Tap-tap -- is this thing on????

Well hello random stranger who came seeking funny monkey pictures. Here you are. Welcome to my blog.

If you are a regular reader then this probably won't be as funny as my previous gems. It's confession time. They say confession is good for the sole.
Not a typo.
The sole of the boot that's been up me arse.
I've been pulling a Garbo.

But I'm here now. Ayup.  Sorry it's been a while since I posted something new. I've been otherwise occupied. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone gets busy.  Sure.
You see, well...I got sick.

Yes, I know, I write about the flu a lot. I'm a mom. It happens. Kids are little petri dishes of woe. Whoa, man.

WHOA!!!!!!!

But this isn't the flu.

Oh! Hey! Where are you going? Fine. Here's another monkey pic:

A fabboooooooo drunk monkey. Wasted.


Happy? Cool. I'm just gonna keep typing so feel free to browse through the other pics. It's easier to open up to strangers about this stuff. You know what I mean? And it's kind of startling and a wake up call/reality check of how small my world really is.
So, here goes.
It's quite the tale. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...wait...that sounds familiar. Snerk.

Don't worry. I'm not dying. It's nothing as morbid as that, but it's been a suck-ass life changer for sure.
And the pisser? The docs are still juggling diagnoses. Of course they are.
They drop a bomb and then change their minds. Oh...wait...it's another bomb!
First it's this.
And then it's that.
Then it's definitely not this. But wait...it could still be that. Tests show this, but that part looks good. We'll have to watch that -- check back in a year with another MRI. Weeeeeeeeeeee

It started with the not sleeping so well. Insomnia. It's plagued me for years. A writer's best friend...right? Ummm, no.

But it got worse. See pain was waking me up and keeping me up all night. Pain...all over my body. Random spots just deciding they'd be on fire for a few days (or weeks or months). I may have mentioned my hellbow once or twice here. Maybe not. I may have saved that public whining for my Facewall. Cackle™
Anyhoo the pain started becoming a 24/7 thing. Yes. It does make you grumpy when your body hurts. Everywhere. For no reason. I didn't even get to claim an awesome drunk wipeout story for it either.

 
When I was in my late teens to mid twenties I had migraines. Bad ones. Hooooo.
They went away as I got older. yay! Maturity.

I got regular headaches every once in a while in my thirties -- I could tell the difference. It's easy. You could, too.  Do you have a headache? Do you wish you were dead? hahaha. sigh. No? Not a migraine.

Anyway....minor headaches started coming back about a year ago. Pretty much every day I'd have one. Little tension headaches, but always there. Pop a tylenol, see the chiro, it would fade for a day. Sweet!

About twelve weeks (maybe more) ago stuff started getting odd.

Ever have one of those weird muscle cramps? You know the kind where you think perhaps something has found its way up your pant leg and is making its way not-so-stealthily towards your whatevers?
Or the kind of muscle spasm that feels like invisible fingers are just repeatedly poking/shoving/poking/shoving/po---
okay, you get the picture.
The other fun one is the zingy tingles down my arms and legs, and then all of a sudden my legs feel like I've just done a gazillionty-jillion (yes...that is a number) squats. My legs shake when I walk.  Sometimes even give out.
Falling sucks.

Here's a fun one: Gravity wells. What's a gravity well?

These are gravity wells. Little dips and spacial anomalies that trip up your feet, carry your forward progress to the nth degree, tip you sideways if you list even slightly in that direction.

They leave you sprawled on the floor in the thrall of the WTF DIZZIES! OH GOD MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!

It's time I defied gravity...

Of course you knew I'd go here. I'm in Broadway asshole mode.

 
I feel wicked spacey all of the time. The dizzies are one with my wah. Space, man. The final frontier.

Hey! I'm just like Sandra Bullock now. Whatevs.

And the mind numbing fatigue??? Oh. damn.

So I think I'm painting a clear picture -- my muscles are rebelling. That includes my eyeball muscles (you need to say it with a weird speech impediment -- MUSHULLLLSHHH)

The left side of my face will just randomly start twitching, and then it goes numb. Here comes the fun part....my eye goes on a walk about. wah wah wah wahhhhhh....just gives up and points at the floor.
I call it my Colin Hay eye. It's a wonky fucker.

