I'm Going to Commit Murder!

All my life I’ve had a dog of some sort. Most all of them have been mixed breed dogs that someone was wanting to give away, and me being the nice person that I am, I gladly take the dog into my home. I provided everything I possible could to make their lives, and mine, enjoyable. I also like having a pet around for protection and entertainment.

After my boys reached a certain age they of course wanted a dog, and again I gladly gave into their adorable little 5 year old smiles. But then something would happen, like the dog running away, it gets hit by a car, or someone steals it, etc...Then there have been a few dogs that have crossed my path, that have caused a part of me to loathe dogs on the most extreme level. That is where MsPsycho took over and did what had to be done.

Okay, so let me step aside, and I’ll let MsPsycho’s invade your world for a few minutes. Warning MsPsycho tends to use profanities quite frequently, so if you are offended by someone using vulgar language, I suggest you read no further.


I can’t fucking stand dogs! And I’m going to tell you why! First of all, they stink! No matter how often, or what type of dog shampoo you use, in the end they all still smell like something crawled onto their bodies and died. Next, dog hair everywhere! It’s on my floors, carpet, rubbed against the side of my sofa (since I don’t fucking allow them on the couch), all over the bathroom where they’ve been giving a bath, and sometimes I even find the shit on my kitchen countertops! Guess who has to clean all this shit up! ME! It doesn’t just magically disappear on its own!

Allergies! I hate sneezing all the liquid out my nose after they’ve been in the house rolling around on my carpet. Then I can’t breathe right until I’ve taken some type of pill that is more than likely going to leave me feeling ‘not quite right’ for the next few hours.

So, you say just leave them outside... Right? Wrong! Outside all they do is bark when the wind blows a little too hard! Then they start digging at the ground and the fence trying to get at whatever they are barking at. Eventually they make it out on a day when nobody is at home, and I get a fine for DOG BEING AT LARGE. There goes a fucking $100 dollars and time spent in court!

After their little escape to freedom, I get both Labs back inside my privacy fence, and almost pass out from the horrendous smell that is now on my hands from touching them. I know they’ve been doing that upside down back rub across some animal that has been laying dead in the street for days. Maybe that makes them feel special when they do that? Fucking stinks to me bitch!

I give them food and water, and then proceed for the billionth time to replace the broken boards to the back fence. There goes money for food, new boards and nails for the fence, dog shampoo for the bath, water to wash them both, carpet cleaner and carpet shampoo to get rid of the smell they brought back with them that lingers like a huge TURD that just won’t flush. And I still have to pay the fucking court ticket!

Oh, and don’t forget about all the time this is consuming!

Since I have a male and female, I have had to deal with puppies. Which is fun to a certain point, but even that becomes a pain in the ass when the puppies reach a certain age and you have to find homes for all of them. To make sure this doesn’t happen again, I have to come up with money to have my dog spayed. She comes in heat two days before the surgery, and I have to make sure - Mr my dick is so hard that I’m going to fucking die if I don’t get to fuck that female bitch,- my male dog doesn’t get her pregnant before I have a chance to get her fixed.

TWO days of him howling to get inside. I throw water on his face, smack him with a broom handle, threaten him with my voice, etc.. NOTHING WORKS! I’m thinking about a shock collar, but is that too cruel? At this point, I don’t give a damn.

Finally the day of surgery. After only a couple hours of sleep, I get up at 5:30am, get dressed, load the dog into my car, and drive to a clinic on the other side of Tulsa to drop her off at 7am. I’m told it won’t be until around 4 or 5pm before she will be ready to go home, so I spend the day out picking up a few Christmas leftovers in Sand Springs. (I don’t live in Sand Springs, but I love stalking a few people over there.)

Around 2pm, I return to the house. I go into psycho mode the moment I walk in the door and see what my male lab has done to my backdoor. He has spent the entire day chewing and gnawing at the solid wood door until he had managed to make a hole large enough for him to squeeze his 90+ pound body under the door. When he sees me, he knows he’s in trouble, and immediately goes to his doghouse and lays down inside with only a part of his face sticking out to look around.

The temperature that day was below freezing, and inside my house the heater was blowing full blast, but it had little effect on the temperature of the room. I left my jacket on and found what I could to block the cold air from turning my fingertips blue. I made a quick dash to the lumber store and brought a large piece of metal to cover the opening, and then went to pick up my female lab who had come through surgery okay.

