end of 2011: reflections

I realize this is incredibly long and I apologize. Apparently, it turns out I had a lot more to say then I originally thought I did… and it became a lot more self-involved than I planned it to be.

Sorry. Not that any of you plan on reading it anyways, so this was more for myself than anything.

2010 started out rough, but ended on a much better and hopeful note. Thank god for that.

2011 started out nicely.

New Years Eve found me at my best friends apartment and when the clock finally struck 12, we were surprised at having almost missed it. For the most part, we were high out of our minds. We didn’t have alcohol, so weed was our answer. We all cheered when the ball dropped on the screen of the little TV on the floor of my friend’s apartment and went crazy with our silly string and confetti and poppers. It was truly a magical moment, that’s the only way I can put it. Everything seemed to be in slow motion – the glittering confetti falling to the floor, the silly string that was getting on my hair and tread into the carpet, the happy faces. I wanted that moment to last forever.

New Years 2011 was fucking magical... that may or may not have been the result of drugs.

I’ve heard that how you spend your new years is how you’ll end it. That night, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that this year would be a good one and that maybe this year I’d try harder to keep my resolutions. We’d all written them on balloons and released them off the balcony, letting the dark night swallow them up whole. I’m sad to say I probably did not keep my resolution, because for the life of me, I cannot recall what it was in the first place.

That night, I was surrounded by a lot of old friends that I’d already begun to fall out of touch with. It’s weird to say that because I’d only been off at college for one semester, 4ish months, yet the distancing had already started. Looking at the faces around that room that night, there are only two people in that entire apartment I still really talk to. The rest don’t know me anymore. So much has happened to me that they’d never be able to fathom. I don’t know them anymore either… and worse, I don’t care a great deal.

Back at school, I knew I had to try harder 2^nd semester to earn better grades and ultimately, to get my GPA up. Leaving high school, I’d had a 4.2 GPA and high SAT scores. But guess what? None of that shit matters in college (just like similarly, no one fucking cares that you played varsity this or that in high school… get over yourself). I didn’t do bad my 1^st semester (3.4 GPA) but I wasn’t holding up to my own high caliber. It also didn’t help that when I came home, my relatives would ask me disappointedly, what happened? And to add to the disappointment, I was undeclared in my major and had no idea what the fuck I wanted to do. I still don’t.

After 1^st semester/the end of 2010, one of my friends and possible interests found out that his ex was pregnant with his child. So that halted anything from happening. I rarely saw him 2^nd semester. One of my other friends had been suspended for drugs. Two of my good friends got together. The dynamics of my usual little group changed and things were strange and different.

But this led way for another possible interest to develop.

I had 50 hours of court ordered community service that I had to complete by sometime in November, so I was busy with that a lot during 1^st semester. I even skipped classes to get more hours in. I met a lot of peculiar people (mostly locals) during this time, but I never minded working there. I found it amusing to say the least and I also got hit on a lot by people of varying ages (and genders). That time period of my life was just very strange. Sometimes I miss it, but don’t know why. (2^nd semester, when I had to write a creative non-fiction piece, my teacher told us that it could be about any experience, as long as it made you feel something. I ended up writing about my community service. I don’t know what it made me feel exactly or why it even stuck with me, but it just made me feel. That’s the best way I can explain it).

But it was while doing community service that I met someone. Didn’t really start talking/seeing him much ‘til the first few months of 2011 though. The words ‘talking’ and ‘seeing’ are very misleading in this case, because we weren’t really doing either. I don’t know what we were doing. We weren’t nothing, but not something. A lot of physical things ensued, and since I’m being honest, that became the basis of our relationship more than anything else. However, I was still more naïve than even I’d expected way back then. It’s complicated.

St. Patty’s Day weekend was a turning point. Two of my best friends were coming to visit during their spring break and I was excited beyond words. We had a good time. We had a drunk time. The first night we had to hitchhike because being directionally challenged and still not having the whole bus system thing down, I made us get off at a random stop.

I don’t remember when I started drinking the next night, but I do remember exactly what and how much of it I drank. I was a fucking mess. On the way to the party I started crying to my best friend (first and only time drunk crying, ugh) and saying lord knows what. But thank god, I stopped. The party was fun – trolled and drunk grinded on strangers with the bestie. I have a lot of scars from tripping and falling into potholes that night. Later discovered pictures that I have no recollection of.

