So in light of us having sold the De Loreon, I started thinking of all the times I wished I had a time machine and what all I would do with it. I'll admit I'm greedy but not so much in the money department, more in the land department. But, having lots of land in Silicon Valley generally leads to money ultimately so I guess I'm just greedy. Here is what I would do with a time machine.
1. I'd go back to around 1900, or maybe just a bit later so there are records for sure, and buy lots and lots of farms around here and figure out a way to leave them to myself. Then, there wouldn't be 12 houses on every 5000 sq.ft. lot and I wouldn't get filled with such a sense of melancholy when I see an old house torn down and way too many new houses built with no yards where you can look into your neighbors' bathroom while you brush your teeth and you can't grow any fruit or vegetables because your yard is entirely concrete. That could all happen after I die. Which makes me wonder if Silicon Valley would have happened somewhere less stubborn, like Oklahoma maybe. Wow, Steve Jobs may very well have had to annoy people while wearing overalls. Rad.
2. I'd observe and even maybe hang out with my parents when they were in various stages of life. My mom is one of those '3 miles uphill both ways' kind of moms. Grew up in Ohio so adding snow to the mix totally increased the difficulty she had never missing a day of school. I'd also want to see proof that she hung out with or took guitar lessons from Jerry Garcia. Or rode a horse. I'm sure she was beautiful and fabulous despite those fibs and I'd love to see her with a young, carefree smile. My dad was, in my mind, like Austin Powers but without the cheese so he'd be fucking awesome to chill with. He is a hell of a dancer even at almost 70 so I bet the late 60's were a blast! I'd also want to see my grandparents and possibly even myself as a kid, teenager and early 20's. I wonder if I'd intervene or watch from afar?
3. I'd also like to go to Filene's basement during the heyday. I'd like to be in Times Square when the war ended and that famous picture was taken. I'd like to hang in Hollywood in the 30's and 40's (somehow my time machine also makes me able to get into anyplace and hang with anyone I want). I'd want to try to be a starlet in that time, just to experience women right before we became so totally independent and truly changed the world. When being feminine was easy.
4. I'd like to see each house I've ever lived in when it was brand new. I'm not sure why but curiosity and the feeling of being filled with hope and possibility.
5. I'd go visit all my dogs that have passed. Relive some great moments. Spend more quiet time, 'just being' time.
6. I'd check out ancient Persia, Greece and Egypt but I'd have to take someone with me who could translate. I don't need to get killed for something stupid. I'd also like to check out medieval England but only for a few hours because eventually I'd have to pee and I'm pretty sure I couldn't handle the lack of hygiene there. Actually, everything ancient requires just a short stay.
7. I'd love to eat sushi when it was first invented. When the oceans weren't polluted, random fish that are now extinct still hung around, when it was actually picked out of the sea and popped into one's mouth.
8. I'd like to see how so many random foods were first eaten.
9. I'd dig checking out San Francisco right before the 1906 earthquake.
10. And in light of current insanity, I'd hang with the Mayans to figure out just exactly how much they knew.
I'm sure there is more but I just can't go on and on and I'm guessing neither can you...
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
The Passing of Pure Evil
Bear with me folks, this is a long one..
About a week and a half ago it when it all began. My encounter with Pure Evil (whom we shall call PE from now on although I did consider naming it after the most wretched ex-boyfriend ever, Shiloh but then I realized I know a great dog named Shiloh that redeemed the name so Pure Evil it is). It was a regular Wednesday afternoon. I was trying to finish my work so that Thursday would be a really good one. Then I felt it. Is that a Urinary Tract Infection? Oh god, please no. I've had one before and it was really awful. So much discomfort. I really really don't want one. I decided to wait it out. Then came Thursday morning when I was sure I had a UTI. For those of you who have never had one, first of all be really really grateful and second, the symptoms are generally an extreme need to pee accompanied by an itching / burning sensation and then an extreme need to pee again. I had a pretty mild case of that feeling but I wasn't going to chance it and let it get any worse. I went straight to my doctor, didn't even check in, just walked up to the nurse and told her my plight. She took pity on me and asked for a urine sample and put me in a room. Urine samples are never fun. I'm guessing they aren't very easy for boys either. First of all, they want you to release a little bit of urine and then aim the rest into the cup. Girls don't have a convenient spout to direct the urine. It just goes where it want and when you are bent over in an unusual position to watch where it is all going and trying not to touch the public toilet seat at the same time, you end up with very little in the cup and the rest all over your legs and hands. I don't care how sterile it is, still gross. Then you have to wipe the excess off, screw on the lid, wash yourself and carry this thing back down a long hallway into the waiting room and hand it over in front of strangers watching. Of course they are watching, they are just glad it isn't them.
