Vale Jay Bennett

I just heard about the overnight death of Jay Bennett, his management company have confirmed the death and advised that he passed away in his sleep.

Jay Bennetts life was more than just his time in Wilco, but its the Wilco time that introduced him to me.

My connection to the music of this ‘band’ is lyrical, it’s the music and it’s the kick-arse amazing shows I’ve seen over the years (though much fewer than I’d hope as it took along time to come here and they rarely come back). I know that Being There and Summerteeth were my turning points from yep I really like this band to wow this band is brilliant.

I spent a large part of last week listening to the new Wilco album and I’m not feeling much outside of the yep, I like this band. Theres no wow this band is brilliant here, same with Sky Blue Sky. The only time I got the wow this band is brilliant feeling on that one was listening to the guitar on Impossible Germany - yep Nels Cline is an amazing guitarist and the band work so well together live but its still not, well just not.

For me they peaked musically with YHF, I’m not overly in love with the easy listening direction of the last two albums, maybe I’m just not yet old enough to like easy listening yet? I don’t know, they seem to do it well though.

As I’m typing this, the radio I am streaming (PBS in Melbourne) is playing a live version of War on War – co-incidences are funny arent they.

I love Wilco, I have loved the music of Wilco for many years and can attribute the soundtrack that accompanied many important moments of life to date to the pen of Jeff Tweedy. Wilco is Jeff Tweedy, there would be no Wilco without Jeff Tweedy, its his band, his songs, his music, and though he has been a bit of a muddled up mess at times, and I’m sure no saint, its his music I keep on coming back too but he didnt do it alone.

A big part of the love for this music, I owe to the contributions of Jay Bennett, its sad that he left the band the way he did, its sad that he fell on hard times both financially and health wise and its sad that such a talented man is dead at 45.

Jay Bennett was ill and his last post on his myspace is heartbreaking in how sadly positive and up it is and how its now going to be the last post he will write. Makes me almost cry.

RIP Jay

My Year Without Sex

Another budget and another chance to be ignored, earning more than $40k, not having kids, nor a mortgage usually means that new budgets mean I dont get anything and I always have to pay more for something so I dont tend to take much notice of them.

So true to form on this one, I dont get anything as expected but I have to pay more for private health care, I think I'll actually loose my health fund rebate so it means I'll have to change it somehow, getting rid of it all together is probably a good idea as I only ever use it for dental and optical - it doesnt pay to be healthy ;-)

I really wouldnt fault much in what KRudd has done, except maybe the extension of the First Home Buyer Grant, I was hoping that would end 30 June and lower to mid price range units/houses may drop some of the over inflated pricing that this increased demand has created.

Maybe I'm naive, but how simple is it to not borrow more than you can pay back, at 5% and even at 15%. I've truly got no sympathy for the fools who are struggling now when the interest rates are so low - idiots.

Anyways, I went to the cinema last night, it was another freebie, this time by an Australian filmmaker Sarah Watt whose previous film - Look Both Ways - I rather enjoyed, so I didnt have high hopes for this one, but I still had hopes.

Unfortunately I cant say the same for the new one, My Year Without Sex. It was supposed to be a comedy...I think I chuckled once. The film was not well made, it seemed amateurish, the dialogue was lazy, the story was held together by screen shot headings thats went slowly through the months, it starts in August, once it reached October, I was using them to count down the months till when it was over. To put it simply, it was just plain boring, it was a terribly droll look at the year in the life of a married couple who go without sex whilst she recovers from an aneurism, ie orgasms may trigger another one you see - this was the premise. You dont end up getting to know anyone, you dont really get to understand anyone, there is no narration, no story - just a camera taking shots of small events in the lives of the family over the year.

The actors were ok - but lacking any real sort of story, ordinary dialogue and clumsy direction, they couldnt really do much.

It was a disappointment.

On my way home I picked up a Hot Basil & Tofu Stir Fry and ate it whilst watching Time Team - the one when they discovered the four temples - this was more interesting than the movie.

Listening: Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career
Reading: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

What you hear on the street.

I went to the cinema on Friday night, Paris 36, a pleasant enough film with a little darkness, a bit of Busby Berkley and a really sweet voice. I went for a bite and a little vino after with some of my film companions.

The conversations at tea were about the film and my trip and the future trips of some of the crowd. It was low-fi and pleasant and a nice night.

