Archive for the health Category

Scammers are NOT Us

Posted in anxiety, depression, health with tags , , , , on June 2, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I just got a rambling comment calling me a con artist working the graft constantly. I must say, this offended me deeply. Because it is not true. A real con involves lies, often without continuity. It involves gaining fancy possessions and tons of cash and ‘fooling’ people into thinking your situation is worse than it is. But it was a miscommunication and my friend and I seem to be ok now, but for those who are beyond such reason…

I challenge ANYONE to go through 8 years of blog posts and call me out for specific grievances of being anything but authentic in my words.

Since I am a hormonal livewire right now, I am not going to elaborate further on the matter. I am just trying to get my kid to daycamp for the next 11 weeks and I’ve posted the math, the gas, I can even include a screen shot of local gas prices. This is for my kid as she has always wanted to go to camp. They waved the $300 program fee, so yeah, I feel shitty I can’t even provide the fuel to get her there and back. But ya know what? If you call yourself a friend, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask to bum gas money, repay it with cash when I could or barter some sort of housekeeping/babysitting/errand running/cooking trade off. Maybe that is small town life and how we do things and it doesn’t translate well for others. It’s my truth. Always has been, always will be.

I only get truly upset when accused of falsehoods. Like being a slut, or stupid, or a con artist.

If you want to call me a bitch, fine. Guilty. Unemployable because I fucked up my life repeatedly? So be it. You want to call me fussy because I do vent about money problems and trouble getting a job, okay, your perception but fair enough. You can even say I bring some of this shit on myself, because, hey, I did breed with the donor knowing his history for not supporting his kids.

But I am not, nor will I ever be, someone working to score money for computers and ipads and a fancier smart phone and whatever other idiocy true scam artists pursue.

I am trying to stay afloat and I do feel shitty running fundraisers and asking for shit.

But I am a mother and my pride is worth far less than any possibility of making my child’s dreams come true.

Still…no hard feelings, truly. The internet is rife with awful people lying their asses off to get money for inane pretties, easy to assume everyone who holds fundraisers is the same.

In this one case, however, you’d be wrong.

Not A Happy Camper

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , on May 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, we went live with our fundraiser to at least raise gas money so Spook can attend day camp in town on a scholarship and we have not received a single donation. We got one share, and we appreciate it. But seriously, guys, i know I’m always the whiny fundraiser queen but it isn’t for lack of trying. I just got an email closing out my application for a maid at a hotel in town, they filled it. I WAS UP AGAINST 52 OTHER APPLICANTS, and those were just the on line ones, not including people who walked in and filled out paper apps. Not to mention I have never worked as a maid (I barely made it 3 mights as a hotel auditor, but I was working another job full time so I can’t say I was able to give it my all) so it’s pretty obvious with no experience and no current references, I was not getting that job. Much like the camp counselor gig, the home health care gigs, the insurance customer advocate gig…I’m not a hot property, I get it. My applied for and rejected folder is starting to resemble a word file in page numbers.

But I am still trying and I am only asking for marginal help FOR MY KID TO ATTEND CAMP. They feed and snack them, it’s all scholarship. I am just responsible for gas to get her there and pick her up. That’s going to be about 40 miles every day Mon-Fri and if I can’t get her there, then I have to live with the guilt of knowing I let my kid take up the spot some other well deserving child could have had cos their parents live in town and can afford to drive them there. It’s about $38 a week for that many trips to town. If I lived in town, it would not be an issue. But since I have to take her to town, leave her, come home then drive all the way back…God, what a pain in the ass.

What would make more sense if is a funraiser to get us the hell out of Armpit but last year when we had 2 weeks to move and not a dime to do it, we raised $110. I’ve got enough failure going on without inviting more. It brings me down, for sure. I feel like with so many people competing for so few jobs and me not having current references, I am never going to get a job, never going to be able to work and get us out of this hellmouth, away from my dad’s toxicity…And with a job, I might be able to afford a decent damn psychiatrist who’s primary concern would be my well being and not pleasing an authority figure with how few medications being prescribed…

Right now, all I can focus on because I am wiped out is Spook and day camp. She is sooo excited. I told my dad about it and he bitched that I will be wasting gas, racking up miles on my car and wearing down the tires, and besides, I don’t work so why do I need a camp to babysit my kid…and it wasn’t ever about that, I just get tired of never being able to afford to take her anywhere the entire summer. This is her chance to return to school and start 5th grade with some great memories. I want that for her, so badly. She is my only focus right now.