Back to the story. I see the doctor and she agrees that my symptoms point to a UTI. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics and sends me home. I should begin to feel better in a few hours but within 24 for sure. My time at the pharmacy is a whole other blog. I'll get into my hatred of CVS one day. Flash to Friday afternoon. No change, still not feeling so hot and now I have a slight pain in my kidney but it comes and goes and isn't all that bad so I'm going to ignore it. I have a big weekend with the Fur Ball (Humane Society gala event, not weird sex party) and a friends' wedding. I can't be unwell. I'm going to just power through and those antibiotics are going to do their job. Except PE had other plans. PE had just begun to find ways to make my life hell. The pain in my kidney was getting worse and I needed to pee constantly but with nothing coming out. I went to Whole Foods and bought cranberry juice. Not the wonderful cocktail mix by Ocean Spray but pure, unsweetened cranberry juice. I was on a mission. I was drinking anything acidic I could find. I went through a gallon of that misery in a glass. Why do they even make that crap? It was horrible. Nothing is worth that and I still didn't get any relief. I made it through Saturday night with a lot of wine and willpower. Each trip to the bathroom was a long walk down a hall of pain. Each step filling my pool of dread just a bit more toward overflow. I didn't want to pee but had no choice. My body was telling me I had to, there was no time left. It was now or in my clothes. But it was all a lie. There was nothing coming out. Just a few sad little drops, I had more tears coming down my face. We left the ball early. I look forward to this event all year and we had to leave early because of PE. That unruly bastard!
There was no sleep Saturday night and then PE's favorite day began. Sunday. I woke up doubled over in pain. The fucking antibiotics were not working and I was miserable. I tried to continue the 'ignoring it' treatment but by 10 am I knew something else had to be done. The wedding was at 4 so I had some time for something to change. I called the emergency doctor and explained the path that PE was taking. She went for a different course of antibiotics and called it in for me. Another trip to the dreaded pharmacy (CVS) from hell. I went home with my precious cargo and began what I thought was the road to recovery. I wanted to snort those antibiotics I was so desperate for relief. I now had a wretched pain in my side and thought I would die if I didn't get to pee. One long, luxurious, god given pee was all I needed. I was sure of it. By 2 pm I was writhing in pain on the couch and it was clear I wasn't going to the wedding. My wonder husband decided on a course of action that included margaritas, lots of water, and weed. Plus an 800 mg tablet of ibuprofin. That helped quite a bit, it was the best I had felt in days and I was still unable to move. Five 32 ounce glasses of water, 3 margaritas and an a pot brownie later, I still couldn't pee well and the antibiotics were not helpful. PE was giggling hysterically somewhere, I just couldn't hear it over my screams of agony. There were a few breakdowns on Sunday. Crying, begging for help, etc. After the calm eye of the storm, Monday morning arrived.
I was supposed to go to work. I had three inspections to do and I was ready to walk out the door when it became clear to me that PE was in charge. I couldn't stand up. I was shaking and crying. I was in more pain than I ever thought possible. (I had no idea it was going to get worse) I had my office cancel my appointments and I drove straight to the doctor's office. My regular doctor wasn't there but one of the other doctors took one look at me and let me into his office. I was almost hyperventilating at this point from pain. They asked for another urine sample. (Seriously??!!) So not only do I have to try that fun experience again but I have to do it while doubled over, shaking, and crying. So not amused. Took forever and only about a half ounce showed up. The nice doctor man decided there was no way it was a UTI and that I most likely had a kidney stone. It was either that or I was in labor and since there was no way for the latter to be happening, it must be the former. PE had taken up residence in my kidney. (when I say Pure Evil, I mean Hitler and Freddie Kruger and Richard Ramirez and Manson and Hannibal Lecter and anything else that is dark and deadly and wrong in this world all rolled into one) He said I should go to the emergency room and needed to be admitted. He would call ahead and let them know I was coming. He was worried I couldn't drive myself. At that point, I would fly there if it meant relief.
