Later, whenever that is.

I only have four minutes before I leave for work. How much could I possibly say?

I dreamt about being on a boat and keeping the baby from falling off. I was afraid I would be late for work and I was texting Jeremy but the font kept messing up and then the text was 8 pages long and I realized that would probably be really annoying to receive. And I was going to be late for work.

I should look for jobs today. After I go to the gym. And the grocery. And do my laundry.

I weigh 206.4! That's totally 113.6 pounds lost! Who wants more?!?! I know I do!

Two minutes left and now I'm thinking I should enter this loss into sparkpeople.com. But I can do that later. When I have more than two minutes and less of a desire to write.

I should write that book. I should do it right now. But I keep wanting to spend my time other places. Obviously.

One minute and I've got to put some shoes on. I'll be back later. Whenever that is.

What if it hurts?

I just wanted to write and then I got distracted by all kinds of stuff. The baby came in and decided she likes me today. She is actually talking a lot more now. Its her birthday today. When she climbed into my bed I saw the bottoms of her feet were completely black so I talked her into going into the bathroom so I could wash her feet. Then we came back to my room where I proceeded to spray her with body spray and put lotion on her feet and legs. I massaged her little feet while she decided to rub lotion on her belly in circles.

There is something about taking care of a persons feet that feels like saying I love you. Washing away the dirt and smoothing out the skin of her two-year-old little feet seemed important to me. Then I washed her face and (tried to) brush her teeth and I carried her around the house with me while I washed my face and brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. She talked to me about stuff in nonsense words and I told her what I was doing and why. It was very, very nice. It kind of made me want to have a little person like that one day. One day far, far away. But one day. And the little person would be part me and part some man I love and I could make sure that her little feet and teeth and face were clean every night before she went to bed. I could make sure she ate healthy foods and played outside in the sun (with sunscreen) and got read to often and participated in stimulating activities and knew what it was to be loved unconditionally. But this baby, I only get to see her for minutes at a time and she watches TV too much and eats junk food and drinks pops. Its awful. I'm going to talk about something else.

Well yesterday I went out to lunch with Krystal and it was satisfying because I missed her so darn much. Then we went hiking with Jeremy and things seemed weird and he was quiet and I couldn't figure out why. It made me worry and I was uncomfortable until he told us that Reese was sick and dying and he had to dig the grave that morning. I was sad to hear that and relieved that he finally told us. Later that night Jeremy and I went to PF Changs. We saw Nika, or rather, Nika saw us as she screamed my name across the restaurant. She complimented Jeremys hair and that unnerved him because he has brought it up several times since then.

After dinner we went to Lil Chicagos to see some bands with Johnna. Sarah was there and offered to buy Jeremys drinks. He drank alot. So did Sarah. Drunk people are sure fun to watch but I was ready to go home and was glad when Jeremy suggested that because Sarah kept wanting to play pool. It smelled so bad in there. So bad. Jeremy gets really, really nice when he drinks. He told me I smelled sweet like sugar and that I drove him home with grace and beauty. And he said I have a beautiful voice. It was really nice to hear that last one because I've always been a little nervous to sing in front of him. He notices absolutely everything I was afraid he would only hear everything I'm doing wrong when I sing. But I guess I don't have to be so nervous. He seems to see the good in me. I don't understand that when I'm so used to focusing on the bad parts.

I stayed for a little while because I wanted to make sure he took a vitamin and drank enough water. We started watching a french movie and I was getting sleepy. So, I left before I got too tired to drive. Apparently I left too early because he threw up a lot after that. I should have stayed. I should have been there to take care of him.

And then Sunday we all went to see Inglorious Bastards. That was after I made myself breakfast and reveled in the joy of another pound lost. When we all drove off after the movie I was worrying about Jeremy because he had to go home and bury Reese. Krystal had church and Billy had work and I didn't know if Jeremy was a person that needed to be alone or needed to be distracted after sad stuff so I asked if he would go to Chipotle with me. I never know what to say or do when sad stuff happens. When its me, I try to think about anything else at all. But what about other people? So I wasn't sure if I should ask about Reese or talk about other things. Jeremy noticed. He notices everything. Well hopefully not everything.

