The long kiss goodnight, or goodbye 2006. Forever.

For my final post of the year, I could have copped out and written down my resolutions for 2007. I could have detailed the previous seven out of eight New Years Eves, which is what I originally sat down to write about, spent with Jacob in attendance (except for one) and a maddening record of forehead kisses, ones I held an exemplary disdain for.

Hell, I could write about that one year we all drank too much and Cole lost me in a game of snooker. What fun. I think I'll save that story for another day. Maybe tomorrow.

Life was a confusing blend of pure comfort and total awkwardness when Cole and Jacob were in the same room and we all refused to acknowledge it but put ourselves in our familiar places year after year, seeking out the same pain all the while hoping for some magical promise that the year we were starting together would be different at last.

Bridget and Jacob survived long enough to see that promise find the light of day, and Cole will not.

Everything is going to be okay.

Jacob said that to me back in April and I still believe him.

Very early this morning I looked outside and the steps and sidewalk were shovelled and I saw Ben's truck pulling away. On the porch just inside the door was a big bag of our favorite coffee beans and a note to us. An apology and a hand given because he knows how sick Jacob is, because the grapevine is alive and well in this small-town neighborhood wrapped in a big city shell. And Caleb sent a very long letter and all the presents back to us again because he said he was trying to find some way to continue to give me everything on Cole's behalf and oddly I believe him, if only because he had the guts to do this even after Jacob humiliated him spectacularly, without meaning to be quite that mean.

No, that doesn't mean anyone has been forgiven, it just means I'm in a generous mood. Or maybe they were, for Bridget's sugar daddies rarely seem to drop the ball.

Before this year went to hell I had some very close friends who love me in their own ways, fucked up as they might be and I love them right back, like I loved Cole when he hurt me. Misguided as it all is, and sordid and messed up, these are my friends. They just have no clue where all the boundaries went. It all blew up and we're all going to start over. All of us. Together. Well, not really, but the enemies have somehow turned back into acquaintances and may well re-earn their friend status if they can keep their own perversions in check.

Hell, if I can do it, maybe they can too.

    The outcome was predictable
    Our banditos were despicable
    Of blood we lost a dozen litres
    A small price to pay for las senoritas
    The town mayor was happy but his face was glum
    The maidens numbered only one
    But there weren't seven brides for seven brothers
    I knew I had to get rid of the others
This morning Jacob struggled through his opening remarks and had to leave the pulpit mid-sentence, unable to breathe, leaving his lay minister to finish the service and to read the sermon Jacob had prepared, because Jacob was sitting in his office doubled over and attempting not to cough. I found him there around 1 pm and drove us home and made him more soup. He is tired of soup and unwilling to slow down any more than absolutely necessary but I'm forcing him to stop and rest, at last.

He's too sick to kiss me, for fear of my struggle with pneumonia returning because I'm rundown. He's too sick to make love, too sick to play, too sick to lie awake and talk late at night, instead sleeping lightly, feverishly, talking in his sleep and waking often. He has relented and has resorted to just holding me close to him and being here. He's more miserable from the lack of affection than from the sickness itself, frustrated and miserable.

In a few days he'll feel better and he said he wants to take me out for a decadent night of dinner and dancing, a delayed celebration of the promise fulfilled, and maybe possibly a few perversions of his own.

It's a huge promise, but I'm just as happy to stay in tonight and have a very understated evening at home with my family. I've been to more than my share of champagne-swilling, fireworks-watching, auld lang syne singing, celebratory black-tie New Years parties and I don't think I want to go to any more of those.

But the promise remains.

One that tells me 2007 is going to be better. A normal year, just once. Happy. Contented. Appreciated. Pain-free. Commonplace, even. Oh, bring it, please, God.

    Love is stronger than justice
    Love is thicker than blood
    Love is stronger than justice
    Love is a big fat river in flood

Would that be too much to ask or have I earned it?

Is this a promise that will be kept?

I guess 365 days from now, I'll have my answer.

Happy New Year, everyone.

And I really hope I don't get a forehead kiss again. I hope we're past that now.

    It all ended so happily
    I settled down with the family
    I look forward to a better day
    But ethical stuff never got in my way
    And though there used to be brothers seven
    There other six are singing in heaven

Stormbringer.

We're snowed in.

