Letting go

I think I'm really ready for Hot Mess to get gone. I'll miss him for sure, because he's the best friend I have in town and I love spending time with him. But I'm starting to get over my romantic feelings for him and recognizing that things just wouldn't work out.

I'm starting to really accept how bad he is in a crisis, which he's under right now. He strikes me as the type who can kind of muddle through most things but will never really thrive, never be truly successful, until they start planning and thinking logically and looking to the future. H.M. still flies exclusively by the seat of his pants, and his pants are a pretty shitty pilot.

What I need is Hot Mess with about five years of added maturity on him. Still fun, quirky, moody, impulsive, physical, affectionate, thoughtful, and shit hot, but with some amount of reason and logic and stability to balance it out. Someone who dreams big but then comes up with plans and contingencies to make it happen. Someone with balls and brains.

That said, I could do with a couple of good days with him for closure. Maybe a couple of overnights: time enough watch a movie, play Scrabble, eat dinner, talk into the wee hours, have good sex, and wake up together before I put him on a plane and wish him well. A few good memories and a solid certainty that that is all they'll ever be.

In other news, it looks like I might not be able to move into the new place after all. I haven't gotten a single nibble on my apartment, and I certainly can't afford two rents. I'm kind of of two minds about it. On the one hand, I'm pretty crushed. I know that this is, has been, and will forever be my dream apartment, and if I don't get it now I'll never get another chance. But my logical mind is telling me that moving is expensive and a huge hassle, that there will be other apartments that are great even if they aren't my dream place, and that now I have time to look for one before my lease is legitimately up. That kind of logic, and my ability to stay logical and not just wig out about the prospect of losing the apartment, are kind of comforting, especially considering my mental and emotional state of late.

Maybe I'm not so pathetic after all.

Mad wicked codependent, but not hopelessly so

I am mad wicked codependent. Yesterday, I got a call from Hot Mess that he'd just gotten fired. Knowing that it was almost certainly his fault, I was nonetheless sympathetic to the point that I showed up uninvited at his place and dragged him bodily from his funk (for which he was grateful).

He made the point several times throughout the (long) evening that I'm really his only friend at this point and that I'm better to him than he deserves (true), and while I'm ashamed to say this, it kind of made me feel... good. I think I'd be really jealous if he had someone else to give him the kind of comfort I give him.

That said, he's way more attractive when he has his shit together. I know that a lot of what's going on (his rent check getting lost) isn't his fault, but a lot of it (fighting with his brother and getting himself fired) is, and I find him far more attractive when he's being mature and reasonable. That's not to say I wouldn't still hit that twice, nonconsecutively; it just means that I prefer him less needy rather than more needy, which means that I'm not hopelessly codependent.

And now he wants to borrow money, which I just don't know about. I'd be more willing to give him the money outright, if I had it to spare; Dad has imbued me with his wariness of loans among friends. I just don't want our relationship to be like that.

But then, I'm not sure what I do want our relationship to be like. We stayed up last night until after 3 a.m. just hanging out and watching movies, and it was great. I love doing friend stuff with him. But then, I also love the way he smells, the way he hugs, the sound of his voice, the way (sappy alert here) he looks in the dark with the street lights filtering through the blinds, and I'm fairly sure that if things were different, if I knew for sure that I had no chance with him, that I couldn't stand being just friends. Because I love him.

Have I mentioned I'm pathetic?

Assuming it actually happens, this "leaving town" thing will be very, very good for me. Once he's not around, I'll be able to get out of this crazy mentality and, I hope, move on. It tears me up to think about him not being here, but I just can't go on like this. I'm finally beginning to accept that Hot Mess Limbo is not actually a tolerable alternative to a healthy, mature, equitable, communicative romantic relationship. And that's what I need to hold out for.

Postponing the inevitable

Okay, so now I have a throw pillow and a bed pillow that smell like Hot Mess, and I like that, and it's pathetic. Like, "I may never wash these sheets again" pathetic.

I'm so sprung for that boy, it's not even funny. He spent the entire day here yesterday, and it was glorious. I actually put my phone on the nightstand Friday night, hoping for a late-night text, and I got one. 2:30 a.m., "Hey wake up i want to come over." Well, duh.