I check in to the ER (another urine sample for fucks' sake!) and they are kind enough to pump something called dilauded into my IV. Oh sweet wonderful bliss. The searing pain faded into a dull throb and I was able to breathe again. They took blood, did a CT scan, came back with results. I wanted to stay there forever wrapped in their cocoon of freedom from PE. The doctor came in and said, you have a kidney stone. He didn't know that it had a name, PE. It is 3 mm and we don't usually do anything for less than 7 mm so we are going to send you home with some meds. One will dilate your pipes to make it easier for the stone to pass, one is for the pain, and one for nausea. I'm not nauseous. Oh, just wait, you will be. PE has plans for you. And home I went. Far away from the safety of their dilaudid filled IV. I had no idea how many times in the next few days I would wish I lived at the hospital. It seems like such a blessed place full of sweet little old nurses and relief. Home was not this place. Home did not have peace for me. Not this week.
The dilaudid wore off. Now all I had was percocet which in the sceme of things is like butter. Nice to have but doesn't really do a whole lot but slightly lubricate with some flavor. The rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday, and part of Thursday were spent in a blur of pain meds and severe pain. The vomiting arrived on Tuesday morning. That was an entirely unneccesary addition to the misery. I was so unhappy. I even tried a home remedy of 2 oz. olive oil, 2 oz. honey and 2 oz. lemon juice. Wasn't all that bad really but I threw it right back up. PE didn't want to leave without a fight. Each time I peed I was sure the pain couldn't get any worse and that this was time it would pass. And each time, the pain did get worse. I still can't believe the degree of pain I felt. It changed the whole 1-10 pain scale for me in a big way. There is no comparison for me but according to what I have read, it is as bad a birthing a child but without the epidural and nothing to take care of you in your old age as a result. I don't ever fucking want to know. It was PE. Without a doubt, just Evil.
It took a week but I'm fairly sure that PE has finally left me. I woke up today feeling almost normal and pain free. Peeing is starting to be fun again. I won't miss the percocet which just made me itchy and constipated. I hate puking so that won't be missed. The writhing in pain, the crying, the hopelessness, yup, it can all go. I only wish this pain on those who deserve it. Those who are PE.
About a week and a half ago it when it all began. My encounter with Pure Evil (whom we shall call PE from now on although I did consider naming it after the most wretched ex-boyfriend ever, Shiloh but then I realized I know a great dog named Shiloh that redeemed the name so Pure Evil it is). It was a regular Wednesday afternoon. I was trying to finish my work so that Thursday would be a really good one. Then I felt it. Is that a Urinary Tract Infection? Oh god, please no. I've had one before and it was really awful. So much discomfort. I really really don't want one. I decided to wait it out. Then came Thursday morning when I was sure I had a UTI. For those of you who have never had one, first of all be really really grateful and second, the symptoms are generally an extreme need to pee accompanied by an itching / burning sensation and then an extreme need to pee again. I had a pretty mild case of that feeling but I wasn't going to chance it and let it get any worse. I went straight to my doctor, didn't even check in, just walked up to the nurse and told her my plight. She took pity on me and asked for a urine sample and put me in a room. Urine samples are never fun. I'm guessing they aren't very easy for boys either. First of all, they want you to release a little bit of urine and then aim the rest into the cup. Girls don't have a convenient spout to direct the urine. It just goes where it want and when you are bent over in an unusual position to watch where it is all going and trying not to touch the public toilet seat at the same time, you end up with very little in the cup and the rest all over your legs and hands. I don't care how sterile it is, still gross. Then you have to wipe the excess off, screw on the lid, wash yourself and carry this thing back down a long hallway into the waiting room and hand it over in front of strangers watching. Of course they are watching, they are just glad it isn't them.