This is awesome. The kids have three movies to watch, Jacob woke up with the worst cold he's ever had and I'm tired. Just worn out. He's going to work from home in his flannels and I'm going to spoil him with chicken soup and later we're going to pile on the couch and rot out our brains.

I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Saturday. I don't even have to shovel, it's still snowing too hard.

This is very cozy.

Yes, there's lots of cake left. Emergency provisions and all...


    In this life I'm stubborn to the core
    In this life I've been burning after more
    We both know what these open arms are for
    You're everything that's fair
    In this life, you're my only one

Bridget's game face.

(This post got lost and should be listed before the last one, if you're wondering.)

I've had a busy morning.

First I drove down to the fire station and gave away all the cases of wine and assorted new bottles of vodka that found their way into my house over the holidays. Whatever was open I poured out. Alone.

Because I'm trying.

Then I went to therapy. Alone. Which is great. It's my confessional, only I'm not given a gamut of counted sorrows to run, instead I'm forced to confront everything I hate about myself and everything that scares me. So much fun.

But the alcohol is gone which means the anti-depressants make their welcome return.

See look! I said welcome. I'm trying.

Then I hit the doctors office, alone, for my IUD. Why? Because nothing else works. I can't keep track of anything and anything Jacob can get his hands on will of course, be sabotaged or debated until it's meaningless. He can't talk me out of an IUD every night so it was the next logical step. Because vasectomies in this province carry year-long waiting lists and he doesn't want one and the simple fact that Jacob has not fathered any biological children is making the urologist hum and haw anyway so it's not something we're going to explore any further, frankly.

Hell, I'm just trying to keep the peace for a little while. My doctor warned me today that couples who have difficulty coming to some sort of agreement when it comes to how many children to have often wind up unhappy and divorced as a result. He knows our struggles, knows our history and frankly I know we're in danger and it's from far more than just deciding on one more baby. Far more.

But we're trying to fight for it.

Surprisingly, couples therapy went better than anything else. My proactiveness was duly noted and I got my verbal pat on the head and appreciative murmurs from everyone in the room and then we proceeded to dissect Bridget without benefit of painkillers, which hurt like hell, like it always does. There's a pain I now look forward to because it's become my replacement for the pain I felt with Cole. I can simply carry it around and lavish it onto a new aspect of my life. I dove right in today and was the first to agree with the assessments levelled on me that I'm playing with fire.

Yes, I know that. Old habits die hard and fire brought forth Jacob, now, didn't it?

He is having no luck losing his good-boy, savior-complexed, hands-tied bystander image. For some reason he holds back. Maybe it's because he can't believe his wish to hold me in his arms brought with it all this other...stuff that's going to take up so much space he can hardly hold on to me anymore.

Why is life more complicated now than it was before? Maybe it just seems like it is because I'm writing it all down now and working on it, instead of pretending it doesn't exist. That is a world of difference, doing it. It makes me see it all and I don't like what I see and I want things to be better.

Onward and upward. We left the office, not in tears, but in love. Somehow the worst, most honest revelations tend to kickstart a fresh new morning, a proverbial proving ground from which we seem to take three steps forward. We did it this morning and we'll do it every morning until the past recedes again and until we can do it without trying to bring each other down. Because when I stop and look at Jacob I love him. I don't see or care about anything else, I just see him and I love him and I want everything else to just go away now.

I told him that and his eyes welled up and he said,

Now you finally know what happens every time I look at you, princess.

Deepest blue.

Nights like these make life worth living a hundred times over. Jacob was home in time for a late supper and went to read a book to each child separately as he does on days when we've had few spare moments to give to each individually.

He never came back. I went looking for him after he had been upstairs for over an hour and found him stretched out full on Henry's bed, the tattered story of Rip Van Winkle (how ironic) opened face down on his chest, one arm around Henry, who was snoring in tandem with Jake's deep breathing, arms flung out in total trust, one across the pillow and one right across Jacob's face. I took just one moment to reflect on how alike they are in appearance, all eyelashes and blonde curls. Reluctantly I had to wake up Jacob, he moves so much when he sleeps I could see him landing on the floor, a sea of matchbox cars, hurting himself and waking Henry up.

I shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes so sleepily and I told him maybe he should go to bed.

Come with?

Not yet, Jake. It's only 8:30.