As I was ambling along home alone at the end, it was the conversations I was walking into that had me holding on.

I was crossing King St just past the station, waiting for the green man to come, when two young blokes, ordinary blokes in their early twenties. Nothing in their clothing that would make you notice them, ordinary builds, ordinary smells, ordinary sounds - though one was a little taller than the other. The conversation was a little animated, more from emphazing with passion, then beer lubrication which was a pleasant distraction and caught my attention.

As they past me, the smaller one was saying to the taller one, with a slightly regretful and whateverish tone, “… if I only knew she wanted me when she was here…..”

They were moving at pace so I couldn’t hear what he would of done, or if here meant she was travelling or just visiting, and though the sun had gone down, it was too light to give chase so I had to leave it.

The green man came so I trotted the roads. I rounded the corner and continued the journey home. About 300 metres on, a group of baby bogan scensters were approaching. There were four in the group, three boys and one bored and unattractive young girl. The boys were sweetly lubricated, yelling, laughing and bouncing off each other as sweetly lubricated 20 years olds have a way of doing at 10pm on a Friday night on their way out. The girl was loitering on the edges in a sullen way and I wondered if she was an old friend/sibling or housemate of one of the boys; she wasn’t a lover.

I moved to the edge happily to let this little mob past, as I was still grinning from the “..if I only knew…” conversation.

One of the louder baby bogan scensters stopped and earnestly said to his mates, in mock pissed seriousness, “..if Sally Cooper is there, you know I am going to have to leave straight away to take her home and fuck her hard….”

The other two grunted serious acknowledgments with “we understand” grins.

The girl continued to sulk.

I kept on walking, my face; you know at the end of The Omen, when Damien turns to the camera and gives this mean little glare straight down the barrel, he holds it for a bit, then his face muscles start to twitch slightly then slowly break into this beautiful big smile. That was my face.

Returning Home

Hiya folks.

Home again.

The saddest part of travelling is coming home.

I’ve spent large chunks of my life travelling, I’ve seen so much of this planet and have a burning need to see more. I continue to travel and will continue to travel till my body wont let me anymore.

The thing I value the most is the perspective it gives me.

I know I am rich, I know I am lucky, I know that I am safe, I’m healthy and happy.

When I’m home I don’t feel these things, but when I’m gone I know I am.

Since I’ve been back, I’ve been bombarded with “I am struggling to pay the mortgage, what am I going to do Ned?”.

“Get a smaller house or sell-up and rent” says Ned.

Oh dear. How do I teach people perspective?

Ned climbed inside this pyramid, Indiana Jones style.

Ned really doesn’t care if you can pay your mortgage or not, you know you have a job, you know you wont ever be homeless. Do you really need a 4 bedroom house when their are only 3 of you?

Ned peered into a little tiny hole at the base of the Step Pyramid at Saqqara and saw this looking back at her

Is the size of your house that important, really, truly, is it?

Gone Travelling

Hi Folks,

Well hello there to my three readers.

I am flying out to Cairo tomorrow morning for 6 weeks of travelling through Egpyt and Jordan so wont be blogging for a while.

Now all I need to do is stop bouncing off the walls with excitement for a small while...... so I can pack.

Take care all

Ned

Shopping at the Supermarket

I went to my local shopping centre on Saturday morning to collect my visas. It was rainy so the shopping centre was very crowded; I’ve never seen it so crowded before, even in the pre-christmas madness that takes over peoples sanity crowdedness was eclipsed.

I had to park on the roof; the only access from the roof to the centre is via the one elevator. It is a very big elevator and can fit four fully loaded Woolies trolleys in it plus a dozen or so children and their slave parents. The down side is that the elevator is slow to travel and slow to arrive, so you spend more time loitering with strangers shuffling their feet than you would normally do in a crowded shopping centre.

After I had completed my errands and commenced the return to my car, I had to join the group doing the head bent, foot shuffle dance of the loitering around the elevator. My enthusiasm for this dance was wavering, until I noticed a rather tense and emotional conversation being carried out beside and a little to the front of me. There was a couple, with a fully laden trolley and boy about 10 looking bored attached, chatting. The one doing most of the talking was in her 40s, fully made up, with blow dried short bottled blonde hair which seems the norm of a certain set of middle aged women, she had the crisp white shirt, white pants and chunky fake pearl necklace with glasses perched on her head look - think Kerry-Anne.

