You Know Who You Are, and the Past Should Stay There

chewrestraints

Every now and then I entertain myself with a game of “what if,” even if that game simply reinforces the feeling and the thought that I have spent the last year walking away (relatively unscathed) from a 20+ year long train wreck.

Perhaps I have some “survivor’s guilt” and maybe a panic attack now and then, but even a necessary amputation is going to leave a scar.

I wondered if the 1 year anniversary of Jerry’s death would be traumatic.  Not so much. I spent a rather lovely day with family, and the date didn’t cross my mind until someone brought it up.

I do wonder if my experience of grief (or the lack thereof) is cold and heartless- because I don’t really miss him. He had managed to kill any affection I had for him long before he died. Between the alcoholic rages, browbeating, name calling and other indignities, I had gotten beyond angry and went straight to numb. I can’t say I have felt much of anything except maybe relief.

It used to be common wisdom (though we know better now) that children were born as tabula rasa, or with a clean slate- no experience, no biases, no predispositions.  In some ways I feel sort of like that, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but then I feel as if I should have some kind of sadness.  Maybe I do feel a bit melancholy for years wasted or opportunities lost, but not what I would really call regret or even mourning.

I don’t think I am a heartless bitch.  Maybe numbness is a lot better than unforgiveness or just plain rage.

 

 

A Tired Theme: The End of The World for the Thousandth (or More) Time!

everythingsuckingPragmatism is my way of life.  It keeps me from having too much faith in humankind.  I may not be a Calvinist as far as my theology, but I go along with Calvin 100% regarding the Total Depravity of Man. Even though I intentionally try to avoid the news, because as far as I’m concerned mainstream news is nothing but proof that Orwell was right, I do have to go out and deal with people in places like Walmart.  Devolution has been going on ever since the Fall, and there isn’t enough chlorine to fix the human gene pool.

Let’s face it, most people suck.  If people didn’t suck, God wouldn’t have to tell us to be nice to them.  Being nice to other people takes work because they suck. I suck as well.  We all suck, which is why we are so crappy to each other. There are plenty of things in this world that completely suck too. Buck up, buttercup, and deal. I can buck the natural progression in subtle ways, but I can’t change the parameters humanity has been given.  As long as we are in these bodies, on this planet, things are going to suck.

I am wildly amused by date setters- people who think they have nailed the date and the time of the End of the World (even though Jesus tells us not to, and you don’t have to be a fantastic theologian to figure it out, just read Matthew 24:24-36 .)  Nobody knows when the world’s going to end.  I don’t particularly want to know, any more than I want to know when I will drop dead.  The surprise is part of the fun.

I am not afraid of death.  I just hope it’s a matter of going to bed and waking up dead.  Jerry was fortunate that way in that’s how he went.  He wanted to stay out of the hospital (especially after watching the hospital completely ignore his Dad’s Living Will and DNR orders) and he managed to do that.  Pain is what I am most afraid of- a long, suffering lingering death.  Pain and suffocation. I’ve always had a thing about suffocation especially because that was one of the torments my sisters loved to engage in when I was a little kid.  Just sit on your younger sibling until she turns blue and stops moving, and/or Dad thinks it’s getting too quiet, so he gets off the couch to investigate, sees that one of his offspring is losing consciousness, and makes you get up off of her.  What a fun game!

If I am given a choice I just want to go to bed and wake up dead. But that’s not for me to decide.

Our friend David Meade claims the world’s going to end tomorrow.  If that’s true then I shouldn’t have bought that pack of new underwear or bothered to stock up my fridge for next week.

I think I might just chill to the REM song End of the World as We Know It a few more times.

 

 

 

Strange Song Lyrics, Walmart, Livestock, and Back to 1981 (or not)

Guillotine-Names

I was just thinking what an interesting world it would be if I wrote trivia questions for money. I have stored away too much esoteric and ephemeral knowledge for my own good over the years. Making it multiple guess would be too easy.  I go for fill in the blanks, which at least requires some thought and/or creativity.

The first question I came up with? It’s a real blast from the past.

Name a song with the word “guillotine” in it.

I am sure there are more than one, but the one I am thinking of is, “Bastille Day” by Rush.

Even cooler is the rest of the phrase: “the guillotine will claim her bloody prize.”