After making the needed repairs that evening, I laid down for some much need rest, leaving my male dog outside and the female inside for one week. Since she is still in heat, I have to keep the two dogs separated so he doesn’t cause her serious injury after the surgery. The next morning I was awaken by the sound of my female lab barking loudly in the other room. I jump up quickly thinking she may need to use the bathroom, and walk into the front room. There stands my male dog! He has cuts all over his face and paws where he dug, bit, pawed at the metal on the door until he was able to rip it open. Just to get to the PUSSY!

Another trip to Sutherlands! This time for more metal, new boards, screws, etc.. To complete the job. It was that, or spend a hundred dollars for a brand new door, and hope like hell I could put it up by myself. God only fucking knows, NOBODY else but me, is going to fucking fix the goddamn thing!

I chain my male lab up outside near his doghouse, and have to listen to him howl like someone is beating him with a hammer for the next five days! I want to end this dogs life! I have had NO restful sleep! Sleep a minute, listen to him howl, yell at him to shut up and go lay down. Sleep for two minutes, howling begins again. Let him howl until I’m sure the neighbors will soon be complaining. Fuck them! I’m complaining! I get up and toss a glass of water in his face and tell him again to be quiet. Nothing works!

I’m so exhausted I’m beginning to have some more than usually fucked up thoughts tossing around in my brain. If I don’t get some god damn sleep soon, I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold back my impulses. FIVE DAYS of this bullshit! I want to end this mother fuckers life with my bare hands.

And I would if it were up to me, but the owner of this body might really be upset if I were to do something psycho that caused her to do jail time. So, for now I will retreat back behind the black curtains until I’m needed again.

Pain Drives Me

Thoughts of suicide crossed my mind and sadly still lingers hours later. After the accident I can’t help but think if it wasn’t for me, my son would be better off. He would still have his car, I wouldn’t have to face going to court on yet another charge... Failure to yield. How many more times in my life must I be punished?

Most people who have suicidal tendencies, usually always have a suicide plan. A way out when all else fails. The finally option. I’ve had a plan since the first day I began thinking about taking my life at the young age of 12. Over the years, the plan has changed and become more sophisticated and thought out down to the final details of what should be done with my body. I don’t think I want to be buried the traditional way of a body being placed in a casket, instead I want to be cremated. I look at it this way, I don’t want others to ever have to bear the weight that I have carried throughout my life.

Sometimes it feels like each years that passes, my life only gets worse, and I can’t imagine living like this for 40 more years. I think about jumping in front of a semi-truck, swimming down to the bottom of the deepest water until there is no possible way to make it back to the top alive, taking too many pills, cutting a little too deep, etc. And as the finally resort, letting law enforcement do what I am a failure at doing, ending my years of misery.

But then suddenly out the blue things change, and you want to live. You have all these wonderful plans on how things are going to work out one day. All I have to do is distract myself long enough to climb out of the fucking mud. It’s not easy when the mud is clinging to every pore in my body, and there just doesn’t seem to be enough water in the world to wash it all away. Still, I keep trying, wishing there was an alternative to committing suicide, but at times I just can’t see one. I just have these wavering, mixed feelings about death, that I sometimes have a hard time understanding.

My court is tomorrow in Sand Springs, so I probably won’t be sleeping much tonight. I just hope everything rides along without any glitches...lol.

_______________________

Please, Please.... if you are having serious thoughts of suicide and need help, contact a friend, email me (fukitsacoldworld@yahoo.com), take a walk, or call one of the numbers below, before you do anything. I've lived with suicide thoughts for over 30 years, and so can you. You don't have to die. There are alternatives, other distractions, that will keep you from making a decision that you can't reverse.

Suicide hotlines to call for help:
If you or someone you care about is suicidal, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or the National Hopeline Network at 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433).
These toll-free crisis hotlines offer 24-hour suicide prevention and support. Your call is free and confidential.