That entire weekend was a sloppy mess... if only I could remember.

The next morning, my friends had to leave. I don’t remember what I said when I was crying, or why I even started. From what I’ve heard, basically it seemed like my new ‘interest’ was an asshole and yadda yadda yadda. But since one of the guys in my past was an exceptional asshole, my best friend was worried I’d get hurt again. Long story short, she told this new guy to never talk to me again (in a far from nice manner) and deleted his number.

Things got shaky after that. My best friend and I talked and were okay. But I tried to contact him and apologize, but he never responded. He completely cut contact with me after that. To me, this was devastating. I don’t know why. I still don’t. I’m blaming a large part on the fact that I never got any closure, something that I haven’t received in the past either. To me, this makes things harder.

After that sloppy night, more of my friends from school now knew about this interest. I’d been keeping it a secret, except for my best friends from home, because I didn’t know how my new friends would react because of one distinct characteristic about him. They were probably bound to find out anyways, because I’d always disappear at late hours with vague lies about my whereabouts. I even earned the nickname “Sketchy Susan.”

I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I was still as busy as ever with school. And I was constantly surrounded by people 24/7. Even if I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity and despair, which I adamantly did, I couldn’t. I was never alone. The only times I had to myself were in the communal showers, where the sound of the showers could mask my crying. Not that I cried too much.

Luckily, I was also taking a creative writing class that semester. I’d never been a fan of reading or writing poetry because I just didn’t get most of it, but poetry was what we started out with. It helped me a lot. I hardly talked to any of my friends at school about what I was going through. I’m a rather private person as it is. I don’t like feeling weak (how terribly dumb).

It also didn’t escape my attention that back in 2010 I’d been seeing a boy for a while, but we ended rather badly around March and I let this catapult me into months of depression. Really, I was just being fucking stupid and I despise that. And here I was again, March 2011, letting myself get worked up over a boy. The year had seemed to come full circle, and the irony was just too rich.

I remember April being pretty good. It was my birthday month. I got jello shots, a cake with ‘69’ candles, and lap dances for my birthday, among other things. I went to RVA to see my best friend. I went to a concert.

My friends and I are the classiest...

Anyways, school went well from what I can remember. I got a slightly higher GPA that semester and I even got an A in my public speaking class, which made me really happy because public speaking still scares me today. It may seem silly, but it was one of those things that helped me realize that I can truly achieve what I set out to.

The days were getting warmer, the weather nicer. I spent a lot of time between classes lying out on the drill field with my friends – tanning, goofing around, watching them throw a football. Things were nice.

One of my guy friends whom I’d only met around my birthday became interested in me. I’ll just call him ‘R.’ He was attractive. The attention was nice. To spare you the long story, it basically turned out that he’d been fucking one of the other girls in our friend group for a while. And when they weren’t on good terms, he’d come to me to chill or talk or flirt… or fall asleep in my bed with. Then ignore me again when they were good. So that was fun to find out. Honestly, it didn’t faze me as much as it could have because I never actually did like him. Like I said, he was attractive. The attention was nice. It was certainly a distraction and it helped to keep my mind off of the events that’d transpired in March.

School ended. Summer came. As I’ve been finding out every year for the past few years, it’s not the same anymore. It’s a sad fact.

I got a job at Men’s Wearhouse because my mom works there and some girl had just quit and they desperately needed more help during prom season. It was actually a fun job and I really liked the people I worked with, for the most part. I honestly had a crush on one of my coworkers for a bit, despite him being like 30. But I got over it. I was really busy working for the first part of the summer, but then prom season ended mid June. After that, my hours slowly became less and less until I barely worked 15 hours a week. I asked for more, but got none.

All of my friends were basically working or interning. Everyone was busy. So when I suddenly had all this free time on my hands, it was bad news. After I’d come home from school, I’d begun thinking about what happened in March with ‘Y’ (that’s what I’ll call him now). And now I had even more time to think about him. I spent hours laying awake in bed at night, going over all the time I’d spent with him. I hated that I could never fall asleep and I hated that I’d turned into this pathetic person. There were so many reasons that it was a good thing that things between ‘Y’ and me had ended. But whatever, I didn’t care. Feelings don’t work like that anyhow.