So? You have better plans?

Maybe. Peace, quiet, and writing?

Sure, but sex and cake and a warm bath would probably be nice.

Maybe I can have both?

Huh? Cake in the bathtub?

No, a half hour of writing and then bed?

Done, princess. I'll wait for you up here then. Wake me up if I goof off again.

Okay. Be up soon.
I don't have the heart to wake him up again. He was asleep before I wrote the end of one sentence because I snuck back upstairs to look.

Rifling through.

(I found this, written last night but not published. If you want to look inside my head, then know that sometimes I sit down and write miles and miles of words, but only a few steps will ever reach your eyes. Most of it just sits here, in drafts, forever. Some of it cuts too close to the quick, like this one.)

    Maybe what Caleb said about me still walking the tightrope while everyone watches me struggle and teeter sparked the wheels. I don't know. In any event, I'm coming down into some sort of valley of miserable frustration tonight that is sucking the life out of me.

    So long. So long to keep secrets that explode and then you knew them anyway and still you're simply dumbstruck. Floored and hurt and blown apart once again by things you knew already, things that get confirmed along the way and still knock you on your ass.

    I think therapy is going to kill me. Why is it beneficial for me to know that Jacob did indeed love his ex-wife? Why do I need to know this? Why do I need confirmation that Cole slept with people I knew he slept with?

    This shit, this meaningless bullshit is what drags me down, and again I come home and I get through the remainder of the day and all I can think of is that if I can just kill myself I can avoid such a terrible onslaught of pain.

    And then I look in Jacob's eyes and I see him shaking his head because he's going to force me to endure all of it because he's selfish.

    Selfish.

    And yes, I threw the other hearing aid in the garbage. I had a high, noble week that week when I got them. I thought I could change the rotation of the planet. I was pregnant, married, fresh off vacation and on a high that I never thought would go away but it did.

    It went away, along with the baby and the one hearing aid that worked really well.

    But he is still here.

    And maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I don't want to hear everything. Maybe I don't want to take pills and tell all my secrets to some overpaid sap in a houndstooth coat. Maybe I don't need to be forced to admit shit that I don't need in my life.

    Maybe I need something else.

    I don't even know. I just know that he is still here and I'm wary and weird and I didn't sleep last night and I''m tired of everyone checking in to see if Bridget went crazy yet. Poke her and see if she yelps. Covet her and see if she wavers. Break her and see if she heals. Crack her, watch her crumble. Fragile Miss Bridget doesn't need this. What she needs is continuance, and consistency and caring. Support. Love. The right kind, not the difficult kind. I wasn't crazy, I wasn't fragile. I was doing okay. Jacob blew the lid off all of it. Somehow he gave me permission to stop holding it together all the time and so I let it fall apart and now I can't get it back together for any length of time and I can't do this anymore. And what he thought he fixed, he broke more. Only I can't tell him that. Somehow being with him is a license to not be very strong at all.

    I can't..do this. It has to stop.

    And soon he'll be back. Stroking my hair, telling me shhhhhhh, baby, it's okay, everything's okay. Holding me while I cry and not letting the demons anywhere near me. And then he's gone again and what happens then? Huh? Who fixes that?

    Crumbling is the perfect description, and it's exactly what I've tried not to do since Saturday night.

    And I can't. I can't figure any of this out. It shouldn't be hard, but it is. I shouldn't be conflicted but I am. I don't know why I would want to take that key and fuck up my life and I took it. And I knew he was smiling but I didn't look back. Caleb knew that I knew his hotel room number, he always stays in the same room, I've been in that room, I've felt the sexual tension between us, hell it was there for 2o years. One of the reasons I couldn't spend much time around him. One of the reasons our first meeting after Cole's death was so fucking awkward.

    Yup, I've got a laundry list of guys. One drops out, the next queue up to take his place.

    Such a lucky girl.

    Only I stopped that. Because I don't want any of them. Only one. Only Jake. Jake who laughs at me when I'm drunk, like now, because he turned off my phone and locked the door and the children are asleep and I'm allowed to have a sanctioned drink spiel because I fucking earned it and he hasn't figured out any other safe way to blow off steam. He loves the fact that I fail to measure my words or contain my emotions, I simply dump it all on top of him and then spin off to the other side of the desk and take another sip.

