Pass It On


It’s innocent. It always, always starts off innocently, often in those vulnerable hours when you are asleep. You are going about your business. You are doing what has to be done in the dark despair that may be your life. You are suffering. You don’t know what to do, so you pass it on because you need someone to help carry the burden, you can’t do it alone.


I am stuck on Band-Aid brand ’cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me… 

That’s right.


You wake up with a FN jingle in your head.


And it’s not just a jingle. Oh no. It’s one from your childhood. One that you possibly no longer have access to, unless you look for it on YouTube.


The jingle beats the last week in which I’ve woken up with Rockwell’s “I Always Feel Like (Somebody’s Watching Me)” song in my head, which is enough to make anyone go into a killing rage. (Now you’ll have that song in your head for the rest of the day … passing it on.)


I love jingles. Seriously, if there was ever a child whose entire early state of being was driven by TV, it’s me. I’m your girl. I wanted to be Laura Ingalls (even if her sister Mary kinda’ creeped me out and Nelly? Hello, stereotype? She was just waiting to be tied down to train tracks by Dirk Dastardly, man.) I loved TV as a kid.


I remember some crap Stallone/Bullock film called Demolition Man. It was the future and the radio station only played ads from the 1970’s and 80’s. That’s my kind of radio, man. I’m all about jingles.


I sent out an email and wasn’t let down. I put the Band-Aid jingle on and was rewarded with the greats, including:

(The Peanut Gallery all contributed and I’m not sure if some of the folk who emailed me want to be mentioned here or not, so I’m opting for the safe option and letting them remain anonymous). Some of the beauties were:


My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R? 

Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onion on a sesame bun…. 

What would you do-o-o for a Klondike bar?

I’d like to teach the world to sing. 

The killer was: Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.


Help me out here. What other ads or jingles am I missing from our childhood? I need a pick me up, so a little help here.


And until then, I leave you with:

I am stuck on Band-Aid brand ’cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me…



The Zone

Saturday morning I was in a fantastic mood.

The sun was shining bright. It was hot. So hot, in fact, that I opened all the windows and let the house flood with warmth.


I looked around the house, sipping coffee, and I thought: Good Lord I’m happy.

It hit me. I was happier than I could have imagined I could be. Here I was, barefoot in a messy house, a day of packing ahead of me, and I was giddy.


You can call it serenity. Me, I call it hormones.

I was in what I call The Zone. When I am in The Zone everyone around me can be dying of typhoid fever and I can helpfully point out that at least they can drink rum instead. When I am in The Zone I get a lot done, often to the sound of my iPod in my ears, and generally while doing said activity – say baking muffins – I will be so far into The Zone that I won’t realize that I’ve forgotten to add the baking soda to the muffin mix. I feel happy and alive and that I’m getting so much done while in The Zone.


Too bad my Zone doesn’t come with traffic cones keeping me off the bumpy gravel.



I’ve determined that I’m getting old. It’s come on gradually, much like age itself has, but I am definitely aging. Case in point – recently one of our neighbours had a party for their teenager, and the party’s noise levels could be heard all the way over in Saint John. Speakers blaring, people laughing, girls screaming, arguments and taunts had…it was 150,000 decibels at least. The music blared at top volume, which might not have been so bad had they not kept changing the station mid-song. It happened constantly – a song would start, someone would decide that song did not, indeed, rock their world, and then there’d be the noise of someone searching for a new song. It drove me wild.

The screaming was really grating on me, too. One loud, long scream drew me onto the back deck to check that the girl was ok, and at the end of the song there was a silence and then huge laughter and then the girl making some kind of joke that invariably included the words “Ohmigod! That was so funny!” I wanted to go up to these girls and put my hands on their shoulders and tell them that these screams, they’re the serious kind. Don’t waste them now, babe, because that patronizing story about “never crying wolf” comes to mind, and someday you may need that scream.

I truly realized I had moved on in age when the party continued on well after midnight. I didn’t want to complain, but the noise was too much, I was really getting wound up.

“You’re getting old,” I muttered to myself. Actually, I’ve always been one of those people who is sensitive to noise at bedtime and can’t fall asleep if it’s too raucous outside (or I can, but it involves sedatives and/or alcohol). “It’s ridiculous! Don’t they have any respect for their neighbours?” I fumed.