This past summer wasn’t bad or anything. I still had fun because after all, it is summer. But it was a pretty lonely one. I definitely spent way too much time on tumblr and I just kept finding things that seemed so relevant to me in my ‘heartbreak’ (not actually, but for lack of a better term). I was aware that this only fueled my misery but I couldn’t stop, nonetheless. It was my own doing. It was my own fucking choice. Like I said, I hated that I’d become this pathetic person. Like I said, summer wasn’t the same anymore.

‘Y’ actually texted me a few weeks before the end of summer. I was at a party and maybe a little bit intoxicated. It was upsetting. The things he said didn’t help me feel better either. Instead, they pissed me off. After that, I decided that he pissed me off. Was this what I needed to finally get past all of this nonsense? I knew he wanted to see me when I was back at school. I felt like I was now in the position of power. I was in control. This helped.

School started again mid-August. I was sad that I wasn’t as tan as I’d normally be this late into the summer. First semester was pretty all right. It was fun. I did really good grades wise. I’m a tiny bit closer to knowing what direction I want my life heading in (baby steps). Most of my classes were pretty interesting. Still good with my friends. Some bad things. Some emotionally bad/sad times. Some freak outs. So is life.

I ended up seeing ‘Y’ a few weeks into the school year. And then we basically started seeing each other weekly. But this time I knew I had to keep my distance. I was no longer as naïve. I knew I couldn’t be as emotionally invested as in the past. It’s complicated. I’m complicated. But I didn’t like the way he treated me. Not in person or anything, but just the way he’d easily blow me off through texts. It bothered me. And I knew I was starting to think about him too much. Even the fact that I let him bother me, bothered me. It showed me that I was starting to care too much.

And on the other hand, one my guy friends liked me. The same one who’d gotten his ex girlfriend pregnant and was now a father. I’ll call him ‘C.’ At least he actually liked me for me, i.e. flawed self and annoying sarcasm, and not just my body. I knew a few of my other guy friends also had crushes on me. I wasn’t really interested in any of them, except maybe ‘C.’

I didn’t know how I felt about ‘C’ and I told him that. I still don’t. I can’t honestly say that I like him in the same way, but there’s definitely something there. I wish I did. We are so strangely compatible and while there’s maybe something there, it’s not enough. I don’t think I’ve genuinely liked someone in a long time, but I remember what it’s supposed to feel like. But then again, I’ve never been friends with someone before falling for them. Maybe I don’t know what this is supposed to feel like. Either way, we’ve decided to be friends and to see where things go.

Back in October, I finally forced myself to try to talk to ‘Y.’ I always told myself I would every time I saw him, but then chickened out. But now that I knew other people whom I actually had a chance with liked me, I knew I had to. I couldn’t be a coward forever. I didn’t see him for 3 weeks after that. For us, that was a very long time. And the texting multiple times a week stopped too… which meant I could not think about him as much. I’d decided that I would stop texting him first, let him come to me, and actually follow through with that decision for once. I did pretty well.

I’d told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to see him again. I did. But afterwards, it was different. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice being with him and feeling a false sense of closeness and intimacy. That feeling is always nice and I think therein lies my weakness. But afterwards, I still didn’t think about him a lot or feel a great need to see him. Not that I never wanted to see him again.

This time, a month went by before I saw him again in December. I met his gay roommates. One of them told me I was pretty. We watched a movie. That was …different, but nice. He asked me out to dinner. That was …surprising, but nice. He blew me off. That fucking pissed me off. I’m tired of the shitty way he treats me. To be fair, I don’t think he’s an asshole at all. I just think he’s an asshole when it comes to me. I don’t know what will happen in 2012. I do know that he’ll try to talk to me again. Which is fine. I just don’t know how I’ll react. I don’t get or stay mad for very long because I usually don’t have enough energy to care. Same thing applies now.

1^st semester ended well. I made good grades. The only thing that stands out jarringly in my memory is December 8^th. Reading Day at my school. That was the day campus was on lockdown for four hours and I was stuck in my common room with all my suitemates and their friends. We were glued to the TV and constantly refreshing our social networking sites, praying that no one had gotten hurt after gunshots had been heard. Someone did. An officer died that day. I had no phone service and could not call/text, but I was surprised to hear from so many people I hadn’t seen or talked to in months. People I hardly thought about anymore, all asking me if I was okay.