Tonight, My Nightmares Feel Real

I’ve had two dreams about going to court in Sand Springs. In the dream, I’m at the courthouse and just as I walk inside I hear the voice of the officer I talked to a few years ago from a pay phone, but I never see his face, I only hear his voice and the voice of other officers suddenly talking. I feel extreme panic and feel the need to escape so I turn to walk outside. When I step outside I meet face to face with badge bunnies husband and he just stares into my face. At that point, I realize I’m dreaming and force myself to wake up. I think I see his face because he is the only one that I have actually met, and I recently saw him while I was in Sand Springs.

The dream and appearing in court are both equally stressing me. I keep thinking about what the officer posted online at Coplouge a few years ago after I talked with him that day...

Quote: If you could spend a day with a board member who would it be?

I'd like a day with Thief...oh yes just one day...we'd work out some things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~>:view19: Me taking care of Thief. Here thiefy, thiefy, thiefy!!

Guess I really pissed him off. This happened several years ago, so maybe he isn’t even around any more, and if he is, hopefully he has let it go. (yes, I fucking access your board Dunny...get over it... I was just looking for that quote from Baker.)

My court date was for tonight, so I’m glad I pushed it off until after my son graduates, just in case ‘Baker’ decides he still wants to ‘work out some things’. Regardless, I’m going to prepare myself... Put my plan in motion... Take a pill or two... And stay as calm as I possibly can. Maybe I’ll walk out without even seeing any of them.

If There Was a Line That One Must Not Cross, I Had Reached It

It's 8:15am and since I slept hard last night after finally crashing, I'm up early, so I might as well finish my story....


If there was a line that one must not cross, I had reached it. The more involved my mania became, the quicker that line began to disappear, along with all my discretion and judgment.

I left the Doctors office around 3:30, cramping after the invasive painful procedure, but necessary according to the doctors. The pain, and the pills that I had taken, were doing nothing to slow down my manic mind that was running 10 times its normal speed. The day before I had tried smoking some marijuana to help calm me down, but when I’m that far out there, marijuana, pills, not even drinking Tequila relaxes me. It’s not even necessary for me to take the Phentermine on these days. I already have enough energy, and food just really doesn’t taste that great.

I really didn’t want to head home and have to think about sitting still, so instead of taking highway 75 exit from downtown Tulsa, back to my place, I drove towards Sand Springs to pick up something to eat for the first time that day. I purchased a six inch sub and a diet coke from a Subway near Wal-Mart, and then found a location not far away to park. I sat there trying to eat the tasteless meal, but all my mind could do was envision alternate endings to taking my life.

Recognition of my mania phase is one thing, but doing something about it is another story. When I’m manic my mind has a great many voices and none of them are ever silent. Each one speaking out of turn, interrupting each other with different thoughts and ideas. When I’m talking to other people, I assume these other personalities to fit whatever situation I’m in, which is sometimes good...sometimes not.

That day my voices debated about should I cut myself. Until one voice muddled it way to the surface and came in loud and clear. It shouted for everyone to just shut the fuck up and end this tortuous game that my mind was playing. A part of me knows that cutting will awaken my mind, but it can have many serious consequences. Still, at the moment, the voice that was telling me to cut myself, was the only voice I heard.

As I sat alone, parked in an almost empty field, watching cars drive by, I held a small knife blade to my left arm. My adrenaline began flowing as I thought about the relief that I would soon be feeling. At that moment, a friend called and I sat there for 10 to 15 minutes listening to her talk about what a bad day she was having. I listened, but absorbed very little of the conversation. As soon as she hung up, I went right back to what I was doing. I had to do something to bring me out of the manic phase. I knew if I didn’t do something soon, I would probably find myself locked up somewhere, and that just wasn’t an option.

I took a deep breath and looked up to make sure no one was around or looking in my direction. I immediately spotted a Sand Springs officer driving by, so I quickly hid the knife in my bra, and proceeded to leave the area. I didn’t want to explain to anyone in law enforcement what I was doing. Plus, just two days before, on Tuesday, I was driving around and around in my circles, trying to kill time while I waited on a friend to finish her DUI Classes at the Tulsa fire training center, when I ran into a Sand Springs officer that I met years ago, and knew him from being online at CopLounge. He looked me dead in the face, but I’m still not sure if he recognized me. Since he was working that shift on Tuesday, my mind ran through various images of his face, worried that it was him who was turning around and coming back my direction. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I nervously pulled out of my parking spot, hoping the officer wasn’t really paying any attention to me, but I was wrong. He quickly swung through the parking area and got right behind me. Adrenaline poured through my chest, and my heart began pumping double its volume of blood.

