A Very Specialized Imposter Syndrome

Right now I am teaching a very intense lecture in my speciality, as in I would say "I am a surfboard design specialist" and the whole class is in surfboard design.

I am walking up every week - sometimes every other day - at 2 am in a flat panic. My little bear brain is convinced that I'm doing a bad job (especially in the middle of the night) and is super anxious about it. I'm having stress induced migraines and I have a headache all the time and frankly I feel quite unwell.

And then there's the other FOUR whole goddamn classes I'm responsible for and inside my brain it feels like I have to run a half marathon every single day while people throw things at me and I keep dropping them (extremely heavy handed metaphor, brain! Thanks!) so every time I have to do something, more anxiety!!!!!! What if I'm doing it, but badly? What if I can't, really?

Only 9 more weeks. I can do 9 more weeks, right? RIGHT??

(Very deep breath.)

Memo to Brain

Hey Brain,

Look, I know we've had a rough last.... well, about 50 days.  And I know that yes, historically speaking it has been Not Awesome to lay awake in bed, in pain, for hours every night.

But this thing with throwing a panic attack every time I lay down in bed?  Not so cool.  Yes, I know, you got all conditioned.  Please, please knock it off.

(Suggestion for how to decondition my stupid brain are welcome.)

I'm Boring Right Now

At the present moment I am full of blah (viruses), general woe (terrible yet mysterious food allergy reaction this week complete with throwing up at midnight!), fatigue (children plus illness), guilt (over weaning which NO I STILL haven't done), sadness (wheeeeere are all my friends, everyone here hates me (?)), loneliness (all children all the time), and boredom (I want more job!  I hate housewifery!).  Also frustration because all children all the time.

Owing to Circumstances Beyond Our Control

I'm going to have to confine my remarks to things NOT having to do with my multitudinous feelings.

Item: I continue to loathe all persons asserting that science has no value or validity in their lives, and who have nonetheless not died of dental abscesses, measles, smallpox, pneumonia, or asthma.

Item: I am going to have to uninvite the anti-vaccine person from playgroup and, contrary to what people may think, I do not actually enjoy being mean.

Item: Bug has now gone to 4.5 days of school and continues to be a crazed weasel afterwards.

Item: Sweetpea almost has a nap schedule.  I usually get 90 minutes alone.  In that time I can either do yoga, make dinner, or eat lunch, but only one.  This is not ideal.

Item: Next week I return to working... all of three hours per week.

Item: I am contemplating joining the Y solely for the childcare.  Because then I might get exercise. (Many repeated  joint injuries make running inadvisable.)  This is especially trying given that I have free access to two gyms AND a set of fitness classes.  But.... childcare.

Item: The Headache of Doom continues.  I begin to wonder if perhaps I should seek medical advice.  Do you suppose they'd give me more narcotics if I ask nicely?

FUCKING DEPRESSED: A Pie Chart

Following Bunny's excellent example, I present to you: Reasons I Am Depressed.  If you don't want to hear a lot of whining, go read this instead

1: No sleep.  Because of so many reasons.  Mainly that the baby wants to nurse - and nurse and nurse and nurse- until 10, and again at 12 or 1 or 2 for at least an hour, and then my herd of little elephants thunders across the bedroom ceiling at 6:30 promptly.  Of course, some days the baby gets up for the day at 5:30!  Yes, I have tried putting her to bed later; no, nothing makes any damn difference because she is a BABY.  One day I will sleep train her but she's too little still.  Damn it.

2: Because I am always nursing the baby, the boys are left to play upstairs.  The big one likes to hold the little one down and punch him, bite him, and leave bleeding scratches on him.  This causes me RAGE.  Seriously, I can't leave them for five minutes.  Bug walks in the door from school and starts hitting his brother.

3: All the accursed nursing problems in the whole world.  Ordering the which to make goat milk formula today, I think. The expense makes me grit my teeth, but then again I've spent  $350 at least so far on all the accursed nursing problems.  Readers, never let anyone tell you breastfeeding is always free.

4: Always nursing! Cannot put the baby down and go mediate!  Cannot do any adult thing!  Always nursing!