Winter break has been all right. Nothing too eventful, nothing too terrible. It definitely didn’t feel like Christmas at all this year though, to me anyways. I’ve found that to be true every year, as I grow older.

2011 wasn’t absolutely terrible, it just wasn’t great.

Some things have changed: I got a new piercing, my mother has recently informed me that I’ve gotten fatter, and I have actually declared a major now.

Some things haven’t: I still go through bouts of self loathing and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life.

The thing is, I fully know why I loathe myself. It’s because I can see clearly that I over think and overanalyze and that I do things I know probably aren’t in my best interests, even as I’m doing them.

I’ve always known that I lack a great deal of common sense, and this doesn’t help me during my bouts of irrationability, which are fueled by my emotions. However, I am also a very logical person, so I can tell myself what I should do or think or feel because what I really think or feel… just isn’t good for me

Yet I don’t follow through, because low and behold, the heart is greater than the mind. I can’t always talk myself out of my feelings. Guess I can’t help or it. Or more likely: I still haven’t learned.

Being both an extremely emotional and logical person…  is the worst. You let yourself fall to the emotional extremes – self loathing, depression, self pity, self consuming despair – and then you hate yourself for it. As you’re experiencing these emotions, you tell yourself you’re stupid and weak to be having these feelings because you know better and because clearly, it’s your own fault that you’re in this place and you could get out of it you really wanted to.

The thing I’m really struggling with right now is the fact that I have a great guy who’s actually my friend and who actually likes me for me. We could work out so well. I have no problem drunkenly hooking up with him, yet I can’t even say that I like him like him. Instead, despite the fact that ‘Y’ is an asshole to me and does not treat me the way I know I deserve, I’m still not willing to give him up. We could never work for so many reasons, and that’s fine. But if he showed any sign of wanting more than the thing we sorta have sorta don’t have right now… I know I’d be willing to give it a chance in a heartbeat.

I hate the fact that I’m so willing, despite knowing that I don’t need him. I don’t have to give in to myself. I hate the fact that I know all of these things and can rationally tell myself what I should be doing. At this point, I’m trying to work on myself and why I feel the need to always fall into self-destructive behaviors. I inflict a lot of my own pain.

I’m complicated and I have issues. That’s what I want to work on in 2012. Fixing myself. I want to feel strong and beautiful and that I don’t need someone else to be okay.

How you start your new year is how you’ll end it. Sadly, that won’t be true for me. I started out 2011 in a smokey haze of delirium like happiness.

But as of now, I have no plans. More accurately, I could have plans. But at this point in my life, I don’t know how much I care to deal with awkwardness around people I truly don’t care about. When midnight rolls around, you’ll most likely find me alone. In my room. Anyone care to join?

A lot of things can happen in a year.

2011: the year of the letdown.

Dear self: Sit that fat ass down and write

Alright. So I made this wordpress because I wanted to get back into writing… get my groove back you could say.

(If you can ignore that terrible attempt at being somewhat funny then please do read on).

Anyways, I’ve been making way too many excuses about why I haven’t been writing at all lately.

Saying it’s because I have work all the time and I’m tired just doesn’t cut it anymore now that prom season’s over and I can literally hear crickets now that the hordes of customers in the form of previous classmates no longer swarm to the Men’s Wearhouse I work at this summer. But really. I only work part time and my hours have been cut so I only work around 20ish hours a week give or take… which is only 3 or 4 days. Which is nothing.

I’d honestly rather be working instead of having too much time on my hands to be unproductively lounging around my house, getting fat or trying to convince people to actually hang out with my bad self.

And it’s not for lack of things to say either because believe me I have plenty of things racing through my head at all times, good and bad, that I want to get out and write down… but then I don’t. So what the hell is that?

I know a part of it is just pure laziness. But I also know a large part of it is intimidation. I want to write but I want to like what I write and therein lays the problem. I’m intimidated by an empty, white blank page (insert lyrics of the Mumford & Sons song of the same name here). I guess it could be worse… I could be intimidated by bees or my misery inducing thoughts or the ghosts of my past… oh wait.

I took an intro to creative writing class this past semester at school (that’s another story in and of itself) and I learned some useful things that I actually took to heart. Or at least made a mental note to take to heart. I learned that the most important step in writing and wanting to becoming a better writer was a simple one – just write.