I could see the officer quickly getting right behind me as he was talking on his radio. He was calling in the tag number, and of course I knew it was going to come back to a friend whose drivers license was still suspended. At the next light, I turned left and he turned on those colorful pretty lights, that would be beautiful, if they weren’t concealing someone who might be completely indifferent to my diagnosis.

When I’m manic there is nothing like having a law enforcement officer near me to embolden a manic mood. I was running a hundred scenarios through my head about what I was going to say to the officer, and I knew when I was surging this much, there was no telling what I would say.

I took a deep breath, opened my window and waited for him to ask for my drivers license and insurance, which I handed over. He asked me what I was doing in the area where I was parked, and I quickly told him I was just making a phone call. After a few more questions, he want back to the patrol car and I could see him calling in my drivers license. I nervously sat waiting, when I looked in the mirror and noticed he was looking down the road for another officer to arrive. That's never a good sign.

It was time to assume another personality. You know the one...the one where everything is fine and this is all just a big misunderstanding. I spoke with the younger officer while the first officer searched my car. When I’m manic and experiencing OCD at the same time, it makes it hard to let others touch my things, or to keep from talking. No one but another manic person could possible understand the agony of enforced silence. I had to finally bite the inside of my mouth to keep from saying too much. Still, I felt like I had given out more information than was necessary.

When the search was complete, I was informed that I was in possession of a Class 4 Drug... the phentermine that I’ve been taking for about 4 months now. I was informed that I could be arrested since I didn’t have them in a prescription bottle, but the officer was nice considering my past drug history and arrest, that he didn't place the cuffs on me, instead he just gave me ticket. For which I was truly thankful. The only part that really sucks is I have to show up in court. I quickly asked if I could bring the prescription in at anytime, but the officer said the Judge required that I appear. Fuck!

Afterwards I drove away, fully relieved that I didn’t have to cut myself just to shock my brain into producing the right chemicals so I could feel normal again. The manic mood ended, leaving me just normal enough to function without much thought. I just hope the depression that I know usually follows, won’t be so bad this time.

Secretly Suicidal

Mental Illness creates its own vibrant, colorful reality, which is so convincing sometimes, that it is hard to figure out exactly what is real and what is not.

Things have gotten harder to recall the older I get, because my memory seems to be a casualty of my manic depression. When I’m manic, all I remember is the moment, but when I’m depressed, all I remember is the pain. The surrounding details are lost. Hopefully telling my stories is what will keep me alive, even when death is in its most seductive pose.

People always mean well, but they don’t understand that when you’re seriously depressed suicidal ideation can be the only thing that keeps you alive. Just knowing that there’s a way out- even if it’s bloody, permanent - it makes the pain almost bearable for one more day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the urge to die. Death just sounds like a vacation to me. A place to escape the brutal emotional rollercoaster I'm riding alone. To be somewhere else at times, is what my mind craves. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I’m thrilled to tears to be alive and have what I have. Because I know there are many others who suffer far more than I do, yet continue their quest to live each day to the fullest. At times, I believe the world is wasted on me, and that, I think, is reason enough to die.

This past week I’ve felt like I had a monster living inside of me. I think I’ve been rapid recycling. For awhile I savored every smell, lingered over every sensation, and marveled at every creature comfort. But then the inevitable happens, my brain chemistry shifted and my mood plunged back down to despair. I believe I deserve to suffer, and crave the suffocation black nothingness.

Attempting suicide or serious cutting usually jump starts my brain chemistry. Problem is if I cut myself too deep, that means a trip to the ER, with lots of questions, so I won’t seek assistance. Years ago I was scolded by a doctor for being an ‘attention seeker’ and a nuisance. He was so unsympathetic that he refused to give me anesthesia while stitching up my self-inflicted wound. I was dismissed as someone who was wasting their time and I was not deserving of the same care as other injured people

It was never about the attention- I was just trying to relieve some of the emotional feelings, and I went too far. When I cut, I feel focused, appropriately punished, and a bit more in control of myself. I might even be smiling afterwards, because at that moment, I’m feeling more sane than I’ve ever been in my life. So, I will continue in secret. This wound I know how to heal.
________________

My manic phase got me in trouble again last week. It sent me around and around the corner at least 3 times the posted speed limit, and sooner or later I knew some cop would be waiting for me on the other side, eagerly jingling his handcuffs. Luckily I wasn't arrested, but I do have to make an appearance in Sand Springs Court. Since this post is getting long, I'll finish writing about it tomorrow.

