Totally qualified to sell my plasma! If I go twice a week (the max allowed), it'll bring in a decent chunk of change after gas expenses. I've gone three times so far and the waiting takes foreverrrrr and they're really lacking in finesse when it comes to jabbing the needles in but I can read and listen to my mp3 player so it's manageable. The random annoying thing is they don't want you to fall asleep during the removal so you're not allowed to keep your eyes closed. Which sucks because the shit would go by a lot faster if I was allowed to just close my eyes and listen to music.
I'm going to try to find somewhere to volunteer in that area. So the drive will be more of a two birds, one stone type thing.
I'm trying super hard to be more social. I've been isolating hard core for months but I'm trying to change that. I went out with a group of friends last night and it was awesome. And I had an amaaaazing makeout session last weekend. Amazing. Like, the best I've ever had. It was lovely. He and I have hung out a few times and I dig him so I'm hoping for a repeat session soon.
I saw my psychiatrist. I told her about my severe apathy and isolation. She upped both of my antidepressants so I have my fingers crossed.
Things are...alright. Like, I think I can do better and get shit together. I'm hopeful. I think it's going to be okay.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Updateyness
Group of little boys playing outside:
Several at once: I like your hair!
Boy 1: Do you have a boyfriend?
Boy 2: You look like Nicki Minaj!
Ha!
My landlady has lowered my rent a little and has said that we'll talk in a few months and, if she's doing better financially, she'll lower it a bit more. She really doesn't want me to leave. I got my internet lowered and switched to a cheaper phone plan. I go tomorrow to see if I qualify to sell plasma. Slowly chipping away! It'll be tight but I can make it. At least until summer when the power bill will shoot up. But I can work with that. And I'll keep looking for a new roommate.
I'm happy I don't have to move. I really want to create a home I love and I never feel able to do that if I don't feel stable.
My friend and I are working on What You Really Really Want together. And then will do Beautiful You: A Daily Guide to Radical Self-Acceptance after that. Self help buddies!
Several at once: I like your hair!
Boy 1: Do you have a boyfriend?
Boy 2: You look like Nicki Minaj!
Ha!
My landlady has lowered my rent a little and has said that we'll talk in a few months and, if she's doing better financially, she'll lower it a bit more. She really doesn't want me to leave. I got my internet lowered and switched to a cheaper phone plan. I go tomorrow to see if I qualify to sell plasma. Slowly chipping away! It'll be tight but I can make it. At least until summer when the power bill will shoot up. But I can work with that. And I'll keep looking for a new roommate.
I'm happy I don't have to move. I really want to create a home I love and I never feel able to do that if I don't feel stable.
My friend and I are working on What You Really Really Want together. And then will do Beautiful You: A Daily Guide to Radical Self-Acceptance after that. Self help buddies!
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
My exhaustion has been really bad. Worse than usual. In addition to heightened pain. It scares me. I don't know what's up. I'm apathetic, not interested in socializing, have trouble getting out of bed, and a few other shitty things that make me think my antidepressants aren't working so well. I see my psychiatrist at the end of the month so I'll see what she thinks. The depression is there and I fucking hate it. I just want to cry because I don't know what's wrong with me.
I haven't found a new roommate yet. Financially that's kinda dicking me. I made an appointment for next week to see if I qualify to sell plasma. That would help if it's do-able. We shall see. I'm taking a lot of iron and drinking a lot of water and am crossing my fingers!
I'm currently reading Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book and am loving it so much. And I finally watched Sherlock with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman and holy god, it's so so so good! I need more episodes immediately!
Nothing much to update as I've been having trouble leaving the house, much less doing anything worth talking about. Hopefully my visit with the psychiatrist will help things.
I haven't found a new roommate yet. Financially that's kinda dicking me. I made an appointment for next week to see if I qualify to sell plasma. That would help if it's do-able. We shall see. I'm taking a lot of iron and drinking a lot of water and am crossing my fingers!
I'm currently reading Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book and am loving it so much. And I finally watched Sherlock with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman and holy god, it's so so so good! I need more episodes immediately!
Nothing much to update as I've been having trouble leaving the house, much less doing anything worth talking about. Hopefully my visit with the psychiatrist will help things.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Nothing makes me happy the way new hair does.
