Tea time, no punctuation.

I want to drink black tea and write poetry about how it reflects the depth of my soul but really it’s just dark liquid that will stain a page but not your heart and the bitterness you relish when it’s warm turns stagnant before you’ve reached the bottom of the mug.

Seven Hundred and Eleven Words of Whinging.

I know I start a lot of my blog posts with the 'I meant to update earlier but somehow didn't' sentiment, and I have come to realise that this is just another manifestation of what is wrong with my life.

I make plans and lose track of where I'm going or what to do to get there.

But it's okay, because it's a new year, and therefore an opportunity for a new adventure.

Well, I say that, but what I actually mean is I'm getting tired of muddling along and not really getting anywhere.

In Freudian theory, discord between what you are and what you want to be gives rise to psychological and emotional problems, and once again, I am a textbook example of a common problem. Aged 14, I had grand plans to travel the world, marry Daniel Radcliffe (after he converted of his own accord, of course), go to an Oxbridge university, and just be an amazing person. I was going to be supreme empress of the universe and the world was going to be great place with no pollution and lots of dolphins.

Ten years later, life has worked out in a roundabout way so that I am at least studying medicine and living out of home, if not at Oxford or in Spain. I suppose 10 years isn't that long, in the scheme of things, to achieve a life goal, but I can't help feeling like I've been a very passive part of the process. I somehow forgot to make anything happen. I didn't study hard in undergrad to get into med (I don't think I ever really expected to get in, I just had this image of me leading Medicines Sans Frontier to save the world with an adoring crowd and massive posters of my face everywhere). I didn't do much extracurricular stuff to help my development. I didn't properly try to get into med, and there's no way I would have without the sincerest prayers of my grandparents.

Not that I'm not happy to be here - it hits me every now and again that one day I will have a solid understanding of something amazing. It's a privilege and an honour to be trusted with someone's health, and to have all of the resources and opportunities in the world at your fingertips.

But the idea of myself at 14, an activist and a humanitarian, has crumbled a bit in the intervening period. I haven't eradicated poverty or corruption or AIDs or cancer. I don't speak a million languages. I am not a leader (I'm less of a leader now than I was at my most passive moment in school). I haven't run a marathon. I don't have prize-winning paintings hanging in the Louvre. I haven't solved any of the great mysteries of the ancient world (sometimes I can't sleep because I don't understand how the pyramids were built). My writing isn't being used as teaching material in High Level IB English.

This discrepancy between what I was and wanted to be, and what I have turned out to be now - it's what holds me back from fixing my situation. I spend all of this time dreaming and reminiscing and saying 'I totally could have' and then I realise that I've just wasted another year I could have used wisely. It's a vicious loop and I know the reason I can't get out of it is because my ego is too big to accept that I failed, and to move on.

Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to learn humility. To accept and be happy about the fact that I can do my best and that my best is good enough. Instead, I make a half-assed, panicked attempt and then try to justify my failure by making excuses.

Finally writing about this instead of just whinging to friends is a lot more productive, and a relief. I can be more methodical and see where I'm just bullsh**ing. Once you pinpoint a problem you can focus on fixing it. From where I stand now, I need to quit complaining and start doing.

And with that note, I am off to write some world-class poetry on the subject of my angst.

Peace and love,

S.

The middle-aged white man.

Don't read this if you are super sensitive or acutely opposed to statements of generalisation or susceptible to depression about the plight of the world.

---------------------

Any time in my life that I have expressed my (grandiose) dreams and plans for the future, the only person who has knocked me down is the middle-aged white man - not the proverbial person, but the actual.

In high school I had an English teacher who, in year 11, called me over to his desk during class and told me that I'm a very bright girl and I just need to keep up the good work and I'll get far. This went on for about 10 minutes. I in turn shared my dreams of studying at an Oxbridge university, whereby he laughed and said, "You can't do that!"

My orthodontist was also one of these. He asked me what I wanted to do and again, I shared the Oxbridge dream. He responded with several reasons why this might be unreasonable, including that the universities are tied to the Church, and given that I'm Muslim, how would I deal with that? Except, um, some of Oxford's most famous scholars include Benazir Bhutto (Muslim), Indira Gandhi (Hindu) and Stephen Hawking (atheist).

