Carpe Mañana

WordPress just told me it’s my three year anniversary of this blog. Today has been active, lots of old pals posting too which is great, glad y’all are still here.

I am at work and on my phone so this isn’t going to be too lengthy.

Carpe Mañana, was a FB memory from when I was in Santa Fe a couple of years ago. It couldn’t be more fitting for what I am trying to get my head around now. Don’t drink today so I can feel good tomorrow. (Holy shit the few hangovers I have had the last couple of months have been brutal and scary) so drinking has been every 10 days or so but its only fun for an hour and then my stop button doesn’t work at all and I have missed work and other activities due to almost dying from hangovers. I hate it but I keep doing it however I have gotten better about not giving in EVERY time.

I am super thin right now. It’s beginning of summer and I can’t regulate my body heat. Fucking freezing all of the time. I have been restricting too much and that shit has got to change. I became super aware of my size last weekend at my EMT class when I was pretty popular for being the one on the backboard, strapped down and carried. It bothers me a lot that I can’t get a handle on the food. I am just not hungry and forcing myself to eat is torture. It’s not that I want to be thin, I am taking this EMT2 course so I can be on ski patrol next year. You have to be burly and muscly and while I am a strong skier and know I would be good at it, I also have to “man up” and gain some weight.

This is all doable.

I have another motivating factor, I booked a ski trip to Chile for August. I did this sober. It’s super spendy and I dropped a lot of cash on it. It’s a ski camp- I will be getting coached by ex-Olympians and their trainers and it’s something that I have always wanted to do and I am not going to feel guilty about the money I have spent on it. Thank God it’s all inclusive and I will only need money for incidentals going forward. I am excited but kinda scared too.

Oh and I have decided not to date for a year. Another story for another day but it’s been nice. No interest in any of that, I have a broken picker and I am better off right now. One less thing to worry about for awhile.

Here’s to tomorrow 😊

Real Life

I’ve been sick for two and a half days with a head cold and feeling pretty lethargic. I’m hoping to get some energy back and get on with what I need to do.

My brother bought a plane ticket last night to come get me for the 23rd of February and now shit is real and I would be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t scared and a tad overwhelmed.

It turns out I have some foundation issues with my 70-year-old house. I knew it. I saw the cracks in the walls. My buyers backed out of the original contract but then came back with a cash offer for less because they want the property and to tear down my house. It needs a new roof, the bathroom is a kinda fucked because I had a friend living here ten years ago and she drilled holes like an asshole and there is now moisture behind the walls. (I could have killed her, there was no point into doing what she did, she was just drunk one day.   She was a major drunk and I kicked her out after a month of her moving and living here. Actually, I didn’t kick her out, I gave her two options; get some help or get the fuck out because she would drink two bottles of wine and a case of beer and come in my room at night and tell me what an asshole I was, even though she was living at my house for free. It still just irks me.)  And now the foundation.

The offer is good. It’s not what I was hoping but it still makes my investment in this house a big one. I just got really sad yesterday, not crying sad, just sad to know that they are going to tear down my house. I’m walking around it apologizing to it. “I’m sorry old gal, you’ve been good to me and now I am leaving you and they are going to destroy you.” There’s also reminiscent feelings of when we sold my childhood home and how traumatic that was for me. I haven’t felt those feelings in a while. I drank them away a long time ago. I knew I would get sad to leave my house, I just didn’t know when it would happen. I’m trying to feel it but not let it take me down. Hard to do when you don’t feel well.

Needless to say, I really wanted beer yesterday. Even though I am sick. Being sick never really stopped me from drinking, it was an excuse to get some tequila or whiskey to kill the germs. However, I’ve taken a lot of acetaminophen and I didn’t want liver failure because of a cold. You just don’t fucking know.

I wrote about my job that I got fired from a few days ago. One of my friends, coworkers from that job is five years sober and we are still pretty tight. He’s been a great resource and support for me. He’s about 8 years younger and gay, not girly gay but Brokeback Mountain gay, ha! He’d probably get pissed if I said that but I think you need a visual to relate to him because this is a grim story I am about to tell. He moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico about 6 years ago. He’s in school and just got a promotion at his job that is paying for his schooling. I think he is going to be a substance abuse counsellor or a parole officer, I don’t know which way he is leaning right now. Actually, he’s pretty freaked out about his mama and called me friday to give me the update and a WARNING.