Back to the story. I see the doctor and she agrees that my symptoms point to a UTI. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics and sends me home. I should begin to feel better in a few hours but within 24 for sure. My time at the pharmacy is a whole other blog. I'll get into my hatred of CVS one day. Flash to Friday afternoon. No change, still not feeling so hot and now I have a slight pain in my kidney but it comes and goes and isn't all that bad so I'm going to ignore it. I have a big weekend with the Fur Ball (Humane Society gala event, not weird sex party) and a friends' wedding. I can't be unwell. I'm going to just power through and those antibiotics are going to do their job. Except PE had other plans. PE had just begun to find ways to make my life hell. The pain in my kidney was getting worse and I needed to pee constantly but with nothing coming out. I went to Whole Foods and bought cranberry juice. Not the wonderful cocktail mix by Ocean Spray but pure, unsweetened cranberry juice. I was on a mission. I was drinking anything acidic I could find. I went through a gallon of that misery in a glass. Why do they even make that crap? It was horrible. Nothing is worth that and I still didn't get any relief. I made it through Saturday night with a lot of wine and willpower. Each trip to the bathroom was a long walk down a hall of pain. Each step filling my pool of dread just a bit more toward overflow. I didn't want to pee but had no choice. My body was telling me I had to, there was no time left. It was now or in my clothes. But it was all a lie. There was nothing coming out. Just a few sad little drops, I had more tears coming down my face. We left the ball early. I look forward to this event all year and we had to leave early because of PE. That unruly bastard!
There was no sleep Saturday night and then PE's favorite day began. Sunday. I woke up doubled over in pain. The fucking antibiotics were not working and I was miserable. I tried to continue the 'ignoring it' treatment but by 10 am I knew something else had to be done. The wedding was at 4 so I had some time for something to change. I called the emergency doctor and explained the path that PE was taking. She went for a different course of antibiotics and called it in for me. Another trip to the dreaded pharmacy (CVS) from hell. I went home with my precious cargo and began what I thought was the road to recovery. I wanted to snort those antibiotics I was so desperate for relief. I now had a wretched pain in my side and thought I would die if I didn't get to pee. One long, luxurious, god given pee was all I needed. I was sure of it. By 2 pm I was writhing in pain on the couch and it was clear I wasn't going to the wedding. My wonder husband decided on a course of action that included margaritas, lots of water, and weed. Plus an 800 mg tablet of ibuprofin. That helped quite a bit, it was the best I had felt in days and I was still unable to move. Five 32 ounce glasses of water, 3 margaritas and an a pot brownie later, I still couldn't pee well and the antibiotics were not helpful. PE was giggling hysterically somewhere, I just couldn't hear it over my screams of agony. There were a few breakdowns on Sunday. Crying, begging for help, etc. After the calm eye of the storm, Monday morning arrived.
I was supposed to go to work. I had three inspections to do and I was ready to walk out the door when it became clear to me that PE was in charge. I couldn't stand up. I was shaking and crying. I was in more pain than I ever thought possible. (I had no idea it was going to get worse) I had my office cancel my appointments and I drove straight to the doctor's office. My regular doctor wasn't there but one of the other doctors took one look at me and let me into his office. I was almost hyperventilating at this point from pain. They asked for another urine sample. (Seriously??!!) So not only do I have to try that fun experience again but I have to do it while doubled over, shaking, and crying. So not amused. Took forever and only about a half ounce showed up. The nice doctor man decided there was no way it was a UTI and that I most likely had a kidney stone. It was either that or I was in labor and since there was no way for the latter to be happening, it must be the former. PE had taken up residence in my kidney. (when I say Pure Evil, I mean Hitler and Freddie Kruger and Richard Ramirez and Manson and Hannibal Lecter and anything else that is dark and deadly and wrong in this world all rolled into one) He said I should go to the emergency room and needed to be admitted. He would call ahead and let them know I was coming. He was worried I couldn't drive myself. At that point, I would fly there if it meant relief.
I check in to the ER (another urine sample for fucks' sake!) and they are kind enough to pump something called dilauded into my IV. Oh sweet wonderful bliss. The searing pain faded into a dull throb and I was able to breathe again. They took blood, did a CT scan, came back with results. I wanted to stay there forever wrapped in their cocoon of freedom from PE. The doctor came in and said, you have a kidney stone. He didn't know that it had a name, PE. It is 3 mm and we don't usually do anything for less than 7 mm so we are going to send you home with some meds. One will dilate your pipes to make it easier for the stone to pass, one is for the pain, and one for nausea. I'm not nauseous. Oh, just wait, you will be. PE has plans for you. And home I went. Far away from the safety of their dilaudid filled IV. I had no idea how many times in the next few days I would wish I lived at the hospital. It seems like such a blessed place full of sweet little old nurses and relief. Home was not this place. Home did not have peace for me. Not this week.
