I have never fallen in love before. I am currently in my first love. The real love. What I imagine it to be anyway. I say I love my family but that's different. When you love your family I see it more as a bond...a dependence. You've lived with those people for all the years of your life, so soon you have to see them, they have kept you alive. That's a different kind of love. I love my friends in a way...if it was true love I'd not be able to live without them. But as many people know, in about 5-10 years we'll all be on different tracks and forget about one another. Only a few will stay together, keep in contact. I have a few friends I believe I'll still be friends with. And they know who they are. Or at least I hope they do. I've never been in love with a boy before. Not my father, my grandfather, brother, cousins, or boyfriends. I can't trust them. Everytime I begin to trust a boy he goes and disappoints me and lies. My father walked out on me, returned crying and begging for forgiveness, so I did, and he lied again. My grandfather quite honestly is an asshole who thinks he knows the world better than anyone. My uncles don't know me. My cousins I rarely see. My brother is my brother, born to annoy. My past boyfriends have been...well I don't know...they would be wanting mainly one thing, and I didn't want to. So they would drop me. So then I started to break up with boys before they could with me lasting in 2 weeks relationships. One I thought was "the one". I'd known him a while, he was my best friend. But I knew he had a thing for my best friend. So after 8 months, he broke up with me and tried to date my best friend. Didn't work. Then he dated another of my best friends. Then dated me...then broke up with me. Made me feel a bit like shit. So I've never had the best of luck with boys. Or girls. But boys mainly. So after I slowly fell in love with one boy...whom I had a crush on forever...I thought maybe I was doomed to a life of secret crushes. I sat across from that boy, cherishing the moments when I made him laugh, when he'd smile at me, when he'd try to touch my face. But I knew it was nothing special, he was like that with everyone. But then backstage on day I wondered if it all was changing. I hoped and prayed for it to be as I hoped it was. When we first held hands, when we kissed, I hoped it was for real. I was so excited. It was better than I dreamed! Then back at school I realized someone was less than happy. And it upset me. I knew this one was for real!! This couldn't happen! I knew...I couldn't eat or sleep, I hoped to hear his voice and feel his hand on my cheek soon...but then she'd be there. So maybe this was how this one was going to end. Not wanting to upset a friend, we'd go our seperate ways, me always wondering what would have been. But we didn't break up. When a terrible thing happened...the worst thing in my young life, he was there. We cried together and I felt safe. When I moved and went through some hard times, I felt as though he were the only one I could count on. Hearing his voice from miles away made me feel safe. When I wouldn't eat and was getting sick, he made me feel like I was better than that. So I ate for him. When I do anything I imagine him there watching me. I imagine if he's approving or disapproving. I want so badly to make him happy. Even from this far away. I love him. I've never loved anyone like this before. But isn't it just so perfect that the first boy I love and trust is miles away from me? That's another glitch in the life and times of me. Love is always a little further out of my reach everytime I can almost grasp it.
1. At lunch time, sit in your parked car with sunglasses
on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.
2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.
3. Every time someone asks you to do something,
ask if they want fries with that.
4. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "in"
5. Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone
has gotten over their caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.
6. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sexual favors".
7. Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the
prophecy".
8. Don't use any punctuation marks
9. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.
10. Ask people what sex they are and laugh hysterically after they
answer.
11. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go".
12. Sing along at the opera.
13. Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.
14. Put mosquito netting around your work area. Play a tape
of jungle sounds all day.
15. Five days in advance, tell your friends you can't attend
their party because you're not in the mood.
16. Have your coworkers address you by your wrestling name,
Rock Hard Devon.
17. When the money comes out the ATM, scream "I won!", "I won!"
"3rd time this week!!!!!"
18. When leaving the zoo, start running towards the parking lot,
yelling "run for your lives, they're loose!!"
19. Tell your children over dinner, "Due to the economy, we are
going to have to let one of you go."
20. Put this in all of your profiles.
I was born the jealous type and it'll never quit. All I can think of is her beautiful eyes, his friendships, her hair, her body, his smile, her surroundings, her talent, his life...and I hate myself for it. For once, I'm just going to use names and if it ticks anyone off get over it...it's a compliment. I so badly want to be Rachel. I always have. First time I saw her I though that she was the cutest thing ever...no one hated her, she was liked by all, and she was friendly. Than she was dating my best friend and I was madly in love with my best friend, Matt. They broke up and I was actually relieved...the
Like I said. I'm jealous...extr
So as I dream a dreamer comes to me in my misty land of no return.