Beheaded

At least I used a cartoon. Lighten up.

Imagine the lyrics police on that one today, although it’s better than all the sister raping and cop killing in rap music. If you could understand the lyrics in rap music, that is.

I am dating myself in saying that, especially knowing that rap has been around since before Blondie and her song “Rapture,” and that dates back to 1981, when Reagan was President, Steve Perry was the hottest thing in Spandex, and all was right with the world, except that the cars sucked.

steve-perry

Some things really suck about getting old. Since my car was trashed almost 3 months ago (yes I am pleased with the new Corolla, but still residually pissed about the perfectly fine 2014 Corolla that got trashed) I am finally feeling somewhat normal again.  Therapy for my shoulder did actually work, which I am glad about even though I have had to fight the other guy’s insurance for bloody everything and I am still hashing over various things.  I didn’t ask to get rear ended by some moron with a history of seizures who should have known better than to be driving.  I didn’t ask to deal with four or five full blown arthritis flares along the way either.  Thanks, asshole.

Maybe I should have gotten a lawyer, but I hate the legal profession even more than the medical industry. I refuse to refer to the medical industry as “health care.” They don’t care, and the last thing they want for their pocket books is for anyone to actually be healthy. The legal profession, insurance companies and the medical industry are all rip-offs, and all are in cahoots.  Follow the money trail.

Yesterday I saw another one of those displays of cross stitch patterns that are a bit on the dark side. I love cross stitch, but haven’t done it in a long time.  I would like to indulge in a nice cross stitch piece with a dark saying or two.  I saw one that had a cactus, then underneath it the word, “prick.” That one is funny. I am considering designing a simple one about being a sweetie and wiping the seatie if you sprinkle when you tinkle.  Then again, maybe a subtle DON’T PISS ON MY TOILET SEAT would serve me better.

field-of-f-cks

It’s been enjoyable being able to cook again- real food like beef and noodles or rotisserie Cornish hens, or grilled meat. Jerry was never pleased with anything I cooked, except sometimes bacon, and toward the end about the only thing I could get him to eat were chocolate covered mini-donuts. It was sad but there wasn’t anything I could do, and I felt like everything I did do was wrong.

I have said it before, and maybe it’s cruel to see someone’s passing as a relief, but Jerry’s truly was. He had been unhappy and ill and suffering for many years, and I bore much of the weight of his frustration and pain and sorrow.  When I see people who I’ve not seen in awhile and have to explain what happened I can’t pretend to be all grief stricken and weepy.  It’s not my personality anyway to be emotional and maudlin – yes, autistics get emotional, but not on cue, and not usually in any kind of “normal” appearing way.  I strive to keep my emotions private and sometimes I am so good at it I convince myself I don’t have any at all.  Then something taps the latch and the floodgate springs open at the most inopportune time.

I’ve had a few freaky dreams lately. The one about hanging out in a pen with a bull- yes, as in bovine-was especially weird.  Why was I the only one he would be docile around? Everyone else would just aggravate him and make him aggressive, but I could do anything with him.  Maybe it’s about boundaries or control issues- both are things at which I completely suck in the real world.  Being the bull master in dreams- not really the stuff power trips and fantasies are made of- but I guess I have to take whatever power I can get.

I’ve had that effect on dogs and a few cats, but I generally avoid animals larger than dogs. I have a healthy respect for horses.  It’s been years since I’ve ridden a horse.  I like them, but they are harder to read than dogs and there is a lot less margin for error with them.  You cheese off a dog and you get a warning snarl or raised hackles or any number of other warning signals.  Dogs are good at body language, even to the point of getting an autistic person to get it. Dogs normally want to help.   Cheese off a horse, however, and you are like as not to get kicked across his stall with little or no warning.  Horses don’t have to be nice.  They are only nice if they respect you.

Of cattle, I know nothing.

I never really had to hang out with cattle, except in Newark, Ohio.

There were, and likely still are, some Really Fat Cows there. Even 20+ years ago there was a stampede of heifers sporting too much cleavage stuffed into too small bras, and the parade of big butts hanging out of leggings stretched beyond reasonable limits was on.  It was when I worked in Newark that I could buy “dinky sizes” such as 10 or 12 on the clearance rack at the discount store.  I could also find 38D bras marked down which never happened in less ample parts of the world. It was also in Newark that I learned there is such a thing as women’s size 20 underwear, and that they could also serve as a car cover for my Corolla with room to spare.