More recently, and what really triggered this post, was my Honour's supervisor. In our first meeting he asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told him I wanted to learn everything about everything, and he, predictably, responded with a derisive laugh and, "You can't do that!" Literally. And throughout the year he insisted on repeating his mantra of "You can't get full marks, you can never get full marks, it's never going to be perfect, you can never make it perfect". Um, DUH, if I've lost 2% in the first assignment I'm obviously not going to get 100% at the end of the year. And why can't I make it perfect? Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's impossible, or that I shouldn't try.

Clearly, the middle-aged white man, as characterised above, is the bane of our success, the killer of our dreams and just plain mean. (Apart from all the really awesome middle-aged white men, obviously cf. Ian Hislop, Paul Merton, Jon Stuart, Norm Eizenberg, etc. etc.). 

Peace and love,

S.

Dream.

I had the strangest dream last night. I was rushing, falling, down a dark tunnel towards a light. I was dying, and I told myself I was excited to be meeting my Maker. It made me feel better. I was trying to smile and it felt weak. When I woke up I was scared, and glad, and didn't know whether to take it as a positive sign or as a warning, and tried to frantically to fall asleep again, so I'd forget. 

So much of the cuteness. I tie a little bow, yes?

From here.

I moustache you a question but I will shave it for later.

From Love is my weapon - This is an awesome theme. Totes loving the moustache cushion and sofa-bed thing.

Honours. (Warning: Mopey)

So Honours is over. Totally and completely. Thank God.

Last I wrote here, I was only a couple of days away from my thesis defence. Needless to say it was disastrous. I'd asked The Other Guy for the cause of death and pathology databases pertaining to the subjects who donated the tissue I'd used all year. He refused to send either one to me, because of quote, 'ethical issues'.


They were my blergh subjects, I was part of the blergh team, and I was half a blergh hour away from my thesis defence. Did he think I was stupid enough to go and google the names, or something?


The actual defence was an ordeal as well. I'd asked the Supervisor about something, he didn't know the answer, the question obviously came up in the defence, I stumbled around a bit and finally gave the right answer. Afterwards, the Supervisor told me I'd done okay, I'd stumbled around a bit, but I'd done okay. No thanks to him.


At the end of the defence you leave the room for a few minutes and your supervisor talks to the panel about how you went throughout the year, and then the supervisor leaves and you get to do the same. I tried to tell them about all the crap I had put up with, particularly from The Other Guy, but I couldn't stop crying, and the guy running the thing kept trying to shut me up. Boo.


Marks came out a few weeks ago. I did okay; when I think of why I thought I wanted to do Honours to begin with, I'm fairly happy with the mark. But given the awfulness of the the year and the people it contained, the mark did not make up for it at all. I finally got the Supervisor a (meaningless) thank-you present (fountain pen). When I gave it to him he had the nerve to say that the microscopes breaking down might even have given me pity marks. B*TCH. I worked my derriere off, trying to keep things going. If I was going to be given pity marks, I should have well over 90.


I have horrible nightmares about Honours. They have died down a bit in the last week or so, but they were awful. But I think I might be getting over it. Karma will take care of everything.


And this leads me to reflect upon my year. It was great - in parts - but the project was incredibly dull, and the people I was around even more so. If one of them - either the project or the lab group - had been good, it would have been okay. But in this case, each seemed worse because of the other. It took most of my lab most of the year to make eye contact and say hello. The Halloween-themed lab bonding day at the RA's house was incredibly awkward. Thank God the postdocs had brought her little kids, because I had nothing to say to anyone, nor they to me. The other PhD students were really nice in the last two weeks, once my thesis had been handed in. They sat through a practise talk and gave good feedback. The Other Guy was as awful and manipulative as can be throughout the year. The Supervisor could have been worse, but the passiveness, and constantly telling me that I can never get full marks or get anything perfect really wasn't great.


When you are going into Honours, people tell you to choose the lab group, not the project, so I did. I knew at least half of the lab because they'd lectured or demonstrated in undergrad. The Supervisor was head of department so I thought there was no way he'd make the year a waste. Everyone spoke so well of them. And how wrong they all were. I should have known better, too. You always get this vibe on first meetings, and then ages later you ask yourself why you were such a persistent fool. Sometimes you just have to accept that people are awful, and stop trying to find the good in them. In the first month or so I was still excited and in denial, but reality has a way of punching through, and you realise that you should have run when you had the chance.


