he didn't see any harm in it. I told him it hurt my pride a little and he listened! And turned it off. I don't know if he really "got it," but I really appreciated the fact that he listened. We did get off track again (stupid poorly marked roads and turn-offs) but we got back on track without too much fuss (and didn't lose any time!). I discovered that it really made Philip uncomfortable not to know exactly where he was going. He had to know where we were on the map, which way we were going, etc. I don't know if it helped him any but I made a point of telling him approximately how long we'd be on which highway (which I did fairly accurately!) and warning him of upcoming exits well before we were at them so he wouldn't be in the dark. I hope it helped.

The stay itself was awesome. Our hotel was nothing special, the continental breakfast sucked, but the weather was great. Stayed in the mid-80s almost the whole time. We had brought our bikes and spent all Wednesday riding around through the residential areas near the beach. Some fancy fucking houses out there. The roads were pretty level so even though it was 8 miles or so to the Grand Strand it was no trouble getting there. Thursday we went to Ripeys Aquarium, which was totally badass. I would love to go back. I really enjoyed just spending time alone with Philip. At the beach we were both relaxed and we could just enjoy each other's company. We certainly don't see eye to eye on everything but I like him a lot.

It was great just to get away for a few days. It almost could have been anywhere. Life when I got back was immediately stressful, but having had a break has (so far) allowed me to handle it a little better.

I have never been one to challenge others' opinions... well, that's not true. I have never really successfully debated or had lively discussion with anyone about issues... I never felt confident or educated or articulate enough to even try. Or, rather, failures at a very very young age have prevented me since from trying. It is something I have recently developed more of an interest in. The helpful thing, for me, about the Internet as a forum is that I have time to react and then choose my response. It's so difficult not to get heated or, in my case, just start crying, when frustration at the other party(ies) takes hold. All the same, there are social issues I am beginning to feel very strongly about, and when people express opinions other than the ones I hold, I want to engage them in discussion. In civil discussion. Which is why the Internet is so great. Yay, the Internet. I do wonder what kinds of forums there are for debate, if they're all snobs, or if the groups are all partisan and people with dissenting views just don't talk to one another anymore. Socrates would weep.

Still having trouble breathing. Not really taking time to practice, though, either, so it's largely my fault.

Been having lots of disturbing dreams lately, indicative of how stressed I am internally. Other than being a little more irritable than usual, I don't notice it much externally. I kind of forget it's there until I start thinking about it.

Taking life one day at a time doesn't allow for much living, but embracing all of life with abandon is something I simply cannot do.