Monday, June 20, 2016
Alright. I've got to say it. Damn it. I cut myself raw open in the first of these blogs, and unfortunately, I don't have the ability to do that here with this, and I don't have any friends that are even going to remotely going to understand what happens. One of them and I talked about it and I know she didn't understand at all. She just tried to listen. But there's a reason that I'm lucky I'm such a unique type of person. I just don't have to deal with this often enough to worry about it--excepting that stupid promise to myself that I wasn't going to bail on the viable anymore. Sigh. Not sure how that's going to work.
Then again, let's face it. I still am of the frame of mind what's meant to be will be no matter what you do. Two of the most screwed up people I know are literally perfect for each other. One had just got out of a long term relationship and he meets this woman and bam. He marries her 3 months later and everyone thought it was insane. It was like a year before I moved back to SC. They're still together. So who knows? I think it just works itself out somehow.
Probably the guy would have to figure out how it would work with me. I'm not paying attention most of the time. When someone says that guy over there is checking you out, I'm always like "uh, who?" Yea, I notice everything else. I'm pretty sure that's part of my defense mechanism. The other night someone said to me "you just need to stop looking". God this always annoys the hell out of me. I'm never looking. Ever. You don't f***ing know me. I'm never looking and all my closest friends know this. I'm completely oblivious. Sure, I joined a dating site again. Ugh. You should see the losers that are online and half of the women on those dating sites must be the biggest whores because even on one that is supposed to be innocuous, I've received some pretty rude emails. Don't get me wrong I can be pretty crass; I'm a sailor afterall. But give me a break. I don't know you and HELL NO my dress is not going to look good on your floor or any floor that you will ever step on. Ewwww. Let's face it if I was actually looking for perfect for me, I would not be spending what free time I have riding around on my motorcycle with friends that are mostly couples. Duh. Where am I looking? Nowhere. The places we go have the same people over and over. Is there somebody in the biker circle? I have no idea. But again, I'm such an oddity. One every 4 years average.
Okay. So wash, rinse, repeat is starting to sound good again. Sigh. I know what my closest friends would say. And I made a promise to myself. No more wash, rinse, repeat. Cripes. That's going to be harder than I thought. It's not like I can take that boulder and just fling it off into the distance with a trebuchet. If odds are any indication, this is not going to be easy. I'd make an inappropriate joke at this point, but most of you really don't know me and I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression. So here goes nothing: there goes the wash, rinse, repeat cycle--kind of like launching a squash at the World Champion Pumpkin Chunkin. Only without the "squishy" splatty noise.
Saturday, June 18, 2016
When I walked through that PTSD door and it slammed behind me, I had no idea that I had even walked through it. PTSD from my understanding then was from actual combat. My girlfriend that was a hospital corpsman (medic) that was in Kuwait City when it came under seige--she had PTSD. I just had bad memories. Her PTSD was totally different than mine, so I couldn't have PTSD. Hers was different for two reasons--she had a totally different life than me before it and I had a totally different life than her before it. Almost all PTSD veterans report some amount of fear of abandonment, but not always for the same reasons. Some may be too afraid of being judged--very common actually. Some like me, came in with a fear of abandonment. I was married to a cheating idiot and my mother was gone by the time I was 9. Being married to that idiot while I was deployed was very, very unhelpful. If I had a normal relationship, like my girlfriend did, just losing my mother might not have been amplified. I had long accepted that she was gone. Probably why, after going through that door, it was now women that I could have more solid bonds. My mother for all of the faults I like to joke about, like Green Eggs and Ham, was a wonderful woman. My Grams had been my rock. The closest relationships I have developed since that door have always been with girlfriends. I'm reluctant to develop any of my male friends to the point of being "family". So the fear of abandonment isn't about my mother. In fact, when I went through counseling, my mother was rarely part of the conversation. It became a non-starter pretty fast. But Daddy issues? I was Daddy's little girl. I was kind of spoiled rotten. But ok, maybe a little--Daddy had remarried and it wasn't good on me but I had been 12. Yet, Daddy and I had started to develop a very tight and solid relationship again while I was in counseling. It also became a non-starter. My father and I were like two peas in pod sometimes and I think he liked that I was a lot like my mother. So, I don't sound like the ideal abandonment case. My girlfriend actually had a very estranged relationship with her family. If anyone should have walked through that door with mommy and daddy issues, she would've been a prime candidate.