She was perplexed and seemed worried about a financial muddle they currently had found themselves in, it seems that they were about to put an offer on a house that they both really loved, but their current financial situation was such that for various reasons it would be two or more weeks before they could comfortably put an offer on the house and she was fretting because she didn’t want to loose the house. She kept on coming up with suggestions as to how they could juggle their finances around to come up with an offer so they wouldn’t loose this house. The suggestions were going into quite alot of detail about their financial portfolios, things that I think most people would like to keep to themselves. I gathered that it wasn’t their first house either.

Each suggest was made with a whine, some earnest intent and a little clutching at straws desperation, her partner was at first gently rebuking each suggest with a calm but progressively more tense ‘lets talk about this when we get home’, ‘we will be home soon’, ‘lets go through this when we get home’.

The blonde was not taking any notice of her partners calmer suggestions as she had what seemed like an insistent need to deal with this problem right here and right now and didn’t seem to notice that she was standing in the middle of a busy shopping centre where quite a few people including Ned could hear every word she was saying.

The blonde’s partner was well aware of this, and was slowly loosing patience with the blonde as she continued her problem solving exercise. It was the blondes partner that started to take my attention now, as the blonde kept on talking, her partner was getting more and more embarrassed as to what was being said, you could see that she was only a minute or two away from yelling at the blonde to get her to stop but she was holding it in, it would not of been an angry yell, more of a frustrated yell that means, just stop and listen to for 30 seconds. She seemed to know somehow though that the blonde would probably burst into tears, if she did, so was showing a great deal of restraint and was trying to bear the rising embarrassment she was feeling.

The blondes partner was about the same age, but she was more of a blokey woman, with no make up, short cropped hair, solidly built, wearing a non-descript set of t-shirt and jeans (are we even allowed to call her the man in the relationship?).

The kid was ignoring everything and everybody as kids often do.

Lesbian couples in their forties are common around Marrickville / Newtown so PDAs from same sex couples barely rate a whiplash.

What caught my attention was the ordinariness of this couple, the deeply personal and private conversation and the embarrassed facial expressions and body language of the partner. The partner seemed to know the blonde well, they’d obviously been together for a long time, and she knew that the blonde was too caught up in the worry of loosing the house to be aware of her surroundings or anything she could say.

I felt sort of sorry for the partner as she seemed to be the more private of the two and wasn’t at all comfortable with the blondes high maintenance public way of dealing with this issue.

I gathered that was not the first time.

Listening: Merriweather Post Pavilion
Reading: My insurance policy (its two more sleeps).

The Story of Saturday

Saturday was the day I decided to drive to Canberra to see the Degas exhibit that is currently on at the National Gallery there. This exhibit ends in March, and I wont be back in time to see it so it was this Saturday or not at all.

I decided to make a weekend of it, as I have not spent very long in Canberra in many long years, when you visit it you understand why, people go there for what they need then leave as quickly as they can, as Dad says, the best thing about Canberra is leaving. I booked a nice spa suite in one of the hotels and planned on doing a bit of driving for a sticky beak around town and a visit to the new National Portrait Gallery as well.

I’ve never been one to take much notice of what the weather is like, I don’t let it interfere with my social life or my planned activities as a lot of people tend to do, and seem to do more of as they get older. I’ve cracked mid 30s so I’ve jumped Hadrian’s Wall to mid-life so I’m getting older, and the people around me are getting older too. Oh dear, its too cold, I cant go out tonight, or its raining, I better stay in – not for me would this chorus be screamed.

It was supposed to be hot, we are - on the east coast - in the middle of a slight heat wave, yes its summer, yes it gets hot, so when the news said hot, I went ok, no worries, the cars got air conditioning.

I got up early on Saturday morn, packed a bag and headed off at a decent 10.15am. Its only 165 mins at a nominal hoon speed so I was expecting to reach Canberra at lunch, the plan was to have a bite, visit the Degas, do a bit of exploring then tea, and back to the hotel with a nice bubble and warm spa, followed by a little Rockwiz – sounds dandy. I was warmed by it, and fuzzed along, my mp3 blaring, voice in fine form (car singing is my specialality, completely tone deaf but I let it fly with relish once I hit the long Freeways of this country).