    He's on the phone now making some calls while I empty the remainder of the Stoli and blow off more steam than he ever imagined.

    Hey, write a little bit, honey, see what you come up with.
    Okay.

    Sure.

    Will do.

    Oops, he didn't mean online.

    He really should have fallen for someone less freaky.

    Because...

    Oh, Christ. He is still too good for me. I can't stop my brain from thinking about what a night with Caleb would be like. He knows what bad girls like. He cultivates a repetoire that would fulfill desires that Jacob can't manage because he's too nice.

    Bridget likes nice everywhere but one place and that place is very very important to her.

    And I'm sorry. I can't help it. Sure, I caught the eye of the unreachable, unshakable preacher boy, and all his friends laughed and teased him to no end as he was visibly taken by Bridget, the whore, Cole's bride, the freakishly psychotic wife with the streak of utter depravity. Cole had the ride of his fucking life on me and it was painfully obvious that Jacob wanted a piece of that action and he got it. Oh boy did he get it. He fell so hard and I love him for it. And it's obvious that he thought he could fix it but that isn't working so well because it didn't go away. It's not fading, we still struggle, we fight, we get thrown when out of the blue an offer comes to fix it all and I want that and I can't have it and Jacob is horrified and territorial and scared that after everything that has happened he might lose me now.But he won't because I'm not her anymore.I just hope he loves who he ended up with after all.

I let him read it first and then he asked somberly if I really felt like that. Most of the time I don't and yet still I wrote it down. And still I post it because it's here, in my head and I'm just trying to deal with everything. Still. And I printed it and put it in my bag and tomorrow I want to talk about it in therapy. I just don't want to talk about it tonight.

Headcase.

It's not all rage and drunkeness and woe around the Reilly household. Oh no. I feel fine this morning. I was trashed late last night and the hazard of keeping a laptop handy in case I get struck by a momentary inspiration also means that even my mom knows just how drunk I got last night.

I was sober enough to be fun though, so Jacob gets as much out of those kind of nights as I do. I feel like a million bucks today, six ways from Sunday. Rather than crack like an egg, I used my other method of blowing off steam. The methods that help me forget painful stuff.

Those are easy to discuss. Hey, I find it easier to share those stories some days than the ones that involve Bridget waking up on Christmas morning, flying out of bed in an effort to reach the bathroom before my bladder explodes and then falling spectacularly into the toilet bowl because...

...because men who live alone for as long as Jacob did often develop some serious laughter-inducing new-swear-word-creating habits like leaving the seat up.

Or I could point out in my quest to try and squeeze some pennies for all the cash outlay recently thanks to things like Christmas, new trucks and second homes (okay, tiny cottages, just let me have my fantasy) I bought generic Oreos, which apparently heralded the beginnings of the rapture in this household.

Jacob ate one, made a face, and asked me if I would kindly eat the rest of the Poor-reos because they're awful. Hmmph. Mr. flashy truck is becoming a brand snob.

But really, you know you want to hear about last night, after drink number four, because three is the absolute cutoff, and I did not reach for the Christmas tree to keep myself upright and not miss.

Causing said tree to fall over. All nine feet dry needled goodness. Yup. Which didn't bring down the bookshelves and dump all four hundred CDs and change into a pile on the floor. Nope.

Oh noes.

Oh this is bigger than oh-noes, princess. You're not going to be able to 'cute' yourself out of this one.

Aw, come on, Jakey.

Jakey, nothing. Sober up and help me clean up this mess.

Or we could leave it for the morning because I think it's bedtime.

You could use some sleep.

Oh, I don't want sleep, handsome.

Oh Lord. Bridget, you're like a runaway train tonight.

No, but you could be, if you want to make a girl happy.

Okay let me prop up the tree using my muscles that subsist on your generic food-like substitutions.

At least you didn't spend Christmas morning with festive wet-butt.

Oh let it go already, please.

Done. Now come up stairs and get out of these jeans before I pass out.

Well, now, that might be fun too. Maybe I'll wait.

Jacob!

Okay, okay, a guy has to have some fun.

Oh, you'll have fun, no worries.

Who said I was worried?

Well-meaning neighbors who gift Bridget with cases of alcohol should be shot.

Bad night.

Oh yes, bring vodka and cake.