It was cold and halfway snowing and we spent the first hour talking about stuff and watching the snow. We looked up a Web site on Dante's Inferno. We watched part of No Country for Old Men on a site that was probably illegal. I showered. He showered. We went out for pancakes. We came back and napped on the bed. We tried to go to an art exhibit (closed). More talk. Scrabble (I won this time). Then he had to go home, because his dog had ben on his own for more than twelve hours, because H.M. was with me.

Glorious.

I'm so in love with him.

Pathetic.

He's not leaving before I move, now. He's backed it off. He commented that he can't wait to leave and that he kind of has to now since he's been slacking off and not going to work. I suggested that he not do that, that if he did go to work and play poker and save his money, it might feel more like he was preparing to leave on his own terms and not getting run out of town or running away. That's when he came up with his 30 day plan of taking every shift for a month starting Tuesday.

This, of course, pushed back his departure date, beyond the end of his lease. He asked if, in exchange for helping me move, he could crash at my place during that time. Of course, I had to say no.

Duh. Of course I said yes. Glorious, right? Love, right? We might be friends for those six days, or we might do that awkward "with benefits" thing, and it's going to be absolutely miserable when he goes, but I get him every night for six days and that's glorious.

Pathetic.

I mentioned our little fling in my session with Dr. H., and she seemed unconcerned. The question she always asks is if I feel bad about it, and I never do, but what if I expect to feel bad in the future? Not about the sex, but everything else; this one is going to end painfully, and I feel like I should disengage early to try and get it over with, but I can't, because I love him.

Now I know how he felt before I left on my trip and he was going to be coping on his own. I'm facing down the barrel of a life without Hot Mess in it for the first time in six months, and I'm petrified.

But he has to do this. If he doesn't, I'll be disappointed in him. He needs to do this for himself. But does it make me a bad person if I, knowing how much he hates this town, still hope he comes back here whenever he's done?

At least long enough to take me off with him.

Pathetic.

Two steps back

I have no idea what I'm going to say to Dr. H. tomorrow. There aren't enough minutes in a session. "Well, Dr. H., I feel like I'm back at the beginning. I'm stressed, I'm unhappy, and I'm doing bad things to myself."

"Work is a chaotic mess, and every time I try to do something to make it less so, They come along and jumble things up again. I now have more work for more departments than I can handle. I've tried talking with Boss of Eternal Evil about it, and she seems understanding and willing to help, but I'm not really optimistic because of the big problem, the fact that I've got more work for more departments than I can handle and I'm not getting any additional help or compensation, isn't going to change. To them, it isn't a problem but the solution to a problem. To me, not so much.

"And how am I dealing with it? Shopping, throwing up falafel, and having inadvisable ex sex. So much for my meds working. I bumped up the dosage this morning, but I'm still walking around feeling like I could burst into tears at any moment. I definitely don't feel like my stress reaction is being slowed down at all; on the contrary, I'm constantly ready to pop.

"And the sex last night? Not that good. I just wanted the physical intimacy, and it started out that way, but it ended... another way. I've always gone to him because he's always accepted me just as I am, but I begin to suspect that's because he just plain doesn't care--one way or the other, or about me. Hello to the false sense of emotional intimacy. Not that it matters, since he's leaving in a month, which I saw coming, but it's like to level me, and I wish he'd just go already so I can start getting over him. I know I won't be able to find someone else as long as he's in the picture, because what we have is the ideal by my standards--if only he loved me.

"So that's where I am, Dr. H. Work's a mess, romantic life's a mess, mental health is a big old mess, and while I trust that one exists, I don't see a future where all or even any of that gets resolved. I don't even know where to start. So, in other words, pretty much where I was the first time you saw me. Yay for progress."

Moving on

Well, Hot Mess did call, and I almost wish he hadn't. He's moving, which I knew, but he's going in just under a month, which I didn't. He made some comment about how he would bring me with him if I wasn't moving into my new apartment, but I'm pretty sure he was joking.

He looked so good, all tanned and toned. He was in a good mood with all kinds of stories from his trip. He brought me back tea. And when we laid down on the couch to watch TV, he started kissing my neck, and it felt so sweet, and then we were kissing... and then we were doing other things that we shouldn't have been doing right there on the sofa. So not much for the romance there. But it felt good, and I needed to be close to him since he was leaving.