"Why do you sleep when you know that you have things to be done?" She asks.
"So I have the energy to do them in the morning." I reply.
"Why not do it now in it's entirety, get it done to a level you are proud of when you still have many hours left. Not right before in three minutes rushed." Says the harsh voice. "You have talent, stop wasting it. Sooner you get the facts done, the sooner you can make ones up."
So I wake up.
I work until the sun rises.
And I don't sleep until it's all done.
I hate myself somedays...I hate myself with a feeling so strong it's surprising. I want to love myself, I really do, but how can I do that? I don't feel there's anything of me to love. People give me obscure things they love, like the things I say, my ears, my sarcasm. But it's not surprising...n
So I sit and stare across the table thinking that one day i'm gonna be her best friend that we can do art together but i know that we're too different that shes in love with jesus and i'm in love with my boyfriend i know she is frightened by the idea of sex and i long for it i scribble on looseleaf and she faints at anything that is not canvas we mosh to shitty bands but exert the energy anyway one day we'll be at the best concert in the world and even though she's in all pink and her hoodie appears to say suck head we'll have fun and headbang to bands that are headbangable we'll learn rap songs and sing them to metallica tunes and then laugh at the ridiculous way it sounds we'll laugh the innuendos in the end-o and then make fun of her for saying she swallows lots of stuff on accident i'll pretend to be black and we'll all laugh at my expense and she'll say she's gonna kick my ass even though we both know she won't because i'm her favorite white almost black girl me and him will laugh as he orgasms over mercury and then pretend to make out to freak out our teacher we'll laugh nervously after he asks me to promise to go with him to the valentine's dance and me not knowing he was serious we'll listen to beastie boys and drive though the south side of cape the real ghetto and yell to them and then cower begging them not to shoot us i'll laugh at how naiive you are then explain things to you and laugh when you look shocked but at the same time interested i'll call you every night and stare into the darkness after we've hung up and eventually finish my chemistry i never remember to do and i'll think about boobieing and peanut butter jelly time i'll think in my own head about myself and the times i've had together and wonder at the randomosity that goes through my head like the hate of the giggitagiggita
One day I'll paint.
I'll creep in the still of night to the art area I set up in the basement with it's blue lights and black lights glowing. I'll paint regardless of color. Regardless of what I'm actually painting. I'll put on music of all kinds, regardless of what genre and tempo. I'll shut my eyes, put the paint brush in the wrong hand and do a self portrait. I'll paint everything upside down. I'll use a big brush for little details, I'll meticulously paint bandaids to cover the walls. I'll splatter my pajamas and the walls. When I'm finished I'll look and see that I've actually painted more of the wall that the intended target. And that'll be fine with me.
So I know this person.
This person is sick. Really sick.
And I want to be her. I'm crazy jealous of her.
I find out where she is. She's not in school. Suddenly I think, why can't that be me? Why can't I be so sick that I get off school? Why can't I be the one everyone is worried about? Everyone sending me things and coming to visit me. My past sins forgiven, everyone just hoping I'm alright.
It makes me sick...but I am so jealous.
I look in the mirror and I see bushy eyebrows, tangly long hair, regular brownish, small eyes, small mouth, pointy nose, I have a big body. Except I'm short. And I feel so ugly. Why couldn't I finish what I started 3 months ago? I'd be perfect. Why can't I be this girl? I'd be perfect.
I'm so sorry....but I can't stop feeling like this. I'm so sorry.
I kneel in church and look at the sparse decorations and wonder why they didn't decorate more. I like Valle's decorations...