That fixes everything. Jacob isn't stupid. He knows what makes it better.Bridget feeling no pain is always better than any alternative. Or maybe just don't ask.

Except now the vodka is empty and I'm staring down the fnal drink of the evening. And my fingers are getting clumsy and I have to bite my lip to concentrate and Jakey keeps looking at me over the top of his book and just staring like I am either themost beautiful creature in the whole world to him or he's just astounded at the amount of alcohol such a tiny person can consume and still write legibly.

Er...

Ha. I promsie I won't ha ve anymore. BEcause it's gone anway and he's taking me up to bed now because drunken sex with me is fucking fantastic. in a way that watching me write is just not.

Yup. Bye.

Hey and I'm well aware that everone thinks Im fragile. WHat would be so different about that?

Oh wait, and for Chase, who wanted to know what the tattoo is on the back of my neck, it's a letter B, a beautiful B in a calligraphical script with ivy entwining it. Pretty.

Nightg.

Destroy all monsters.

Writing this gives me a headache.

There's always two sides to every story. This would be Jacob's. Jacob who has finally become fed up with my mutinous male friends who have all suddenly confessed their secret agendas because my life was simply blown wide open this year.

I'm so glad to kiss this year good-bye. You have no idea. I've been gathering thoughts and plotting resolutions and finalities for days. I'll be celebrating the end of possibly the best and worst year of my whole life. The very essence, the bittersweet taste of life few people ever get to experience firsthand the way I have. If I could I would wish all this romance on you with none of the pain attached. None of this came easily for us, none of it was free.

Saturday night after I fell asleep, after reaffirming my loyalty to and my love for Jacob and assuring him that Caleb is not a threat to him to him, Jacob, well, he went out.

Because I had grabbed Caleb's card key on my way past him and he was probably waiting for me, and I sent Jacob instead. Jacob who was in a very confrontational mood after a very stressful evening where he was helpless once again.

Only he isn't helpless and Caleb picked a bad moment to offer me some sideline submissiveness.

Ouch, yeah, I know.

If there's one huge difference between Caleb and Cole in a world of similarities, it's that Cole would have sooner swung first and asked questions later, and Caleb would sooner back down and run before he'd risk bleeding all over his lovely Hugo Boss wardrobe, and so I knew there would be words exchanged but I didn't worry that bodily harm would come to anyone. I don't worry about Jacob anyway. No one could hurt him, even if they tried.

And considering Caleb met with Jake a whole six weeks ago for lunch to agree that Bridget would not be hurt, that my heart would be protected at all costs, Caleb failed to hold up his end of the bargain the first moment he saw an in, and Jacob wasn't about to let that slide past him. Stunned as he was when I told him what took place, he was quick to recover and even faster to fix it.

He fixes everything. Thank god. I walk a shaky line as it is. Caleb is bad for me, but I only want Jake and this whole mess just makes me laugh. It's gone past ridiculous and slammed right into outrageous.

I don't think he'll be calling again any time soon. Caleb tried Ben's trick of talking trash to Jacob and for his troubles he got pinned to a door and threatened within an inch of his life and his name and if I know Caleb he won't mess with that. His reputation is very important to him. So is his personal safety. Jacob was ashamed of himself when he came home because he said when he slammed Caleb into the door Caleb pissed himself. That's why Jacob left without inflicting any further psychological damage on Caleb. The goal was achieved, Caleb was scared.

Because Jacob can be very scary and he doesn't realize exactly just how scary he can be because he's never been on the receiving end of his own rage. He doesn't get that mad very often in his life.

I have very little sympathy for Caleb right now. I know how it feels, only worse. He was put up against a door, but he had been expecting a visitor. He just received the wrong one. Me, I was thrown into a door and smashed around when I wasn't expecting anyone. It's my own sick twist on poetic justice. I want Caleb to leave me alone. I never should have gone with him in the first place and my lesson is that I had to subject Jacob to once again working through feelings that he shouldn't have to. I never baited Caleb, I thought he was going to make things easy, not make them worse.

He did succeed in doing one thing. He brought Jacob and I even closer, yet again, united in our efforts to be together despite distractions and histories and baggage, despite outside attempts to drive a wedge between us.

And for that gift I will thank Caleb. Just not in person.

Poets, kisses and keys.

My, you're an inquisitive bunch. And that's okay by me, I love questions. So many people wanted to know what Jacob gave me for Christmas.