SEE???? Look at that wanderer!!!!

It goes back to normal after about twenty minutes, but I see four of everything while I'm waiting (pssssst...and I'm dizzy as feck).
My right eye has retinal migraines. No pain. None. Just bizarre twisty colour shows for twenty minutes out of that eye.
Lately, if I look at something even slightly bright, the edges have the rainbows. Other things are a bit bleary, but also with rainbows. All of the time.

And I'm wicked dizzy 24/7.

AWESOME.
My voice is gravelly. Sometimes it's an adventure swallowing. Sometimes I have this strange tremor so my head looks like a bobble head.

Bounce. twitch. Shimmy.

Looks like I'm constantly nodding yes when in fact inside my head I'm screaming no, no, NO!!!!!

Don't get me started on the brain fog/word salad.
I am slow. Sometimes I can't even do simple math -- that's humbling. Sometimes I'm quick as whip.
The writing of this blog post occurred over a two day span. Lots of typo editing. Lots of bad grammar editing. LOTS of "WTF was I trying to say there?" editing.
I mix up words very easily. I speak very slowly. Sometimes I slur my words.
You get it. I'm slow. 

Before all the eyeball BS started happening, one doc thought it might be fibromyalgia.
Hmmm. Could be. 
I'm going to make some enemies now.
I apologize. I want you to know that I do recognize that Fibro is a real syndrome with real issues and real sufferers. I do. Honestly I do.

But *almost  every person I know with fibro is such a fuc&#**@ Pus&*$$y about it.

*almost. There are a few friends who have it but don't blame it for the hole in the ozone layer or the invasion of Ukraine.
The others?????
OH MY GOD!!!!!! Gah!

And that's what I said to the doc. I laughed. He laughed. And then a few days later my eyeball stopped playing nice.
Uh-oh. That took everything to a new level. The MS level.  And transfer to a new MS specialist.
 I'm getting ahead of myself. Here's a catch up -- Hop in the way back machine:

Five years ago I had an MRI because I was having some slightly similar issues (that went into remission when I got knocked up! Oh! Hey!).
The scan showed two areas of lesions that were in the right area for MS. Dun, dun, dun, dunnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

YUP.
My MRI was submitted to an MS clinic for review and just like a posh Ivy League College hoop jumping extravaganza, I was accepted!  Oh goodie!
There's that gallows humour to cover the butt pucker terrified.
Symptoms weren't definitive then for a diagnosis of MS, but it was on the radar. They told me to keep an eye on things.
Foreboding much????

NOW HOP OUT OF THE WAY BACK MACHINE.
Welcome to 2014.
(We now rejoin this blog in progress)

So...when Wonkyfuck eyeball went south...MRI time.  Again.
I would have had to go through the whole review process again. Because I was in the middle of a current symptom storm/symptom cluster, I was accepted into a different MS clinic with a shorter waiting list. Instead of six months it was three. But they actually worked me in a month early.
The doc is amazing. I love her.
The good news is that the lesions have "NOT SIGNIFICANTLY GROWN" which is an excellent thing. The new neurologist said that that was good and that it made whatever was going on most likely perhaps not MS. Not definitive. Have to wait a year. There are certain cases of MS that do not have lesion growth but the patient does exhibit significant relapse/remission episodes.
The doc did put that out there.

That's a collective sigh of relief from the peanut gallery. It's been a very scary twelve weeks.

Back to the Doc and her wisdom making.
She said the brain leeeeeesssssiiioooonnnssss could be caused by (use science voice now) ACEPHALGIC MIGRAINES.  Basically no-pain migraines that swell up the head noodle, electric storms, mimic TIA's and strokes, and can cause the crazy eyeball wander, face numbness/droop/aphasia/dizziness. Cool. Kind of.
So that's what she's aiming at fixing. It's tangible. Mostly. 
She put me on an anti seizure medication. It's hard core and supposed to help with the brain stuff. Maybe. Hopefully.
It hasn't yet.
Side effects?
Of course. Dizziness. yeah.

I'm on other meds for pain and possible Fibro. They've done fuck all.
Because pain??? Oh yes. It's there. A lot. 

No definitive reason for the muscle shite yet.  Well there is, but MS has been tabled until next year.