So where does this fear of abandonment come from? My friend didn't have it. She had a solid relationship. He was there for her before the darkness came and he stood strong beside her though the darkness. She had no fear of abandonment at all. I, on the other hand, probably suffer from an abandonment disorder now. I usually have nothing bad to say about my ex. It's not his fault, but yes, actually it was. Don't get me wrong, shit happens. You're supposed to suck it up like a buttercup and move on. And I did. I threw him out the door so fast it made everybody's head spin. My best friends tried to tell me to slow down, breath, think. Hell no, I had made up my mind. He'd been cheating before we even got married. Out the damn door was the best answer. Then reject everyone that came through my door after a while. That became my solution. Prior to my ex, I was just not interested in getting serious with anyone--I had plans, I had goals, and nothing--let alone someone--was going to get in the middle of that. With my ex, well, he was one of my best buddies--I'd say friends, but I'm not sure about that anymore. Our other friends joked that he followed me around like a puppy. I don't remember it that way. He gaffed off dates to hang out with the group, but one of our mutual friends back then was quick to point out only if I was going to be around. I don't remember anyone before that always putting me first. It actually made me feel special. I remember that feeling when I look at pictures of us before we were dating. I also remember my Granddaddy always protecting my Grams. In social settings, letting her flutter off on her own and then checking on her to make sure she was fine periodically. And God forbid if anyone messed with her, Granddaddy was 6'5". Grams was only 5'2". You messed with Grams and he was going to be there ready to knock you across the room. That is how my ex made me feel before we started dating, and that's what had won me over. (Sure we could go into what his issues were--find justifications, excuses and some might even be valid, but those are his problems not mine.)
So, he went from being my great protector to being a horrible, unsupportive, cheating jerk who literally never had my back. It was pretty bad when one of his friends, a guy who wasn't that fond of me, told me point blank that he didn't deserve me. He wasn't trying to get with me--he had a solid relationship at the time. But he had gotten to know me by then, and he just said that there was no way he was going to do right by me. I found out later that conversation coincided with the first time my ex cheated on me--before we were even married. Why even marry me? Well, because I was like his mom and he was like his dad. The difference is his mom was raised divorce was not an option and I was raised by Granddaddy to show his ass to the door.
So I'm trying now, to focus on the healthy examples that I have, and I've made myself a promise no more "unviables". No one is perfect, but I never said I was looking for perfection. I always was looking for just perfect for me. In our hearts we know what that is when we meet it even it scares the hell out of us. But no more, well, I don't like this, this is a bad thing, or whatever. If it's easy to come up with the laundry list of why I shouldn't date him, I shouldn't be dating him. That's my wash, rinse, repeat cycle starting back up. No more. My Granddaddy wasn't perfect, but the things that were right about him--well, everything that was right was always the person he was around me. My father had a temper from hell (I come by it honest), but my father was educated, smart, hilarious, and a damn good man. Never judged anyone and treated everyone equal. That was one of the same qualities he and my Granddaddy had, and probably one of the reasons my mother was smitten. It's time for me to start being less afraid and a lot more, as a friend put it, smarter than that. So it might take practice. Like I said in the previous blog, I can barely hold it together when I meet someone viable. All those emotions can come flooding back--the flashback of how I felt in Turkey, how I felt on those phone calls, and then the anger when I got home that protected what was left. It's not easy to control. But it's time I try and learn to cope with that too.
Friday, June 17, 2016
It's been years since I've been honest about how I feel. I mean, not about my job, my kids, my friends, my life overall. It's been years that I've been honest about my relationships. Dating. Dating sucks. I hate dating. I always did. I was in the military, before that I was actually, yes, believe it or not, a sorority girl. I've heard every, and I mean every, horrible, good, cute, sucky, bullshit, dumbass, desperate, and then some, pick up line known to man. My favorite was when a buddy, after a retirement of a Chief we worked for in the Navy was: "I've got a dozen or so buttons just calling your name." If you know nothing about the original Navy Crackerjacks, well, look it up. It's still friggin hilarious when I think about the look on that girl's face. No, he wasn't hitting on me. I was complicated. I'm pretty sure I'm still as complicated, if not more, than I ever was then back then. I had plenty of rules. They were all geared to protect me. I went in to the military with baggage and I came back out with more baggage. Anyone with PTSD just multiplies what they came in with. It's like starting with two rabbits and having a hundred after only a few months.