So we finished watching that french movie and then watched another. Now I'm home and not ready for bed. I don't even know why I felt the need to write about all of that. Its boring if you weren't there, I think. Its like something for the other blog. The stuff we did. But that's the stuff I did and I was writing about it so I didn't write what I'm really thinking. What I'm really feeling.

Do you ever feel like you just can't say the same thing enough? Because I keep feeling it and telling my friends about it once doesn't even begin to cover the intensity in which the thing is affecting my life. And also, I don't like complicated things and things just seem to keep getting complicated.

There are things I wanted that I found I hated when they were in my hands.

There are things I never imagined I would need until I stumbled across them.

There are things I haven't found yet and am not willing to give up on.

I am a flawed creature, but I need someone to love me anyway. I need someone to search out the best parts of me and accept the worst. I need someone to open up and show me the best and worst of them too. Someone to laugh with. Someone to sing with. Someone who will go on adventures with me and grow with me and so many other things.

He has to be smart.

He must be happy.

And active.

And good with words. Because I need to be told. There are things I cannot read in facial expressions and causal touches and flirty remarks. I don't like hints and suggestions and games. I know those things are fun but I don't get it. I need him to tell me things. With words. Better for him to be blunt and alarmingly honest. But then I should be too.

Right.

But what if it hurts?

To my Person:

Fill me up. Fill me up until I cannot hold anymore. Drink from me. Press your lips to my skin and drink until you've had enough. Lift me up and pull me back down to you. Spin me around until the world is a blur and all I can see is your face. I'll stand still while you run circles around me and you are only the breath of wind on my skin and the occasional flash of color. Hold me. Hold me until I forget what its like to not touch you. My skin will grow accustomed to your warmth and then every moment without you will be like ice.

And love me. Love me for who I am now and all the people I'll be in the future too. I'll find every beautiful thing about you and cherish it. I'll search and dig and look until I know you better than myself. And I will love you. More than you ever thought possible. More than you think you could deserve.

Challenge me. Push me to the edges of my comfort zone and plunge with me into the frigid waters of adventure. Together we will make waves the likes no one has ever seen. We are going to be great together, you and I. People will look and wonder and want the kind of joy they seeing flowing back and forth between us. Shining out of our eyes and fingertips and sparkling in every breath. They will call us newlyweds at our fiftieth anniversary and our children will hope that one day, one day they will find someone to complete them so.

And we will have glorious fights. I'll say things to you that should never be said to another person. I'll get so mad that I just drive off in my car and cry in the walmart parking lot. You'll ignore me at dinner time and probably yell a time or two. Sometimes we'll have civilized conversations where we share whats bothering us without the anger, but the anger will come. And it will only make us appreciate the peace that much more. We'll come back to each other like two magnets finally released. My world won't be the same without your smile.

It will be work. It will probably be the hardest, longest project we ever start: this life together. We won't understand how it was so easy at the beginning. But we'll see the beauty in the thing we are building. This insubstantial castle. And at the end of it all, there at the close of our lives, there will be nothing we cherish quite so much. It will be like somehow we grew invisible body parts that attach us through the open air and nothing could ever make us two people again.

We are going to be glorious together.

So come close to me. Come take my hand and demand my time. Come look into my eyes and ask questions and tell me all about you. Be bold. Be joyful. Be strong. Be smart.

I'll be here waiting for you,

Me

I smell like smoke and french toast. Not a good combination.

I'm about to go to walmart to buy a workout/dance video to do in the living room. Never thought that compulsion would happen to me. I'm a complete stranger. I have the same name and hair. My voice is familiar, but the things that come out of my mouth are not.

Thats not what I wanted to talk about. But I think what I wanted to talk about I need an actual person in front of me for. A girl. Yes, a girl. Its about boy feelings.

This makes me feel like one of those awful movies where the plot is always the same and its just different characters and places. Stupid, stupid feelings. But then I like the way it feels to hope and look into his eyes and wonder.

But oh my goodness. Its kind of scary when those gaga goggles come off and then I wonder how on earth I had feelings for THAT guy. Are you familiar with this? And then I look at him and try to remember what it was that made my heart race or my fingers to itch to touch him and instead I feel that cold, steel wall around my heart telling me this man isn't right for me. This man would hurt me. Hmm.

I'm terrified of people sometimes. I wonder if that ever goes away. I'm gonna go to walmart now.

We built castles of flame and wove baskets of fire, but they too became little more than glowing piles of ash.