I know that sounds incredibly obvious and stupid. But you just have to write. Everyday. No matter what it is (lists of things to do, love letters, hate letters, brown nosing emails to your professors, whatever) you just need to get into the habit.

Writers, or people in general, are intimidated by other writers. By the books and novels and poems and writings of other people that are already out there. They’re intimidated because they think that writers just sit down and are able to immediately call into existence beautifully constructed sentences and story lines as easily as we mere mortals stir our coffees in the mornings. But this isn’t the case and it certainly isn’t true.

Writers have to work for it. They have to go through endless drafts and revisions in order to finally get that perfect book or paragraph or fucking sentence that can evoke the right emotions or express their innermost thoughts that can’t be put into words as accurately as possible. It takes time – days, weeks, years.

And most importantly, it takes sitting that fucking ass down and getting down to business. Just. Write.

I meant to make this post a short one where I apologized for not writing and saying how I was going to post something old just to show how sorry I really was. But then it became this long winded rant like post. So, see? Just making myself sit down and at least semi-concentrate really did make it easier.

Once you start writing it gets a little less scary every time. Once you start writing you may find that it gets hard to stop.

…..But I really was serious about posting something old that is hopefully semi decent, so stay tuned.

My sarcasm should probably calm the fuck down… or not.

I’m very sarcastic.

No, I’m not a bitch. I know that was probably the first thing that popped into your head when you read that. But no really, I swear I’m not a bitch. I’m actually a very nice person but my sarcasm can sometimes get out of control.

Anyone who knows me even semi-well knows this. This is especially true for my closest friends because they’re the ones who have to deal with my onslaught of cynicism, ridicule and general contempt for everyone and everything on a daily basis (sucks to be them).

Alright let’s get something straight here – I don’t actually hate everything and I definitely don’t hate anyone. I do, however, get easily fed up with peoples’ general stupidity and my cynicism and bitterness are just things that have built up over time. It’s something I can’t really help at this point in my life, as they’ve grown out of my past experiences… and I guess I just always had it in me in the first place.

I’m usually not super sarcastic when I first meet people… or at least I try not to be because I’ve learned by now that this just scares people off and leads to them placing me under the category of ‘bitch’ or ‘intimidating’ which is yet another way of saying ‘this girl is a major biatchhhh.’

I also unfortunately had to learn this the hard way. Take for example my roommate this past year when I was just a wee college freshman… my roommate didn’t understand the concept of sarcasm (I’m not entirely sure how she went 19 years of her life without ever running into someone sarcastic but whatever… she’s from Jersey) and thought everything that came out of my mouth was serious for a good month. Of course, she told me this months later when we’d already become good friends but I still felt terrible. I can’t believe she thought every little snarky side comment or saucy remark from me was true!

As she later told me, she was intimidated the fuck out of her mind and was a little scared of me and as a result was scared to really talk or even say that much in fear of my remarks which I probably thought were funny. Damn, I never knew I could have that kind of effect on people. Well, ok, I only vaguely knew. But in all honesty, I think a lot of the shit that comes out of my mouth, especially when I’m being sarcastic, is funny. Not haha over the top funny but in a dry manner – I guess that’s just my brand of humor, although I do admit that the sarcasm can be a bit much at times.

God, I hate to talk about myself so much especially since I shy away from doing so in real life… but hey this is my blog, and if I can’t talk about myself an inordinate amount here, where the fuck else can I?

Anyways, I bring up the issue of sarcasm because one of my coworkers, KD, told me today “it’s a little bitchy to be honest” when I asked her if she really thought I was being mean or serious when I thought I was just joking around (joking around to me involves a lot of sarcasm).

Well, okay then. She doesn’t actually believe I’m being serious or mean… she just thinks I’m a bitch. Fucking great.

“Is it just a comfort thing? Is that how you show you’re comfortable around people?”

Uhm. Bitch, you don’t know my life.

I’m not entirely sure why her comment bothered me so much but, like most things, I just turned it around into a joke and laughed at it. I’m not really sure why she decided to call me out on my sarcasm since I don’t feel like I acted any differently then I normally do. Yes, now that I know her better and am more ‘comfortable’ around her, I probably am a lot more sarcastic then I was at first. But to my credit I did warn my coworkers about my sarcasm when I first started working almost 4 weeks ago because they’d told me I was so friendly and bubbly and approachable which isn’t untrue (bet they don’t think that now).