5: Larger children feel neglected and so are SUPER EXTRA AWFUL ALL THE TIME which makes me not want to put the baby down and go mediate.  Tatoe screamed at me for two hours yesterday, and whined for another two, which is impressive considering we were only in the house and awake together for four hours.  Also, they woke up the baby four times yesterday.  Then she screamed at me for hours.  Then I want to die.

6: I am tired of all this.  Four months seems like FOREVER.

7: (I feel the need to say that he gets up early with the big kids, washes them, puts them to bed, and does the dishes every single night. However...) My dear spouse feels the need to work nine hours every single day.  Even when I want to murder the children gag the big ones, get in the car, drive away, and never come back.  Also, he gets to SLEEP.  He does not ever get woken up at two-hour intervals.  And then he sometimes he has the gall to complain he's tired.  Honey, I don't fucking care.

8: See above, all wrapped into one giant package of longing and financial disadvantage.  It's GREAT!

All The Things. Now.

The baby, it turns out, has a lip tie in addition to the tongue tie.  So I also have to deal with that (at the hospital complex 45 minutes away).  I mention this only to say, it still hurts to nurse, and dammit, couldn't I have had ONE child without some kind of horrible nursing problem?  (No.)

I had almost forgotten the intense frustration of having an infant around.  It's so hard to do anything!  Any sustained effort is probably fruitless!  I want an hour alone and not in Walmart!  I will get these things once the baby is weaned.  It will be a long damn time.

The department secretary for Psuedo-Military U emailed me last week, asking for my resume for their Whatever Colleges of the South accreditation review.  Since I might be teaching again in the fall.

Although I know it would have been insane to teach with a three-week-old around, let me tell you how much I miss having a three-hour break each day from my darling children.  For which I got paid, instead of having to pay other people for it.  (Well.  I did have to pay for childcare but I still net got paid.)  So it's something to hope for.  The glamorous life of an adjunct who is married to a faculty member!  They know I'm not leaving town any time soon.

My overwhelming desire to be Elsewhere, Immediately (as opposed to be here now) is... slowly fading, however.  Newborns, well, they're very demanding and not very interactive.  And I lost a great deal of strength while I was pregnant, what with feeling ill and in pain all the time.  And the whole postpartum anxiety/I can't sleep/RUN it's a bear/Startle reflexes: they're not just for infants! is getting better but I think it's time to consult a trained medical professional of the psychiatrist persuasion because... shouldn't it be all better by now?  It's been eight whole weeks!  Sometimes there's a whole one day a week when I'm not woken up six times a night!  Why on earth would my brain think it needs to startle awake all the time?  Why are these things not all better NOW?

If Only...

... I could fall asleep like a normal person at night, rather than staring at the insides of my eyelids, then I might occasionally feel human again.  She slept for six hours last night!  In a row!  I did NOT.  Alas, sleeping is the one thing where the harder one tries, the less success.

(Yes, I meditate and do yoga and breathing exercises and don't drink caffeine and have 'good sleep habits' and something is still all hormonally screwed up- usually I have trouble waking up, not falling asleep- and none if it makes any difference, including the drugs, sometimes.  Yes, I have tried not taking the drugs, all available combinations of the above and so on, and it doesn't work.  I'm just whining.)

In addition, Tatoe is not sleeping well (he has a cold) and is therefore several times as much THREE which involves a great deal of screaming, hitting, and arguing about trivialities ("I wanna go out!"  "Let's put your coat on." "No!"  "Okay, then no outside, it's cold." "NO!  NO NO NO! I CAN'T put it on!  I don't know how!" [N.B.: This is a lie.]  "Okay, don't."  "I wanna put my coat on!"  "I'm going to go have a stiff drink and lock you in your room and we can try again in five minutes.")

In Which I Whine Some More

You've been warned...

40 weeks!  (40-weeks-ish.  Being as, well, yeah.)  Here, let me summarize: MISERABLE.

Still with the contractions - now painful enough to wake me from a sound sleep!  With unpleasant flashbacks to end-of-Tatoe pregnancy, when I had painful contractions every 15 minutes for a WEEK.  (And then there was an epidural and pitocin, and the angels sang, and the child was born three hours later, six days late.  That one I was sure of the dates on.)