Her and the other half of the yard I can’t work myself up to do because the humidity makes me choke on sinus drainage. And the only reason the yard worries me isn’t appearance or worry about the landlord, it’s because I can ‘t handle my dad attacking me yet again on a matter I’ve made clear is none of his business but he’s too much of a dick to butt out.

Spook is the priority now, so don’t do it for me, do it for her. And if cash makes you uneasy, they do have prepaid gift cards for use only at gas stations for fuel only. That’s what we’re trying to raise money for, 11 weeks times about $38 a week for fuel. And if I could just get us out of this ass trash place, it wouldn’t be an issue but I’m drained. I applied for a factory job I am unqualified for because it was the only new listing and guess how many others applied..66. NO ONE CAN SAY I AM NOT TRYING. I want out of here more than I have ever wanted anything before, I think. Because my dad stressing me out and the fuel and $70 minimum every month whether we use a drop of water a month….If I could get us back to town, we could afford rent, power, insurance, water, trash, internet, and still be able to buy food, feed the cats (who are now on day 5 without a morsel of crunchy food and my dad damn well knows it but can’t even take pity on them cos he’s so busy holding a grudge against me), put gas in the car…because in town we could apply for subsidized housing thus lower rent thus saving money to put towards all else…

I’m freaking out, time to shut it down. God, I really don’t miss R and his political tirades but I sometimes sure do miss him showing up with some Mangoritas to shut up the voices in my head.

Help for Spook to go to daycamp, please, even a share is amazing.

https://www.gofundme.com/summer-camp-and-vacation-fundraiser

Direct deposit without big fees is paypal (and it is instantaneous, fundraiser takes days to pay out) and please note that it is for us both, not just for me. My kid and i are a package deal.

paypal.me/MorgueAndSpook

Our video explaining things, very short clip.

Merci.

I’m gonna go freak out and panic now.

Burned Up, Burned Out, Just Burned

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , , on May 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Good news? Burnout is an official medical diagnosis. Bad news? It only applies to job burn out, not the uber legitimate simply burned out from the struggle of life. Because only a job can burn you out. Not a child who is never pleased, who bellows mom mom mom mommy mom mom constantly, complains incessantly, and on top of it all, dealing with asshole family members, inept psych care, and a deadbeat ex who won’t contribute a dime to his daughter’s existence yet goes around telling everyone what a good man he is…

Nope. No way could anyone legitimately burn out and break down from all that. Only a demeaning or demanding job. Pfft. Utter bullshit.

Well, yesterday was bare minimum functional day. I did what I had to but beyond that, I was just exhausted. Start and stop sleep 7 days a week takes a toll and you get bone tired and don’t even have the excuse of hard work to use. So it leads to self loathing and feeling lazy and then I have plenty of people around me to confirm this is how they view me and round and round we go…

Again, no legit burn out from this, either.

Today I have started a load of laundry, washed dishes, put on clean clothes, and fed my kid a very browned omelette cos Julia Child I am not. Now I have 6 baskets of clothes to fold and put away and a football sized lawn to mow by myself with just a push mower. Yay. My kid has been out of school 4 days and one day she spent with my dad til bedtime yet I am already feeling the strain. To my chagrin, she was glued to me and being so overwhelming, I broke down and let her use my tablet even though she just broke her THIRD one. I am scared she will break mine but it would be taking one for the team, so to speak. She still ain’t getting near my laptop or desktop, computers are sacred. Tablet is newer with more bells and whistles but…I grew up on an actual keyboard, not a touch screen, so this is my wheelhouse. I will leave touch screen tech to her generation though she needs a bloody tablet made by the Tonka Tough toy company, she’s a bloody menace.