We were at half a tank when I left, so thought a little stop at Pheasants Nest for petrol, coffee, and a sandwich would be peachy - I had skipped breakfast, and I'd still get to Canberra around lunch time. This was just after 11, it was heating up, a little more heating up then I was expecting but I was not fussed, its summer. Coffee was truck stop craptastic and sandwich was mush but I had no delusions, it was just a fuel stop.

About 50km outside of Goulbourn the wheel starts to shake, subtly at first, I think the road is rough as the Hume is heavy with traffic, but the shaking gets worse so I pull over at the nearest bit of cleared side road. I am now in the middle of what looks like nowhere bush, its dry, there is no shade, its hot, its really really hot, the sun is beating down on me and the car at its strongest 40 + degree strength and I feel it as I slowly get out of the my cool air conditioning to circle the car to see what’s wrong. Front passenger wheel has burst. Right SS kicks in, I can change this, it can’t be too hard, I’ve never done it before but I am capable, surely. I get the manual out, though my little 4 cylinder gas guzzler is 19 years old, I keep the manual, I’m an instructions kind of girl. I’ve now been out of the car for 4.5 minutes and am officially drenched in sweat, my exertions consist of a circuit of the car, a scratch of the head, and a return to the driver side to read the manual. Yes I can do this.

The boot is opened, the bag, the rags, and the St Vincent de Paul bag of clothes I want to give away that’s been sitting in my car for 5 weeks because I haven’t dropped it off yet comes out onto the tarmac – cars whistle by at speed, no-one takes any notice of a lone Ned down from the hill in action. Up comes the carpet, outcomes the tyre, woops it looks a bit flat but I did ask them to check it last service so it should get me to a servo. Outcome the hubcap removal thingy, then the arm pushy pushy bit of the jack, it’s all laid out around the wheel, there is long grass, creatures are in it. I get scared of the creatures but not the tyre.

My makeup has melted off by now and is running into my eyes, mixing with sweat and my contacts and I have trouble focusing. Where is the jackie bottom bit of the jack, I ponder, it must be somewhere. I scour the boot for hiding places and find one underneath the light, clever, here it is. I take it out, move around to the tyre, and with the hubcap remover thingy I get the hubcap off – win. Manual says I should loosen the wheel nuts before jacking up the car, ok, I can do this. Grunt, grunt, push, shove, squeeze, wheeze, effort – no I cant.

Collapse.

Its very very hot now, my lily-white celtic complexion is burning, I can feel it melting off me, I am a Mc with blue eyes and very very white skin. Cosmetic counter vixens praise my whiteness every time I do the rounds of the department store bunnyvilles seeking the latest magic potion, can I sample it, freebies please.

I give in, I feel heat stroke coming on, I retreat to the car, and ring the NRMA;

Where are you?
Somewhere on the Hume Highway approx 145km from Canberra.
What town are you near?
I don’t know.
Can you see an emergency call box.
No.
I’m 145km, cant you just draw a line.
Ok, we will be 60 minutes.
Right ok, just tell my family I loved them.

I packed a sarong as I thought I might have swim at the hotel pool in the evening, so I take it out and try to set up some sort of shelter, but the wind is too strong. I lie down on the back seat, it’s a sauna inside but I only have the sun on half of me. Time passes. About 30 minutes later a car pulls up behind me, a nice middle aged couple get out, can we help you at all, we saw you earlier, then decided to come back and see if you needed any help as its so hot. I partially leap at them, sweat beads fly off me and land on them, they are clean and crisp, I have melted. I’ve called the NRMA but I can’t get the wheel nuts off, I’m not strong enough. He has a go, he huffs and puffs and puffs and huffs, he gets them moving, I smile. The jack goes under and starts being pumped up, I drivel gratitude, she shoves a cold juice down my throat. He looks at my spare and scratches his bald patch, I think I might just take that spare to the servo back the road a bit because I don’t like the flatness of it. I’m speaking in tongues, they ask me to come with them, I garble stay with car, she croons, its sweltering are you sure, they wont be long, we swap mobile numbers. They go.

I ring NRMA to cancel the call out, the operator thinks its amazing, the kindness of strangers, so do I, but I really cant focus more than hot, sweating, sun, burning.