I don't think anyone, no matter how desired, difficult, or perilous their pregnancy, has to be grateful for being in constant pain.  I certainly don't think anyone must be grateful for nine months of constant pain, and everyone at the end of pregnancy is pretty miserable and longing for it to be over (with healthy baby and mama) as soon as damn possible.  So, I am not grateful.  I am PISSED.  And fucking exhausted.  And my sweet children, with whom I would normally do fun things, are still off school and I am no fun at all.

I try to repeat to myself "Be here in the moment."  But my subconscious can't help adding a running commentary about how it would rather be in all kinds of other moments.

(Maybe I should try some echinacea.)

Body Conscious, With Whining

I started out this unexpected pregnancy by losing ten pounds.  Not on purpose; I was too sick to eat.

Since then I've gained back the weight I lost (which is good!  I needed those pounds!) and about ten more pounds.  (I'm 34 weeks.)  The number of people who feel free to comment on my appearance drives me crazy, though.  'You look great!' they say cheerfully.  Well, for one, I feel like an angry whale with stabbing pains, and for two, it's not like I did anything to cause this.  Did I exercise, refrain from eating that entire pumpkin pie, or make sure to take my vitamins?  I surely did not.  And, if I'd gained 30 pounds net instead, that would ALSO be fine.  (Though more of a pain to get rid of later, naturally.)  I have terrible headaches, there's a nerve-pinch-with-dagger every time I take a step, I wake up five times a night or more, and if I try to walk more than a quarter mile I start having contractions again.  The kind that hurt enough you're nauseous.  Frankly, I'd rather people say nothing.  I know they're trying to be nice but I'm maaaaybe just a little irritable about, oh, everything.

(I do dress up in Southern-business-casual every day and put on earrings, makeup, and a necklace.  The South can be pretty judgmental about personal appearance, in a totally different way from the North - where, I'll remind you, I lived for my entire adult life up until now, so I do know what I'm talking about.  So at least I'm not in yoga pants or Leggings Are Not Pants, even when I'd prefer to be.)

I feel entirely out of control while pregnant.  For me it's completely different from being not-pregnant, when I could perhaps convince myself to eat a carrot or something.  Now, if I eat a carrot when I don't feel like a carrot, I'll throw up.  (That entire pumpkin pie, however, was purely a loss of self-control.  And the pound of chocolate.  I could have not eaten the whole thing. That month I gained 7 of the 10 pounds.)

In summary: cranky, unhappy pregnant lady will bite you if you say something nice, but realizes that this is an unkind response.

(I am probably about to eat another entire pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.)

Cat Juggling

Oh, Internets.  Working!  It's like someone expects me to show up somewhere else on time and pay attention!  My students are hilarious in so very many ways, not least that their response to everything including 'You just got an F on this assignment' is 'Yes, ma'am.'  Sometimes I can't tell if I'm awful at teaching, or they're awful at lab science; probably mostly option B, but it's hard for me to know in advance in what ways they will spectacularly screw up this week's lab.  But some of them are good!  On the other hand the density of water is never THREE g/mL!  THINK, CHILDREN!!!  It's a little like one big Far Side cartoon.

Plus, now I have to drag a kindergartener out the door - on time - every morning.  Although I think my spouse is actually doing a fair share of the household work, I still feel put-upon, overburdened, and annoyed at all of it.  (The fact that the spouse went to the vet last week probably didn't help much. No, seriously, this is the LAST child.  Really.  Really, it is.)

I get extremely frustrated with having such small physical limits.  If I overdo it, I get exhausted and nauseous.  The house is a mess from a combination of moving and three people's semesters starting, but I only have so much energy... so it's not all going to get done.  And we still need to have six kinds of tradespeople come fix things (trees, chimney, sump pump, french drain, basement wall, AC!!) which is a pain in the rear.  I think I have Arranging Things Fatigue, on top of Not Sleeping Because I'm Pregnant Fatigue and Two Small Children Fatigue.

And while I am a big fan of public schools in general, NO I do not have time to (fill in the blank).  Anything.  Anything else.

Also, Tatoe is Almost Three and he literally spent seven hours whining so far today.  I want to lock myself in the closet with a bottle of bourbon.

Unaccountably

Sad.  Maybe lonely.  Also out of processing cycles due to scheduling and arranging and managing and making sure there's something for dinner every night.  Having a cold all the time both makes me feel depressed - I think it's some combination of not sleeping as well, being in pain, and echoes of fear surrounding being in pain.