I am back to focusing on little more than going to sleep. Thanks for that, psych nurse. She stressed me out with all this talk of taking away the one antidepressant that helps. Now I can’t focus on progress when she’s weaning my dose downward and it’s dragging me down with it. I have searched my soul on this matter, trying to find a way to make it my fault, to make her the good guy, and me the overly demanding mental basketcase. It just isn’t true. She is not a good fit. And not having any options speaks volumes about the psych center, doesn’t it? They can’t get good help, they can’t keep the mediocre help they do get, and on the pegacorn occasion they get a great doc, they can’t keep them either. I can think of only ONE good thing about this current psych nurse and that is at least she stopped the revolving door of providers I was going through. Not by choice, mind you, they lost 3 doctors last year alone. But if I could look forward to an appointment or at least not dread it…That would be worth some instability.

What makes me the maddest is not being treated like an individual. This girl is so young and inexperienced, she thinks the book stuff is gospel and she allows zero room for individuality. That is upsetting. Frankly, it pisses me off. She has been the worst of the bunch on this issue and wow, after 9 providers in 15 years, that is saying something. She is a bad fit. I want to call her filthy names and vent my rage but it won’t help my cause. It only makes me look like the bratty bad guy. And I am not. Not this time, anyway. I can be irrational and unfair but this time…I’m not in the wrong. Maybe she isn’t either. Maybe it’s just a very very bad fucking fit. There, I swore a little, all better.

Um…Nope. Still bone weary and exhausted and burned out. I can’t think of a single positive in the next 3 days. Just more of the same. Wake up, get mommed and I’m bored-to death and more housework and cats that are hungry for actual cat food which I have none of. Today they got ramen. I am doing what I can, I didn’t say I liked it.

Now…chill out and wait for the grass to dry enough so I can mow. Before my dad starts in on me about lowering property values cos my lawn looks shitty. Geeze, he doesn’t even own a property over here and my landlord has never said anything to me about it not being mowed within an hour of a rainstorm making it grow half a inch. My dad is a freak, like Hank Hill, only he doesn’t sell propane and propane accesorries. Still a lawnmower obsessed redneck.

No, I don’t have anything good to say about anyone. It’s called PMS. Everyone should have such a severe case every month and then tell me how nasty I am. This is me holding in the nasty. If I let the real venom out to play…I’d lose all 4 of my regular readers.

Spoons, Sporks, Forks, Done, Queen Cobra

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , on May 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am finally sitting still after running all morning. My spoon/spork allotment is zilch, I used them all getting my kid to the doctor, rushing her 15 miles to Armpitopia school, rushing back to town 15 miles to make my job interview with like two minutes to spare…Stick a fork in me, I am done.

The interview was relaxed and I think it went well, though I can never seem to shake the underlying “I am a fraud, I am not fit to work when I can’t even keep my laundry folded.” I hate being forced into this position, I truly wanted to return to work ‘the right way’. One year on stable med cocktail through the winter depression, that is my litmus test. I don’t have the luxury.

Anyway, the lady that interviewed me said they have multiple interviews through tomorrow for only 3 open spots but I could always apply for their thrift store. Cos being a numerically dyslexic cashier sounds like a great idea that could not possibly result in me giving someone their own twenty dollar bill back because numbers so easily confuse me and mix me up.

More bad news, even though I only have $835 a month income, it would still cost me $85 minimum per month, plus $8 gas times 5 days a week for nine weeks, to get Spook into the summer camp there. I simply don’t have it. I might be able to eek gas money, or eek out the camp fee, but I can’t do both. Stupid fucking donor screws up everything for that kid. She’d be so much better off with that program all summer. They take them swimming and to game playplaces and they feed them two meals and a snack…Plus she’d make new friends and get out of the house. But unless I stumble across $240 by June 11th, she won’t be able to go. And even with that paid, I’d still need gas money. I can’t even get a fast food interview, apparently submitting a resume for those jobs automatically excludes you as being ‘too fancy’. Ffs.