His mama is a few years older than my oldest brother, 56. She used to come to the bars with us back in that time of crazy social worker drinking. I liked her a lot. After he moved, she and I would talk on the phone occasionally, she’s been in and out of rehab maybe a couple of times. Her last attempt to get sober was a few years ago when she had no more options left because her family in Tennessee was over it and she moved out to Santa Fe to figure some shit out and hopefully get a grip. She didn’t stop drinking. She may have cut back but she couldn’t/wouldn’t do it. She would lie about drinking. She would say she hadn’t drunk through slurring speech. He came home from work one night and she was passed out with the stove on, something burning and I guess he was done. Her boyfriend came and got her, married her, and supported her, she couldn’t work and kept the alcohol supply flowing until her health really started failing last summer. They were certain that she had some sort of liver disease and she would fall and break bones and was just a wreck. The boyfriend/step dad claims he knows nothing about alcoholism or doesn’t have the two cents to realize that he was enabling her and while she was going through all of this stuff, he was still bringing the boxes of white wine home.

The beginning of January, my friend and his sister finally got him on board to not supply the alcohol anymore. And for two days, she didn’t have any alcohol. She started to go into detox and by some miracle she allowed them to take her to the hospital. They thought, finally we have some traction for getting her sober, maybe. Well, it wasn’t a miracle because the ER gave her an IV and some librium and sent her home. For four days she after that she was rapidly declining. They called her PCP, who in turn got the blood test results from the ER visit and told them to get her back to the hospital. Her thiamine (vitamin B1) levels were so low and the four days she was home probably did irreversible damage to her brain. I guess that’s the window to guard against Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome. Look it up, it’s a horrible psychosis that neither of us had ever heard of before.

It’s been three weeks, almost four. He made a secret (it’s too hard to travel and not get people pissed off because you don’t go see them) emergency visit home a few week ago because they didn’t think she would make it. She has a history of an eating disorder and has been malnourished for years (this was why he was calling to warn me) and the alcohol addiction has turned into an even bigger nightmare than he had ever imagined. Being sober for 5 years and watching his mama go through her addiction he was just getting ready to attend a funeral. He knew she probably wouldn’t survive or ever get sober. He basically was waiting for her liver to give out and to brace himself for her to die young. No. That’s not what happened. It’s far worse.

Now she is in the hospital looking at long-term care facilities for the “feeble-minded” is what I think he called it. She has some long term memory recall but she can’t remember what happened five minutes ago. Some days she is verbal and some days she isn’t. She has a feeding tube that goes directly into her stomach but she is dependant on diapers and someone to change them for her. Most of the time she thinks she is on an airplane and keeps saying, “this is a really, really long flight.” And then she will hallucinate that she is petting a cat in her lap. Sometimes it’s a bunny. She has no clue that she is married to this guy that kept bringing the wine home and who is paying for this medical disaster.(Maybe not, we don’t know, he could very well walk away from her.)  She doesn’t even know who he is. It’s fucking hard to hear about and it breaks my heart for her. You’d like to think that she doesn’t really know what is going on and brush it aside, but God, I can’t imagine what a nightmare this is for her inside her soul. How scary and shitty and I never, never want to be in that place. I’m so sad for her two kids and grandkids. She is only 56. She was a really pretty lady who had a lot going for her. This is beyond tragic.

Needless to say, I have woke the fuck up. My old drinking buddy has come to her demise in less than 5 years of when we last sat at the bar laughing and having a “good time” and thinking we had all the time in the world to fuck around and we weren’t really harming ourselves. What’s the worst that could happen? Die? NO. This is almost worse than dying, she could live another 20 years like this, in a diaper, in a care facility. You just don’t fucking know.

Happy Enchilada

Half an inch of snow and the city shuts down. Had to help the mailman get unstuck, bless his heart, he had no clue what he was doing. This Utah girl can’t help but laugh at all these folks and their inexperience in the white stuff. Nothing like snowflakes to make me want to get my drink on though, it’s a day in the South where you don’t have to be accountable for anything. I keep seeing a trail of neighbors walking in the direction of the local bars. I know where they are going, I know what they are up to and I almost wish I could join them. Almost. I took my dog, Cowboy for a big long walk and got some provisions at the market and left triumphantly without beer. On the way home, this John Prine song got stuck in my head. I love this version, the happy enchilada.