Isn't it funny how you know it has snowed. You wake up early in the morning to feel warm. It's completely silent. You look out the window and you know. It's snowing. There's no school. You have a whole day to do what you want. You could do what my sister did and talk to friends all day. You could do what my brother did and build snow forts. You could do what me and the kids from therapy did and tackle eachother in the snow and dare eachother to steal Devin's movies and water bottles. You could do what I did at the beginning of the day and set up a studio. You can paint. You can have a snow ball fight and come inside ready for the cup of hot chocolate with teeny freeze dried marshmellows that you know'll be waiting. You can call everyone you know and whisper "guess what......it's snowing!!" and then hang up. Like Jason did to me. Then as the day closes you watch the cars squeal through stoplights and you pray you don't have school the next day. Your parents watch the school closings obsessively. You curse the snow plows and hope they all crash....or maybe that one's just me. But once it snows...you know...it is winter. Christmas is coming. When it snows you're no longer a hormonal teenager. You're a kid. A little kid playing in the snow, waiting for friends to challenge your fort.
I'll be pretty...
I'll be a good painter...
I'll be a good writer...
I'll finish writing my 3 books that are unfinished...
I'll finish my algebra that I never do...
I'll write every friend I have...
I'll pray...
I'll eat...
I'll see my friends...
I'll see my Alex...
I'll be skinny...
I'll be free...
I'll understand...
I'll be involved...
I'll be allowed...
I'll be graceful...
I'll be accepted...
I'll be talented...
I'll be known...
I'll know...
I'll untangle my hair...
I'll be happier...
I'll be in love...
I'll be trusting...
I'll be trusted...
I'll be your best friend...
I'll be your worst enemy...
I'll be my mom's friend...
I'll love my siblings...
I'll remember all of it...
I'll have a job...
I'll be respected...
I'll grow up...
It'll stop...
It'll be better...
It'll be over...
It'll change...
I'll change...
I'll listen...
I'll be better...
...One day...
She breathes....in and out and concentrate souly on that. She times herself. How many seconds do my inhales last? My exhales? Then she averages them for every 5 sets. In through the nose and out through the mouth just like it should be, even though it's easier to just breathe through the mouth. She ignore the pains in her legs. She doesn't know how far she has gone. She's barely aware that she is wearing shorts. It's cold. She realizes she has gone off track, so she begins to count again. She focuses on the little cloud puffs coming out of her mouth. In chemistry they talked about making clouds and that you could possibly make a small rain storm in a bottle with the right elements. She imagines it snowing from her little puffs of air. In books the picture of winter is always a person with crazy hair, red cheeks, blowing out wind, clouds, and snow. She imagines that's how she must look. Her hair's a mess, pouring down her shoulders, her cheeks must be bright red by now, her eyes bright and starry with tears yet to be spilled. The little clouds puff out from her mouth and she chances to look where she is and realizes it was a mistake to do so. She's ended up downtown and realizes how tired she is. Ten or more miles. She legs feel on fire. She wanders over to the river wall and walks through. The people around her, admiring the Christmas lights as they pour out of Cafe N'Orleans must think she's crazy...shorts in December? One woman looks as if she wants to say something but just shakes her head. The girl narrows her eyes and runs along the wall. They don't get it. They all probably think she's irresponsible or childish. And she looks childish. Her round cheeks rosy and covered in dried tears. Her eyes puffy from crying, her hair disheveled and in her face. She looks like she got in trouble and has been pouty. Pouty after running ten miles. She wonders if anyone will come looking for her. Her stomach begins to churn and she runs to bend over the side of a trash can, holding her long hair back. She settles beside the wall and begins to sob. Ridiculous little baby sobs, she thinks. She wanders down the steps to the river and leans over it, dropping in a few rocks. Suddenly her necklace slips into the water. She gasps and reaches in almost immediately to grab it. Her hand comes out of the frigid water with the blue heart and silver clover necklace. Not thinking she slips it back on and the cold water runs down her neck. She stays on the step for a while until a man comes in. She remembers something from her past and runs out. She runs continuously. Past the music store, past all the gleaming lights tempting people in like candy to children. She runs past the tavern where people are laughing and joking around. She runs past the blinding lights of the gas station and down the street where her friend's uncle lives. At one time she thought she could be in love with that friend...if she wasn't a girl. Or because she was a girl. She runs up to her house. The house is empty. No one home. Just the way she left it. Her mirror doesn't tell her much. All she sees is a scared little girl with wide dark eyes looking as though she released her soul to the dark river. She couldn't stop shivering. She slipped off her shorts and t-shirt. She put on an oversized jersey and curled up with a blanket and pillow around the heater like a cat. She continued to shiver. She stared at the orange coils of the heater and drifted into a shivering state of sleep. She didn't know why she couldn't stop. She didn't know why she was so distraught. All she knew was that something bad was going to happen. And I don't like it.