On top of this, the new pediatrician thinks Spook may have a ‘slight’ curvature of the spine which is why she is so uncomfortable and unable to touch her toes and is so clumsy. So now she has to get an X-ray. It terrifies me either way because one, she gets that backbrace the kids will torture her about, or two, she needs surgery, and I just don’t see how she’s been that impaired by not being able to touch her toes. Leave it to me to pick the one competent doctor in town who is willing to challenge insurance and get these tests paid for. I have her also set up for some ADHD test, as well as a child psych, and a referral for a psychiatric eval. Shit’s getting real now and it makes me wonder if I have overdramatized things. I know I haven’t though. I still don’t think there’s anything too wrong with her spine. She’s 4 foot nine, 100.8 pounds and perfectly healthy and sometimes happy. I mean, she begged me to take her back to school today as opposed to going to grandma’s or staying home, so apparently her depression and low self esteem only apply to school days when a classmate is having a birthday party with treats.

I am wiped. I fed myself and got back into warm slobby jammies. I went back to sleep around 5 a.m. but I bolted up at 7:30, thinking it was later and I’d missed her appointment. Starting the day in a panic after a night of start and stop sleep and bizarre dreams is not to my liking. One thing, though, I should sleep well tonight. I thought for sure I’d get home and be able to nap but scumbag brain rebels again. Now I have 6 hours at least before I can tune out and try to rebuild the spoon/spork supply and face another day.

This cold damp weathwr ain’t helping at all, for some reason, my housekeeping giddy up requires it to be summy and relatively warm. That is unlikely cos though the temps are going back up to 80’s then 70’s, we have 7 straight days calling for 50% plus rain chances. Fuck’s sake, I can’t escape seasonal depression even during fucking spring because fucking Illinois and fucking Mother Nature can’t stop forcefeeding me the cold and bringing the seasonal symptoms back in spades.

Yes, I needed to say fucking all those times, it was necessary. Cathartic even. Because I feel fucking exhausted and fucking hopeless and fucking pissy. My brother has the IQ and maturity of a bath sponge but he can get a job and I can’t. And I hate my toxic father being in my head, pointing that out to me every single day by mentioning ‘your brother is working today’, like that helps at all. And I fucking wish the donor would just fucking die already since he’s done nothing to help his kid and everything to hurt her.

Maybe if I ever get 7 solid hours of sleep, I will be less venomous and hateful. For now…call me Queen Cobra.

Spoons, Sporks, And Monsoons

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve already had my dose of fresh hell this morning that took pretty much ALL my spoons for the day. We needed a bag of cheap litter, a bottle of melatonin, and a jar of pizza sauce so I can make cheese pizza later. I asked my dad if they had any work I could to do to earn $3-$5. This resulted in being told all about their own troubles (they’re getting haircuts today, just paid property taxes in cash, and are eating out for the third day in a row, oh boo fucking hoo for them, and she doesn’t even have to work,ffs.) He guilted me. Told me to go to Mickey D’s open interviews ( cos I didn’t do that six months ago only to not hear a fucking word!) and since they hired my brother, they’ll hire me too then I can carpool and take him to work with me and they will take care of my kid and have her pushing gas mowers all summer…

There. went. all. my spoons.

The man just cannot get it through his head that IF THEY WON’T HIRE YOU, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU KEEP TRYING. And I have a sneaking suspicion of why I was deemed unhireable by that place but it makes me sound like a paranoid assclown. Only thing is, I worked management and this sort of thing happens constantly. Someone applies for a job, they come in to talk to management, and then another employee says oh, I know them, they’re weird, don’t hire them…and often it really IS that simple and I only believe it because being inside the management circle, I saw it happen. He’s had the same job 43 years, he has no fucking clue. And I would rather starve and move to live on my mom’s sofa than let them ‘babysit’ and put my kid to slave labor. She’s not even ten yet and barely has the strength to push an old reel mower, let alone a gas one.

This will make me very hated by you, I am sure, but the truth is what it is and lately, I’ve been counting down til my dad is dead and I am finally fucking FREE of him, of his woman, of their man child.

But let’s play devil’s advocate here so I don’t look so overreative and mental. My kid and I have an eye doctor appointment Tuesday at 11 a.m. Open interviews are that day at 1:30. So do I take her along  cos I sure as hell don’t have enough gas to bring her back to Armpitopia school district then go back to town then come back home, that’s like 80 miles and I will be lucky if the gas in the car now gets me through all of our appointments this month. He made no offer to help me with the gas thing, and had no answer as to me taking her along with me except it probably wouldn’t look good to not have adequate child care…The week after this, my kid has a well kid check up in the morning. I am already calling her off for the day because even if the appointment is over by ten thirty, I’d still have to make that 80 plus mile trip to take her to district school then  back to town for open interviews. (Oh, and for the record, the McDonald’s job listings have been listed as filled on all my on line site notifications, indeed, snag, ziprecruiter,etc).