My PTSD is my biggest friend...used to be. It helps me totally freak out every time I meet someone with real potential. Not that anyone with real potential comes around on a regular basis. I'm an uber goober geek with a super sarcastic sense of humor. In example, a friend was trying very poorly this evening to pretend like he was a duck, or chicken, or goose....Everyone watching and I blurt out while everyone thinks I'm paying no attention that he's practicing his "blow job" neck. The women at the table bust out laughing. I'm friggin hilarious. My sense of humor is sailor crossed with super smart ass (before the Navy) crossed with a lot of smarts. My friends tell me all the time I need to find someone as smart as me. From experience, I'm not sure what that is. I mean I know plenty of people as smart or smarter than me. Ok, no, I really don't. I'm so geeky the only reason that I'm not shunned by everyone I know is that I'm pretty, I'm dedicated, faithful, honest and always have my friends' backs. I'm not actually as pretty as I used to be. Of course, back then I had no idea I was even pretty. Who knew?
Anyway, eventually my life sucked. My ex was not only not supportive when I got out of the Gulf. He actually made it worse. I was just desperately trying to make it all work--keep my life normal. I don't talk about it much. He was horrible to me while I was deployed to the point my friends overheard what he was saying to me, took the phone from me and hung up, and went to our Senior Chief to contact his command that enough was enough. My trust factors have never been the same. Not that they were huge to start with, but whatever they were got worse from my service and even worse with the things he did. Not a dwell thing. Just a didn't friggin help thing.
So over the years I've been very blessed to have people that had no idea what I was going through who always had my back, who when someone touched me and I freaked would take my side, who loved me no matter how friggin ridiculous I seemed. They helped heal me in so many aspects. Eventually, I started to thrive--work, kids, friends and family. A lot of that was them and one-on-one counseling with a fabulous psychiatrist. But I never looked at rejection. Ever. I just never cared about it. I had never been rejected. I barely was interested in anyone including my ex, let alone worried about rejection. But my PTSD made me feel alone. Alone all the time. At home alone, out with friends sometimes, hanging out with my boys fishing. I would just be overcome with loneliness. It especially sucked when the boys were gone for the summer. When they were home, I could walk into their rooms and just sit with them and listen to them breath and know in my heart I wasn't alone-alone. But I was alone, and terrifyingly alone in the summers when they were gone. My motorcycle gave me comfort. But not much else did.
So I dated. Sort of. With the start of an organization to help those of us with PTSD, one of my best friends, called me out. How am I doing this while my PTSD still cripples me in some cases? Uh. No. It doesn't. Then she pointed out my "cycle". A year and a half to two years with someone that I already had an arm's length list of reasons that I should not be dating them. Then I stay away from dating for a year, Wash, rinse, repeat. I initially got a little pissy and said she was wrong. I thrive in spite of my PTSD. Yes, in every aspect of my life but relationships. I don't date anyone viable she told me and it was time for me to start only dating guys I would consider long term. Enough is enough...Yea, I told her I needed to get off the phone rather than argue that she was wrong. She was wrong.
Of course, that settled into my head and a couple days and...I did mention super uber goober geek...I started to think about what she was saying. She wasn't actually wrong. No one makes it passed two years and before I ever start dating them I do have a very, very, very...very, very...long list of why I wouldn't date them. There was one exception in the middle of all that mess, but eventually he didn't want me. I'm not sure if it was his fault. It seemed all good, but an ex-boyfriend--crazy as a friggin loon--kept prodding him. I'm not sure I can take the blame either. But it doesn't matter. He didn't want to deal with it and the way I see it now is if I was that important he would've been there for me.
So then now my friend's observations--excepting that one who dropped me--are pretty much spot on. Of course, he didn't help. I lost all my confidence that anyone would want me. I am so broken. I made it easier on myself. Choose ones that would be lucky to have me...that would be easy to lose. Ideally with a long list of things wrong with them. This is not actually hard to find. It's so easy--it's disturbing in its own right. But my friend is right. I don't need to be doing that to myself. It's not that I don't have a type, she pointed out. It's that I refuse to date "my type".