So basically, I spent the entire year being bored and miserable, and I learned nothing. Actually, I learned three things. These are as follows:

1. Microscopy (taking decent images of crap tissue)   
2. Stereology (glorified counting, in a manner thought suitable by the Supervisor)
3. That the world is full of truly awful people, and these are the people who get places in life. Basically, success requires being manipulative, obsequiousness, putting people down, treating people like rubbish if they're lower than you in the food chain, barefaced lies, and having the audacity to think you are better than someone else such that they should be happy with an outcome you consider far below you.

Of course, there were also some great times. I'm trying to remember them now, but nothing springs to mind. I'm sure I'll remember once the echoes of this miserable year have fallen silent. All in all, it was a character-building, soul-destroying type of year. 


I'm sure aggression and misery associated with this year will burst through for a while yet. While it's true that I'm getting over it, the fact that I have a Bachelor's degree with first class Honours and still can't get a job because I basically did no proper lab work this year is incredibly frustrating. Plus all of that awfulness. 


Anyway, I think this might be enough self-pitying and whinging for one post. 


Peace and love,


S.

Even more dreams.

This is another post about dreams, in case you want to stop reading straight away.

A while ago I had a dream that I asked one of the lab heads in the department for advice on how to pick a lab to work with. He said I should ask them, "What is your policy regarding idiots?" This was perfectly acceptable in the dream, and hilarious when I woke up. 

I can only conclude that I have a comedienne buried somewhere deep inside me.


You know how sometimes you wake up in the middle of a dream, and you don't realise whatever it was that you were thinking about was a dream? Yesterday I dreamed that the way to turn off that loud buzzing sound was to stretch out my blue hair tie. The buzzing sound turned out to be my phone ringing, and I stretched out my hair tie in my half-asleep state. The buzzing wouldn't stop and then I realised I was awake. Hate to think of what I'd get up to if I sleep-walked. Like rolling around with a tiger under my bed. Or compulsively pulling out my own teeth. 

This leads to my second conclusion - that I am slightly out of touch with reality, but on the plus side have deep well of creativity somewhere in me, as well. 

Awesome. 


Also, sometimes I want to answer questions and then yell out, "COME AT ME BRO!" but I fear being ostracised.


Peace and love,

S. 

LOL.

"Sometimes things go right and fairytales come true. Sometimes our dreams become reality, and sometimes we are given more than we had ever wished for. 

Sometimes such things happen."

~

Sometimes things go wrong so that something else can go right. And the thing that went wrong - it was worth it, for all of the things that happened afterwards.


Sometimes, all you can do is LOL. 


I had an almost 20-hour day yesterday. I stayed back at uni to work on my thesis, and finally crashed at about 3 am. I was asleep by 4 am, with the intention of getting up at 6 am in order to get to Peter Mac in time for my 10 am microscope session (our SP5's 405 laser is being fixed overseas). Of course none of this worked. I woke up in a panic at 9: 09 am, and realised it was light outside. The paternal drove me to the city (after a detour to uni, where I had to pick up the tissue sections and the 40x lens). I tried emailing the lady to let her know I'd be late, but nothing seemed to be working. It was raining, and we were stuck in traffic. Turned out I was about 20, 25 minutes late. The lady who was supposed to help me set up had just gone into a seminar, and wouldn't be back for a few hours, by which time my session would be over. I had to run around to find a payphone to call the paternal to come back and pick me up. He wasn't impressed. 


I'm really lucky I was thoroughly exhausted and slightly delirious from the lack of sleep, otherwise I would have been in full-on panic mode. I could feel my heart trying to beat faster and have a panic attack, but I was way too tired. Breaking the news to my supervisor was the biggest worry, at this point. Turns out I didn't need to, because the other guy had already done it for me (at least, I think it was him - he was the only other person I'd gotten around to telling). The thing with my supervisor is that he will never snap outwardly, or show his anger. It lulls you into a false sense of security. But I know he wasn't impressed - but at least he didn't make me cry! 


LOL. Really, that's all you can do at the end of all of that.