Granted, morbid obesity is a thing in rural Ohio and it’s almost as bad as heroin or crack. People don’t have much to do other than watch TV, play on the Internet, screw, and scarf those dreadful greasy $5 pizzas from Little Caesar’s, unless they’re shooting heroin, making meth or smoking crack, that is.

There is Wal-Mart though. Wal-Mart is an endless source of entertainment.

Sometimes I think it would be funny to strap on a Go Pro in Wal-Mart and just see how it goes. What kinds of weird shit would I encounter?

walmartian

Privacy Has Its Advantages, Free Speech, and a Nod to the Sleep Deprived

carlin on government

Welcome to redneck heaven.   I still can’t get it why people around me seldom have blinds nor curtains.  I understand real curtains are expensive, but in a pinch a blanket from the Goodwill will serve as a curtain.  Poverty should not overshadow modesty. If there is a will, there is a way.

At any rate, I have no need to invite peeping Toms to gawk in on the happenings in my home.  My shower and my toilet are private.  My living room is private.  So are my laundry room, kitchen, dining room and bedroom.  If I want to wander around in any of them in various states of undress that’s my business, hence the blinds and curtains. I also don’t care to share what types or how much technological equipment or furnishings are or are not in my house, nor do I wish to broadcast my TV viewing to the rest of the block.  Live and let live.

captain obvious

The only things anyone outside of my very select circle of family and friends needs to know about my home and the activities therein are: Yes, I am armed, and yes, I have dogs.  Take my word for both, stay the hell away, and I promise you will not encounter either the hollow points or the canine jaws.

For some reason I have been wanting to nod off all day, and I slept reasonably well last night.  Maybe it’s because I have built up a sleep deficit that would last 10 years before it would even out. I know sleep loss is cumulative, but at some point I would think I would be making some headway on making it up.

I am not one of those people who really has a problem with the rebel flag.  It is historical and it has some sentimental value for people who have roots in the South.  I am not from the South, nor do I have any particular emotional ties with things Southern or of the Confederacy, so I am not going to be flying the stars and bars myself. However, I am not butt-hurt over those who do. It amazes me that even now people are ignorant enough to riot and kill each other over historical symbols.  Both sides- the “Alt-Right” and the “ANTIFA” people have it all wrong.  There is no such thing as “white supremacy” unless you are stupid enough to buy into debunked Nazi myths, and as far as reparations for slavery and all the government entitlement and reverse discrimination horse shit goes, that dog doesn’t hunt either.  No race or ethnic group is superior to another, and no race or ethnic group owes another anything based upon the actions of their ancestors.

If that were the case, the Irish and the Scots- not to mention various Asian and Indian nationalities- should be clamoring for the rest of the world to kiss their behinds.  The reality is that at one point or another all of us had ancestors who were oppressors.  All of us had ancestors who were oppressed too.  How we treat each other now is what matters.  Let It Go.

chain saw

I did have a problem with the guy across the street from Dad who decided to use a Nazi swastika flag as a curtain in his front window.  I found his choice of window treatment most offensive considering my grandfather (Dad’s Dad) fought the Nazis in WWII.  However, this rather dimwitted chap decided to remove it when Dad enlightened him that while it is his first amendment right to express himself, people who fly such flags in public view have a greater than normal chance of having their windows shot out.

Things have a way of working themselves out.

I wouldn’t say that I am easily annoyed.  My coping mechanism is usually to tune out the people who piss me off.  That’s why I haven’t had much commentary in the political or social spheres as of late.  I think it’s bloody hilarious that the same people who whined and cried because conservatives dared to criticize the sainted king Obama, have been positively bloodthirsty and shrilly outspoken in their hatred of Trump.  I think it’s just the way it goes.   It’s ok to hate white people even if you are white, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.  I notice quite a bit of vitriol directed toward white men who want to end the welfare gravy train.   Follow the money.  Who benefits from the entitlement system?  Why do they object to it being reformed?

Then again, even haters have their first amendment rights.

I don’t understand how racism toward whites somehow makes up for racism against blacks.  Racism is destructive regardless of where it comes from and who it is directed toward.