And I realize that I am moments away from pink sponge curlers, house coats, and a broomstick handle I use for coaxing my dozens of cats out of trees.

I’m old in other ways, too – I send many, many more texts than I do emails or phone calls. But I’m a bit of a stickler about texts – I can’t stand text abbreviations. If you want to text me the message “See you later, meet at Tim’s!” then you’d better text me the message “See you later, meet at Tim’s. If I get a text that says “C U l8ter, meet @ TH!” then I’m going to delete the FN thing and wait until you text me a message spelled the grown-up way. It drives me crazy, that abbreviated text talk.

Similarly, I’m skipping another big trend that’s going on. I ran into an old co-worker the other day, she asked me for my skype address.
“I don’t do skype,” I said, smiling.
The sound of her jaw hitting the floor caused many people to look over. “You don’t do skype?” she nearly shrieked, with a degree of severity on par with “you don’t do deodorant?” or “you don’t advocate the prevention of cruelty to animals?”


I have a confession: I don’t really even know what skype is. So yes. I’m old. I’m old and grouchy and any day now I’m going to start re-using my coffee filters three and four times and I’ll smell like government cheese.

All because I don’t do skype.




Here’s something you may or may not know about me: I don’t give a flying F%#@ about sports.


This is one of many reasons why being with my husband is good – he’s not into sports either*. He’ll watch the Olympics or the NHL finals, but he’s not really that crazy about it.


I see sport as something that robs TV of so many other things it could be showing. Not only will I not watch sports on TV but I don’t watch sports in real life either. My take is simple:


– Tennis. I don’t have a clue how it’s played. It’s all quiet and polite and ball boys and a ref in a lifeguard chair. They throw words around like “deuce” and “love” and the like. I actually watched the end of the Wimbledon because I wanted to watch a grown man cry. I am fairly sure that the “edge of the seat ending” stayed “edge of the seat” for almost an hour. And when he did win I didn’t see any man tears. I felt let down. The premise of the game is two (or four) people smacking a fluorescent thing back and forth over the net. Why not remove the net, it just gets in the way? In fact, why hit a ball back and forth, it could just cause injury? Perhaps skip the rackets? My proposal: stand there and drink gin and tonics. Much more fun.

– Baseball. The longest game in history. I get it, it’s all tradition and hot dogs and peanuts and cracker jacks, its stats and America does good and yada yada yada. It’s also hours and hours out of your life. Average game is, what? Five hours? I don’t even want to shop for 5 hours straight, why on earth would I want to sit in uncomfortable bleachers shouting at men with tobacco in their mouths?


– Golf. I love it when I hear men say, “I play golf to enjoy the scenery.” Right. That’s like “I read Playboy for the articles.” It’s like a chick saying she goes shopping to hear the elevator music. PASS.


– American football. I never really got the game. Sure, I get the premise. I mostly understand. Strap pads on. Get big beefy guys to crash into other big beefy guys. Skinny dude streaks down the side, hoping to avoid big beefy dude attention. One man throws an elliptical ball at him. People shout. There are downs. There are lots of downs. We love this game why exactly?


– Rugby – where brain cells go to die.


– Hockey.  Oh I’m probably un-Canadian for saying so but I don’t get this game either. They’re allowed to fight and they’re allowed to punch each other. Fighting should only be allowed in UFC or Boxing. The players suddenly skate to the side while the network has a commercial break which, let’s be real, is kinda messed up. Too bad the sport’s so popular.


– Basketball. One of the few games where hey – size does matter! I’ve never enjoyed basketball because if you’re there watching, the court reeks of copper-smelling sweat. There are endless sirens and bells going off. And the constant squeak of the soles of the basketball shoes on the court does my head in.


– Cricket. Stickety wickets, rules that you need a degree in physics to understand, and a game that can take 3 days yet have no winner. Don’t even get me started.


See? Sport is pointless. It’s all about chasing random balls around random environments. The point of all that is, what?




*Arrrgh … my husband has taken up golf, sort of, he’ll go to the course and drive a basket of balls. <Sigh> At least he doesn’t watch golf on TV.