M-O M-O-R M-O-R-N-I-N-G.
This is a song...it's called Nth Degree by Morningwood...
Put on a smiling face for all the friendlies at school. My ride gets here and on it goes. I smile when I complain, smile when someone cuts in front of me, smile when I forget homework, smile when someone makes a not funny joke. I'm like Eleanor Rigby, wearing my face. I have just one jar sitting on the shelf beside my door, prepared for any unexpected visitors. Someone is at the door, I snap it into place, with a wincing smile I answer the door. Of course I'm all right, everything is all right. Can't you see me smiling? And they're smiling too. They wear a mask too. I wonder if they race for it as I do if there's any moments of unexpected emotion. If your eyes begin to brim with tears when a friend mentions her engagement. You cry because she's so young and you hope she knows what she's doing, and you hope one day in the future you'll know what you're doing, too. But you better snap that smile on and congratulate her. That's what she wants, not lectures, or hopes. She is certain. So you should be too. When your friend laughs at a teacher and what they say, as much as you hate yourself for it...you laugh too. Smile! Smile as you wonder if as this friend sucks up to this teacher in class and laughs at all his jokes, then is mean behind his back, does she do that to you too? Does she smile at you then smirk at everyone about you once you turn away? But you smile. Nothing is wrong, absolutely nothing!! You may be starving hungry, wanting to eat everything off your friend's trays, but you politely refuse it, smiling..."I'm full." Then smile off into space as you imagine what it'd be like to eat whatever you want...but can't because you're fat. Because maybe I do all these things. When I get home I stop smiling. I rest my face and sleep. I dream of a perfect world where floating music notes drift past me as I sleep peacefully. But then I wake. I do all my homework and cry in frustration. I have no one to help me. I used to take it to school and have others help me. I have no one to help me with this. So instead, like the pathetic person I am, I cry. I run out of our house to avoid the screams and race down the street in the freezing temperatures wearing a proud Notre Dame t-shirt and jeans. I return an hour later to enter my home where the one who made me run expects a hug. I don't give one. I instead mark next Monday and say a little prayer that everything will get better. That the next day I'll have the courage to leave my mask at home. As I am talked to I refill the tea, I look at all the fried food for dinner and cringe, then I take the phone to realize I can't talk to the people I want to because they are not home. Any of them. I set the phone back down, sigh, and go upstairs to fall back asleep, dreaming I never got to see anyone again, jerking awake to find I had an hour left of social time. But still, those I call are busy or disinterested. Or I imagine they're disinterested. I cry. I cry pathetically like a two year old that doesn't get their way. And that's what I am...crying because I don't get my way. I'm reading a book where one girl goes crazy after her husband tries to force himself on her. She falls out of love. And it drives her insane. He tries to apologize, but she can't understand what he's saying, and when she speaks it's in a language he can't understand. I feel like this sometimes. I wonder sometimes if I'd truly be sad if this happened or perhaps if I'd welcome it. Not to hear cruel remarks or worry what people are saying. I wouldn't have to worry that what I'd say might offend everyone. No one could understand me.
I sigh and glance at clouds so often wondering if you see the same sky. A streak of lightening and I wonder if it filled you with a thrill as it did me. When it rains I wonder if you turn off your radio and listen to nature's music instead. I pace my room watching the muted glows of my lamp fall across my sister's sleeping face. I know she feels sick and I feel bad. She is my sister. I wander my way softly down the steps, skipping the loud one, and peer into my brother's room. He has his monkey near him and video games around the TV. I use touch to feel my way past tables, record players, and chairs into the kitchen. I open the refridgerator as the cold light pours over me, chilling my stocking feet. I drink the milk straight out of the container. You told me if it hurt to drink some milk, and this isn't the kind of hurt that can be scratched. I feel my way to the living room to open the door briefly to see onto the orange glow of the street. The stop lights blink and rain blurs the picture. I stand there until I feel a presence behind me. I close the door and lock it, turn to see my mother, so I go upstairs. I lie in bed listening to the sounds of my sibling breathing, wondering how her and I became so different from just mere years ago. I wonder if we'll ever be really close. I listen to the sound of the rain, the thunderclap that follows the lightening and imagine you hear it too. I imagine you lie in bed and listen just as I do. I imagine you with a kitty on your neck and a game controller in your hand. I imagine you think of me just as I think of you. Do you?