I think I was more honest about my feelings tonight than I've been with him, and I think it surprised him. When he accused me of lying about being tired, I told him that I was tired but I still wanted him around. And as he was leaving, I told him I couldn't wish him good luck when he moved because he'd be gone longer, but I couldn't wish him bad luck because I'd feel guilty. Part of me hopes that'll make him realize that I have feelings for him and maybe change his behavior accordingly, but the smart part of me knows better.

I'm thinking this moving thing could be positive. It'll make him happy, and it'll get him away from me so I can focus on getting my life together without him, whatever it takes. The distance will do me good.

He may be a hot mess, but I'm definitely the regular kind.

Tears of a clown

You know you've got the crazazy when you're wondering if you need to "up your meds." Heh. I'm on "meds." And I'm wondering if I'm taking enough of them.

It's just that I've been doing this for, what (checks) working on three weeks now, and I'm only getting marginally better. I'm purging again (which might explain things somewhat), I'm not sleeping, I'm physically exhausted, and I'm panicky. Dr. F. said the drugs are supposed to slow down that immediate reaction to let me look at things rationally, but there have been at least three incidences when I've been so frustrated I nearly cried. Cried tears. At work.

Is this a failure on the drug's part, or am I just under such a ridiculous amount of stress right now that even Abilify can't overcome the self-destructive and panicky urges? And if so, what to do? Increase the dosage until stress levels are normal? Or let it ride and try to reduce stress on my own? Or both? Thank God I'm seeing Dr. H. tomorrow. I had to force myself to keep my interview appointment for a story today because I'm so tired and frustrated I just want to go home sick.

Hot Mess had better call todamnnight. I'm making this my bright-line test. I missed him like burning while he was gone, and if he can't be arsed to get in touch with me even to ask that favor he was talking about, our feelings are unequal and I need to pull out. I don't care how few minutes he has left on his phone; if he cares, he cares, and if he doesn't, I'm out.

All I want

I've been thinking a lot about life lately (duh), and I guess that's why something really struck me as I read this interview with this industrial designer. He was talking about archetypes and the way we cling to them even when technology no longer dictates that we have to. Why are phones and cameras and cars shaped the way they are now when modern advances offer so many other options? Why build a camera when you could build a "digital photo machine."

That got me thinking about the archetypes in my life and Dr. H.'s comment that "normal" is only about statistics. What things do I only do or want because it's traditional to do or want them? What do I really want, the hot list, the necessities, that I'm limiting myself to traditional means of pursuit?

I want love, for one. That's the big big. Marriage? Dunno. I'll probably have to because I want kids, and they're better off in that legal social structure. But there's not reason that it has to be a "traditional" marriage, whatever that means, and if I meet the right guy, I'm sure it won't be. Scratch that: it definitely won't be, because I'm not getting married until I find that right man, age be damned. Young marriage is just an archetype, and a pretty stupid one, if you think about it. Why make that kind of commitment when you're immature and naive?

Maybe immaturity and naivete are what it takes.

I want to be confident that I'll be able to afford food and shelter. But that doesn't mean a traditional 9-to-5. Freelancing, writing, odd jobs, bartending, sending handcrafts, singing--all of these are sources of income. Sure, they don't come with insurance--which is a must--but I might marry a man with benefits, or I might make enough to afford them on my own.

I want a pleasant physical environment. My mental/emotional state is heavily influences by my environment, so it needs to be uncluttered and pleasant. This actually recommends against trad jobs, because there's not too much you can do with an office or cubicle. This also doesn't necessitate a house; a yard would be nice, but so would a sunroom filled with plants, and great landscaping can be found around condos, apartments, and townhomes. And any dog I'd want would be just as happy walking to the park as tear-assing around a back yard.

I want a dog.

I want a good relationship with my family, but not at the expense of the other stuff. If they love me, they should want me to be happy, even if I find that happiness in nontraditional--but not dangerous--ways. And if they can't support me in that, we might have to reevaluate our relationship.

I want variety. I get so bored so easily, so I need stimulation and interest and change. This really recommends against trad jobs and housing, because it's hard to run off and chase a story for six months when you've got a McJob at home. I guess a condo, once paid off, could be conducive to travel, provided it was small and low-maintenance.