I wrote a journal entry I couldn't post here but:

Maybe we could give and give to each other and never run out and never have too much. That’s what those awful vines whisper to my heart. Squeezing. Promising. Hoping. Impossible.

Self-therapy in three-two-one:

Krystal suggested I write because it always makes me feel better. I suppose she is right. I hope you'll forgive my lack of a point or any kind of organization at all.

I worry that living here with these people is causing irreversible damage to my personality. That now somehow I will always be too much for another person to handle. I am damaged goods, right? But surely this isn't true. I know we all have our own secret horrible places that we think no one else could handle.

This is what I've learned:

No one else will take care of me. I am everyone's last priority. I shouldn't even begin to hope that I could trust someone with my care. I will worry about it all by myself. I got it. I don't need a hand. I don't need your help. I don't want to lean on a crutch that may suddenly disappear at any moment.

It doesn't matter when I'm upset. I'm probably causing a big fuss over nothing at all. I am ridiculous. I should just shut up and deal with whatever is going on because no one is going to change for me. I have to accept it for what it is. Even if "it" is a serious drug problem or illegal activities or hazardous to my health. Deal with it and stop complaining. Other people have it worse, right?

And everyone lies. People will tell me what they think I want to hear even it if is completely inaccurate. Even if the truth is going to come out very, very soon. Lying is a price worth paying for a few hours of silence. I don't deserve enough respect to be told the truth. They think I am too stupid to recognize the lies.

I shouldn't forget how much I have. Things like running water and toilet paper and food should never be taken for granted. Neither should things like feeling safe at night or having a place to live. I only remember this when suddenly these things are gone. Maybe if I were more grateful, I wouldn't lose so much all the time.

You have to love people as they are. Sometimes there are parts of people that are absolutely horrible. Parts you could never understand. Parts you don't know if you can handle. But you can't pick parts to love and parts to ignore. A person is a whole. Don't go in expecting change or improvement. Just accept and love and hope. That's all we can do. That's all we can hope for in return.

Disagreements are scary. They lead to screaming and slamming doors and throwing things and sometimes hitting. Its better to just leave. Its better to hide. Its better to scream into a pillow and pray the problems go away on their own.

Compartmentalize. I don't let the horror of one part of my life spill into another. Like floodgates. Keep it separate. Worrying and fretting and thinking over a problem fix nothing at all. Nothing gets better if I am sad about it all the time. So I'll forget about it until I get home. I'll let the joy of the moment fill me up as completely as possible. It doesn't matter what is happening at home when I'm not there.

I am strong. I don't care what assumptions people make when they see me. I don't care if they can't see past the surface. I am strong. I have survived every worst day of my life. I hold up under pressure. I find light in the darkness. I sing through the pain. I don't crumble; I am a better person for it.

This did make me feel better.

They lie to me so casually, as if I am some ignorant child. It doesn't matter how many times I tell them, it never gets through: I would much rather be upset about what you've really done than be upset about what you've really done AND be upset that you lied to me about it. Its horrible. How many more times can I say this?

What would you say, I wonder, if I told you this?

Its embarrassing how much I think about you. Even when I can't control it. Waking up from dreams where you were the star. I dream about people a lot, but they are usually passing thoughts like seeing strangers at the mall. These dreams are about you though. I can't even read my cell phone in my dream so I hand it to you. It is dark but you can see. I am alone and then you are there. I am asleep and you wake me up. I am scared and you comfort me. You save me. You take me away.

What would you say, I wonder, if I told you this?

And then I talk about you too much. No one says it, but they make assumptions that aren't true. How can I explain how I love you? Its a love that is content with what is. I don't want anything from you that you don't already give. I don't hope for more than what is there. I am content. I have enough. But no one would believe that. I don't even believe it.

I don't understand a feeling like this. One that fills me up and yet doesn't hope for more. I understood the way it felt to yearn for more and never get enough. I knew how it was to be looked over, ignored, not good enough for attention. But you see me and spend time with me and make me feel worth attention. And you talk to me and make me laugh and make me feel safe. What more should I hope for?

And then when you aren't with me I wonder. What are you doing now? Are you happy or anxious or bored? Will you tell me stories about it when I see you again? What would you do if you were here right now? I'm sure you would say something funny to lighten the mood. I'm sure you would know if that was honeysuckle. You would probably make fun of me for doing that. You would have gotten that spiderweb and when I wandered down that path and changed my mind, you would have pushed me forward, into an adventure.