A dress I got for my birthday. I love it so much.
Things are...okay? My roommate is moving out this weekend and I've yet to find a replacement. Which really fucks me over financially. I talked to my landlady and she really wants me to stay. To the point that she's willing to lower the rent. We're supposed to talk in a couple of weeks (assuming I still haven't found a roommate) about how low she can go and whether or not I can afford to stay. My lease doesn't end until May so... Hopefully it works out.
I have so much to do but have no energy. I'm thinking I'm in the middle of a fibro flare due to that and the pain. Blech.
I've been reading a lot. Do you have a Good Reads account? If so, we should be friends!
A dress I got for my birthday. I love it so much.
Things are...okay? My roommate is moving out this weekend and I've yet to find a replacement. Which really fucks me over financially. I talked to my landlady and she really wants me to stay. To the point that she's willing to lower the rent. We're supposed to talk in a couple of weeks (assuming I still haven't found a roommate) about how low she can go and whether or not I can afford to stay. My lease doesn't end until May so... Hopefully it works out.
I have so much to do but have no energy. I'm thinking I'm in the middle of a fibro flare due to that and the pain. Blech.
I've been reading a lot. Do you have a Good Reads account? If so, we should be friends!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Happy New Year
2011 was a hard year. It started out well but kind of rocketed into terrible by the end. Obviously I'll remember this year as the one when my mother died. And that alone is enough to write the year off as a disaster. Then add on the week and a half spent in the psych hospital....
But there was good too. You all sent me to California. And, because of that, I was able to hold my mom's hand one last time and say goodbye to her. I will never be able to find the words capable of expressing what that means to me. You gave me something that I will never be able to adequately thank you for.
You give me hope. You give me faith in myself. You give me strength. You make me believe I'm capable of more than I can imagine.
Thank you. I hope your next year is filled with excitement and adventure and love and joy and self acceptance.
But there was good too. You all sent me to California. And, because of that, I was able to hold my mom's hand one last time and say goodbye to her. I will never be able to find the words capable of expressing what that means to me. You gave me something that I will never be able to adequately thank you for.
You give me hope. You give me faith in myself. You give me strength. You make me believe I'm capable of more than I can imagine.
Thank you. I hope your next year is filled with excitement and adventure and love and joy and self acceptance.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Goals for 2012
SCHOOL
MENTAL HEALTH
PHYSICAL HEALTH
FINANCES
LIFE IN GENERAL
SELF-CARE
HOME
SOCIAL LIFE
CODEPENDENCY
- Attend Southern Union in fall
MENTAL HEALTH
- Work on Feeling Good Handbook
- Work on What You Really Really Want book
- Deal with past in therapy – once a week at least
- Take medications daily – do NOT let them run out
- Work on loving myself more
PHYSICAL HEALTH
- Continue with the Fat Nutritionist
- Create and implement a food plan for healthier/saner eating
- Create and implement an exercise plan
- Physical therapy on a daily basis
- New glasses
FINANCES
- Find out about declaring bankruptcy
LIFE IN GENERAL
- Begin volunteering
- Visit a new state (0/1)
- Read at least two books per month (0/24)
SELF-CARE
- Get one tattoo (0/1)
- Get one piercing (0/1)
- Bleach and dye hair four times (0/4)
HOME
- Clean out master bedroom
- Clean out junk drawer
- Clean out closet
- Clean out kitchen
- Clean out bathroom
- Create a bedroom I love
SOCIAL LIFE
- Create a list for an ideal partner
- Stop dating/boning assholes
CODEPENDENCY
- Say NO to sex when I don't want it
- Ask for what I want in bed
- Set some boundaries
- Stop feeling so damn guilty about everything
Monday, December 26, 2011
A Letter #2
Dad:
I never called you that. Never. Did you notice? I just couldn't bring myself to taint that word by using it on you. Did you notice those times you forced me to say it how hard it was? How I spit it out like poison? You weren't a father, a dad, a daddy. You weren't the things I wanted.
Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck you for everything you ever did to me. I hate you. God, I fucking hate you.