I saw my therapist yesterday. She asked me what made me think that this time I was going to stay sober. I didn’t have an answer for her. I’m just going to keep trying I suppose, is what I told her. I know I can’t promise anything. All I know is that I feel better and that last year was pretty much hell on wheels. I was so sick in the eating disorder and depression that staying sober was really problematic. She said it was scary on her end too. Trying to figure out what keeps me stuck from making progress in recovery is difficult. It’s a myriad of things.

My childhood was violent. I watched my dad beat the ever living hell out of my mother and my brothers. We also had a lot of money. If I didn’t look or act like I appreciated what I had, I was criticised by my family and my friends. My mom and I would go shopping and she taught me to count the fat people at the mall and told me how disgusting it was while we had the money to buy any of the designer clothes that my heart desired.  If I had to guess this is the root of the eating disorder, somehow, through the criticism of jealous schoolmates and the crazy, terrifying home environment, somehow I developed a core belief about myself that I didn’t deserve food or the nice things that I had as my dad would say, “who do you think you are? why are you so proud of yourself?”

I finally relented last year and went on Lexapro. I know I have had episodes of depression throughout my life looking back. How I made it through college is a mystery to me. I did pretty well in school considering I basically lived at the bar. There were a few secret suicide attempts that I haven’t ever told anyone about except for my therapist and last year, last summer the thoughts got really dark again. The suicidal ideations have been periodic throughout my teens and twenties and thirties. Hell, it’s how I moved to Nashville. I was, either going to kill myself or move. I had just gotten out of the Peace Corps, I was medically discharged for depression because I chose not to take medications. It was my choice. I had spent a few weeks in DC on medical evacuation and I was so angry, so pissed at the doctors that were trying to help me because to me, being diagnosed with depression was a character flaw. Who did they think I was? I’m not depressed, that’s for weak people. I had some fucked up shit happen to me in the peace corps and it broke my heart. All of it broke my heart, leaving three months early, not continuing on with my plans to travel afterwards. I was so ashamed and disappointed in myself. I came home unwilling to open up and tell my friends nor family my feelings or the real state of my being. I did six months worth of hardcore drinking and started doing cocaine because it was there, not because I liked it (and I haven’t touched it since) and all I wanted to do was die. I couch surfed, couldn’t really find a job and it sucked. So, I got the hell out of there. Packed up my car drove to Tennessee because it couldn’t get any worse. Stayed with a childhood’s best friend’s mom and slowly started over.

I got into a community of people here that supported me and helped me. And that’s a whole other post for another day. The drinking subsided and was controlled but still present. I moved a lot, drove a truck, got engaged, broke that off, bought a house, got a good job as a social worker, found a man that I loved but he has issues, lost that job, was unemployed for a long time, got this job, got a fiance, lost my fiance and all this time no one would acknowledge that I had anorexia. Until it all snowballed and I was a mess and I ended up in a therapist office writing on the intake paperwork that one thing I would like to learn is how to eat. She took one look at me and said, “well, it looks like you have an eating disorder.” Thus began this journey to wellness. I’m stubborn so it’s been a slow process.

As I told my therapist yesterday, not the one that sent me to treatment for anorexia, but the one I have now, I feel better. I don’t feel so lost and helpless. I didn’t tell her this part because I hadn’t thought of it yet but I will tell you. I’ve spent hours and hours reading and listening to people about wellness and recovery and stories and strategies. I’m not stuck anymore because I am making changes in my life that my heart wants. I have tools to get me out of the danger zones like lexapro and boundaries with people. Being out of contact with the two men that I oscillated between has helped tremendously because I don’t have to consider them as factors in my life choices anymore. I don’t feel so broken. I still have issues and sometimes my issues have issues but I feel more of a sense of peace with them. It’s ok to let them just be. The key for me to do that is by not drinking and taking care of myself with nutrition, exercise and meditation. I feel fortunate that I found this out, that I am ok with who I am now.  I don’t feel like I am suffering from who I am anymore. This is what I am and I am good with it. I am finally on my own team. And I know I need to ask for help when I forget or feel scared.