I would call you my best friend but that feels wrong. Doesn't my best friend have to be a girl? And it seems like I should know you longer before I use a word like that. And if you were my best friend I should feel comfortable telling you how much I enjoy you. But I'm not completely honest about it. I fear saying it too much, too honestly. Because the gender is all wrong, I think. I don't want you to misunderstand. Because I don't even understand. But I don't want to ruin things with my confusion. I've seen the aftermath of saying the wrong thing. But can I tell you that I love you? It isn't the kind of love that make me want to touch you and make promises. Its the kind of love that makes me want to unravel your secrets and help bear your burdens and share adventures and see what you do next. Its the kind of love that makes me want to somehow make your life better.

But I worry. Maybe I shouldn't talk to you for a few days in case you need a break from me. You need breaks from other people, you probably need them from me too. Its always harder for me the more time I spend with a person. It gets easier to not miss people the longer they are gone. So I think about you most often the day after I see you. A couple days later and I'm thinking about other stuff mostly. I don't think other people are like this. I think other people are the opposite.

And it scares me to care for people too much. I know what it is to love someone and have them completely disregard anything that matters to me. I know what it is to be left behind and forgotten, reeling from the sudden hole left in my life. It makes me want to keep a safe distance. I want to shore up a secret part of myself that could survive if you decided to morph into one of those monsters that people become. I don't want to give you all of myself. I don't do that for anyone anymore. Not after last time. I couldn't survive that again.

I wanted to tell you that my standard for people is higher now. If people like you exist, then I don't want to settle for less than that. There are good things about you I didn't know people could be. I don't know if you are the only one, but how could I dare hope for less than what I've seen in you? Now when I meet my Person, I'm going to be holding up this invisible you-shaped measuring stick. Does he meet the standard? He's going to have to be a little more broken than you though. I'm terribly, terribly messed up inside. Someone equally messed up should be with me so neither one of us feels not good enough. I'm awfully tired of feeling not good enough.

Now I just want to listen to you talk. Sometimes when you are talking I try to figure out exactly what response would keep you talking. Sometimes the answer is silence and silence is hard for me. But I want to know what you think and how you feel and what you wonder about and what plagues you at night and what you are hopeful for and all kinds of other things. I want you to be able to tell me anything like you said I could tell you anything.

I have written SO much about this and still words flood into my fingertips. I am at war with myself about whether or not to post this. I want to speak. I want to be heard. But I don't know if I should speak this to you. I don't know if you would read this anyway. But then I nearly always say too much. And I've never gotten a bad response from you.

Is everyone else so terrified of actually getting close to people? Is it always this scary to love someone?

I am not smooth and whole, but I will keep you warm at night.

How many mornings will I be woken up by screams? This new house has walls like paper and I hear every word, every slammed door. And now she is smoking in the bathroom with the door closed. The smoke fills up the tiny space and I can't go in there. Should I go somewhere else to pee? Does anyone else ever worry about this? I could hold my breath long enough, I think, but the smoke would sneak into my hair and wrap itself around my skin and follow me into the bedroom like the screams.

And who should I tell? It burns inside me like quiet embers, the glowing evidence of a raging fire. No one can see the flames, but do they see the scars? And what good would that do anyway? No one is going to take me away and make it all better. I never trust anyone enough to let them do something like that anyway. I know its awful here, but here is familiar. Here is what I know.

What are they screaming about? Is it drugs this time? Money? Aren't those the same thing? The cigarette smoke is in the hallway now. Long fingers of it now creep invisibly under my door. It doesn't matter about the door, though. It is swirling now into the air conditioner intake. It will pass through the rumbling machine and blow through my bedroom vent with vigor now. No more need to hide. I can't see it and the AC has turned the hot weight of it to a cold burn that fills up the secret places in my nose with ash. And the screaming continues.

I wonder how normal people sleep? My father would tell me I ought to be grateful I have a place to sleep at all. He would say that other people have it so much worse, who am I to complain? I am unhappy, that's what I am. I know other people have it worse, but I can the evidence that some people don't deal with this. I didn't understand that when I was a child. I assumed everyone knew what it was like for the police to come in the middle of the night to stop Mommy from chasing Daddy with the 2X4. I assumed every parent had more than one personality. People change so much when they are "tired" as they call it. I know better now. Should I still sit here in silence? They are never silent.