Afraid, Very Afraid

I look back at the life I’ve lived as though I’m a war veteran standing on the edge of a very large cliff. From the view of the cliff, I can see it all. My childhood, where I was locked inside of eyes that didn’t fit, where the embarrassment and inadequacies first set in. My teens, where I ruthlessly seized the path of not belonging, and made it my mission to further making myself as distant as possible. My early adult years, where it was obvious to all just how detached I was, just how much was invisible from the surface. My late 20’s, where I started to implode. The many, many hours I spent trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

I look down over my cliff and the sea smells of dysfunction, as screaming taunts, addictions, nightmares, emotional violence, and that whine of the TV at 5 am as it plays only humming white noise churn below me. I am none of those people now, but they are all in me, I have reconciled them and moved on. I survived it all, but even more than that, I survived myself. The battle to get over how broken I was, is over. I am proud that I survived myself.

And now I feel kicking. It’s gentle but insistent. It comes in the mornings, it comes in the late evenings, it comes when I am still. There is noise in my head.

I have dreams that I am a warrior, battle-weary and scarred, trying to get three children out of a war-torn country. I have figured out, in typical Freudian bullshit fashion, that the three children in my dreams are Smart Girl, Chicklet and Kidlet. I don’t know what to make of this, but then I often don’t know what to make of anything.

I do not fear death. I do not fear love. But I do have a fear now, and it is scarier than anything I have ever felt. It punches me in the gut and takes my breath away.

My fear is unexpected.
My fear is honest and terrifying.
My fear is simple.

My biggest fear in the world is that my children will turn out like me.


Time to Live, Time To Die

If we were born with an expiry date or just like a DOB ( date of birth) we had a DOD ( date of death ) written in our birth certificates would our lives be any different?


I wonder.


We would not need a death certificate; they could just add a field for reason of death that could be filled out once we die. It could help reduce the load of paperwork for our loved ones once we are gone.


On a more serious note though, would we be more daring and experience more living or would we be apathetic towards life. Human beings tend to live thinking that they will live forever until they actually get old or just die suddenly. The first thing that comes to mind is that people with shorter life spans would get discriminated against. They would become undesirable for marriage, jobs and even buying things in instalments. Which most probably would lead to a whole new world of forgery. We would probably read books and watch movies about love stories where couples would fight for their love because one person knew he would only live for another year or two and the other decades but they would still choose to get married and be together for whatever time they had. Genetic studies would explore the human genome to find if they can modify your unborn baby’s genes to get a longer living baby. Would people who knew they would live longer take better care of their health?  Would they make more friends and try more things because they know they have enough time to change their mind? Would decisions be harder or easier to make?


It is a blessing that we do not know.


As time has passed I’ve found that my opinions get more and more scant. It’s as though a cork has been popped into me and plugs up anything that might be coming out. Over the length of seconds, minutes, days, weeks and months, years this has turned me into someone that I don’t like. Nobody else likes it either.


I feel like a caricature sometimes – “Do you want vanilla or chocolate? Vanilla or chocolate? Huh? Tell me!”. My response is usually: “Umm…I dunno. Neither? Both? You decide. No really. Just pick whichever one causes the least amount of contention. That’s the one I want.”

What I should be doing, is speaking my mind. As in “Frig, all you have is vanilla or chocolate? I’m a strawberry kind of girl.”

This is my fault, my problem.


And I’m sick of it.


I need a voice.


Its time I started to make myself heard when something happens I don’t like. I need to say what I want and don’t want. I need to stop shutting up and start being clear, no one wants to be around someone who can’t choose her FN ice cream. I will have my say on everything from groceries to which politician I support to which gasoline to buy. The meek don’t inherit anything apart from a personality complex.

I’ve been hiding how I’m feeling to everyone, including myself, in an effort to avoid arguments with everyone about everything. This is my fault, I’ve brought this on myself, no one made me stop talking. But I’m tired of this peaceful life, because it’s anything but peaceful. I’m not going to go around picking a fight with everyone, that’s not how it works, but when something bothers me I’m going to deal with it.


I’m not angry … I’m free. As are my opinions.