We are now learning jazz in dance class....*jazz hands* and we listen to N'sync while learning it because Dinah (teacher) lurves boy bands. She even said she "lurves boy bands". I thought it was funny that she said lurve. Ha! Pants of silliness. I got fumes from hydrochloric acid up my nose today in chem though...clear
kids shooting up to pretend to be cool
adults shooting up to get that feeling
hippies getting jobs to pay for food
punks screaming anarchy and signing with a label
catholics say treat others the way you want to be treated
then banning gay marriage
baptists making fun of the catholics
then doing the same things
teachers telling students to pay attention
teachers falling asleep during teacher meetings
rich people complaining about the state of affairs
rich people doing nothing about it
Oprah giving people cars who have no homes
Oprah giving homes to people who didn't need one
Dr. Phil telling people to stand up for themselves
Dr. Phil saying that with a studio audience laughing in the background
mothers wanting to know every detail of your life
mothers saying not to treat her like a best friend
fathers crying on the phone about how he misses you
fathers not talking to you anymore when he begins to send money
people saying i love you just to fuck
people fucking because it means i love you
people making fun of blondes who dye their hair and wear tight clothes to be "cool"
people dying their hair black and wear baggy clothes, then complain about why they aren't "cool"
people who don't eat because they don't want to be fat
people who say they're fat just so someone will tell them they're skinny
people who say they're fat but wear skin tight clothes
people who say they're depressed and always look sad wanting help
people who always seem happy but are the ones who need help
writers who have writer's block writing about writer's block
rich people supporting bush
poor people dying
all american soldier dying
cowards surviving
dictator countries laughing with no rules
president with head in hand trying to maintain a noble code
little kids wanting to be teenager
teenagers wanting to be grown up
grown ups want to be little kids
old people wanting to live
teenagers wanting to die
TV tells us to be ourselves
TV showing skinny exotic girls everywhere
TV telling us to not smoke
everyone on TV smokes
TV telling us not to become anorexic
TV splashing the "obesity epidemic" everywhere
girls starving themselves to be thin
thin girls laughing at the ones starving
American girls are fat
French girls are skinny
Hollister clad kids listening to Metallica
people call them posers
Black clad kids listening to Natasha Bedingfield
people call them useless
the blonde perfect girl committing suicide
the girl in black lipstick goes to Harvard
nothing is ever as it seems
and nothing really seems fair
does it?
I think I like it best when it's raining outside. I like it when I can't go with my family and wherever they go. I like to clear my floor and turn up my music. I like to switch stations, from pop to rock, from rap to punk. I dance to it all. I shadow dance, do the chacha, tango, waltz, and swing. I put on heels and tap or try to be a Rockette. I make sure I can still do the splits, I stretch, twist, and turn. I may be chubby or fluffy or whatever people call me, but I'm a pretty bendable person. I go through old cheer stretches and jumps, I dance nonsense to nonsense music. I sing along with Kelly Clarkson. I put on make up I would never wear outside, I put on my beaded crown and just dance. I love to dance. No matter what is going on, I can dance. I can get out my anger or channel my peace. I can light candels or turn on a strobe light. I can open my windows and shout lyrics or I can dance at night. I can dance alone or with a friend. Everyone feels prettier when they dance. You feel graceful and slender, you feel like no one can hurt you. When you've finished the world doesn't seem like such a bad place anymore.
THE HISTORY OF CATWOMAN
SELINA KYLE’S CHILDHOOD was defined by tragedy.
When Selina was just a girl, her brutalized mother
committed suicide and her violent father drank himself
to death not long after. Separated from her younger
sister Magdalena and remanded to the Sprang Hall
Juvenile Detention Center—an abusive state home for
orphaned or delinquent girls—Selina opted instead to
take her chances on the mean streets of Gotham City.
Amid the crime and corruption of the poverty-strick
East End district, she survived through petty theft.