You made me despise my body before I was old enough to read. You taught me how to make myself throw up after I ate and to hate myself when I got fat anyway. You said nobody would love me if I gained weight. And I believed you. You told me YOU wouldn't love me if I gained weight. And I believed you. I can never remember a time when I didn't hate myself and the way I looked. Never. My entire conscious memory is one filled with self-loathing. God, how I hate you for that.
You touched me. You molested me. You fucking molested me. I flinched every time you touched me, whether it was sexual or not. God, I hated your hands. You laughed. You laughed when you held me down in scalding water and listened to me scream. You laughed when I bled. Somehow it was all made worse by the fact that you were completely sober when you hurt me. That it wasn't a drunken rage. It was cold and calculated and you enjoyed every second of it.
For 10 years you touched me and when I finally asked the authorities for help you simply denied it and they believed you. I was just some crazy liar, looking for attention. I didn't even want you to get in trouble. I told them because I wanted therapy – because I thought of suicide every moment of every day. I just wanted help. Do you understand what I just said? You molested me for a decade and I still felt guilty when I told on you. I was terrified that something bad would happen to you. I should have been stronger. I should have been able to deal with this shit on my own. God forbid you be punished for what you did to me. For destroying me.
Men have terrified me my entire life. I avoided sex like the plague until I was in my 20s. I have trouble dating because I can't believe anyone would want to be with me. When I do date they tend to be assholes who use me or fuck me up in one way or another because that's all I think I deserve. I'm clingy and desperate because you taught me I had to earn love. I don't know how to take care of myself because you taught I don't deserve to. I have no boundaries because you ripped them down and burned them.
God, what did I do to make you hate me so much? You had to have hated me to have done what you did. I remember, a few years ago, you telling me you loved me. And I froze because I couldn't remember you ever having said that before. After a few seconds of silence I whispered, “I love you too.” And I realized I meant it. It had been years since you touched me and our relationship was...fine? Nothing more than saying hi as we passed in the hall but that was still the best it had ever been. It wasn't a lie. After everything you'd done to me, I realized I still felt love for you. It was simple and basic...the kind of love I have for strangers...but it still existed.
I never wanted you to be miserable. I used to wish I'd one day have the money to take care of you and mom. To buy you a house up north. To make sure you'd never have to worry again. I just wanted you to be happy. Something I never saw you be. The both of you were so unhappy and emotionally disturbed and I just wanted you to escape that.
Your death was the first time I ever felt safe. But I'm still sorry it happened. I remember every moment. Especially the smell of gunpowder. And the blood. God, why did you have to do it when I was in the next room? When you knew I'd be the one to find you. People say suicide is a selfish act. But I didn't see you as being selfish. I've been in that mindset too many times to hate you for following through. I'm sorry you felt that desperate. To some degree, I blame myself. As I always do. I think of the millions of ways things might have been different. But they're not and never will be. I'm sorry you felt that was the only way. And I'm sorry I found so much relief in your decision. But I did. I wasn't scared, for the first time in my life.
You killed yourself and I felt free.
But your death also meant the end of hope. Hope for a relationship with you. Hope that, one day, it would magically be all better. Hope that you'd suddenly become sane and healthy. Hope that you'd be proud of me and I'd be the daughter you wanted. Hope that you'd be the father I needed. But that was never going to happen. Alive or dead, nothing would change. If you lived to be a hundred, the past would never be erased.
You fucked me up in more ways than I can list. You made me broken and empty. You made me scared...so fucking scared. Of everything and everyone. But it's time to heal. You took my past and I can't let you have my future. I won't let you have my future.
Heidi
I never called you that. Never. Did you notice? I just couldn't bring myself to taint that word by using it on you. Did you notice those times you forced me to say it how hard it was? How I spit it out like poison? You weren't a father, a dad, a daddy. You weren't the things I wanted.
Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck you for everything you ever did to me. I hate you. God, I fucking hate you.
You made me despise my body before I was old enough to read. You taught me how to make myself throw up after I ate and to hate myself when I got fat anyway. You said nobody would love me if I gained weight. And I believed you. You told me YOU wouldn't love me if I gained weight. And I believed you. I can never remember a time when I didn't hate myself and the way I looked. Never. My entire conscious memory is one filled with self-loathing. God, how I hate you for that.