I think I am going to have to make some enchiladas now. Day 7. Happy Sober Snow Day


therapy mistakes

I’m wondering if it was a bad idea to tell/show my therapist how I don’t have to unbutton my pants to get them off anymore.  

We spent the better portion of the 90 minutes talking about in patient treatment. I’ve done two stints of out patient.   The thoughts of going somewhere for a month to eat and do therapy all day sounds so relaxing.  Away from all of this crap. My crappy job, my house work,  the loneliness.  

I said what about regular treatment…. like for alcohol.  And she said it’s the anorexia that is the culprit.  It’s why I’m not making headway on the depression and the relapse nor the trauma.  

I’ve been seeing her for a year and a half. I think I trust her.  I don’t think she would intentionally try to steer me wrong.  She knows I have been working hard at getting my shit together.  Even today,  me not flipping out over her suggestion is progress.   

She said she was going to gather some resources and get back with me. Most of these places are out of state.  I don’t think she trusts the last treatment center I went to in January because they discharged me rather suddenly for depression.  My weight has trended down since then…. And I am really not doing it on purpose.  

I told her I was worried because I didn’t meet criteria. “You do and fortunately because you don’t have a feeding tube in your nose, these places I am suggesting won’t take feeding tube people.”   I guess it’s best to not wait for a feeding tube.  So maybe a month away is the best thing even though logistically- I’m having a hard time comprehending.  

Day 61

I’m at the walk-in clinic because I believe I have an ear infection.  I’ve been having a headache for over a month and I can feel it in my eustachian tubes. It might be my teeth,  I don’t know.  I just think it’s time for antibiotics.  I’ve tried everything to get rid of it but it’s been awhile and I guess this is what self care is supposed to be. Going to the doctor before shit gets bad.  My boss isn’t too happy that I am not at work but I don’t know if I care.  So,  in a crowded waiting room, I sit. 

I started to get nervous because as soon as they call someone back,  I can hear them direct them to the scale.  Do I stand on it backwards?  I’m curious to what it is too and the more I fidget with this idea the louder the clicking of the pen the kid sitting in the waiting room gets.  It’s driving me bananas.  I’m sure he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.  Click, click, click, stop it.  

Over the weekend, I ran into a lady that I went to treatment with for eating disorders.  I’m going to start going to the Tuesday night support group because I reaffirmed that she would be there. She’s great. We were good friends during treatment.   She had binge eating behavior disorder and had had stomach surgery to make her thin and then realized she had a bigger problem.  She looked good. I need support with this bullshit.  It’s insidious how both alcoholism and eating disorders can tell you,  you don’t have a problem.  Not drinking is a hell of a lot easier than following a meal plan, at least right now it is,  and lately I have been really resistant to getting more support.  I keep telling myself that I can do it on my own.  It’s expensive to get a dietician.  I have all the information.  I know what I am supposed to do.  I’m not accountable to anyone and most of my circle of friends and family don’t understand it well enough to know how to support me.  And living alone makes it tremendously easy to skip meals.  

I just saw my weight.  And my blood pressure is super low. Now I am waiting for the doctor to come in and look in my ears. Seeing my weight was a bad idea because it tells me that I am sick but not sick enough to do anything about it. 

I know I can’t consider myself really sober until I get on and stay on a meal plan for at least for a month. 


I don’t have an infection.  She gave me shots of novacaine in my neck because I was complaining of headaches and  eustachian tubes being clogged- when she felt the muscles in my neck she said they were super tight.  If it helps,  I’m willing to do anything even though I don’t like needles.  There was also a chiropractor in the building so I got an adjustment.  I think I feel better.  She said if the symptoms don’t go away that I need to see my pcp and that they will order an MRI.  It could be something in my neck/head.  I passed the neurological tests. 

 Bodies are weird.  Complex and amazing but since I have been trying to get back into mine – it’s been a surreal experience.  A bottle of wine is my old way of coping.  This new way is far more challenging than I had anticipated.  Not unattainable. Just a hell of a lot of work and vigilance.  