How would it feel to sleep with the bedroom door unlocked? Or even worse, open? Or to lay in bed not crowded with fear and anger? Fear crawls close to my chest and sends my heart into a panicked, lopsided stumble at the first sound. It opens my eyes and ears as I stare at the doorknob, praying it doesn't move, that the screaming stays on the other side of the walls. Anger is gentler, wrapping itself around my fingers and slowly bringing them into fists. The nails dig into the flesh of my palms. The heat spreads under my skin in trickles like rain down a windshield.

Finally, finally, finally: silence. Now the decision comes; do I go back to sleep or should I leave? If I sleep again, it will inevitably lead to another episode of screaming. How long do I have? Twenty minutes? An hour? And if I leave, where shall I go? The gym is good but I can only stay there so long. And I don't have money for things. I can't go to a friends house. I don't know how much to tell them about this.

When I try to share, I get the same response all the time. I'm so sorry Sarah Jo. You are so strong Sarah Jo. I didn't know you had to deal with that. You seem to be handling it so well. Somehow I earn a new respect and a new pity. Its uncomfortable now like a fever blister or a pimple. We all know its there. And it hurts. But all you can do is pretend it isn't there and hope time fixes things quickly.

But how can I tell them I'm not strong? These screaming words are fine razors, dragging shallow lines across my soul. I wake up and I cry and I beg the ever-silent god to make it all go away. To save me. But there is always another morning and I am absolutely covered in scars. Who will love me now? Mottled in scars like lines of stitches on a quilt. I am not smooth and whole, but I will keep you warm at night.

One day, I tell myself, I will have forgotten how it feels to feel this way. Time and circumstance will change the situation and I'll take for granted a peaceful morning, a quiet discussion. It will be like the weight loss. The memory always a looming horror, but behind me now and only thought of occasionally. This is my silver lining. This is my promise to myself.

Who is this girl?

Who is that girl, with eyes so like mine?

Who is she with her painted nails and eyes?

She looks back at me with a foreign confidence

as if she dares to demand attention

as if she is worth a second glance.

Who is she, this girl with my skin and hair and lips?

How did she get to be in those heels, in that dress?

I don't understand the smile or tilt of her hips.

As if she knows how it feels to feel beautiful

or what it means to be happy all by herself.

I understood the one with the downcast gaze,

the quiet speech and still hands.

I knew so well those awkward stumbles

and that heavy insecurity on those rounded shoulders.

The shackles and that look of defeat,

they were my intimate friends.

Where have they gone?

And at my feet now

a new path stretches forth.

This one is so unlike those paved ways,

roads smooth, unbroken, wide.

No, this one twists and climbs up

near and distant hills

with hidden valleys

roots, shrubs, spiderwebs, and streams.

And who is this girl, with hands so like mine?

Who is she with her strong legs and sure footing?

She looks back at me with anticipation

as if she knows where we are going

as if nothing can stand in her way.

Who is she, this girl with my tongue and toes and fingertips?

How did she get that laughter in her eyes, with those friends?

I don't understand the things she does or how she feels.

As if she is only a temporary phenomenon,

or some small step in a larger plan.

Who is this girl, standing in my place in the mirror?

Who is she with her tanned face and tattooed leg?

She looks back at me with eyes full of questions

but I know she knows how it feels to feel beautiful

and what it means to be happy all by herself.

Complaining!

I have to leave for work in ten minutes. I need to find a second job because I want to move out so so so bad. This house is completely so much worse than the last one and its driving me crazy. Actually, the people are. I want an apartment. So I was thinking of getting a job at kohls warehouse during the weekend shift. I hope that wouldn't suck too bad. It couldn't suck more than being here, right? Then I could pay down my credit cards for a month or so and then move out. Right? Right. I hope this all works out well.

I think I'll need a roommate. Or roommates. I'll worry about that part later. Right now I'm trying to vent the crazy energy that is the anger I feel for my family right now. And also the stress about money. I wish I had been more responsible. I wish I was more responsible. I just want to go away somewhere. I just want it all to be better. But its not better. There are always, always new problems that make the old problems seem okay.