Sometimes critique of a particular ideology can be construed as a critique of an entire race, which is a dangerous logical fallacy.  Not all white people are white supremacists or Nazis, and in reality a vast majority of white people would never dream of subscribing to the myth of white supremacy or to Nazism.  Most black people are NOT screaming “reparations” or “kill whitey” either.

Hate organizations are hate organizations and should be called out and condemned no matter who their racism targets.  The KKK and Alt-Right and other white supremacist organizations have no place in a civilized, ethnically diverse society.  Neither does ANTIFA, Black Lives Matter, or any other organization whose aim is to foster hate and division against other races.

I am curious about all the people so quick to crucify Trump because he didn’t explicitly condemn just the KKK and Alt-Right and all the white supremacist wackos.  He did the correct thing and condemned ALL racial hate groups.

hypocrisy

Where were the Trump critics when Obama never had the balls to call out ISLAMIC TERRORISM?  Especially when there were so many egregious examples of it during his administration, so much so that I am convinced to agree that he was in collusion with them?  Trump is definitely not a white supremacist or a supporter of white supremacists.  Obama on the other hand, was a prime enabler of Islamic terrorism.  Why is nobody in the media calling out THAT happy little fact?

Granted, Islam is not a race, and not all adherents of Islam are out there actively promoting jihad, but Islam is a poisoned and flawed political ideology that hides behind the façade of religion. It is naïve and dangerous to pretend otherwise for the sake of “political correctness.” When one’s flawed and poisoned ideology turns into criminal actions that bring harm or death to others, this is where first amendment rights end.

Believe what you will, but there must be consequences should your beliefs trigger you to actions that break the law- regardless of whatever “protected status” you seek.

 

 

 

Stress? What Stress?, and I’m Still a Hot Mess

Holmes-Rahe-Stress-Inventory.jpg

My score was 360.  I don’t know whether or not to find humor in that, or to resort to despair.

I think I will find humor in that.  Despair is easy, and I don’t like taking the easy way out of anything.

If I would have to look back at the past year or so, if anything I am less stressed than I was a year ago, but the types of stress are different.  At this time last year we had finally closed on the loan, the summer-long cleaning, renovating and moving disaster was almost done, and I was moving Jerry into the house in Marion.  In retrospect I think I knew he didn’t have much longer to live.  In some ways I feel bad that I spent so much time doing so much work when he wanted my constant attention, but I didn’t have a choice given the time constraints I had.  Most of last summer was spent divided between two residences- and I wasn’t able to take off work to do anything.  It took a divine miracle that I was able to somehow get it done.

In some ways I wonder if moving him up there- taking him out of his natural habitat so to speak- hurried up the inevitable.  He made no bones about absolutely hating being in Marion.  But in other ways I can’t help but to view his passing as a merciful end.  I don’t know if this is how you’re supposed to feel when someone dies after years of being terminally ill. Is it supposed to be a relief?  He had been ill for many years- not just physically, but he was also deeply injured both emotionally and spiritually beyond my sorry ability to mitigate or repair.  He was a suffering and tortured soul, and there wasn’t anything I could do to fix that. I still feel bad that I couldn’t- as if I have failed.

I do feel guilty to some degree about all my failings with him.  I let his irrational behavior and alcohol abuse wear me down.  I wasn’t as patient and understanding as I could have been. Whatever love I had for him at one time had long since turned to regret and pity.  I felt sorry for him, but not in any way close to him. As the years went by the distance grew.  I spent almost 20 years in a sort of limbo, dancing around his rages and avoiding his scrutiny.

In a weird kind of way I almost feel guilty because I am not heartbroken and weepy. I just don’t have that kind of mourning in me.   Is it too healthy to pick up and move on, and even to breathe a sigh of relief?  I think maybe I got a lot of the mourning out of my system over the years as Jerry’s behavior issues and then the inevitable fallout from his illnesses chipped away at any affection I had for him.