Of course I emailed the Peter Mac people, apologising profusely. The supervisor sent one too. They were really nice about the whole thing, luckily. 


So now I don't have any images to count, and therefore no data. I disappointed not just my supervisor, but my self. I used to be an hour early everywhere I went, I don't know what happened. I caused a whole lot of hassle for the paternal, as well as the people at Peter Mac kind enough to help me out.


But like I said, sometimes one thing doesn't work out so that something else will. If I had made it to the microscope session, I wouldn't have been back in time for today's departmental seminar, to which I was really looking forward. I really enjoyed the talk, and I find the subject of Fragile X syndrome absolutely fascinating, not least because I'm now worried I might have a permutation (I have a symptom - the anxiety issues). Of course I know I don't actually have it. I don't have the family history, and given that it's X-linked and how common it is, something should have come up. But still. It's fascinating. 


I also got to go home and sleep at about 2 pm. I saw my family - usually they are asleep when I leave in the morning, and asleep again when I come back in the early hours of the night. 


Plus I got to have a lunch that did not consist of 2-minute noodles. And it was great.


Peace and love,


S.

What am I doing?

I'm not panicking. Not panicking.

I think I'm having a panic attack. Haven't had one in a while. The problem with anxiety disorders is that the symptoms decided to manifest themselves at the most inopportune moments. Like just before you open your mouth to speak at a seminar. Or just before an interview. Or in the middle of an exam. Or at night when you're trying to go to sleep. Or when you're trying to start your thesis write-up because you only have a week and a half till it needs to be done, after which you will be scrambling like a madwoman trying to finish results and counting. 


The microscope is out of action for about 2 weeks. The immuno on the latest sections will be faded by the time the microscope is fixed, and the alternate sections for this subject have already been used, so I'll have to do a whole other set of IGVs. Which is fine, because I'd be doing it now, if the microscope were working. But I'm having trouble starting my intro write-up, or my methods re-write. I had a nightmare re: confronting the other guy for being so awful and the ensuing drama. I understand that in the overall scheme of things, I'm not that old, I have plenty of time and opportunities ahead of me, and everything will be fine. But right now, I don't feel like I'm making any headway towards any of that. 

I keep telling myself I have a plan for next year - Masters of Reproductive Science, or Arts degree - but do I really? No. And it's freaking me out.Lucky I've been fasting for the past month, it leaves you too drained to get worked up about anything. 

Anyway. There is a whole wide world out there, and I want to experience it. I want to be learning something new every single day. I want to be GOOD at things. I want to avoid feeling bored/trapped/helpless/miserable at all costs. I guess at least I know what I want. Certainly gives me something to aspire towards. And I've learned, throughout the course of this year, that I'm very good at hiding misery and putting on a happy front, which is important when you're dealing with the world. 

I'm listening to "Iran, Iran" by Arash, and I LOVE it - the music, the voice, don't really get the words but those as well. Am also loving "Letters to God, pt. II" by Angels and Airwaves. His voice has this insane sort of beauty. If I could sing, I would do so at every opportunity. I'd sing instead of normal speech, and I would never shut up.

Peace and love,


S.

Leave Me to My Thoughts

Leave me to my thoughts,
Let me wander around in peace...
The grass is greener in the distance,
And I want to be free.

Let me go far, far away,
Let today be the last thought on my mind,
Unlock the shackles on my feet,
Let me leave this hell behind.


I've been to Hades,
I've been stuck here for too long.
I'm sick of the darkness,
And I'm tired of hearing the same sad songs.

I'll leave tomorrow,
Nothing can make me stay.
I'm going to walk on towards the sun,
And sit on the horizon of every day.


S.

And we start with a quote...

"I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those that makes things beautiful." -- Friedrich Nietzsche.

I think some part of me has come to realise that my goal in life isn't just the jobs and courses I want to get into, the places I want to go. My target is being in a perpetual state of awesomeness, and I think I'm well on track for this goal.

In fact, one could argue that I am already there. In a lot of ways I have/am already achieved/achieving my life goals - I'm learning, (sort of) meeting new people, am reasonably healthy, and totally awesome, if my baking adventures last week are anything to go by (apart from some bits...).