The dilaudid wore off. Now all I had was percocet which in the sceme of things is like butter. Nice to have but doesn't really do a whole lot but slightly lubricate with some flavor. The rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday, and part of Thursday were spent in a blur of pain meds and severe pain. The vomiting arrived on Tuesday morning. That was an entirely unneccesary addition to the misery. I was so unhappy. I even tried a home remedy of 2 oz. olive oil, 2 oz. honey and 2 oz. lemon juice. Wasn't all that bad really but I threw it right back up. PE didn't want to leave without a fight. Each time I peed I was sure the pain couldn't get any worse and that this was time it would pass. And each time, the pain did get worse. I still can't believe the degree of pain I felt. It changed the whole 1-10 pain scale for me in a big way. There is no comparison for me but according to what I have read, it is as bad a birthing a child but without the epidural and nothing to take care of you in your old age as a result. I don't ever fucking want to know. It was PE. Without a doubt, just Evil.
It took a week but I'm fairly sure that PE has finally left me. I woke up today feeling almost normal and pain free. Peeing is starting to be fun again. I won't miss the percocet which just made me itchy and constipated. I hate puking so that won't be missed. The writhing in pain, the crying, the hopelessness, yup, it can all go. I only wish this pain on those who deserve it. Those who are PE.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Memorizing you
Monkey has a brain tumor, we don't have much time left together.
I find myself staring at you. Each part as if it were separate, its own individuality. Then I step back and stare again at your whole. Move closer in and there is the back of your foot, I feel sad about seeing the callus. Like maybe somehow I could have prevented it. But that is just a small part of the whole. The whole is that I have given you and will continue to give you a pretty great life and the best life that I can give you. You have been indulged, loved, laughed at, considered, teased, and tolerated. I move back in to breathe your feet. Your personal 'fresh baked dog' smell. The way your nose still smells like puppy when you have been sitting in the sun. I can't keep that. Smells don't come back in memories. I have to smell it over and over right now but not so often that I lose it. Just enough to feel you. Then there is the heart shaped patch of fur missing on your chest. How even? Couldn't have been planned. Just your heart sitting out there to see every time you roll around on your back. How do I ever honor your sense of humor? I can't explain that you were actually funny once. That it was pretty obvious you were laughing at us all just a bit. You still sometimes get that glint in your eye just before your mouth droops open slightly and your bunch up your meaty butt and spring into a lap. The lap can expect it all it wants but you find a way to catch that one surprise second. But then the cancer takes your laughter away and you find yourself unsure of why you are even there. I have to stop staring at you but then again, I need every second. Your ears bounce with all your steps. You have a truly 'jaunty' gait. I wish I could say carefree but I know you aren't. You never have been. I hate that I couldn't fix that, couldn't fix you. Couldn't calm your fears. I want to hold you so close, kiss you a million times a day but it only makes you more uncomfortable. So I back away and just watch you sleep. Try so hard to capture forever your tiger stripes because a picture won't be enough. Try to smile at the many crazy 'Go Monkey, Go Monkey, Go, Go, Go' runs around the yard. Try to remember that even though you made me crazy, it was still said with a sense of pride that you could jump a 6 ft. fence. Try not to cry every time you come close to me even though I'm sick with the pain of losing you. Try to hold on to the hope that I will get to be with you again someday because that is the only way I can get through this. I love you my Monkey. I love every part, I always have, and I'm terrified that you don't know it.