Tomorrow A Good Friend Will Die

I’m drowning in my own pool of blood.

I see a razor sitting on the edge of the sink.
My mind goes into a spiral as I begin to think.
Maybe just one cut to ease the pain.
I promise to myself not to hit a vein.

I’m finally alone with my thoughts, and I find they are running around in several directions, but still running back to one thought. Will a friend, of 25 years, get a miracle tomorrow, or will he be taking his last breath? I fear that it will be the later. He has had no movement since he had a brain aneurysm back when we had the ice storm around January 27.

His wife called to let me know that he was suddenly dizzy, had blurred vision, and a intense headache. So they rushed him to the ER in Bartlesville, where they determined he needed to be life-flighted, but because of the severe ice storm in the area, the chopter couldn’t fly. Insted, he was rushed by ambulance to the only hospital that could handle the golf ball size bulging in his brain, which was in Wichita, Kansas. The trip took over an hour, allowing the aneurysm to grow to the size of a baseball. He never had a chance, even after the surgery.

I did a little research online and found out that a unbelievable one in 15 people in the US will develop a brain aneurysm during their lifetime. Many will die on the way to the hospital, and over 50 percent will die within the first thirty days after rupture. Those who do survive, about half suffer some permanent damage. This scares the hell out of me.

I can’t help but think it could possible be my turn, and I don‘t want that outcome for my life. I want to go out on my own terms...not some random hand from God’s sky, reaching down and taking my last breath without warning. I had been at his house just two weeks before, after he had begged me to come by and visit him. I felt obligated to go since I hadn’t been to see him and his family in two years or more. I wonder if he knew somehow? If he felt it coming and wanted to get together one last time?

Whatever led me to finally going, I’m glad I went. I got to see him with his dream. The one that Tony always wanted...to have a family of his own. He has two beautiful daughters, one typical 14-year-old from his wife’s first marriage, and a 9-year-old dark hair, brown eyed little girl, that looks so much like him. He was happy, even though they didn’t have much. I could tell when I visited that they all loved him very much. It was strange seeing them call him Daddy, but that’s what he was to them, no matter what kind of life he had lived in the past, he was their loving Daddy.

He was one of the gang members I hung around with, did drugs with, went to jail with ..more than once. He was two years younger than me!! And his life will probably be over in just a few more hours. He hasn’t woke up or responded at all to those around him. His wife said she was going to let the girls spend the weekend saying goodbye, and Monday morning they were removing his life support.

It’s after 2 am and I should get some sleep before the call comes. I hate those kind of calls. The older I get, the more frequently I receive the late night, or early morning calls. You never get use to them, and sometimes I just don’t know what to say to the person on the other end of the line. I wonder what people will say when my turn comes? ...Surprised that it hadn’t happened before now? I’ve lived a hard life, and like Tony, I feel I’m in the last Chapter of my book...the end is near.

I don't think I want to be here for the call...I may spend the day in Sand Springs driving around in little circles. Anything to ease the pain.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

GOING TO THE LAKE AGAIN!!!!

Sorry everyone for not posting much recently, but it's FUCKING SUMMERTIME!!!! Anyway I guess that's the reason I haven't been on much recently. Plus I just don't really have much to say or have the time to sit down and type. I've pretty much been going non-stop since I started driving again. DAMN it feels good!! FUCK YOU RANDY little bitch RAINS!!! Okay I'll admit...I've been drinking a little tonight. A good friend returned home tonight from a week and half vacation, and she brought back some 6-point beer, so I've had a couple. I wanted to make myself go to sleep early tonight because the boys want me to take them to the lake again. We are going to do the same thing we did last time, get up around 9am, leave by 10 to 10:30 and be at Sand Springs Wal-Mart around 11:30 to pick up some lunch, and then it's off to the lake for a couple hours of swimming and baking in the sun...LOVE IT!!!