You touched me. You molested me. You fucking molested me. I flinched every time you touched me, whether it was sexual or not. God, I hated your hands. You laughed. You laughed when you held me down in scalding water and listened to me scream. You laughed when I bled. Somehow it was all made worse by the fact that you were completely sober when you hurt me. That it wasn't a drunken rage. It was cold and calculated and you enjoyed every second of it.
For 10 years you touched me and when I finally asked the authorities for help you simply denied it and they believed you. I was just some crazy liar, looking for attention. I didn't even want you to get in trouble. I told them because I wanted therapy – because I thought of suicide every moment of every day. I just wanted help. Do you understand what I just said? You molested me for a decade and I still felt guilty when I told on you. I was terrified that something bad would happen to you. I should have been stronger. I should have been able to deal with this shit on my own. God forbid you be punished for what you did to me. For destroying me.
Men have terrified me my entire life. I avoided sex like the plague until I was in my 20s. I have trouble dating because I can't believe anyone would want to be with me. When I do date they tend to be assholes who use me or fuck me up in one way or another because that's all I think I deserve. I'm clingy and desperate because you taught me I had to earn love. I don't know how to take care of myself because you taught I don't deserve to. I have no boundaries because you ripped them down and burned them.
God, what did I do to make you hate me so much? You had to have hated me to have done what you did. I remember, a few years ago, you telling me you loved me. And I froze because I couldn't remember you ever having said that before. After a few seconds of silence I whispered, “I love you too.” And I realized I meant it. It had been years since you touched me and our relationship was...fine? Nothing more than saying hi as we passed in the hall but that was still the best it had ever been. It wasn't a lie. After everything you'd done to me, I realized I still felt love for you. It was simple and basic...the kind of love I have for strangers...but it still existed.
I never wanted you to be miserable. I used to wish I'd one day have the money to take care of you and mom. To buy you a house up north. To make sure you'd never have to worry again. I just wanted you to be happy. Something I never saw you be. The both of you were so unhappy and emotionally disturbed and I just wanted you to escape that.
Your death was the first time I ever felt safe. But I'm still sorry it happened. I remember every moment. Especially the smell of gunpowder. And the blood. God, why did you have to do it when I was in the next room? When you knew I'd be the one to find you. People say suicide is a selfish act. But I didn't see you as being selfish. I've been in that mindset too many times to hate you for following through. I'm sorry you felt that desperate. To some degree, I blame myself. As I always do. I think of the millions of ways things might have been different. But they're not and never will be. I'm sorry you felt that was the only way. And I'm sorry I found so much relief in your decision. But I did. I wasn't scared, for the first time in my life.
You killed yourself and I felt free.
But your death also meant the end of hope. Hope for a relationship with you. Hope that, one day, it would magically be all better. Hope that you'd suddenly become sane and healthy. Hope that you'd be proud of me and I'd be the daughter you wanted. Hope that you'd be the father I needed. But that was never going to happen. Alive or dead, nothing would change. If you lived to be a hundred, the past would never be erased.
You fucked me up in more ways than I can list. You made me broken and empty. You made me scared...so fucking scared. Of everything and everyone. But it's time to heal. You took my past and I can't let you have my future. I won't let you have my future.
Heidi
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
My friend summed things up really well for me:
I was catching up on some of your recent blog entries. I think your plan to start working on some deeper issues is a good one. This is just my observation, but it just seems like you've been pushed from crisis to crisis this past couple of years. And now that you're in a more secure position, in some respects, you can really work on some of the deeper stuff.
In 2007 i think it was, you had the WLS. Then quite soon after that you had the gigantic move of doom. You finally deal with all that crap and the hoarding issues and your crazy parents...then you lose your job. Then your father's suicide, then your mum got really bad, then finances imploding. You just have not caught a break in the last four fucking years. You were, and i think you still are, in survival mode.
...
Stability is something you never had as a child so it's something you crave now.
I think I’ve spent so long finding growth and strength as a result of pain and misery that I’ve forgotten that love and joy and ecstasy can be forms of empowerment. Maybe even more so than the sadness I’ve defined myself by.