Many ergs of mental energy are being used on real estate at the moment.  There are both too many choices, and not enough uncomplicated choices.

Right now, my spouse is much occupied with other things.  Marriage is a partnership, and heaven knows I have been on the other side of the neediness seesaw (see also: those two years of being sick, pregnant, sick of being pregnant, or pregnant and sick).  Still: something to be endured.

Winter, Houses, Viruses, Bacteria, More Winter

1) It was our birthday.  (The spouse, my sister Pru, and I all share a birthday.) My family brought cake and the dog.  The next weekend we left the kids with them for 24 hours.  It was glorious.  As we drove away, Bug asked "When can we go see Grandma and Grandpa again?"  and Tatoe said "I want Lily-doggie."

2) For my birthday, Bug gave me a belated case of pinkeye and Tatoe gave me a horrible cold.  The asthma is mostly okay except when I get a cold, and then I can't breathe* and then I can't sleep and... you get the idea.

3) This allergy thing, it is going to send me into a spiral of depression one of these days.  I continue to develop new food reactions** and then I feel like eating ALL THE CHOCOLATE, with a side of frightened and sad and angry.

4) We have now looked at... twelve?... houses in person.   One was too small.  One was too shoddily built. One was delightful and affordable and lovely and the owners had just taken an offer that day.  (SOB SOB SOB.)  Four were "Not just no, but HELL NO."  One had an impossible driveway that gave me vertigo on a warm, dry day.  One was a drive-up-and-drive-away.  One had lumpy drywall and was over-priced.  One was lovely and wonderful, but had nowhere to plant a garden.  The last one has a beautifully planted five acres, and is almost twice as big (3800 square feet - you could fit five Manhattan apartments inside!) as we actually want and they want waaaaay too much and it needs some work and we could maybe barely afford it and our car slipped on 1/4 inch of ice at the bottom of the enormous driveway and we would need a truck and an actual tractor and I just don't know.  Oh, also it is down a narrow, winding road with a steep dropoff.  Into a creek.   What's the use falling down a hill if you can't end up in a creek?  I can't tell if it's time to adjust my expectations downwards quite a ways, or hold out for spring house listings, or get in touch with that one builder, which idea frankly gives me hives.  Dr. S is happy to make them an offer tomorrow.  I need to dither first and stare at real estate listings for another few days first.***

4a) This is not the worst of choices to have to make.  We can stay in our crappy apartment for two more years if we want (I do not want).  It's not the end of the world, but at some point I would like to find my !@$% teapot and plant a garden again.  I've put my life on hold for six years while my spouse pursued his insane-seeming career ambitions and I'm quite ready to move on, to say nothing of unpacking the rest of those boxes, one of these days.

5) I need to exercise.  Then I would be less depressed and sleepless.  I cannot exercise, because I feel like I cannot breathe (exercise elevates it from a feeling of shortness of breath to a feeling of being stabbed in the lungs with many pointy knives; no amount of albuterol fixes this).   However, as we are now in the South, winter will be over in a month.  Thank the Lord and pass the brandy.

* More to the point, I feel like I can't breathe but have perfectly adequate pulmonary function and oxygenation and therefore nobody will do anything about it.  Which is perfectly reasonable, but doesn't help me when I wake up with a can't-breathe feeling in the middle of the night.
** I have the classical symptoms for a diagnosed condition.  Dear Readers, I know you mean well, but please do not suggest that I have something else.  I do not.  I have this thing and there is no treatment beyond allergy shots (and an unreasonable amount of antihistamines) and it sucks.
*** There are 23,000 people in this entire county.  The real estate market is not exactly booming.

Culture Shock, Encore

OH GOD THE SOUTH.

(Perhaps I should start every culture-shock post that way.)

I went to college in Ohio.  Almost every college and university in the whole state is part of the OhioLink network, whereby Person A, in Podunk, Ohio, can have access to the full state-library system, plus obscure works on redwork embroidery residing in Bowling Green, for example.  The public library system was also very, very good.

I then went to grad school in the northeast.  While the public library was only so-so, it did have a relatively good selection. Also, Snooty U apparently had an enormous and undertapped request-to-purchase fund, because I requested probably a hundred trashy novels in six years (mystery, science fiction, and even, yes, trashy romance) and they bought every single one for me.