I stayed because I said I would.  Not because I wanted to. Had it not been for Jerry being ill, I probably would have left him at some point because of the alcohol and the rages, the things that happened behind closed doors that well meaning friends and relatives never see.  I stayed more out of pity than anything else.  Does that make me an evil person?

hallmark card

Jerry’s sisters aren’t very thrilled with me, I’m sure.  I have no reason or desire to stay in contact with any of them after their behavior at the funeral. One didn’t even bother to show up, as she claimed 45 miles was “too far to drive.”  I drive that far each way every day to work, so I call bullshit on that.   I personally think she was pissed because the funeral director declined her request to view his body, even though he had requested NO viewing and direct cremation, and I honored that wish.  Even if he had not specifically stated no viewing, I would have insisted on no viewing anyway.  He had died in the night and was sleeping face down when he died.  When I found him, he had likely been dead for an hour or two, so the blood had pooled in his face, making him a rather bright shade of purple.  I am an iron guts, and even I declined to take a peek at that.

One sister disrespected my son by stating that he wasn’t really part of the family because he wasn’t related to her by blood, while the other was scanning about for valuables to take home. So I really don’t have a use for any of them.  I don’t need their drama.

I choose to live and let live, and to step away from the past.

On the brighter side, my illustrious hillbilly neighbors are always entertaining.

across the street

This place has been messier than this, if that is imaginable.  I think their dryer must have taken a puke. It’s bad enough that they drain the washer out of the bedroom window in the front of the house (and yes, this is the front of the house- the back is even worse) and the health department has warned them about doing that for the longest time, but to hang one’s laundry on the front porch is just a bit gauche.

This is the same pack of governmentally subsidized, poorly tattooed and morbidly obese individuals who were setting off hundreds of dollars worth of fireworks over the Fourth of July weekend.  I had to call the cops when their bottle rockets and other assorted incendiaries were landing on my roof.  I don’t want to be the buzz kill, but it’s bad enough when a.) I have to get up at 5 AM to go to work, because Monday, July 3rd was a work day for me, let alone when b.) it’s also midnight, and on top of all the racket, you’re landing flammables on my house.

My question is, you have money for fireworks, but not for a dryer…or a garage door?

Priorities, priorities.

Speaking of priorities, I am enjoying more road trips and fun activities on the weekends than I have for a long time.  Sophie got to sit in a GT car at the races on Saturday- I had never actually seen GT races or Indy car races live before, so this was a good time.

sophie gt car

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things That Suck #1149, and We Cry for Chlorine for the Gene Pool!

14corollareceived_827757130707026

I am convinced that the Universe doesn’t mean for me to have nice things for long.  All it took to destroy my perfectly lovely 2014 Corolla S+ was some jackwagon who knew he had seizures, but saw it fit to drive anyway.  Dude had a seizure while driving, and lost control doing about 45 MPH.  Sad part of it is, he had his own mother in the car with him and damn near put her through the windshield.  Yes, the gene pool needs a lot more chlorine.   He hit two other cars before hitting mine- I was stopping for a light- and putting my car smack into the concrete divider.

The left rear control arm was completely broken off,  the left curtain airbag was deployed, and the front end- front fascia, reinforcement, both headlights, radiator and condenser, etc.- was completely shattered into the divider. I got off with a ride in the squad to the ER, a badly sprained wrist and jacked up shoulder, for which I have to go see more freaking doctors.  When they can bother to get me in, of course.  It’s always a beautiful thing when I can’t lift my arm over my head, or move my shoulder hardly at all and it’s no better after three weeks, and nobody gives a rat’s ass about my pain or my time because of their vacations… (oh but they do care about getting my money…) <sarcasm here>  That insurance adjuster probably won’t be terribly happy with me over the medical bills and everything else, but I wasn’t the fool who went driving when I knew better than to do so.  At least they paid for my car off so far.  As far as my medical expenses and time off work and all that other shit, we shall see.

The good news is I was able to replace the car quickly (thanks to the good people at Germain Toyota, and just plain dumb luck that they had two 6 speed Corollas in stock) and I do like the new one.

20170627_133604

2017 Corolla SE 6MT

I wasn’t really planning on a new car, but didn’t really have much choice.  I hate buying used cars because you’re usually buying someone else’s trouble, and I don’t need that.  Finding a good manual used car is even harder than finding new ones, and after my illustrious son’s experiences with used cars, no thanks.  I can’t help but to visualize the scene from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off where the parking garage valets joy ride in Cameron’s dad’s Ferrari.  I would have the luck to buy a used car that had been rode hard and put away wet.  I had cars like that (not the Ferrari, but cars that had been thoroughly hosed by someone else) when I was in high school and college. I don’t have the time or the patience to jack around with that.