On the plus side, I finally started tracking my calories again and the very next day (today) I'm down a pound. So, responsibility has its rewards. But I'm thinking this time I need to be held accountable. I'll need help with this. Gotta go!

Moving

Oh. My. God. I've been up for exactly 20 minutes and I've already reached my limit. I might hurt someone. I might hurt myself. I might just leave and not come back. Something terrible will happen. I'm sure of it!

This is what its like to come home:

We are in the process of moving. I was trying to clean all my laundry today before the washer and dryer get moved. I forgot about a load of laundry in the dryer when I went out with my friends. When I came home, the clothes are no where to be found.

Mom is slumped over the sink trying to do dishes with her eyes closed, I guess. Dad is telling mom to go to bed while suggesting I look for my clothes in all the places I've already looked for my clothes. He also gives me reasons why he couldn't possibly know where the clothes are. Mom mumbles incoherently as she fills the same glass with water over and over again.

I rifle through every basket of clothes laying around. I check the dryer again. I open closet doors and check my room and search the floors and open boxes. No clothes.

My brother and his girlfriend are already at the new house. Maybe they know. Maybe they took my clothes? He calls them. Apparently someone took my clothes out of the dryer and put them on the floor. There is nothing on the floor now. There are no clothes in my room. The laundry baskets are full of other peoples clothes. The only place I cannot investigate is the washing machine.

The washing machine is running and it has a locked door that will not unlock before the cycle finishes. Its on the final spin. I ask my father what clothes are in the washing machine. He claims the clothes are the ones everyone wore while moving today. I want to look at them so I stand in the laundry room and stare at the machine, waiting for it to finish. Dad sways, watching me watch the washer. I suppose he grew tired of waiting so he hits the cancel button on the washing machine. Now, the door is STILL locked and the only option is to restart the washing cycle. I tell him this.

His first plan of action is to repeatedly hit the cancel button. That seems to do nothing at all but the alcohol has long diminished his reasoning abilities so he hits the button some more. And more. Finally I point out that this particular course of action seems to have no effect. I'll just have to start the cycle again. I'll just have to wait another half hour to find out if my clothes are in the washing machine (probably mixed with THEIR clothes, probably with dish soap instead of laundry detergent, probably not separated by color, probably with someones ink pen or cigarettes floating in the water) or if they just disappeared completely. My colors. All my colors. My pretty, pretty clothes.

I am so unhappy right now. This shouldn't be this difficult.

My anger must be apparent in my sigh or my crossed arms or the violence in which I punch the start button because dad yanks the power cord from the socket and throws it to the ground. He tells me how tired he is and how early he had to get up and exactly how much he has done for me today. I don't respond. The washing machine would have been done by now if he hadn't hit that stupid button. This is clearly not my fault. Now, with no power, he pulls on the washing machine door. Its locked still. He plugs it back in. Locked. He hits the cancel button over and over and over again. I tell him I'll just restart the washer. He goes away.

I prepare to run the shortest cycle possible. I have to change about three settings. I hit the start button. Just in case, I try the cancel button again. The door opens.

Inside the washing machine I see clothes of absolutely every color. And there, my colors. They don't smell like laundry detergent. And the machine is so full of clothes that they wont come out easily. And somehow everything is a little grayer. And this yellow one is now covered in blue spots. And oh, there are the washcloths they used to clean the walls. Nice. And my clothes. My once pretty, pretty clothes.

It shouldn't be this difficult. And thats not even all of it.

We should eat valconoes for breakfast together.

I like to write. That doesn't mean I need to be articulate all the time.

I'm joyful. That doesn't mean I have to be happy all the time.

So anyway, I'm kind of unhappy right now. And who am I going to tell about it? I'm a liar. Thats what I am. Isn't that what it is when I pretend to be okay and happy when really I'm feeling other things inside? Isn't it lying when I don't tell my own friends how I'm feeling when I'm in the same room with them? When I put on that smile and they don't see the truth behind it? Yep. I'm a liar. But I hate confrontation. Its so much easier to just pretend and then stop hanging around. Thats what I tell myself. But recent experience has taught me that if I just tell him, everything is magically better. He has a freakin invisible magic wand that fixes my feelings. But instead I sat quietly and tried my best to keep it all off my face.

I don't know what would have been the best option. Who ever does?