I find myself staring at you. Each part as if it were separate, its own individuality. Then I step back and stare again at your whole. Move closer in and there is the back of your foot, I feel sad about seeing the callus. Like maybe somehow I could have prevented it. But that is just a small part of the whole. The whole is that I have given you and will continue to give you a pretty great life and the best life that I can give you. You have been indulged, loved, laughed at, considered, teased, and tolerated. I move back in to breathe your feet. Your personal 'fresh baked dog' smell. The way your nose still smells like puppy when you have been sitting in the sun. I can't keep that. Smells don't come back in memories. I have to smell it over and over right now but not so often that I lose it. Just enough to feel you. Then there is the heart shaped patch of fur missing on your chest. How even? Couldn't have been planned. Just your heart sitting out there to see every time you roll around on your back. How do I ever honor your sense of humor? I can't explain that you were actually funny once. That it was pretty obvious you were laughing at us all just a bit. You still sometimes get that glint in your eye just before your mouth droops open slightly and your bunch up your meaty butt and spring into a lap. The lap can expect it all it wants but you find a way to catch that one surprise second. But then the cancer takes your laughter away and you find yourself unsure of why you are even there. I have to stop staring at you but then again, I need every second. Your ears bounce with all your steps. You have a truly 'jaunty' gait. I wish I could say carefree but I know you aren't. You never have been. I hate that I couldn't fix that, couldn't fix you. Couldn't calm your fears. I want to hold you so close, kiss you a million times a day but it only makes you more uncomfortable. So I back away and just watch you sleep. Try so hard to capture forever your tiger stripes because a picture won't be enough. Try to smile at the many crazy 'Go Monkey, Go Monkey, Go, Go, Go' runs around the yard. Try to remember that even though you made me crazy, it was still said with a sense of pride that you could jump a 6 ft. fence. Try not to cry every time you come close to me even though I'm sick with the pain of losing you. Try to hold on to the hope that I will get to be with you again someday because that is the only way I can get through this. I love you my Monkey. I love every part, I always have, and I'm terrified that you don't know it.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Why should I have to age?
I certainly don't think I should have to age. I'm still a kid in so many ways. I wake up super early on Christmas, I love toys and hate to share them, my birthday is the best holiday of the year, butterflies distract me, I hate math and school in general, I giggle uncontrolably and unnecessarily, puppies are the coolest thing ever except Johhny Depp, I still listen to my music super loud, I do cartwheels, walk on the curb like it is a balance beam, swing on the swing in my front yard, smell the flowers all the damn time..etc. Now things are breaking and I'm fucking pissed off! I'm in the best shape of my life, mostly. I was thinner in my early twenties but definitely not as strong or clearly not as smart if you have read my previous posts. I'm thinking my dad must have gotten the 35 year warranty and I'm lucky it lasted until 37. In the past year I have had an endless headache. Yes, one long headache and after 3 MRIs with no answers I gave up, arthritis in my spine, tennis elbow, bunion surgery with another looming, and now..a new bonus feature! Not only am I talking about my health on a daily basis before I turn 60 but I might now have breast cancer. So cool. I'm weirdly calm and also super totally freaking out about it. I found a lump that the doctor doesn't think is a big deal but want to have checked out. Anytime a doctor wants to check things out, I begin to weigh the options of panic vs remaining calm. On the calm side I have the luxury of not worrying and most likely having the outcome of nothing happening but on the panic side there is the sleepless nights, the eating whatever I want, the drinking my evening away all in the hopes that this will just go away. I don't want to lose my boob. I like both of them, quite a bit. I'm not sure at this point that I find them to be a part of my identity, I'm a woman with or without but my boobs are fun to touch. Especially by me. I only found the lump because I woke up in the morning already playing with my boobs. Not playing sexually, just touching them because they are there and I can. I found the lump before I woke up fully. I was awake the second I noticed it though. It is amazing how a woman can go from not totally awake to I can take on anything in seconds. I'm not sure if men have this ability. I'm not trying to put men down, I just don't think they are built like that. I didn't know how to process what I thought I had found. I wasn't even sure it was what I thought it was. It still might not be. I hate that it takes time to find these things out when it is scary. Or is it just that time takes longer when things are scary? To his credit, my husband is scared too. He is taking this seriously but can't be truly a part of it because he isn't a woman. There are just things we have to deal with that men cannot. He offered to come with me to the appointment but I just couldn't bear to have him in the room as it was time for my regular check up and the insertion of the scapula and poking about n all is just a bit much to share. Obviously not too much to share here. So there it is. A possible cancerous bit of my body. Pissing me off. Making it clear that I am ageing even though I shouldn't have to. I'm a child. I haven't grown up, why should I have to deal with grown up issues? I'm not ready to stop loving silliness, play dough, bouncy balls, general goofiness, puppies, and anything that makes me giggle.
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