Besides getting my car trashed and having to have more dealings with the thoroughly corrupt and money hungry health “care” industry than normal, (they only “care” when they get money out of you, and that’s the truth) things have been interesting.  In spite of myself and my new found freedom, I am actually having a good time. There are days where I look back and wonder why the hell I put up with as much shit as I did for as long as I did, but as far as being lonely or heartbroken or all that, not so much.  All I will say for now is I am enjoying life for the first time in my life.  Better late than never.

Insert gratuitous pic of Brutus the amazing Catahoula here:

Brutus sweet.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End of the World, Not So Much, and Where to From Here?

biteme

I haven’t been here in awhile.  I have posted on my other sites that are mostly on things theological but as far as my personal life and the transitions I’m going through, I haven’t commented much.  It’s been a lot to process, and continues to be a lot to process, so I really haven’t put the words together yet.

My silence might sound strange given the rather cynical nature of my commentary here, and also a bit critical because there really is no compartment of life called a “spiritual life.” Spirituality is everywhere- from the sacred to the profane and everywhere between, so why can I write about spiritual things but not so much on others?  I am well aware that while by the grace of God I may be a saint, but I am most certainly still a sinner too.   Given that, I realize that what I write here may or may not be spiritually edifying to others even though it may be a.) funny and b.) cathartic for me.  Perhaps I have needed a bit less catharsis than usual, which is probably not a bad thing.

As far as living in my grandmother’s old house, I have never felt more at home.  Possibly it’s because I can (within budget and reason) do whatever I want with décor as well as with my time and- this is key- who I spend my time with.  I am almost afraid to even mention that someone has found me (because trust me, I was NOT looking) and suffice to say life is different.  Interesting.  Purposeful.  Alive.

prettykitty

I never bought into the princess stories as a child.  I knew I wasn’t the princess.  I was the leftover, the consolation prize, the last choice, the one who shovels the shit when the parade is over.  I still don’t buy into fairy tales.  But it is a gift and a welcome comfort to have someone in my life now who doesn’t see me as a whipping post, or as a built in maid, or as interactive furniture.  It is a welcome change to be a part of at least a symbiotic relationship, but dare I admit- it is much more than that.

Of course being one of those once bitten, twice shy people I am moving with caution.  I don’t need a man.  I certainly do not need to be a substitute mommy for anyone.  I’ve never been in this position before and I’m 48 years old- where I want to be with someone simply because it feels good and right when we’re together.  And that’s all I want to say publicly for now.

As to the macabre business of dealing with dead people’s stuff, that’s not so pleasant.  Just a couple of weeks ago I finally boxed up the rest of Jerry’s old stuff- clothes and various kitsch- and gave it to the Salvation Army.  I kept the tools and a few momento type things, but not much.

cantmakemecat

I wanted to make the spare room nice for my granddaughter when she spends the night, so she can have her own special place. There is no sense in keeping old crap around that’s not being used and taking up space when someone in need might get some use out of it.

I am still going through the shit of getting his truck title and bank accounts released to me through the court.  Not that any of that stuff is horribly valuable, but I have been pursuing it since October.  I don’t know if it’s the lawyer’s office that is pokey as hell or the court itself.  Probably both.

I don’t know how common it is when someone who survives a person who was terminally ill actually feels more relieved than grieved when his or her spouse dies.  Maybe it’s normal in some circumstances.  He’s been dead since October and I really can’t say I’ve ever been the classic grieving widow.  Granted, our marriage was never a terribly happy one, to put it mildly. It was pretty much defined by Jerry’s alcoholism and gambling, and then the pulmonary fibrosis.  Maybe that’s why the primary emotion I’ve been feeling is relief, as if a huge weight has been lifted off of me.  That’s not to say I am completely heartless.  There are things I miss about him, but on the whole I have a better life.  I am no longer making a game out of how many times he can call me a bitch between 5 and 6 AM as I’m getting ready for work.  I certainly do not miss that. Should I feel like a total shit because I am no longer being bitched at and browbeaten every time I turn around?  At least I am being honest, and that should count for something.

I am not sure exactly what my life is going to look like moving forward.  I know my boundaries a lot better.  I know I enjoy quiet, a simple existence, a tidy home, autonomy and my dogs.

laxative action