Day 52

I went to my first sober concert last night since the 9th grade. It was a trip. I didn’t want to drink but I had this urge to get in the beer line. It was like I was forgetting to do something, that I needed to go stand there with the other people. I can’t say I was a fan of the band because Jerry Garcia ruined that for me years ago and this was a billboard band from the 90’s. The familiar songs reminded me of the college bar. I could close my eyes and remember playing pool and who was around and floods of memories of beer and Jagermeister- that was my drink in college… shots of Jagermeister and gallons of 3.2 beer. The thoughts of it makes me want to hurl now. I went because my friend had an extra ticket. I wouldn’t have sought it out on my own. I’m glad for the experience. She wasn’t drinking either even though I told her it wouldn’t bother me if she did. It was a challenge getting myself there. I’ve been such a hermit the last few months. It’s been safer for me to stay home.

Today, I’m going to a Polynesian festival. I met a Samoan woman at one of my accounts about a month ago and she invited me. I lived in Tonga as a peace corps volunteer in 2001-2003. There are very few Tongans in Tennessee or Polynesians for that matter. They tend to cloister together so I am hoping that I have found some new friends. I’m a white lady who speaks Tongan so this should be fun. I wish I didn’t have social anxiety. I think I will be ok though. I met her sons the other day and the old familiar feeling of being accepted and loved was there immediately. Polynesians are like that, a group of people who love first and judge second. Not that they don’t judge and gossip but the act of hospitality is so strong in their culture it’s easy to be acquaintances if that makes any sense. I’m excited and a little nervous. I just hope they have some of the foods that I have been missing from the islands. Taro, kapa pulu, those donut things, I don’t know what else.

Speaking of foods, my eating disorder is still a mess but my sobriety is good. I think I am making a little progress with getting ready to be “recovered” from anorexia. I get it intellectually, I want it in my heart, it’s my mind that is being the asshole. I have found some new resources online. I know I am the only one that can do this, it’s up to me. I am working on the “invisible hurdle” with my therapist. I need some weight restoration but other than that I think I am on the right path for going forward. I think not drinking is a little easier because I am really good at restricting. Or at least that’s what I tell my therapist. When I was in treatment last winter I was drinking regularly. It’s either one or the other. Now, I have to do both if I want my life to progress towards a fulfilling future. Get back to the things I love, like traveling and adventure. I miss who I used to be.

The things I have learned in the last few weeks about eating disorders: 1.) the BMI is a bunch of bullshit. It was formulated by the insurance industry, it’s not really hardcore science based. And they lowered it in the 70’s because of the whole Twiggy movement or our thin obsessed culture. So, I don’t need to strive for a particular BMI and I can throw that out as an indicator as to how well I am doing or not doing. 2.) It’s common for people with eating disorders to feel undeserving. I have known this about myself for a few years now, that I have a core belief that I don’t deserve anything. I have had inklings that it was tied to my father’s wealth. (BTW- he hasn’t given me money in years) but I think I realized in yoga that I feel undeserving because I can’t find a shred of love for the man in myself. It’s a little hard to explain because I haven’t really explored it fully but I know I have done a lot of work on forgiving him. I don’t hate him. I just don’t love him. Don’t think I ever can, will or want to and somehow this has affected my own self-acceptance and self-worth on such an unconscious level that it has manifested into a tangled web of dysfunction. Or maybe not. Maybe I just think too much.

‘Ofa Lahi ‘Atu!

Day 33

Yesterday- I was thinking I felt a shift about all this recovery stuff.  This morning I was like right on- there’s definitely a shift. I feel better physically so that helps everything all around but I’ve been feeling more awake and aware. And I slept like a champ last night. Mentally, I’ve been good. Lexapro is my friend. Spiritually- that’s for another post.

Then, simultaneously, while I was caught in traffic, my boss sent me a text that made it seem like I couldn’t think for myself after SHE had messed up my day by doing something stupid.  I saw a family out in the heat, holding a sign saying they needed help and had two young boys with them, so I turned around and gave them twenty dollars but it made me feel weird after I did it, perhaps a scam.  And I tried to let it go, it’s only $20. Hopefully the kids will get something to eat and a motel room like the sign said they needed. And then this is the kicker, I’ve been listening to the Home podcasts and the first one on eating disorders, flipped me out.  They are fucking idiots* when it comes to trying to be therapeutic, if that’s what they were doing. Talking numbers and weight and shit.  Trigger city.  It got me starting to think crazy thoughts, “should I email my therapist and ask her if I really have an eating disorder.” .. like maybe I don’t.  I’ve had anorexia for years.  I’m doing ok but haven’t been sticking to meal plan though and cheating my body on food proportions.  I’ve been to treatment twice. I turned it off when one of them said,  “I don’t know, it just went away.”  The other one, though is bulimic and it comes and goes and she doesn’t like to talk about it.  Uggghhhh. Why the hell are they making this podcast?