I was catching up on some of your recent blog entries. I think your plan to start working on some deeper issues is a good one. This is just my observation, but it just seems like you've been pushed from crisis to crisis this past couple of years. And now that you're in a more secure position, in some respects, you can really work on some of the deeper stuff.
In 2007 i think it was, you had the WLS. Then quite soon after that you had the gigantic move of doom. You finally deal with all that crap and the hoarding issues and your crazy parents...then you lose your job. Then your father's suicide, then your mum got really bad, then finances imploding. You just have not caught a break in the last four fucking years. You were, and i think you still are, in survival mode.
...
Stability is something you never had as a child so it's something you crave now.
I think I’ve spent so long finding growth and strength as a result of pain and misery that I’ve forgotten that love and joy and ecstasy can be forms of empowerment. Maybe even more so than the sadness I’ve defined myself by.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
A Letter #1
Dear Mama:
I hate you. I hate you for marrying him. I hate you for staying married to him. I hate you for knowing what he did to me and doing nothing. I hate you for allowing him to hurt me. I hate you for allowing him to touch me. I hate you for not protecting me. I hate you for lying and protecting him when I finally told the police what had been happening for the last 10 years. I hate you for telling social services that I “misunderstood” his hands on my body almost as much as I hate them for believing you. I hate you for lying for him. I hate you for telling me I was more important than him only to sell me out to the authorities. I hate you for taking the easy way out instead helping me. I hate you for telling me he was a good man until I came along. I hate you for telling me day in and day out how much you despised him and I hate you for staying with him anyway, no matter how often I begged you to leave and take me with you. I hate you for not caring enough to make an effort. I hate you for not coming to my high school graduation because you “didn't feel like it.” I hate you for forgetting my birthdays. I hate you for not even getting me a card the times you did remember. I hate you for hoarding. I hate you for making me live in filth. I hate you because I couldn't allow anyone in the house and constantly had to lie to my friends as to why. I hate you for never giving me a home I could feel calm and safe in. I hate you for screaming so loudly and so constantly that I swallow my own anger out of fear of becoming you. I hate you for making me so afraid to speak up and express myself. I hate you for teaching me to put myself last. I hate you for teaching me to never ask for or accept help. I hate you for making me so fucking codependent. I hate you for screaming at and belittling me constantly. I hate that I couldn't even accidentally knock over a glass of water without getting the full force of your wrath. I hate you for screaming so constantly that loud noises scare me and it took 20 years to stop flinching every time anyone touched me. I hate you for screaming at and hitting him because it made me pity and defend someone who destroyed me. I hate that when you found out I was making myself throw up in elementary school you simply told me to stop and never mentioned it again. I hate you for knowing he taught me how to shove my fingers down my throat and doing nothing about it. I hate you for telling me, at six, that I was the only reason you didn't kill yourself because it made me feel responsible for you for the rest of your life. I hate you for crying over his death when you knew all the horrible things he'd done to me. I hate you for mourning him when you'd spent my entire life wishing him dead.
Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my anger. I'm sorry for my resentment. I'm sorry for your mental illness. I'm sorry you were depressed your entire life and never got help. I'm sorry you didn't think you were worth helping. I'm sorry you spent so many years wanting to die. I'm sorry you felt, for whatever reason, that you had to stay with him. I'm sorry you stayed at jobs where you weren't respected or appreciated. I'm sorry you were to afraid to go after what you wanted. I'm sorry you didn't think you were deserving of happiness. I'm sorry you had to deal with your husband committing suicide. I'm sorry you refused to talk to the therapists at the hospital, no matter how many times they tried. I'm sorry I had to leave you. I'm sorry you were alone. I'm sorry I couldn't afford to stay. I'm sorry I didn't call you more often. I'm sorry I couldn't hold you when you died. I'm sorry you hurt so badly for so long. I'm sorry your impending death scared me so much. I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter. I'm sorry I didn't do more with my life. I'm sorry I didn't do anything to make you proud of. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I love you. I do. I love you for those moments that were sane and quiet and calm. I love you for all the books in the house. I love you for loving and accepting me when I came out. I love you for telling me you were proud of me even when I couldn't see why. I love you for the millions of times you helped me dye my hair even though you hated doing it. I love you for taking care of me physically when I couldn't take care of myself. I love you for having better intentions than your actions would show. I love you for teaching me how to give to others. I love you for thinking I was worth so much more than you were capable of giving me. I love you for loving me the best you could.