True, I was in a bad mood at work yesterday but I was fine today. Actually, it was KD who was in a pretty shit mood today and being bitchy. And not in a joke-y I’m overly sarcastic way but in an actual lousy funk. I’m really not sure why I’m bothered by what she said since she’s self described as ‘moody’ and gets easily annoyed by our coworkers/customers so much more then I ever do. This is also the same girl that told me she’d made a previous coworker (the one who quit a few weeks ago making it possible for me to secure this job hollaaaa) cry. As she said today, she can be ‘a real bitch.’

I guess I’m honestly just tired of people who don’t even know me writing me off as a bitch because they don’t ‘get’ my sense of humor or sarcasm. I’m not saying that everyone thinks this or I’d probably hate myself even more by now, dear lord. But I feel like enough people do for me to be concerned (any number of people is enough people in this case) especially since I’ve always believed that people who act like bitches are, for the most part, bitches.

But I guess I can’t please everyone, right? And that shouldn’t be my job anyways. I should be myself and if that person is a bitch, then I should embrace it, no?

So basically this little writing exercise probably made me out to be a bigger bitch then I’m even close to being and made it seem like I care too much about what others (such as bothersome coworkers) think.

Excellent – my intentions exactly.

So much self loathing right now.

A word on horoscopes… and intimacy?

I’m an Aries. As the first sign of the zodiac, we like winning and coming in on top. We fiery individuals crave equal parts attention and alone time. We’re social butterflies, but hate it when people get too clingy or needy and we’re stubborn to a fault… imagine a ram butting its head over and over against a brick wall when there’s easily an entrance just a few feet further down the line. At our best we are passionate, independent, and daring. At our worst we are temperamental, reckless and self-involved.

All of this is according to a quick Google search I did but it pretty much fits me to a tee. I like getting attention (hey, who doesn’t?) but I value my me time just as much. I can’t stand when people get clingy – it’s a major turn off. I’m ambitious and competitive in things I care about but I put myself into a lot of unnecessary situations where I’m bound to get hurt (psychically, emotionally, etc.).

When it comes down to it, I don’t know how much I really believe in the whole horoscopes thing. I feel most of it could apply to any general reader and if you read something that you want to believe about yourself you’ll probably end up making that connection anyways no matter how big the stretch. But with that being said, I’ve always believed in it when applied to myself. A little backwards, I know. Trust me, I know. 

I bring up horoscopes now because about a week ago my friend was reading zodiac facts on twitter and came across one that basically said “Aries are heart breakers.” I scoffed at this of course. “Please, looking at the facts (and the past) I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who did any heart breaking,” I said. Which is perfectly true. I’ve never been in love or even close, but I’m usually always the one who gets hurt in all of the romantic or unromantic ‘things’ I get myself tangled in.

“Well, wait. I can kinda see how that’s true even for you,” said my best friend G. Um, what? Please explain further because I have no idea what kind of fucking alternate universe you’re living in right now.

According to her it’s because of the way I’m afraid to be vulnerable and intimate with people. Which is true and always has been, but I’ve changed a lot in just the past year. I like being intimate. I crave it, actually. But then I realized that’s a lot different then really being vulnerable.

I’ve laid in bed completely naked with someone who I was curious about and interested in but not in love with after sex. Sex in and of itself can be very intimate of course, but in this case it wasn’t really. Like I said, we weren’t in love. I don’t even know how much in ‘like’ we were if at all. But we just talked.

To me, this was the intimate part and I felt very vulnerable then and maybe I was. But looking back at that ‘thing’ and all of my ‘things’ with people in the past I feel like I’ve always been holding back. I’m myself and don’t try to be anyone different, but I still feel like I’m acting or putting on airs. I have a wall up without even trying… I don’t know how big of one it is, but it’s big enough to matter.

I would analyze it more like most other things about myself… but it’s hard when I can’t fully explain it or find the right words to even try.

So while it may be true that I’ve never broken any hearts, the fact that I can’t get rid of this always present wall.. that I’m always holding back… these things can be dangerous. To the other party or as it usually goes… to myself.