Mrs Samaritan calls 15 minutes later, can you check your manual for what the tyre pressure should be, I mumble a number, its floating in front of my eyes, they seem to think it works so I let them.

I am now stretched on the back seat again with the sarong up to shelter my head. Another car stops, this time it’s a bloke coming home from work in workman clothes, he saw the sarong and thought I might have a baby in the car and its was too hot for kiddies, too hot for kiddies, too hot for Neddies. I smile dripping with black and blue and sweaty grim and tell him my tale of woe with Samaritans, as we chat Mr & Mrs S come back, he drives off.

Mrs S runs to me with a Lemon Calypso, a huge bottle of cold water and friendly smile, I collapse on the ground with gratitude sucking my ice block and watch as Mr S puts the pumped up spare on the car, bolts and screws, re-attaches and packs up. He tells me he is not happy with it and I should get all the wheels checked out at Goulbourn just to be safe, but head onto Canberra after that and get the tyre repaired on Sunday. I nod. Or my head drops, I dont know, I lost all feeling 45 minutes ago.

They have a daughter my age who they were going to meet in Canberra, she had driven up from Melbourne, all they could say was we are happy to help you out, we just hope that if something like this, on a day like this, happens to our daughter someone will help her out. I nearly weep.

They wouldn’t take any money, they wouldn’t take any gifts, but they wanted to follow behind me for a while just to make sure everything was ok.

I dragged the melted wreak of Ned back to the car and headed off with a massive toot toot and wave of gratitude – its now 1.30pm.

I sit on 90km, slowly hugging the Hume, praying for safe passage. After 15km, Mr & Mrs S pass me bye – sweet angels of the road, bless ‘em. About 35km later the turn off to Goulbourn is mine, nearest servo; tyre repair please? No sorry try Here. At Here, tyre repair please? No sorry try There. At There, tyre repair please? No sorry, try Around There. At Around There, tyre repair please? Yep sure, it will be two hours – go shopping whilst you wait. I'm still melting no it’s ok, I’ll just stick my head in the freezer.

I'm at the only servo open in Goulbourn after 1pm on a Saturday, its hot, I can feel the sauna wind blowing heat at me, I can see the tarmac melting as I wait. He exaggerates, it take 90 minutes, but I get two new tyres but I feel good, $170 poorer but good.

I head off again thinking I’m an hour away, I can still see the Degas today. I stick to the 90 km, as it’s a scorcher. I trundle along, I take the Federal Highway turn off, I trundle further, I pass Lake George. I have now stopped melting but am funny shaped. My water is hot, my head hurts but the kms are getting smaller and my destination is getting closer. 90km, 80km, 70km, 60km, 50km, 40km, 30k, 25km – shudder shudder shudder – oh my god, not again.

I pull over, deja vu, it’s on a slight rise, so there is no bush, no shade, no grass, just concrete and railings and lots of sun. I think its pushing 45 degrees out here now, its quarter to 4. The car circuit commences in dreaded anticipation. KABOOM Batman style, the front passenger side is flat again. The brand new tyre I got at Goulbourn has blown, the brand new tyre that’s done just under 90 km – gone.

I know the drill, I try again, I am really suffering now, I can see people with me telling me what to do but theres no-one there. Bits and bobs come out, the tyre we just took off the drivers front is now out of the boot, the jack bits and hub cap remover thingy are once again placed out for use.

The hubcap comes off – win.

I huff, I puff, I strain, I pain, one wheel nut comes off - win.

I need a rest, so sit down for a short rest and a drink of hot water. I get up to try again, part of me has melted into the ground, I don’t need it. The remaining three refuse to budge, I am someone I have never met.

Back to the car, back to the NRMA;

You called earlier.
Yes I know, its happened again.
Where are you?
On the Federal Highway.
Where abouts.
I can see a cross road up ahead, I think it says Macs Reef Road.
Ok, they will be 90 minutes.
Its so hot I don’t know if I will make 90 mins.
I know, lots of people are in the same boat.

I hang up, I circle the car a few times, I don’t know why, I don’t know what else to do.

I lie down on the back seat and pass out. Time passes, no-one stops, it’s now been 50 minutes.

The NRMA van pulls up in front of me. I stagger out, he offers me water, he is kind, he changes my tyre, tells me not to feel bad, when they tighten the wheel nuts with the machine even he cant get them off. The man at Goulbourn had the machine, the NRMA man had the machine - I have no machine.