I refuse to date "my type" because I'm terrified of being rejected and "my type" is so rare I have a better chance of getting hit by a bus. Not that I haven't met a couple of "my type" but they totally freak me out, even now. I'm excited and then I'm terrified. And being terrified doesn't work well with PTSD. Duh. What terrifies me? They won't want me. The terror is very, very helpful at that point (feel the sarcasm). I know this, but I rarely, even medicated, can keep it even keel. It overwhelms me. I'm afraid. I become needy, a dipshit, barely functioning. I need to be protected at that point and that doesn't happen. Even with those that are not "my type" that I've dated--that vulnerability can become a liability. The ones that I wouldn't date normally take advantage of it or just completely don't get it and the ones that I would be involved with. Well, I just haven't put myself in the position to find out what they do. I freak out and they drop me. I might not even describe it as freaking out. It's kind of like I know it's right but I. Well, I don't know. I don't like to feel needy. Don't get me wrong. I need someone to make me feel safe. I need to feel protected. When I feel vulnerable, at risk, I'm out. I'm not waiting to feel protected; I'm running like a scared doe for the deepest recesses of my safe zone.
My safe zone--my friends, my boys, hell, even the dog. No judgement, no rejection, no risk. They have proven themselves over and over. A year of that and then I'm ready to start with the next guy that I wouldn't date normally or ever or whatever. Depends on the guy but the list is usually long no matter who he is.
Thus why my friend said "no more". Only I'm pretty sure I can't do "no more". The guys I would actually date don't want me. It's not that I don't want them or need them. I recognize it pretty quickly since it's so friggin rare. It's just that I'm going to freak the f*** out and be terrified, unprotected and completely un-functional. Needing someone is scary as hell. And when I want someone, genuinely, I need them. I know "my type" and I don't want to be rejected by someone I need. So I just fall back on the things that work with PTSD. React big and retreat fast. I know it's pathetic. And I'm a survivor that for the most part is thriving. Just not this aspect of my life. I'd tell you that I have figured out how to get passed this. But I barely can stand losing anyone (dying) anymore. It breaks me for a little while. And when I'm the most vulnerable is when I'm the least desirable apparently. Or maybe I just choose that. Hell, like I said at the beginning of this blog, I don't have this aspect of my life even remotely right. I'm my own worst enemy.
Monday, June 6, 2016
1. I've lived in 9 States.
2. I've visited more than 20. I was going to recount but why... More than 20...
3. I've been to 6 countries, not including the USA. Not impressive. I know people that have been to more than twenty.
4. I could read and write fluently when I was 3.
5. I've read every book written by Charles Dickens before I was 9--including A Tale of Two Cities. No matter what my parents said, that book sucked. Totally sucked.
6. I've pretty much read every classic known to man. Hate most of them. Gulliver's Travels for example. Ridiculous.
7. I technically can speak 3 languages. I was fluent in them when I was a toddler and in my teens.... Two of which I have to be around people speaking it for at least 2 hours to get back to a toddler/elementary level. Give me a week and I'll be around a high school level. English, well American English, is one of the 3. Duh. My mother and grandmother taught English. You think school sucked? How would you like to have to learn the whole dictionary for most of the first 5 years of your life? Annoying. I'm telling you.
8. I can count to ten in 5 languages. Completely useless. Well, until I needed beer in France. So 2 have been completely useless to date.
9. I've read the Constitution 6x+. In high school, I realized my Government teacher hadn't read the Constitution, just the bits and pieces she thought she was going to be teaching. I called bullshit, and I didn't get in trouble. She went it read it like she should've in the first place.
10. I've read newspapers from before Roosevelt died and from before JFK died. Neither were popular Presidents while they were alive. Roosevelt had accumulated too much power and JFK had the Bay of Pigs. Day after they died, beloved. Just an example of how we Americans think I guess.
11. Yes, I've read the Federalist Papers, and Thomas Paine and Ben Franklin amongst others.. It's been decades. But every writer has a nuisance and I'll likely realize you're misquoting faster than I can actually call bullshit.
12. If you haven't read the Bible, just bits and pieces, I'll likely catch it. And yes if you act all holier than thou, I'll likely call you on it. My one aunt was a Sunday school teacher...just because my parents were atheists doesn't mean the rest of the family was. I got it crammed down my throat more than you did.