As of this week, my left side is on twitch/spasm patrol.  The head bobble had mellowed a bit, but it's back with a vengeance.  My hands shake like I'm mainlining triple espressos. GRAVITY WELLS!!!!!!
When I have to interact with folks I keep the time to a minimum. I can maintain for about 15 minutes. After that.......oooof.  I'm the poster child of drain bamage.

see? Another funny, distracting monkey pic.

The longer this goes, the more I think it is MS and I'm just wasting time with other meds. At least the lesions aren't progressing. That's something.
I'm not a doctor. I just play one on TV. 

Who knows. I do know that I'm scared. I'm scared for my kids. The last thing I want is for them to have a sick/twitching/addle-brained mom. As it stands I try and hide as much of the major episodes from them as I can.
Needless to say I've been kind of a shut in. I don't want to talk about this and explain this. Fuck that.
It's been hard on darling hubby. Yup. He's a bundle of stress. I feel so bad. But he's been my rock. The kids know something is going on...eldest sproggling is starting to stress. Damn it.
We don't have family close, either. His mom lives back east. His dad in TPRT.  My family is gone, gone, gone, baby, oh-so-gone to the great hereafter. My chosen family is close, but brother's got a heaping pile of universe eff uuuuuuu on his plate. Shout out to SIL. Hugs, babe. You're strong. But bro, I'm here for you. Hugs and love and smooshes. Wonder Twin link bingo. Don't channel my twitches anymore!!!!!

I've got FB peeps...but they live elsewhere.
I sound pathetic. And I suppose I'm lashing out at the universe. One friend said, "I know you. You can't hide shit from me. What's going on?" ha. Sermon received, Preacher Dick. 

I hang out in my deck office, not-smoking smoking (shhhhhh....I'm quitting), mulling over the scary shit going on in my body and not writing/creating/doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I just can't right now.

So yeah. I'm gonna share with you....my random monkey pic seekers. We're havin' ourselves a LION KING moment.
Can you feel the love tonight???

Me, too.

I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting. And between you and me, oh wonderful random stranger, I'm kind of sad that hubs and I are going through this alone. I've always been tough. I had to depend on only myself growing up, so I got used to being alone, being the outsider, not having a lot of friends. But he needs someone right now that he can vent to.
I have told a few people. It's amazing how friends that you make on the internet can become such a big, important, valued part of your life. But I don't talk about this that much. Everyone has their own stress.
Locally I've told a few folks.  But really, what can anyone do? I'm not touchy-feely.  I told one person, who I thought was a dear friend when she asked what was going on, and I also told her I'm not making a big deal out of it. I'm not. I'm a private person (except for this blog...but you are all wonderful strangers!). 
But this shit is scary.
That friend turned out out to be, well...not a friend.
In fact the folks who I had considered close friends for the last few years, and our other friends for over sixteen years turned out to be total wankers.  It was apparently inconvenient to be friends with a sick person. It didn't fit their lifestyle. I learned a very valuable lesson: Friends aren't supposed to make you feel bad.
So I simply shut down and circled the wagons. It's easier than constantly filling out a butthurt report form.

Oh well. If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have good christmas now wouldn't we.
Fuck it.

So...yeah. There it is. That's why I haven't blogged and supplied you with new pics.

Here:

I'm not complaining and this is the last you'll hear about what's going on in twitching monkey land.  I'm not going to whine about the hole in the ozone layer, the invasion of Ukraine, or speak again about brain lesions. Well...unless brain lesions are in a horror story context.
Not in my brain. In something else's brain.

Peace out.
The next post will be funnier. I'll write it hopped up on one of my pain meds.

Stay sideways.
Foinah

Larry

Death.  It's such a final word. The end. No more. Game's up, no more time outs or do-overs.  Inertia undone. Hmmmm.
The law of inertia states that it is the tendency of an object to resist a change in motion.  Newton's first law of motion: an object not subject to any net external force moves at a constant velocity. Thus an object will continue moving at its current velocity until some force causes its speed or direction to change.  Gravity, friction, contact, or some other source. 
Death? Bingo.
But perhaps death is just another form of inertia. It has a constant velocity. Once something is dead...it's dead.
Unless it's a zombie.