I have a new hair style since I last went, so that feels really good, and I look ALOT different. Hopefully nobody knows who I am...hehe.

We went to the Jenks Aquarium a few days ago...the boys and I had a wonderful time and took several pictures. I’ll post a couple below.
Click on Picture to Enlarge

Everyone have a wonderful day, and I’ll try to post more next time.

At least let me walk out the door, before you giggle

I’m going to write this with having zero sleep, so if it comes out sounding fucked up, you’ll know why. Yesterday I was arrested for application to revoke a one year suspended sentence on Possession of Marijuana. I’ve had the warrant since August 2005, from where I didn’t/couldn’t complete my community service, due to the fact that I was put in the hospital for a week, and then it was one thing after another and I never got around to completing the hours.

After the jackass yaS reported what I had posted, which I figured he would, a few more of his friends made there way to my site. After finding out who I was, they of course ran a check on me and discovered that lovely warrant that has been hanging over my head for too damn long. When I made the post it was in the back of my mind that I could be arrested, but in a way I was ready to get it over with. I’ve barely left my house in the past two years, so this forced me back out into the real world again.

I was arrested by the Glenpool PD Officer Mobley (hope I spelled that right. Nice guy, smiles a lot.) around 3:45pm and was taken to the local jail. I did okay for a minute, but only a minute. I don’t know if I want to write about this next part or not. I’m thinking about it for a minute or two. I haven’t even told anyone in my family about it yet, and I probably won’t. I’m keeping my sleeves pulled down, just to make sure no one sees. I don’t want them to see, because they will want to know why I did what I did, and sometimes I just don’t have a reason why.

I mostly cut when I get stressed. It’s like I go somewhere else, and when I’m done cutting I return to a more normal state. That’s usually when I say to myself, what the FUCK!

I’m a cutter...shhhh...don’t tell.
Its socially unacceptable that I express pain.
I bleed just so I’ll know I’m alive.
Pain doesn’t hurt when it’s all you’ve ever felt.

I don’t know what the young man’s name was, but I guess I should thank him now that I feel a little more normal...well as normal as I’ll be. Part of it, I think I have already blanked out, like the first initial cut, but I do remember asking for some toilet paper, because I didn’t want to make a mess on the floor or on me. I guess that’s the OCD. The young man handed me the toilet paper and I thought he had walked away, but I guess for whatever reason he looked back, and that’s when he saw what I had done. I don’t know how far I would have went had he not looked back. Probably further than the seven stitches.

At the hospital, I had a real nice baby sitter, Corporal T. I liked him, mostly because of his remark that he didn’t need no stinking taser. I like that in an officer...lol.

Officer M returned to the hospital to take me on to the county, and as we drove the short distance, we talked a little about my past. Telling him just a small part of my life, almost brought me to tears right there. I still can’t face my past, and I damn straight can’t talk about it to someone’s face. Maybe someday I can let it all go.

I finally got to the jail around 7pm, and surprisingly I wasn’t treated like a drain on society, I actually felt ok...Or maybe it was the xanax that I had taken before the cops picked me up. It could also have been that the Sheriffs department is running the jail again. Or it could have been that a camera crew from American Jail was there. (God, I hope they don’t put my ugly ass on TV.) Whatever it was, expect for the ridiculous amount of time I had to just sit around and wait, it wasn’t the bad experience that I figured would take place. I know it is my own actions that lead to some of the bad experiences I have had, but not all of them.

I finally made it out of jail around 4am, $600 dollars poorer, but at least now I don’t have a warrant hanging over my head. (Watch out, I’m now able to freely roam the streets again. That’s not a threat...just a little bit of my sick twisted humor.) I laid down in bed around 5am, but was never able to drift asleep, finally I got up and took a long hot shower before being at court by 9am.

Last thought, then I have to get some sleep...I want to know from the Sand Springs police department...if it wasn’t one of the officers from around there who has been harassing me, then who was the person that contacted you about the post “Late Night”?

And everyone, if you don’t want to read about fucked up, weird, off the wall, crazy ass, stupid, sad, painful, nasty shit that I write, don’t come to my site. It will still be here, and anytime I feel the need to post some insane thoughts from my head, I will post them. It is better to post them, than to keep them locked in my head.