Sharp wits and an amazing natural skill as a gymnast led to her
becoming the slickest and slipperiest cat burglar the Gotham City
Police Department had ever had to deal with.
FIRST APPEARANCE BATMAN: #1 (Spring 1940)
STATUS: Unresolved
REAL NAME: Selina Kyle
OCCUPATION: Cat burglar/vigila
BASE: Gotham City’s East End
HEIGHT: 5ft 7in WEIGHT: 133 lbs EYES: Blue-green HAIR: Black
SPECIAL POWERS/ABILITI
and various martial arts disciplines; skintight cat costume features
retractable razor-sharp claws in gloves and spring-action steel
climbing pitons in boots; wields a variety of bullwhips and
cat-o’-nine tails as offensive weapons and gymnastic accoutrements.
KEY STORYLINES
• CATWOMAN (1ST SERIES) #1-4 (FEBRUARY–MAY
1989) Selina Kyle’s life on the mean streets of
Gotham City is recounted.
• DETECTIVE COMICS #759-762
(AUGUST–NOVEMBE
hired to find the missing and presumed-dead
Selina.
• CATWOMAN (3RD SERIES) #1-4 (JANUARY–APRIL
2002) Catwoman stalks and defeats a
shape-changing serial killer who is
hunting Gotham’s ladies of
the evening.
THE FELINE FATALE
To protect herself from predators, Selina studied martial arts in a backstreet dojo where a
Sensei taught her how best to use her claws. Later, ex-heavyweight champ Ted Grant (see
WILDCAT I) taught Selina the “sweet science” of boxing. For a time, Selina was the most
accomplished thief nobody knew. She was also one of the most generous, spreading her
ill-gotten gains around the downtrodden and destitute of the East End,
including the young prostitute Holly “Gonightly”
Robinson, whom Selina befriended and
watched over like the little sister she
believed she no longer had.
Selina would have continued to rob
with impunity if not for the BATMAN.
Spying the Caped Crusader from her
window on one of his first outings, Selina
watched him in action and was suitably
inspired to take up her own costume when
prowling the Gotham night. In a tight
leather catsuit, Catwoman marked the city
as her territory. However, she never killed,
and she only stole from the wealthiest or
the well-insured. For these reasons, Batman
pursued other costumed criminals more relentlessly and gave Catwoman
the chance to change her spots. Sometimes he even asked the Princess
of Plunder to use her skills for the betterment of Gotham. Perhaps his
altruism attracted her, because Selina ultimately did decide to make
Catwoman more than just a thief in the night.
After faking her own demise, Selina left Gotham for a time, but
eventually returned to the city’s East End, where Catwoman now defends the defenseless.
Catwoman learned Batman’s best-kept secret when the Dark Knight took her to his
Batcave and revealed his identity to her. They finally admitted their feelings for each other
but then parted because Catwoman did not believe that Batman trusted her. Selina began
seeing private detective Slam Bradley, but Slam realized that Selina’s
heart would always belong to Batman.
Catwoman continues to enjoy
adventures on the “other” side
of the fence now, stealing only
when necessary and usually if
the loot will ultimately do
someone other than herself
a bit of good.
Everyone is always categorizing everyone else. Even I do it, even though I hate it. If I see a girl in tight clothes, clutching a boy's hand, I imagine them to be a bit of a slut or preppy. If I see a boy wearing tight jeans and a Hollister shirt and he's friends with all girls, I imagine he's gay. If I see a person in all black with dark eyeliner, I think they're going to love Manson and they probably imagine that they're goth. But in truth, none of these things really hold true. I've done my best to stop stereotyping, but I don't like it when people do it to me. At Notre Dame we all wear uniforms, even though we can tell what they'd wear normally. Because of these uniforms I think my mind has been a little changed. I am now basing people on personality and their actual thoughts, not just appearance. One of my best friends I thought was a slut when I got here. And she is, but she's so nice and funny. Some of my friends I thought were overachievers, but turns out they're art freaks (I mean that in the most positive way). One of my guy friends appears to be preppy but in reality is more of a stoner than anything. Everything changes. No one here sees me as punk or gothic or weird (or whatever they thought of me in Ste. Gen). They see me as a person, creative and fun-loving. And I think in return, I owe the same insight to everyone else who can look past the surface and get to know the real me.