13. I have rebuilt engines and used to love to tinker. Not anymore. I've got better things to do than hang out in a garage all day....okay, I think I have better things to do. If you like to be in a garage all day, more power to you. Stop acting like giving up a hobby is that hard. Let's put it this way--ride my motorcycle or tinker? Babyboy is gassed and ready. See ya.
14. My parents were true atheists. To their dismay, at 7 I decided there had to be some higher power that I chose to call whatever that higher power is God. I believe religion is a choice. God chooses the path for each of us. I wish people would stop trying to guess why God chose something different for someone else. Just have faith in what you believe. Live and let live and stop judging everyone. I remember multiple examples from the Bible of judge not. And all religions have similar examples. Live and let live. Not your circus and I'm betting you've got enough of your own 3 ring circus without worrying about anyone else's circus.
30. I've met a lot of people that have no passion about anything. I feel sorry for you. I'm sure you think it's a great way to live. I'm too emotional, I'm too controversial, I'm too energetic, or I'm just too much. Yes, I've heard it all. I really don't care that you don't have as much energy or feeling. I actually feel sorry for those that haven't got that inner fire that I do. I don't know what it would be like to be mellowed out. Mellow might work for you, but it's never helped me even to try. It's not who I was meant to be. I live my life to the fullest and with direction and conviction, loyalty and strong bonds that distance and time do not break. I cannot imagine what it would be like to live my life any other way, and honestly, I wouldn't want to live my life inside the bubble it has been suggested to live in. It's not that I haven't tried. It's that it didn't work anyway. It's not who I am and I'm not going to be miserable to make anyone else happy. And neither should anyone else.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Yes, I've heard the arguments about helmets. Yet study after study shows that the frontal portion of the biker is where the most damage occurs. Most helmets do not cover the front portion of the face--and that protection is not near as much. But why frontal damage? Because we are hit from behind or someone pulls in front of us and we are thrown....FORWARD. If we had been closer, I may or may not have been able to react fast enough, but the vehicle behind me, an large SUV, she wouldn't have been able to. So this guy made a decision that not only affected him, his son, me and now this lady behind me and whoever was in her vehicle. I was fortunate she was not riding right behind me and allowed herself plenty of reaction space between our vehicles. But had she been where I was when he did this, she may have hit him. He didn't care that he didn't stop to see me. But he didn't think that between her and me might not be enough room either. He couldn't be sure. He came out of nowhere in the parking lot and flew into the road. He had no time to gauge how fast she was going even if he didn't see me. He definitely saw that there were about 5 cars and SUVs around me, but hey maybe not. He came out of nowhere. I was watching for him....That was the only difference and it might not have helped if he were only a couple of seconds later coming out of that parking lot.
I know, so I'm responsible, but you're sick of those motorcycles that are going too fast and zipping between traffic lines. All bikers know that some of the younger people riding some bikes, and even some of the older, are not as responsible as we would like. But they typically are not the norm. Of 66.7M bikers on the roads in the United States, we know that less than 20% are sport bike riders--that group that most people equate with doing the stupid tricks on the freeways, flying way too fast, cutting between lines of traffic. The average age of these riders is 28 years old. They are young and sometimes impetuous, and yes, sometimes their speed plays a big factor not because someone didn't pull out in front of them but because they had not allowed themselves a reaction time. But they are someone's child, someone's friend, someone's heart. They mean something to someone and you wouldn't want someone to disregard someone that you care about. The other point is that most of us are responsible for the most part. We all make mistakes, but the mistake that we make shouldn't be something as simple as not taking a couple of seconds to take a second look.
In spite of that show by Peggy Buddy and her husband, the truth is 99% of bikers are just like you. They have jobs. They pay taxes. They bitch about the same politicians. They have to pay bills. They have families. Many of them are just going through a mid-life crisis and will ride for 2 or 3 years and then sell their bike for a boat or a vacation site. Some of us are life long bikers. I grew up with motorcycles. My uncle dragged NRHA in the 60s and 70s. My father worked as a structural engineer on my uncle's bike. They were both mechanical engineers. My uncle worked in the US auto industry. My dad was a structural engineer that worked all over the country. I rode the tank when I was a toddler--to my Grams' dismay. Some bikers are teachers, construction workers, quality assurance techs, hair dressers, CEOs. We are just like you, only our hobby is an iron horse.