But I digress.
Death as an object. An obstacle.  It's an obstacle of life, certainly, with its own character and meaning. A vehicle to what lies beyond the physical state -- a blueshift of consciousness towards the hereafter, a red shift of life to un-life. Matter and energy.
Entropy. 

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be saved in various forms. 
In all energy exchanges, if no energy enters or leaves the system, the potential energy of the state will always be less than that of the initial state.

Uh-oh...Thermodynamics, and I'm not sure I want to open that can of worms.


Yeah. I'm using that damned physics degree to get all metaphysical and whatevs. Money well spent, eh?

I'd like to talk about Larry. 

Who is Larry? 

Both of us. 

It's complicated, but that's our name. A title bestowed upon both of us during a warm summer day and a drunken quest to find our guru. We found the guru, a tiki bar owner suitable as a stand-in, but realized that we (Larry and I, Larryx2) each were a guru to the other.  We were Larry. 

Who was my Larry?
My friend. My brother (chosen family). Part of my heart. He is (technically was) my best friend. He knew what I was thinking from just the look on my face. He knew when I was sad, he knew when I was feeling evil and rallied to help me purge the wicked -- a great provider of alibis and assistance. 
A musical sounding board. A brilliant musician and purveyor of all things awesome. He was there when I met my husband. He approved...mostly. Me falling in love meant that the inseparable Larry Duo of Legend would change. But he loved my DH because I loved my DH, and because Darling Hubby is awesome. He'd have to be. And he is. So Larry loved him as much as I did.

And yes, as you've probably surmised from the first part of this blog, my Larry died.
Suddenly. Unexpectedly. He had his very own singularity. His aorta went super nova and now I'm dwelling in the event horizon of the burgeoning black hole of loss. 

Deep, eh?
I don't do death well. Nope. Not at all. Shite, who does? Dying people do. But they kind of don't have a say in it really. They just clock in to the new job, heads down, backs bent, and head on in. 
Gallows humour is my constant sidekick. My comfort zone. Unfortunately I've been living in that comfort zone a little too much lately -- my sister, then my mom...now my beloved Larry. 
But please don't stop reading. This isn't a sad blog. I won't EMO you away from your day. (hhhmmm...that rhymed) 

But it's my humour that keeps me moving. Keeps me upright when all I want to do is collapse in a bundle of tears and loss and sadness.

Damn it...I wandered again. This post is about Larry and saying goodbye.  I'm still working on that. In HE MAN world they never say goodbye, they say GOOD JOURNEY.

yeah, baby. Track 5.

Where the feck did that come from? 

I got the call that Larry had suffered an aortic aneurysm and that he was in surgery. But I knew...too much damned edjumacayshun for my own good...that he was gone.  I steadied myself for what was coming. Others begged and pleaded with the universe, buoyed themselves with hope, and I just sat quietly knowing what was coming. I hated myself for that. I wished that I could be the friend who was optimistic. The one who had faith. In truth I was numb. 
It wasn't fair. 
In three weeks he was coming home to me here, leaving Georgia behind to start a new life. I had his one way ticket. It was a done deal. This wasn't supposed to happen. 

Memorial tattoo. Twelve hours after he died.

It was a quick funeral. He died on a Saturday and was to be buried on a Tuesday. 
Gallows slip: I commented that things don't keep in the heat of the summer in the south.  Too soon? Probably. But Larry would have laughed.
I made the journey alone to his funeral. I had to. It wasn't a journey for my children to take even though they loved Uncle Larry. And DH's heart was breaking for Larry loss as well. But he stayed with the wee babes so I could make the good journey. Not a goodbye, but a good journey.

I kept updating my FB page...just to feel connected:

So far an interesting day: wasn't paying attention and sat down next to a Little Person and asked for a light. Be proud of me. I didn't scream. And then I chipped a tooth trying to close my purse zipper with my teeth. Lovely. Larry...this is how much I love you going through all this for you. — at Portland International Airport.
In my grief, I was distracted. I can't believe it. The horror, the horror. And she kept chatting at me as I sat there, unable to move. I'm a terrible person.