My Trip to Western Canada

I’m back from three terrific weeks in Western Canada.
On the map below I’ve starred the major places I visited although there were many places in between.
Let me tell you if you have never seen the Rocky Mountains it is something you should plan to do
at some point in your life. It really makes you feel like a little speck on this planet of ours.
The scenery alone makes it worth the drive. The rugged terrain is awe-inspiring and
travelling through the Rockies makes for a pretty spectacular trip.
One of my first glimpses of the Rocky Mountains. The are breath-taking!
View of the Victoria Cross Range as seen from The Whistlers in Jasper, AB

Athabasca Galcier, Icefields Parkway between Jasper and Banff.

The road through here lies at approximately 2200M (6600ft) and

Mt. Athabacsa on the right is 3833M (11,500ft).

You can see the devastion to the lanscapse caused by the weight of the glacier.

I actually stood on the toe of the Athabasca Glacier.

I was lucky to witness three avalanches when the 80-100M rim of snow/ice fell about 333M (1000 ft.)

I never realised just how loud an avalanche is … like a sonic boom.

Lake Lousie in the center of mountains, all around 3000M (10,000ft).

Hard to believe people used to vacation here when there were no cars, just trains & wagons.

View from Summit Upper Terminal 2281M (7,486ft) Sulphur Mountain, Banff.

This squirrel looks like the chipmunks found in New Brunswick except it is at least twice as big as a

chipmunk. He was a friendly little guy, following me around and posing.

On this trip I also saw a 1 bald eagle, 1 grey wolf, 1 black bear, 1 yellow-headed black bird, several elk,

several big horn sheep, several birds called magpies, several ravens, 1 hawk 

and several variety of squirrels.

My journey proves that Western Canada is just as beautiful as Eastern Canada but

beautiful in very different ways.




You’re underwater.

You can’t remember if you jumped or were pushed. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. All you know is that you’re here.

It was cold at first. A slight shock as the water weaved its way into the lining of your clothing, slid inside your shirt to be next to your skin, divided and devoured the strands of your hair, down to the bottom of your scalp. You felt it slide into your shoes and socks so you kicked them off, freeing your toes and heels with a sensation akin to solace. It was cold at first but slowly you grew accustomed to it, it wasn’t so cold anymore.

You can feel the little bubbles of air trapped on your eyelashes like effervescence. The smaller hairs on your arm dance a slow motion dance to a tune you cannot hear. Your legs move back and forth of their own accord, silently pumping just enough to keep you in one place, neither above the water nor deeper in it. You didn’t tell your legs to move, you didn’t tell your toes to point, they simply decided to do it themselves.

You look around you and all you see is blue. Blue, as far as the eye can go, a blue that gets darker the further you get. It’s the colour of a web page, the colour of a neglected shopping bag bouncing along the sidewalk, the colour of the fading roller coaster car that thrilled you when you were a child. You hold your hand up to the blue and move your fingers, dislodging miniature air bubbles from your skin and liberating them to the surface.

You need to decide if you should go up or down. You cannot stay in this place underwater for too long or the inevitable will happen – your lungs will decide to breathe in the water and make the choice for you. You need to have your say. The choice needs to be your choice.

You could go up. You know what’s up. In up, your lips are chapped. The toes of your shoes get wet walking in the dew. Your coffee gets cold if it sits too long in your favourite cup. Your toe instinctively looks for that imperfect place in the floor when you walk through your home.
You could go down. You don’t know what’s down. In down, the water gets darker. Your feet will guide you in a direction you don’t need to know about in advance. You will see something new. You can take your memories out and leave them on the soft bed for someone else to find and re-live.


There is no right or wrong to this, this deciding to go up or down. Only a decision needs to be made and you have to make it. You cannot be where you are now forever.

You’re underwater.

You need a few more moments to sort out your options. You need to remember where you are now. How you got there isn’t important. What’s important is that you got to a place where you are in the water and the water is going to comfort you and hold you while you make a decision. You know that the choice you’re about to make is yours and it’s a choice that will impact many things around you, the decision will leave rings of echoes throughout the water for a long time to come.
Play with the air bubbles for another second. Watch the tail of your shirt ride in the silent motion of the water and feel the current drifting up from your slowly moving legs. Turn your head right and left and let the sheer volume of water be the only noise you hear. Look up, look down, look around. You have a moment.

You’re underwater.

And you have to make a choice.



We Learn

What you say and how you look does not define who you are, because some of the most beautiful people do the ugliest things. You owe it to the people who hate you, who disrespect you and who put you down. Because they are the ones who have made you who you are today; for keeping your head up and not breaking down when they want you to.