I’m just so fed up with that man in my fucking space. And it was my own doing cos we need litter and melatonin, and yes, for $3 even on a cold rainy ass day I am willing to work for it  cos I buy from the dollar store, LITERALLY, so three items, three bucks. I can’t do it til Tuesday since I am low on gas in the car but I am trying to do right by offering to do work and earn what I need. It’s not like I said give it to me cos I am your kid and I am fucking marvelous! Such a cold hearted dickbag, my dad. And my mom is back in nasty mode, too, telling me how awful I am for punishing my kid for breaking her THIRD tablet. “We’ll just buy her another one, get off your high horse!” That is a problem, that is why she breaks everything, cos gramma and auntie will just buy more stuff.

Never a good sign when I need a Xanax before 11 am.

But we’re on dog duty for the day and it’s bloody miserable and then I gotta towel dry the dogs after each time and then they need cuddle comforted cos the rain upsets them…God, dogs are a lot of fucking work and neediness. Spook can do the comfort thing. I’m too pissed off and defeated.

At this point I’d wipe up a nasty ass peep show booth if it meant not having my dad in my business and telling me what to do, because I have done it his way and it still isn’t working cos THEY DO NOT WANT TO HIRE ME, GODDAMN IT MOTHERFUCKER SON OF A BITCH ASSHOLE SHITFACE DICKBAG.

No, it was not necessary for me to swear that much, but it was cathartic for me.

swear a lot

Mostly, I just needed to vent. And another thing, working the same job as family members never goes well, I tried that with where my mom and my sis worked and there’s just this expectation that if they are great at something, you must be as well, and if not, then you’re a lazy loser and they are told about it…NOPE.

Ya know what I’d LOVE to do just for the sheer sleaziness that would embarrass my parents if they had to repeat my job? PORN SITE OPERATOR. It would make me giddy if they had to explain,”Oh, our daughter’s in internet porn…”

Muha ha ha ha. Whatever it takes to motivate me, and honestly, with overly critical heartless parents, sometimes your only victory is in embarrassing them. So if anyone knows of any ways to get into like foot fetish porn on line, I have a can of creamed corn, a camera, and big feet to slosh around in it. Yeah, I don’t know how anyone finds that a turn on.

As long as their credit card info is accurate, does it matter? A ghoul can dream…

 

 

Tuesday Bluesday

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , on April 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I slept like crap last night. Kept waking up with a pounding heart and a racing mind. The bad dreams have become so realistic I can no longer tell them from reality at times. Once Spook was off to school, I curled up under the covers and tried to just rest and not immediately head for the painkiller since my cramps are shredding through my belly to my spine. The cats kept knocking stuff over and I was yelling at them and getting so damn aggro…Sleep was welcome because when I get that upset and am this hormonal, it just leads to scenes of Linda Blair and pee soup and comments about maternal figures performing lewd acts in hell.

I feel a little better now, having napped. But we went from 80 degrees and sunny down to the low 60’s with gloom and wind, so my feet are freezing and I put on pants and a t-shirt as opposed to wearing a tank top and shorts yesterday. The weather up and downs are such a mindfuck for me. Cramps so painful they hurt my spine fuck with my head,too.

I was going to recharge then hit the job search again but I gotta write that letter to the current job for some sort of dispensation indicating I did all the right things and have met the court burder to rehab myself. Then I need multiple character reference letters from non family. Then I have to type up a statement of ownership about my crime and what I have done to better myself. Then I have to send it all to the state, at which point they can choose to reject it all.

Hard to get excited to get on that. And in my current emotional state, I can’t say I wouldn’t write up a ‘fuck you’ statement because it was a misdemeanor charge and I am going through this process like I robbed a bank or murdered someone. This is bullshit. Let go of your past. Wait, you did something wrong once in 46 years, so your past keeps you from moving forward. You jump through these spiked flaming hoops and don’t cry, we might consider you improved. Then again maybe our spouse pissed in our Cheerios the morning we read your documents and decide you’re still a loser.