 
So I'm in the hotel in Atlanta. Oh boy.
The one prerequisite I gave the agent was NO HAIR IN THE BATHTUB.
She assured me this was a newer hotel and clean.
Checked in.
Oh my.
The fabulous desk clerk is a ray of sunshine. Just a doll. Needs to move to Portland, though.
The hotel? Oh dear.
Two hairs in the bathtub and I'm afraid to look under the bed. And I think the ice machine moved when I walked by...I know it growled.
I've become such a spoiled, pampered princess.
whimper
This place was disgusting. Dirt caked everywhere, a strange dripping noise coming from my closet, and odd smudged fingerprints on the door jambs and light covers. Made me think it was recent crime scene. I slept in my clothes on top of the covers, with a towel on the pillow case to avoid head lice. Yeah...it was that bad. The night clerk was a preop male to female -- she was beautiful, but had a deep masculine voice. Made me instantly homesick for Portland. 

Good morning.
In the light of day this hotel has a different face. Still slightly grubby and worn, but not as horror inducing as in the wee hours of the morning. The staff are kind and warm, and the sun is shining.
Today is going to be very difficult, so it's the accumulation of the little kindnesses that will help me get through the day.
It's a two hour, twenty-one minute drive to Tennille. I'm dreading every second of it because with each passing mile and each passing second I come closer to saying goodbye.
Trips like this serve more purpose than just closure -- self reflection and prioritization of the important things. That's the crux. Life is for the living.
The staff helped me get ready for the funeral. Every terror from the night before disappeared with the kindnesses offered. Hugs from perfect strangers go a long way to reviving a fire in your heart.

When I was driving through rural Georgia I had a few oooooh moments where I recognized scenery from The Walking Dead. Disconcerting to say the least.
I was quite sure I was going to run into Rick or Michonne at any moment and worried how much of a damage deposit I'd have to pay on the rental car if I rammed a zombie.
Deep thoughts. You can imagine what was going through my head at the cemetery. 

My poor Larry is lying in a box and all I can think is, "Please don't wake up...don't make me shoot you in the brain."

Not one of my finer moments.  
But I probably wouldn't shoot him in the brain.  It would suck to lose him twice.

Through this trip I got closure. Mostly. I recently told a friend that there is no time limit on grief. I should listen to my own advice.  I'm still hurting. I'm still raw in places. My heart has a hard time beating sometimes. Motivation is idle. But I need to get moving again. I have to. Life is for the living.
That's life. And death. Inertia and entropy. Thermodynamics and religious gobbledygook. 

Jason McNally Smith, my beautiful Larry, I love you. I've got to start being me again, though. 
Save a seat for me in Valhalla. It will be a while, but I'll get there eventually.

  

 

Today was a refresher course on parental sleep deprivation. Therefore I am not bringing my "A" game to this post....

I'm in a bit of a time crunch because of my self-imposed writing deadline of July 10 for Ariana Burns. What the bloody hell was I thinking? Hmmm? Huh? I let my procrastinator's guilt do the typing when I made that pledge. Remember: I'm not a writer, I'm a mommy who plays a writer on TV.

I didn't sleep well on Saturday night because of the child sprawl in the bed. You've seen the memes. If not, look upon the madness!


 We have myself, then Luna (3.5), then Solas (8), and then my darling hubby.  That's four attempted sleepers in a deluxe hippie monkey bed -- A magnificent California king with an added twin extra long.
Solas has her own room...her own bed...and her own plan on sleepy time domination. This attachment parenting is %^%%&^&$%#*((*&.
I mean it's great. 

Plus, we've hit a milestone, folks. Youngest monkette is now AFRAID OF THE DARK.
Even though my house is lit up rather like an airfield because of the millionty-fifty night lights (dream lights x 2, an overhead on low dim in the reading nook, the bathroom light, the AC green light, the clock radio, and of course the MOTHER SHIP) already blazing,

my little Luna will not, I REPEAT WILL NOT, cooperate and close her eyes for sleepy-time-night-night.  So last night after 45 minutes of cajoling, begging, threatening, repeated spotlight searches and reassurances that the room was monster free (which is rather hard for me because I am a horror writer! I always want to quiz her: what kind of monster do you think it is? Hmmm?), she finally passed out.

ummm, could you please go back into the closet until Luna goes to sleep? Your bones are rattling too much underneath the bed. And stop playing nick-nack-paddy-wack/take-five on your ribs. It's disconcerting.