LOOK TWICE, SAVE A LIFE is not just about motorcycles. When you come up to a stop, you cannot assume anything. You need to look twice. Not just for motorcycles, for anyone. I have a bright orange truck, and I've had plenty of people pull out in front of my truck. That truck sticks out like a sore thumb, yet time and time again, I've had people put their lives, their passengers' lives, my life and my passengers' lives in danger, because they can't take a couple of extra seconds to look twice. It's not just motorcyclists' lives that you might save. It might be yours or someone you love.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Oh boy. I know it's a huge can of worms talking about religion, but this isn't about your religion or religions. Yes, some people actually follow multiple "religions" or religious beliefs and in the United States of America, this is supposed to be fine, perfectly acceptable--thanks to a thing that we call the First Amendment. No, I'm not trying to get you to give up your religion. I'm just trying to point out that your religion, even the interpretation of your own religion, isn't always the same as others that practice your religion.
The far religious right has made the arguments against abortion. Often these conversations, when I have been willing to venture into them with someone, have ended with them wanting to "save babies". Do you realize how many unwanted children are out there? Needing real homes? Are these "babies" that need saving going to end up as those unwanted children? Let's skip the religious arguments. Look up how often women died of "unknown" abdominal bleeding in the early 1900s through the 1960s. The counts were actually massive. Yet, after Roe v. Wade, those numbers dropped drastically. That's why Nancy Reagan, my Grams and others of their generation were pro-choice. My Grams had explained to me how one of her college sorority sisters died from a back room, coat hanger abortion because she didn't want to tell her family she had gotten pregnant. Grams explained to me that her friend could've gotten an abortion in a hospital, money talked, if she had told her family. They had the money. But she was so ashamed and she ended up bleeding to death because of the botched effort made by some scam artist in a backroom. Now, I have heard the far right religious argument here. She deserved to die. Seriously. Sometimes, these people blow my mind. No one deserves to die for a mistake. These people cast stones like its going out of style, and yet one of the primary tenements of all the Abrahamics is to cast no judgement unless you want to be judged yourself. The far Christian right actually offends almost all other Christian beliefs when it really comes down to it. The majority of American Christians, regardless of which sect, do not believe it's okay to kill a woman that is thinking about getting an abortion, blowing up the Atlanta Olympics or killing a doctor or nurse. Most Christians are totally mortified by this, but they let the far Christian right be their voice. Even more eerily, they allow the far right arguments to win them over without all their own religion's facts.
The next argument that I get is that God says or God tells you or God says it in the Bible. Well, no, there's actually nothing about abortion in the Bible. Nothing. Not a single word. What does the Bible actually say? It doesn't actually say anything about conception. That's actually a falsehood. Some man added that to a sermon and it's a lie that took on a life of its own. He probably added it because backroom abortions have been taking place for centuries prior to this argument that takes place now. What does the Bible say? It actually tells the story of the beginning of life in Genesis and it says is that life began when God breathed the living breath into the first being (human being). By that, then life begins when you take your first breath. Control of the churches up until the last 100 years has been primarily by men. Female ministers are only a more recent--last 50 years or so--anomaly. Men have dominated the religious make up for the Abrahamics and still continue to. And that's fine, but it's not going to change that the Bible doesn't say anything for or against being pro-choice. What it does say gives most Christians a reason to be pro-choice. Life begins at your first breath.
That's not to say that any of Christians need to change what their beliefs are. Just a reason to analyze what a minister told you may or may not be a reason to believe what you believe. Which always brings me to my most amazed discovery over the years. How many Christians have never read the Bible. In recent studies trying to reduce Islamic extremists in the Middle East and Africa, they have discovered that many of the extremists cannot read, so they have never read the Quran for themselves. They have listened to someone else, someone else's interpretation and often have been mislead as to what a section means or even what it actually says. This is called Brainwashing. We have seen it over and over and over. Neo-nazi recruiters in the 80s used it. Charlie Manson used it. I'm not saying that a minister is intentionally misleading his or her flock if they teach that abortion is wrong, but there's really not an idea in the Bible that conception is where life begins. So Christians are free to decide what they believe, and not have someone dictate to them what they should or shouldn't believe.