This holiday didn't turn out to be nearly as minimalistic as I originally planned. Or maybe it did, but in a sweet, simply wonderful kind of way.

Somewhere late last night between washing dishes and sleeping, Jacob pulled a blanket down onto the floor by the fireplace and patted it while I stared at him in surprise.

What are you doing, Jacob?

Constructing a cliche, Bridget.

Oh, I see.

So come here, beautiful.

And?

You'll find out.
First I grabbed the bottle of wine, almost empty anyway, and our glasses and then I snuggled down into his arms. My favorite place of all. I asked Jacob if he had had a good Christmas and he said it was the best he'd ever spent. The whole time he talked he was pulling me out of my clothes. And sipping wine. Being silly. There hasn't been a lot of silly lately. Soon we only had that blanket between us and the rest of the world and there wasn't anything left that we hadn't done. But then he reached up to the table and pulled down a small yellow envelope.

For you, princess.

What is it?

Hold out your hand and see.
A small rusty key fell into my hand. I held it up curiously. No idea. Hints required.

Key to your heart, Jakey?

You've held that key for years. This is the key to your summer castle.

I don't get it.
He explained that my unspoken dismay at his acceptance of the university job sent him on a mission. Please understand I'm so proud of him, the job is a terrific opportunity, the problem lies in the fact that it means we stay here. I didn't want to stay here. Maybe until the end of the school year but this job is a good chance for Jacob to do something wonderful and if all goes well we won't be moving for years. Years.

So, true to form, Jacob fixed that.

He bought a cottage for us. Back home. A tiny windblown little frame house by the ocean, just a stone's throw from some of my favorite childhood beaches on the south shore. A retreat, an escape. A place to call our own that is uniquely ours. Castle indeed.

He bought it weeks ago and has been arranging to have it painted, furnished, repaired, and now it's ready. He had his sister take pictures and send them up and it's so beautiful. Floors and woodwork are white, the main rooms are my favorite shade of celadon and it's less than fifty steps to sand. There's a well with a bucket and an ancient cellar. There's a tire swing and a blueberry bush. A porch, screened in, with a lantern hanging on a hook by the door. He had a woodstove put in. And tin-punch cabinet doors. Because I saw it in a magazine once and said it was pretty.

But he wasn't done there.

He bought the land on either side of the cottage, too.

And he promised me someday we'll build a big house there.

I don't even remember what happened next because my brain snapped with a happiness overload. I do know I made him smile, I tired him out and I believe I proclaimed him to be something out of a book that I couldn't write if I wanted to, he's that incredible.

Jacob laughed and said that's exactly what he was shooting for, which was funny because he is too humble for words, he puts himself down, he dismisses his actions most of the time, one of the reasons I love to share his grand romantic gestures. On the way to bed, with my small hand disappearing into his larger one, he stopped and hung the key on a hook by the kitchen door, where it will stay until it's warm enough for us to go and visit the cottage for the very first time.

I keep going to look at it. Not the pictures of the cottage, but the rusty key itself. That key fascinates me. But then again, so does Jacob. Because just when I think he's outdone himself with his own brand of earth-shattering romance he conquers that too, and just keeps finding more ways to surprise me. That key signifies our future. A plan. A new dream for us. Sorely needed after a difficult year.

The ironic part is that I thought I had outdone him for gifts, finding and hiding a rare edition book of Marlowe plays, one of his favorites, having bought it months ago, knowing he would be positively dumbstruck by it and he was.

Just not as much as I was by that key.

Noel.

The biggest Christmas miracle of all would be two children who slept until 8 am.

On Christmas day.

Yeah, I'm kinda wow too.

Saturday night has a whole part two that followed but I refuse to spoil what is shaping up to be a wonderful, cozy, quiet day by writing about it right now.

Harry Connick Jr. and vintage Glen Campbell are taking turns singing Christmas songs on the stereo, turkey is in the oven, and the fire is crackling and popping, warming up the whole house. Jacob just made a fresh pot of coffee and is busy doing nothing but watching the kids play with new board games while he sips from his cup and traces the tattoo on the back of my neck, the one that surprises people when I wear my hair up.

His phone didn't ring much yesterday and these have been two very close, very warm and devoted days.

I hope you're warm and happy too.