He fixes me up, it takes 8 minutes.

I know Canberra is a ghost town on Sundays, I enquire about tyre repair as I am not leaving Canberra till I have a viable spare, he gives me the number of a call out tyre guy, it would be expensive but he’s just about the only tyre person around on Sundays.

I flash a melted stinking smile and head off, the 25kms are slow and uneventful, I am beyond any ability to do more than drive. Its now just over 7 hours since I left home.

My hotel is shabby but cool, the staff listen to my tales of woe, they are superb. My room is tacky, the lights don’t work, the air conditioner is wheezing louder than my 747 ex snorer bf (the wrestler) I cant sleep in here. I shower in rainbows then head back out for a bite. I ask the reception can they repair my room, they say no but will happily move me when I am out at tea. My gratitude lights up Black Mountain Tower.

Dinner was the worst pumpkin gnocchi I have ever had, but I devour the salad.

I return to my room, bottle of bubbles in tow, they have changed my room twice, as they didn’t think the air conditioner in the second room was good enough for me – the third room is perfect. I drink my bubbles, I watch my Rockwiz, I have my beautiful cold spa. I crawl back into my king size bed and dream the sleep of the just.

Ignorance is bliss.

I turn the tellie on in the morning to check the weather, it’s going to be 40 degrees again in Canberra today, it goes straight off again. I think I’m not going to drive back in the heat so plan to leave about 5pm as I don’t think I can live through another day like yesterday.

I am so sunburnt, my forehead, my ear, my arms, my neck.

I ring Dad to tell him my tale so I am expected. He says Victoria has burnt, 20 people have died, I think oh dear poor people and get on with my day.

I go to the nearest servo to find a tyre repair man, none are around so I ring the mobile man, he turns up at 12.30pm. I have once again been out in the heat of the day waiting for help for 90 minutes but at least I have a little bit of shade now and some cold water. He hears my sad song and is perplexed as to why the new one blew. He also points out that the Goulbourn guy has put the wrong size tyres on my car, so does a bit of replacement and swapping around, another new tyre and another $160.

Three tyres, over $300.

He is kind, and very handsome, I should of noticed, I didnt.

I mooch to the NGA, I see the exhibit, its an anti-climax, I don’t think even my favourite Goyas could do it for me today. I sulk across to the Portrait Gallery to sit in their café for a few hours, as I have flopped, I just want to go home. It’s so hot and dry, its unbearable outside, the rubber is melting in the trees.

The Portrait Gallery is dull, there is a performance piece by Cate Blanchett, I don’t get it, I watch it twice just because the room is dark and its cool.

I go back to the NGA, the galleries are separated by a concrete bridge, its about 600 metres across, flat and paved, I shuffle across it, its like I have run a marathon, I can barely walk by now. I just want to go back to my car, I just want to be at home. I am terrified of the trip back, if a tyre blows again I will break, I don’t think I could really go further if it happens again.

I loiter with vague intent till closing time at 5.00pm, I am not alone in the loitering as it is so cool inside.

I go back to the car and get ready for the long slow trip home. I grip the wheel so tensely my shoulders ache, I am too scared to stop anywhere, I am too scared to go over 90km, I sit almost in the middle of the road though I only take the slow lane. A packet of snakes and a bottle of water get me home.

The sun stroke, the tension, the drama, the heat, I know nothing, I hear nothing.

Ignorance is still bliss.

I go to work on Monday morning ready to share my tales of woe, my nightmare trip, my heatstroke and my sunburn.

I check the news as I have my coffee and I see it all, the photos, the pain, the agony, the death toll, country Victoria burnt on Saturday, people fought hard to save their families, their houses, their farms, a lot of people lost that day – so many people died that day. I sit at my desk weeping tears of exhaustion and empathy.

I thought my Saturday was a day from hell.

I am stupid, I am selfish, I am full of my own self-importance.

On Saturday hell was in Marysville, in Kingslake in Flowerdale, in countless other towns were people lost their lives.

Its 181 so far, they say there will be many more, whole families, whole communities; so many children.

I love this country with every fibre of my being, it is one of the most beautiful places in world. It’s a hard country. It gives so much to us, but it takes some back in the most horrendous and heartbreaking ways.

I am still weeping.