After that, I moved to Midwest Utopia. Its motto could be "Where we spend your tax dollars wisely on books, schools, and outdoor recreation."  The library network was likewise very good, part of a several-county system, and they also bought a lot of new books, some of which I asked for.

The library here is part of no system whatsoever.  The next county over's library is also not part of a system.  Of the fifteen books I was planning to read next, and which are all non-obscure works of fiction, they have exactly zero.  They don't even have a copy of "The Deed of Paksenarrion."  (I had to explain to my spouse that this is one step up from not having "The Hobbit.")

Although I have, at N's excellent suggestion, joined Paperback Swap, I have several problems:

1) I have no spare paperbacks because I ditched them all while moving;
2) I read really, really fast;
3) I read a lot;
4) I cannot possibly afford to buy enough books, new or used, to amuse myself.  (On average, I read a book every 1.25 days.)

To cap it off, this library possesses no "Request to Purchase" form on its website, though it does have a "Request to Withdraw from Circulation" form online. And that, right there, tells you all you need to know.

Oh, Yes, That

We went up and spent a delightful morning with our family friend (I'll call her Lara), totting about at the park, feeding the ducks- it costs a nickel and is highly entertaining- letting the boys have a cupcake for lunch, and petting their very tolerant cat.  (Tatoe stepped on his tail by accident and the cat just let out a plaintive meow.) Next week we are planning to meet up at the blackberry-picking place/yarn shop (!).  On the 45-minute drive home I thought, "Oh, right. This is what I wanted."

If I knew we would be here long-term I would deal with the rural-tastic-ness of it all.  The Walmart does, after all, stock capers, artichoke hearts, pitted kalamata olives, and rice milk.  It's like a yuppie co-op collided with the local ammo store.  And every time I drive up the highway and see those mountains wreathed in clouds, everything feels just right.  But I'm projecting the uncertainty of where-will-we-be-next-year onto everything else, and taking my angst out on the Walmart.

Also, I see why it's hard for them to get good faculty: there is fuck-all for the faculty's partners to do around here.

Side note: The town's official-tourist-brochure motto is "More than you'd expect".  What, "and less than you'd hoped for?"

Resentful, and Food

So I'm sure you're all deeply curious about my FEELINGS.  Especially about suddenly being unable to eat anything, and therefore sounding crazy.

Well, how I feel is !@$%^& ANNOYED.  I have to cook frigging everything because the only things we ever have around that are snack-like (that I can eat) are raisins, sunflower seeds, and cashews.  Sometimes chocolate chips, but then I eat them with gloom-filled rapidity.  Also oranges.  These are all things that rapidly get old.  Sometimes I bake things with weird rice flour and stuff, but 1) it's a lot of work; 2) we are moving and I have zero time; 3) about half the time they turn out just one step above compost quality, i.e. really strange*; and 4) if they aren't strange, all the other people in the house eat them too.  They'll have what Mama's having.

Anyhow.  Annoyed!  And tired!  And about twice as tired of that whole 'coming up with dinner' as I was before.

*I can't eat tapioca flour or soy or dairy, so most commercial EVERYTHING is off-limits.  Also  no 'modified food starch' or 'tapioca maltodextrin.'  (Read your labels some day and be amazed how many things those are in.  Gatorade!  Rice crackers!) 

On Mothering

1) Thank all the deities we do not now, nor will we (probably) ever, live near my mother-in-law.  I just had this terrifying flash of ham dinners every Mothers' Day from now to eternity.

2) I understand - in an intellectual way - the pain and heartbreak of wanting children, and not having children.     However, this does not mean that people with children are, in fact, grateful for them every moment of every day.  It's more... an abstract.  Or a Platonic ideal.  The day-to-day (seventh major meltdown, now strapped into the car to have a tantrum there due to sounding like a tornado siren, FOR EXAMPLE, while the little one stands at the door and cries "Mama!  Mama?  MAAAAMAAAA!!!!) is more like this (thank you for your eloquence, May):

 "If someone bitches to me about noisy anxsty teens or little princesses who break things in their tantrums, I agree, it’s distressing. I don’t think they should suck it up and be grateful. And if I ever get pregnant again, let alone get lucky and end up with a shrieky picky noisy anxsty stormy house-destroyer of my own, I too will want the right to bitch about it all. Ungratefully. Because it’s worth bitching about, even when I and you and everyone knows it’s damn well worth it."