I want stability. I know that it seems at odds with the "variety" thing, but it's not. I just want to be able to count on the things that I want. I want to know that my love will treat me right and that I'll have food and shelter and intellectual stimulation wherever I go. It doesn't seem like much just written down like that. Kind of attainable, actually.

Coming alive

A few discoveries I've made of late:

1. If I work out first thing in the morning (if I can force myself to get my run in), I don't have the cigarette cravings. Hello to the naturally occurring happy chemicals.

2. As inadvisable as it is, skipping breakfast and lunch is a great way to shed those unwanted pounds.

3. Caffeine on an empty stomach is a great shortcut to Super Perky. Warning: May cause jitters.

4. This quote on a friend's Facebook page:

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." --Howard Thurman

It's kind of a challenge, because with my mental state, I haven't felt alive in some time. But there are things that make me feel relaxed, that make me as not-crazazy as I ever am these days. Knitting. Writing fiction. Playing Monopoly with Hot Mess. Interviewing people for work, I discovered recently. Work in general does it a little better when it's something that I feel passionate about.

I don't spend a whole lot of time feeling passionate about my work, so I guess that's where the problem lies. Canuck recognizes this and has some kind of big plan in the works to get us working together  on projects that would impassion me, so I guess I can just wait to see how that comes together.

What about the rest? I'm doing more and more work for another department, which helps feeed that jones for talking to people and learning and sharing their stories. A/V and Art Guy have both suggested showing some of my knitting at a local art/craft gallery (I think) and maybe getting some money for it. With music, I can take Jazz Guy up on that invitation to sing with him and his band the next time they play out, and I can save up for that piano I've been drooling over. And between the novel and the short fiction I've got going, I could conceivably be able to make some amount of money off of my fiction in the not-too-distant future.

Monopoly with Hot Mess is not likely to ever pay off.

I guess the trick now is maintaining the energy and desire to do the things that make me feel alive. Because honestly, all I've wanted to do lately is ass around on my couch, surfing the Internet. And that isn't getting any writing written, knitting knitted, or songs sung. The sucky unfairness of depression: that the things that would make you feel better are the things you can't be arsed to do.

Too late to apologize

Ugh, my head is so scrambled.  I just can't get anything started today, not cleaning up, not working out. If it weren't for the two interviews I have, I think I'd find some excuse to stay home and remain unbathed.

And I'm just busting with anxiety. What if I can't borrow an audio recorder? What if none of the audio files work? What if I can't get in touch with Elusive Interview Subject? What if I can't write my story? What if everyone at work discovers exactly how much fuck-all I really do every day?

But mostly, it's anxiety that I'm not getting any better. Because I'm still cycling. And I'm still have self-destructive thoughts (I wanted so badly to binge and purge yesterday. If I picked one vice and stuck with it, would the other vices go away?). I'm starting to think the urges crop up every time I get stressed out and need a vacation, like they're my brain's way of trying to get me committed for a few days so I could take a medically sanctioned load off. But aren't the crazy pills supposed to help with that? Do I need to increase my dose, and if so, how? Or will they start to work better as time goes on? I should call Dr. F.

Spoke to Dad last night. Mom talked to him, and he called to straighten things out. Not really satisfying, though. As I expected, it was a whole lot of me misinterpreting things and him having good intentions. That was for the crazazy part. For the "just plain rude" part, his excuse was that he's only rude when I'm sarcastic, and that if I'll just stop sassing he won't ever have to use some self-damn-control to keep from being rude. Thanks, Dad. You're a real team player.

So nothing new. I always hate being suspicious of someone who's trying to apologize, but with Dad, I usually have a right to be. I think this is a sign that I need to figure out how to stop caring. Not about him, but about his crap. He's proud of the way I sing and write; he will, if prompted, say how proud he is of "both his kids" for how we've turned out, and he'll be selfish and emotionally distant up to the point where he's needed to act the hero. And I hate to throw it back in his face after he made the effort to call and not-quite-apologize, but whatevs.

The monkey on my back

I've pointedly refrained from texting Hot Mess while he's away, in part because I don't want to interrupt his time with his family but mostly because I'm trying to wean myself off of him, become less dependent on him, maybe stop having feelings for him eventually. It wasn't working, really, I'm still counting days, but I have hope. Had hope.