Arghhhhhh.

Last week I was high functioning, even if I had to work in brief bursts and just keep hammering away.This week, I feel so drained and aching, I can barely work up the energy to feed myself even though my belly is growling. That high functionality costs a lot, for me, and the price versus what it gives back, often does not come close to balancing. That isn’t about gratification, it is about expanding what few spoons you have for the week and being left with nothing for the rest of the week. Things should nourish you so you at least retain half a spoon or can regain one or two.

I sound mad as a hatter, but it’s a thing, spoon/spork theory.

For now, I think I am going to put on socks cos my feet are cold and then…Maybe I will hit the painkiller mix of Tylenol and Motrin so the cramps and backache let up and maybe I can accomplish one or two things around the house. But if I am saying I am in pain and feeling lousy, it’s not an affectation or excuse. Ten days every month this is my life and I can take a joke and tee hee at the pms jokes but…there is nothing funny about PMDD, which is PMS on steroids and meth. But hey, what the hell, Carol Ann shared a link to this one yesterday and it made me smirk. Some days that is as close it I get to a laugh or smile.

Humpty Frumpty

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , on April 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In honor of egg and bunny day, I thought I’d liken myself to a cracked egg who cannot be properly reassembled ever again.

I’m not in boo hoo territory. I am PMDD hell. I woke multiple times during the night with a cramping back and belly and then I felt so shitty I didn’t even fill eggs and hide them as I have done for 7 years. I just set her stuff on the table, turned on the heat and fell face first back in bed. I literally could not keep my eyes. I tried to sit up and get focused and it just hurt and I ached and my eyelids felt like lead weights were dragging them down, pulling me back to hellish nightmare scape of my dreams. And there were some FUBAR and terrifying nightmares, one would think I should prefer being awake. My body and mind just weren’t on board.

So my kid plowed into her Easter stuff with wild abandon and kept shrieking every ten seconds and running to tell sleepy mommy thank you, you’re the best, I love you… And I tried to drag my ass out of bed, but my eyelids wouldn’t stay open. I kept nodding off, and then I had these dreams that felt real but were not real, like looking at the clock it and it was noon when in fact it was not even 8 a.m. yet…Very disconcerting.

I do not look forward to today. We first have to pop in to dad’s as my cancer battling aunt I barely know is going to be there and she wants to meet Spook. (My dad was just never close to her cos she lived 4 hours north and preaches religious stuff nonstop.) But when he said he wish she’d have kept on driving through the state and not contacted him, it was like, fuck, the woman’s getting chemo and radiation for stage 4 cancer and she apparently just wants to see her brother and his family for a little while. I guess his utter cruel rudeness made me realize that me being uncomfortable and ill at ease with a crowded room of people is the leat I can do when her own brother is such an ass.

From there we take my brother to his job, go spend 3 hours at my mom’s, pick my brother up, and bring him home then we can collapse home ourselves. Only by then my nephew and his fiancee will probably stop by and by that point, I am gonna be Psychotica. I have run, myself ragged this week and while others can make their derisive noises because ‘that is just life, grow up’…I know I am about to drop if my brain doesn’t get a much needed respite. It just won’t be tomorrow since Spook is off school. But at least I know why I am hurting and why my brain just wants to sleep, that is classic PMDD. It is brutal. I hope I don’t have some sort of hormonal meltdown with all the madness today. And anything more than 3 people is madness for me, so a house filled with 15 people-only 3 I am actually related to…argghh.

I will plaster 0on the happy face. I will pretend I want to be there. I will try not to lose my fucking mind with boredom or lose my shit because I am so far from my safe space. I am gonna try. Maybe if I just give myself permission to be Humpty Dumpty for a couple of days, I will become the whirlwind I was last week again for a day or two. Then starts the crash and burn cycle again. What matters is that I am trying.

Our fundraiser for an overnight summer trip and legal fund to get a lawyer with a brain cell alive inside his skull.

paypal.me/MorgueAndSpook

https://www.gofundme.com/help-light-up-my-daughters-life

Hoppy Easter to all.