That's when I made a break for it.  I stayed up until 3:30 am, madly typing away, out on the back deck. Yay for me!!!!
Okay. I'll come clean. I also watched Drop Dead Diva. Don't judge me. I like that show. I also watched Dexter.   And then a documentary on Monty Python.  But I did also write!

I decided it was time for bed and made the trek up to the confines of our airfield ablaze bedroom only to find that Luna had crossed the bed and had my darling hubby pinned against the wall.

Dilemma time. Should I wake him? Or skulk into bed and revel in the space and freedom of my side?

I'm a bad person. I just got into bed. cackle™ I knew Monday would be an evil bitch, and I knew I needed sleep.  Desperate times, my friends.
But DH woke up and proceeded to sigh and fidget and make all kinds of uncomfortable/why-is-this-happening-to-me?/someone-help-me! noises, through which I couldn't sleep!!!! Sheesh. Argh! COME ON!!!!! At 4:15 he got out of bed and went downstairs. Ha!
Oops. I mean: Sorry, babe.
But I passed out within seconds.

Now because it's summer vacay, the kids have started sleeping in. GLORIOUS! I counted on that to save my bacon and let me get at least five hours of sleep.

Did that happen?  DID IT?

Sad monkey. Look at those tears. This photo was Kevi's idea. Thanks, Kevi.

OF COURSE NOT.

Luna woke up at 6:15.  Six. Fifteen. AND WOULD NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!

But that's what happens when I write. The second I get the bug, a little ripple starts in the aether, the universe cackles madly, and then sets out with the crazy making waves!!!!

I used this analogy today:
The universe seems to do this when I take a dip in the writing pool. The universe steals my clothes, throws my shoes in the water, and makes sure everyone comes to watch me stroll down the street with a tree branch shielding my naughty bits in the front and a bin lid over me arse as I make my way home.

Today was not a good day. Nope. Not at all.  It's days like this that earn your stripes in the battle. It's also days like this where you sit and question every parenting moment you have. Was I a good parent today? Well, the kids got fed. Yes! Powdered donuts and Gatorade count. And so do popsicles. And chocolate milk. And sun chips. 

And I had coffee. So much coffee. That's probably why now, cruising on only two hours sleep, I'm up writing this fecking blog. I tried to sleep. I really did. Luna even pulled the same routine as the last two nights! But she was so tired she passed out!  I dozed. 
But then Solas started fidgeting.  I may have to apologize to her in the morning (today).  I was less-than-kind.  But then she passed out.
And then Darling Hubby, my soul mate, the LOVE OF MY LIFE, started snoring. 
Yes, honey. I'm outing you. But really only monkey pic seekers, Russian bloggers, and friends who already know that you snore read this blog.  

So here I am. Back in the car again.  Yay me. In this exhaustion twilight I'm doing a little introspection, self-analysis, coffee stain rorschach.  

 



It has been pointed out, on one more than one occasion, that I am quite sarcastic.

Really? 

Hmmmmmmm.

I dispense nuggets of witty, gallows observations, general amusing bitchery, and tids and tads of snark without even a second thought.

Personally I find that my particular brand of sunshine and kisses is the pot of gold, balm-for-the-soul at the bottom of the lucky charms rainbow.

 Maybe it's just for the chorus of weirdos residing inside my head.

Classy.

Is it my fault that there are sooooo many golden opportunities presented by life in general to make my observations? I'm tired. I'm a mom. I have no filter. 

To the woman in the queue at the supermarket who wasn't amused by my comment about the correlation between soy milk consumption,  naturally occurring estrogen, and moustached women -- You shouldn't have put that face waxing kit next to your soy milk and then glared at my pile of meat products and filthy children in my cart.

To the toque wearing, Life-Aquatic-Steve-Zissou-wannabe,  recycling logo t-shirt-clad hispter-D-bag who tripped on the curb while flicking your cigarette butt into the gutter --  yeah...I got nothin'. Yes, I did laugh at you. Laughed and even rolled down the window so you could hear. You just had yerself an irony moment there. 

If only folks knew how often I BITE MY TONGUE.  Perhaps I just suffer from Bitchy resting face.

Join this cause!

(That's a link! A link! A LINK! Go there, Now! Click the link!) le sigh.

But at least I'm writing again.

UPDATE: The monkettes slept until 9 today. Of course they did.