I went to yoga.  It’s a harder class than what I have been doing.  And my intention for this class was to love myself.  That’s all. The mirrors showed my slight case of scoliosis.  I don’t slouch anymore but when I do the forward folds my back is not flat. I know I don’t need to be judging my body in yoga-  so counterproductive.
I don’t want to drink. I don’t have a craving today,  nor yesterday.
Sorry.  I just had to vent.  I feel better.  I’m going to have to start figuring out a meal plan.  I have stuff for dinner tonight.  One meal at a time, right?.  And there still is a shift. … It just sucks when you see the next hill up ahead.
*Disclaimer they aren’t idiots, it just seriously rattled my cage. I’m going to go back and listen to it again and then the next two that actually have experts being interviewed, so there still is hope. And I really like the rest of what they have to say about recovery and not drinking. It’s totally bananas what my brain does to me some days. I hadn’t felt like that since my first day of treatment and I thought it was all bullshit even though my organs were shutting down and I couldn’t identify what was disordered and what wasn’t. I think these girls need a little more schooling though on the topic. They sounded really ignorant, especially with the number shit.

Day 10

It’s Sunday and I have switched to a more watered down version of a cup of coffee. Haven’t had breakfast yet and probably won’t today.  I know, I know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day or so they say, I can find internet evidence that it is not. I have a strong aversion to eating first thing in the morning, it’s almost as if I am going to lose my shit and cry if I have to eat, so I wait until later in the day when food becomes something more manageable. If I can get anything down, it’s usually a banana and an Ensure.  I’m all out of bananas.

I recently went to the gastroenterologist because I have been having issues with nausea and vomiting and haven’t had a solid poop in six months. My eating disorder treatment program knew about these issues but told me they were in my head which led me into a severe depression leading to feeling like shit all the time physically and mentally. Thank God for lexapro for pulling me out of the mental hellhole I was in after I left the program.

Even though I have been trying to stay on meal plan it was extremely difficult physically to do it. I found out why on Tuesday last week after a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, I have a Hiatal hernia that is pushing my stomach into my esophagus, therefore, a REAL physical reason as to why it’s difficult at times to eat more than a few bites and why I get so nauseated and throw up. I hate throwing up food. I will do whatever I can to not throw it up. It’s usually just bile because it happens first thing in morning after sleeping when my stomach has been abused by my hernia. As far as the pooping, my doctor suspects Celiac’s disease- God, I hope not. We are waiting for the labs to come back.

Just knowing this information has made dealing with these symptoms so much easier. I don’t feel as guilty or stressed out about not being able to meet my meal plan. However, I can’t let it be an excuse to restrict either and I will admit I have been doing that. I’m not ever going to tell you how much I weigh because I don’t want someone reading this to compare themselves and be triggered. (And I’m not exactly sure what it is because I don’t own a scale. I only know because I saw it at the doctor’s office- bad idea)  But, it’s very low right now. My anorexic mind loves it. My healthy self hates it. My therapist told me last Thursday that I looked gaunt so that has put some social isolation thoughts in my head.

You know those ladies you see out and about who are super skinny and look like they have drank themselves into a stupor because you can’t tell if they are jaundiced or just tanned and you can usually find them in the smoking section with saggy wrinkles and are actually much younger than they appear, I DON’T WANT THAT TO BE ME.  If I don’t do something drastic in the next few months, it will be me. Not the version of myself that I imagine, my future self, but a very stark reality.

This being sober and working on my thoughts about myself is serious business. Yesterday, as I was driving to a friend’s house that is 8 miles on the interstate, I heard two commercials about drinking making everything better and saw at least four very enticing billboards promoting our alcohol soaked society. I live in Party Town, USA and I am feeling like an odd duck. I have sober friends that I talk to often. I read sober blogs. I listen to sober podcasts. It’s helping a lot. I’m not against going to recovery meetings but I find myself  leaving them more triggered to drink because I see my asshole of a father in other people and right now, I can’t do it. More about him later.