There is no person in the world who is made to handle every punch that’s thrown at them. We aren’t made that way. In fact, we’re made to get mad, upset, sad, be hurt, stumble and fall. We aren’t supposed to be able to handle everything. But that’s what makes us stronger in the end, by learning from the things that hurt us most.


People ask why life is sometimes so full of pain and hurt. Well, without pain, would we learn how to appreciate happiness? Would people learn from their mistakes? Would people learn how to pick themselves up after they fall? Sometimes pain is the best teacher and through the pain and hurt, we learn how to show kindness to others.


Much as we like, there are only a few things we learn from happiness. At least to me. Looking back, I don’t learn from happiness. I learn from pain. I guess the bravest and strongest people are the ones who have stood up after being beaten and made the world wonder.


“The book was long, and difficult to read,

and Klaus became more and more tired as the night wore on.

Occasionally his eyes would close.

He found himself reading the same sentence over and over.

He found himself reading the same sentence over and over.

He found himself reading the same sentence over and over.”

– Lemony Snicket


This was me last night, trying to finish the novel I had started on my vacation.



Here’s something ironic about following rules:

The ones who make them are always, or usually, the first ones to break them. Incredibly, they still have the guts to stand tall, bring themselves on a pedestal as if they have the ultimate right to trample upon those who they think are inferior to them.




The Growl

Witness my greatness!

I am the ruler of parks and trees from here until the end of the street,

I have howled at the moon until it was mine,

I am the master of all I survey and I answer to no one!

The fact that you know nothing about me is a flagrant display of ignorance.

I pity you.



Sometimes you feel like you’re standing at the top of a very large sand dune, with endless seas of grains around you, the sun high above you, and the hot wind wrapped around the base of your neck. There’s no one around you and as far as you can see the sand is unbroken by any human steps save for the ones that led you to the top of the mound. All around you is only space, and in that space you nearly vibrate with the strength of your feelings.


And you wonder things, things that you have written on the paper in your heart and filed away to be examined at some later time that may never come.


You wonder at what point the photographer puts the camera down and grabs a bandage to staunch the flow of blood from the war-battled person they’re photographing.


You wonder why the fastest path from you to me is not so very fast at all.


You wonder why a spoonful of Ovaltine always turns into a churning glass full of chocolate powder bubbles floating on the surface of unblemished milk.


You wonder if your children know that you love them so much that it has become so tangible you could take the love out and hold it in your hands, and if you did it would smell like strawberries and oak and it would taste like all the promises that you intend to keep.


You wonder if anything you do today will be remembered someday and if it isn’t, if that will bother you or not.


You wonder if you could ever pluck a star from the brimming sky like a character from an Oliver Jeffries book and, if you held it in your hand, if it would burn or if it would tingle.


You wonder at which point the past stops being a place card you hold up to the world to shout out at how you’ve been wronged and simply becomes what it is – the past.


You wonder how it feels to be a foot, and if as a foot what footwear you prefer to be in.


You wonder at which point change is for the better instead of for the worse or vice versa, and you wonder if you will have the wisdom to know the difference.


You wonder if the sun will come out this summer and finally chase the remnants of cold out of your soul.


You wonder when you stopped feeling self-important, and if the absence of that is a good thing or a bad thing.


You wonder what the colour yellow would taste like.


You wonder if the trees can whisper to each other and if they can, what they say.


You wonder – as you think about a little boy holding your hand in the car and chatting happily about why he loves mom – why it is that three average embryos took hold and turned into three of the most amazing people on the planet, what you did to deserve them, and how you can ever thank them.


And then you look around the sand dunes and shrug and hold the scraps of paper holding all of your wonderings into the air and smile a bit and watch them fly away like dragonflies over a yellow moonscape before burning up in the heat of the sun and you turn around and walk back from where you came.




I hate them. They make everything too … complicated.  They cause so much irritation and annoyance for the TOTALLY wrong reasons.  Why do we have to be subtle? Why do we have to give cryptic messages?

Because misunderstandings are inevitable.

Because we expect others to know.

Because we expect others to ‘understand’.

Because we are complex and simplicity is just.. boring.

Because we just can’t say what we want to say. Upfront.