My text messages chimed first thing this morning, and I knew it was H.M. with his usual 2:00 a.m. text (from a time zone four hours back, this time, at least), and I was right. And of course my stupid heart leapt, and those three meaningless texts meant more to me than anything anyone had said to me this week, and... bleargh. My logical mind pointed out that nothing he said to me indicated anything beyond friendship, my heart countered that he was thinking of me whilst on vacation and that I was his last thought before he went to sleep, and... bleargh again.

I'm starting to think that I will literally never get over this guy. We'll be Just Friends, and I'll want more, until I'm dead. Because I for sure don't have the willpower to pull back (tried that before; EPIC FAIL), and he seems to be signaling pretty hard that he's not interested in moving forward, which leaves us... where we are. Swell. Dr. H. will probably have advice on pulling back, but of course I'll have to confess to her that "no longer attracted to him" has mutated into "love him utterly."

I think part of it is that I don't want to pull back. even if we never move forward, I'd rather have this small piece of him than nothing at all. And while I know I'm trying to move beyond traditional standards for "normal" (which this certainly isn't), the question remains as to whether it's healthy, which it probably isn't. Again, a question for the good doctor.

In the meantime, I'll suck up whatever scraps are thrown my way until I have official medical orders to stop. "It's the scraps of love you throw my way that have got me on all fours." I have overinternalized that song way too much. And it's about a dog.

In other news, I did have that talk with Mom yesterday, and although it wasn't terribly satisfying at the time--she kept bringing up her own reservations and worries, which kind of ticked me off, and I had to confess that I hadn't always been forthcoming when my emotional state was less than ideal, which made it hard for them to give me the support I needed--after letting it sit overnight and seeing/talking with/hugging her this morning, I feel a lot better. More hopeful. I think we both understand better where the other is coming from, and we'll make more of an effort to communicate in the future. Honesty, honesty.

Where's Dad in all of this? No telling. I've enlisted Mom to get him to back off with the medical second-guessing, which is the wimp's way out, but I still don't really know how to approach him. I'm not terribly inclined to talk to him anyway. Mom pointed out that he never realizes when he's hurt me, which means that I should tell him, but I've only gotten excuses and accusations of being hypersensitive in the past. And now he even has the crazazy to explain away my hypersensitivity (bipolar is the new "are you getting your period or something?"). So I don't particularly feel like talking to him, either about his attitude/behavior the other weekend or his reaction to this whole crazazy thing. I know it's totally a textbook case of not wanting his damn jack, but the fact is, I don't.

Or maybe getting over my daddy issues means learning not to want his damn jack. Dr. H.?

More family ties

So, I'm actually going to get a chance to talk to Mom today before she leaves. She said Dad had asked about me, but she didn't know how I was doing because we were busy yesterday. True, we were, although it's not like she actually asked how I was. But that doesn't matter now, because she's asking now, and I don't really know what to say.

The side effects suck. Not as badly as the illness does, but they suck. I've never slept properly, so the insomnia is nothing new, but I hate being thirsty all the time. And I hate being, simultaneously, ravenously hungry and completely full up.

And I hate the thought that it might not be working. I hate being down--although right now, it's likely that I'm lonely and bored and not depressed. And sad, and maybe a little bit betrayed. I hate the highs, too, the racing mind and mouth and tapping foot and clumsy fingers. That's what lets me know that I don't just have depression, I have the crazazy, and that's a lot more complicated to deal with.

I also hate that the self-destructive urges are back. I purged last night, and then this morning, I wanted a cigarette more than anything in the world. I'm lucky that Hot Mess is out of town right now (and that he seems to want to just be friends), because if he were here, I'd most likely make a self-destructive booty call. I really want to call Dr. H., but I'm afraid of being weak or dependent, and I think I can make it another week and a half. Probably.

Maybe I really should just lay it all out on Mom and let her know what I need. I could DEAR MAN it and come back to Dr. H. with something positive to discuss.

D - Describe the current situation. "We know that I've been deeply unhappy for a couple of months now, although we don't exactly know why. And there is some disagreement on how to make it better. We know, though, that I'm in a great place for psychiatric treatment, that they do know their stuff. And we know that I, even at my most messed up, tend to be a Responsible Person who makes good, mature decisions."