I need to forgive you.
I need to forgive myself.
Because I can't move forward until I let go of this anger and guilt that's weighed me down for decades.
And this? This is a start.
I love you,
Heidi
I hate you. I hate you for marrying him. I hate you for staying married to him. I hate you for knowing what he did to me and doing nothing. I hate you for allowing him to hurt me. I hate you for allowing him to touch me. I hate you for not protecting me. I hate you for lying and protecting him when I finally told the police what had been happening for the last 10 years. I hate you for telling social services that I “misunderstood” his hands on my body almost as much as I hate them for believing you. I hate you for lying for him. I hate you for telling me I was more important than him only to sell me out to the authorities. I hate you for taking the easy way out instead helping me. I hate you for telling me he was a good man until I came along. I hate you for telling me day in and day out how much you despised him and I hate you for staying with him anyway, no matter how often I begged you to leave and take me with you. I hate you for not caring enough to make an effort. I hate you for not coming to my high school graduation because you “didn't feel like it.” I hate you for forgetting my birthdays. I hate you for not even getting me a card the times you did remember. I hate you for hoarding. I hate you for making me live in filth. I hate you because I couldn't allow anyone in the house and constantly had to lie to my friends as to why. I hate you for never giving me a home I could feel calm and safe in. I hate you for screaming so loudly and so constantly that I swallow my own anger out of fear of becoming you. I hate you for making me so afraid to speak up and express myself. I hate you for teaching me to put myself last. I hate you for teaching me to never ask for or accept help. I hate you for making me so fucking codependent. I hate you for screaming at and belittling me constantly. I hate that I couldn't even accidentally knock over a glass of water without getting the full force of your wrath. I hate you for screaming so constantly that loud noises scare me and it took 20 years to stop flinching every time anyone touched me. I hate you for screaming at and hitting him because it made me pity and defend someone who destroyed me. I hate that when you found out I was making myself throw up in elementary school you simply told me to stop and never mentioned it again. I hate you for knowing he taught me how to shove my fingers down my throat and doing nothing about it. I hate you for telling me, at six, that I was the only reason you didn't kill yourself because it made me feel responsible for you for the rest of your life. I hate you for crying over his death when you knew all the horrible things he'd done to me. I hate you for mourning him when you'd spent my entire life wishing him dead.
Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my anger. I'm sorry for my resentment. I'm sorry for your mental illness. I'm sorry you were depressed your entire life and never got help. I'm sorry you didn't think you were worth helping. I'm sorry you spent so many years wanting to die. I'm sorry you felt, for whatever reason, that you had to stay with him. I'm sorry you stayed at jobs where you weren't respected or appreciated. I'm sorry you were to afraid to go after what you wanted. I'm sorry you didn't think you were deserving of happiness. I'm sorry you had to deal with your husband committing suicide. I'm sorry you refused to talk to the therapists at the hospital, no matter how many times they tried. I'm sorry I had to leave you. I'm sorry you were alone. I'm sorry I couldn't afford to stay. I'm sorry I didn't call you more often. I'm sorry I couldn't hold you when you died. I'm sorry you hurt so badly for so long. I'm sorry your impending death scared me so much. I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter. I'm sorry I didn't do more with my life. I'm sorry I didn't do anything to make you proud of. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I love you. I do. I love you for those moments that were sane and quiet and calm. I love you for all the books in the house. I love you for loving and accepting me when I came out. I love you for telling me you were proud of me even when I couldn't see why. I love you for the millions of times you helped me dye my hair even though you hated doing it. I love you for taking care of me physically when I couldn't take care of myself. I love you for having better intentions than your actions would show. I love you for teaching me how to give to others. I love you for thinking I was worth so much more than you were capable of giving me. I love you for loving me the best you could.
I need to forgive you.
I need to forgive myself.
Because I can't move forward until I let go of this anger and guilt that's weighed me down for decades.
And this? This is a start.
I love you,
Heidi
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