And also this:

 Every time I’m out with my kids – this seems to happen: An older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, “Oh- Enjoy every moment. This time goes by so fast.” ...

Now. I’m not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to ENJOY MYSELF be thrown from a mountain. These are wonderful ladies. Monkees, probably. But last week, a woman approached me in the Target line and said the following: “Sugar, I hope you are enjoying this. I loved every single second of parenting my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast.” ... 

There was a famous writer who, when asked if she loved writing, replied, “No, but I love having written.” What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, “Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t mean you love having parented?”

So to everyone out there who, on the day where everyone is so grateful for their children, wasn't feeling especially grateful, cheerful, or even fond of the children:  ME TOO.

FMB: Marriage and Compromise

I need to remind myself sometimes that, although I am the primary caregiver for our children, that doesn't mean I get to be right all the time.  This is a hard thing to negotiate, though, because if Dr. S simply doesn't like something I'm doing (FOR EXAMPLE!) but I already tried his way and it didn't work... I'm the one who has to live with it ten hours a day.

To be fair, he probably spends 30 hours a week being the primary entertainer for Bug, and I probably spend more like 50 (not counting naps).  So it's not like he's not doing it at all. 

HOWEVER.  The next time he goes all "Woe is me, I must watch two children while you do something else," I might snap.

Like A Splinter

My annoyance relating to Tater's birth is getting worse.  So I shall share it with you!  My memories are a little fuzzy on account of in labor and not sleeping for a week- now with bonus jackhammer!- but I'm still pissed at:

1) The nurse and my already-least-favorite midwife having a spat in front of me.  A little professionalism?  Anyone?  Anyone.

2) After the birth, the nurse wouldn't take my IV out.  In fact, she turned the Pitocin way the hell up.  I asked five times, and Dr. S asked twice, and she didn't.  There was no medical indication (although, to be fair, the postpartum bleeding was greatly reduced).  I'm still pissed.
2a) And the midwife totally abandoned me.

3) At my follow-up appointment I got a new, wet-ink-on-license midwife.  Maybe 25.  Unmarried, no kids.  So condescending. Did I know that I should get 30 minutes of exercise a day?  And then maybe I would lose weight?  Of course!  I had NO IDEA! All I needed was someone to tell me that! The two small children currently a) wrecking the exam room and b) screaming on the floor- have nothing to do with it. THANKS!!

She also needs to look up what NORMAL and COMMON mean, and write a 500-word summary.

On a scale of 1 to Horrific, I know these are really minor.  But you know what?  I STILL DON'T LIKE IT. It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.

And I was really fortunate for Bug's birth to be at a birth center with wonderful midwives, because they did not do a single solitary thing to which I objected.  I objected quite strongly to the TERROR, and the asshole ER doc, but that was hardly the midwives' fault.

Okay, I feel better now.

In Which I Was Going To Whine At Great Length

Then I decided, I can summarize my whinyness in a few points:

1) WAAAAAAH.

2) I have fucking RINGWORM on my leg, and some weird itchy rash of six months' duration on my boobs.  (Diagnosis from midwives: Here, have some steroid cream.) Still better than thrush, but WTF.

3) My spouse Bug-wrangles when he gets home.  I hold the baby for hours.  We each resent the other.

4) I have not returned to the midwives because a) I've had enough medical appointments with a toddler to last a lifetime and b) I have no plans to use those parts any time soon.  For anything.

5) I long for an hour- possibly two!- without either of my children.  Preferably in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a trashy novel, but, at a minimum?  NOT AT THE DENTIST.  Where I have to go again next week.

Now With More Aargh

Maybe it's the weather: something to which I am violently allergic is blooming, so the outdoors is torture. 

Maybe it's the two-week-long headache and generalized sense of OOOOT.  Constant pain rarely improves one's mood. 

Maybe it's the cranky, sick toddler and the constant screaming. 

Maybe it's hormonal?  I feel full of wrath, intolerance, and a general sense of discontent.  It is sunny and pleasant out-of-doors, I have chocolate cake, and I just want to crawl into a closet and weep.