E - Express your feelings and opinions. "I feel like I'm not getting a lot of support from you and Dad because you don't really agree with how this is all being handled. I feel like you're second-guessing the experiences I've been having and the feelings I've been feeling, even though I'm the only person who can tell what I'm experiencing or feeling. And I feel like you're second-guessing my doctor, whom I've put my faith in, which feels a lot like you're questioning my judgment."

A - Assert yourself. "I want your support. I want you to look beyond yourselves as principles in this and focus on me. I'm aware of the emotional turmoil that you and Dad are probably going through right now, and I'm sympathetic, but you have to put that aside and focus on me when we're dealing with this. I want you to accept my experiences and feelings as I interpret them and not just make your own assumptions. And I want you to treat me as a capable adult--capable of interpreting my own feelings, capable of making my own health-care choices, capable of making my own life choices--and not just some emotional child to be worked around. I want you to trust the doctors I've picked, because I picked them. And when I make a decision that you disagree with, I want you to say your piece--once--and then I want you to take comfort in the fact that you've raised me well and that I'm equipped to make my own decisions."

R - Reinforce the positive effects of getting what you want. "If you can do that, it'll help us preserve our relationship through this whole mess, which is definitely preferable. It also will help empower me in my own treatment, which is necessary for healing. It will help me learn to trust myself again, which I haven't t been able to do lately. And it may even help you and Dad worry less through this very worrisome process."

Throughout, of course, I'll remain Mindful of my objectives, I'll Appear confident (even if I just want to cry), and I'll try to Negotiate so we all get what we want.

Will it work? God, I hope so, although Mom isn't always the best person to talk to at times like this. Better than Dad, though; when I get emotional-but-serious, half the time, he starts laughing. The other half, though he's really great, better than Mom. So I guess we'll see.

Further updates as events warrant.

Family ties

I'm so jealous of Big Brother.

He's not actually a screwup, he's actually really together and responsible and with-it, but he spent/spends so much time cultivating the image of a slacker screwup that people buy it. Outside of work, no one really expects or asks anything of him, which is ridiculous because if you know where to look, if you lok at the tasks he's taken on voluntarily, it's obvious that he's anything but a screwup. I think it's equal parts low self-esteem and a campaign on his part to manage expectations.

The result of this is that he doesn't, that I can tell, get all the crap from Dad (and, to some extent, Mom) that I do. Or maybe he just doesn't let it bother him. I know he has a lot easier of a timeasking for help or money (Slackers can bum off of their parents, while Responsible People have to make it on their own) than I ever have, but I also know that the parents are quicker to offer help/money/goods than they are to me. Big Bro currently has a kitchen table, four chairs, a couch (replacing another free couch), and a swank new bedding set that all came into his life because he couldn't be bothered to get nice things for himself.

Am I jealous? Damn straight, and resentful. Angry at myself for always being a Responsible Person and taking care of stuff on my own and never asking for help. Hot Mess always says I don't have a poker face, but he's dead wrong. I can hide a whole world of mess with only minimal cracking.

It's funny, though, what's happened with Mom and Dad since I let down the poker face and let them know what's really happening in my life: distance. Like the wunderkind has revealed herself to be merely human and they don't know how to deal with it. I guess we all have our adjustment phases, but this would be a great time for them to adjust really fast so that they can give me the support I need. Because Responsible Person who doesn't need anything is a facade. And I guess I'm going to have to ask for support outright if they're not going to volunteer it on their own.

I know the parents are going through a lot right now. Maybe it's the realization that they didn't produce a perfect child after all. M aybe they feel responsible for it. Maybe they feel guilty for not picking up on it sooner. Maybe they just don't know how to relate to a loony. Maybe they just think it's all bullshit. Dad, I think, is a #5 and maybe #1, although I hope to God that it's some of the others too. Mom is a little #5, I think, but she's probably mostly #3 with a little bit of #2 and #4. But like I said, whatever the reason, they need to talk with their own therapists, spank their inner moppets, and get past it. I need their support, or I need to know that I can't count on their support so I can look elsewhere.

It would be awesome if I didn't have to ask, though, if they just automatically gave me the support they give Big Bro. But I wonder if they also give him the second guessing they've been giving me since I opened up? Maybe I just need to become their Responsible Person again and pretend, around them,. that it's legit. Or maybe it's time to abandon "normal" all together, figure out who I really am and what I really want, and show it to the world. A scary thought, but exciting and intriguing.