I know I will be misunderstood, but having my message misinterpreted is a million times better than giving the wrong message in the first place.



If fish could talk:


They’ve taken us from the edge of the sky

(Where the sky is just our reflection, looking down)

and brought us here, my love.

I can no longer breathe and you, you and the world have begun to melt and fade.

They’ve taken us, my love, in their cruel nets and crude boats to their own dark sky.

They think us ugly.

But we are not the ugly ones here.


Learning As I Go

I sometimes walk in the woods and wonder, if I died tomorrow, would I know what I have gained from life? Would there be a moment, a fleeting moment of light, where I could see things as I knew them, events as they had passed, and realized what I have learned?


I sometimes have answers. They are insignificant, in the scheme of things. Rather like me, I suppose.


These things I have learned:


– I can run up the stairs with the speed of light when I hear my children cry.


– I have met certain people in my life that I was born to love, and I have loved them completely.


– I am more than the sum of those parts people told me I was.


– crying is something to be exalted, not ashamed of.


– that licking a melting ice cream round the sides in a smooth spiral on a hot summer day is parallel to nothing with the emotion of joy.


– I wish I wore more purple.


– every time I doubt myself, I have already failed.


– Chris DeBurgh really was a one-hit wonder.


– I am not my job.


– the road less travelled sometimes isn’t a road.


– I needed more friends than I let myself have.


– at the end of the day, even when I wanted people to like me, sometimes (often) they didn’t.


– if you think you can’t do something you may be right, but you’ve screwed yourself by not even trying. You still might fail. Then again, you might just succeed.


– the only time my mind is ever silent and still is floating in warm ocean waters, staring at the fish.


– it’s always time for champagne.


– when you love someone, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them.


– that every time I think I cannot get through something, I can and do.


– that everything hurts, but it is a consequence of living and loving and being and doing.


– the simplest moments really are the ones that count.


– that if you have the right person behind you, you can do anything.


– that telling the people “I love you” every time I got off a phone call was important, and in terms of last words you can leave someone with no greater gift than that.

– Rootbeer floats are not that nice after all.


– if I died tomorrow, I would die knowing that the people who needed to know how I felt about them knew it.


– there is beauty in absolutely everything.


– that I am cheesy and overly sentimental, but I don’t let people know it.


– I am not perfect, or useful, or original. But I tried. I can look back and know – always – that I tried.


These things I have learned.


And I’m still learning as I go.




On The Edge

Something has changed.


Change is always hard to manage, hard to handle. People fear change. You don’t fear change; change has been the pattern of your entire life. Everything has changed and changed many times. You have learned to roll with the punches. It does not mean it is easy. It just means you square your shoulders. You take a deep breath. You walk forward. You do not know what it means to have complete stability. It is something that you work towards on a hopeful basis.


There is a precipice. You are on it, staring across. You can see the other side; you know that if you jump there is a chance you can land. What you don’t know is just how far it is, just how deep it goes.


You are changing. You know – absolutely positively know – that you have to change, that you want to change, that something has happened inside of you. This is important. This is a change. This is a jump.


Jump with me, you say. Jump together. Change together. Everything is better with you.


Your hand is outstretched. You won’t look to the side to see if you are joined, you will simply look forward and know that when you lift your feet up to jump you will have a hand that you love very firmly in yours. 



We do them.

We know that we do them.

We see them done by others.

We know that we see them done by others.

We regret them.

We know we will regret them.

We see them regretted by others before us.

We know that we see them regretted by others before us.

But we don’t do anything to prevent them.


We pretend we’re shrewd.


And even though we don’t really know what not to call experience.

We still call them experience.

And we hope that it’s consolation enough when remorse comes.

We hope we’ll be ready for the future.


We’re in denial.


Those are not innocent mistakes.

Those are premeditated miseries.

They don’t give us wisdom.

They take away our sanity!

And we will repeat them no matter what.


I hate them.

I hate myself for making them.

I hate others for making them.

I hate how they show our imperfection.

I hate how they show my imperfection.

And I hate that we know how they show our imperfection ..

.. and I despise how we consider that very thing as an excuse for them.


Sometimes, being oblivious of them is a blessing.

And being so conscious of them is hellish.

And vice versa.



We still do them.


What is sadder?

Don’t bother ..

.. for nothing is sadder.