I jest, I know that I am not yet perfect. But what is perfect? Sometimes we covet not the absolute perfection, but the beauty that is in imperfection. The clouds aren't perfectly white or symmetrical, but they are beautiful nonetheless. The rain doesn't fall in straight parallel lines at an equal distance from all other drops of rain - in fact, not all rain drops in the same instance of rain are the same size. But rain is still awesome. Not every petal on a flower is identical, symmetrical and uniform - but the  flower is still perfect. 

Point in discussion being, that yes, a perfectly straight line is beautiful, but so is a sine wave. A straight path is satisfying, but a crooked one is just as fun. My life may not be following the ideal plan, but it's getting there, and it's good. And I'm pretty awesome. Not sure exactly why, but I know I feel good and that's good enough for today, at least. 

Also, I had a dream about Jedward last night. It was weird, in hindsight. And the youngest brother is having a semi-meltdown. He made me promise that he won't fail his science project. And he has had trouble sleeping the last couple of nights. He has also taken over my bed. Ten is too young for this sort of freaking out.

Cell counts! It's going okay, at least I've started on an actual subject. Not too happy with the figures I'm getting, but oh well.

Have yourself an awesome day!

Peace and love,

S.

Monday morning cynicism.

Why are people always telling me what to do? Often they think they are educating or liberating me, but really they are just P*SSING ME OFF.

Not that I'm in a bad mood, or anything (no irony). I'm actually quite happy. Being happy for no particular reason worries me a little, I'm not too sure as to why. Possibly because I'm so used to being worried? And because I kind of know something not-so-great will happen before too long. Or because I'm worried that I'm forgetting something? Because there's always something to worry about. But anyway, it's a pretty swell feeling.

In other news, I don't know what I'll be doing next year. The supervisor has dropped a few hints about who's going to be in the lab next year and who isn't, and I'm pretty much the only possible person who can leave, so....yeah...The studying psychiatry dream doesn't seem too likely, given I'd have to do med first. And I dreamed that I didn't get into any med programs at any of the universities in Australia. Dreams can be fun like that. 

If all else fails, I'll get a friend to get me a job at the restaurant where she works. I could wash dishes for a while, get some money, travel or whatever. And then decide what to do next. Wouldn't mind staying in uni forever, just learning EVERYTHING there is to learn. That'd be awesome. And then I'd understand research and stuff a little more, so I wouldn't constantly be google-ing things like diseases and antibodies and statistical analyses.

Happy news!! My blog views have ticked over 1000 (cumulative, since I started the blog, which may have been a few years ago, but still) in the last few weeks. I get quite a few views from the States, I don't think it's just per chance because if it were the viewing figures would be similar to Israel, Germany and Lithuania (search words, etc) - somewhere in the lower single digits. So dearest readers, HELLO!!! 

Also bonded with the American cousins over the weekend. It was AWESOME. The 8-year old - I was trying to explain to him that his brother is in middle school now and people get a bit grumpy around that time, and this adorable kid was like 'Oh, I'm already grumpy.' And asked for reasons, he responded with 'People are mean and they lie and push people around.' It was the cutest thing ever. Apart from that time my youngest brother, aged 9, wrapped his tissues in cling rap to take to school, so they wouldn't get dirty. It was a bizarrely brilliant moment. 

And then there was a discussion with the 14 year olds regarding how to survive a zombie apocalypse. That was a little intense. 

I'll get back to trying to look busy now. The other guy just showed me how to count glomerular cells with this software and that. He doesn't like it if I take notes while he's talking, but that just means I don't remember things. It easier to remember steps if you've written them down. And sometimes he treats me like a moron. For example, 7+8=15 DUH. And then when it comes to the hard stuff he just skims past it. Here's the verdict: he think I'm really thick, so he tries to dumb (the wrong) things down, but he doesn't understand that the things he thinks are simple are actually the slightly more complicated ones. Some brilliant people just don't understand that not everyone can be as smart as they are. 

Anyhooz.

Peace and love,

S.

Dream Dissection.

Sorry, I understand this might be getting old, but I had another one that I thought was ABSOLUTELY REAL.


It involved telling Joe Hildebrand (journalist), via twitter, that I'd seen him on the latest HIGNFY episode as one of the four in the 'Odd One Out' round, and that onions (I think) and goats were involved. And he retweeted it, and asked for the link to the episode, and my feed was flooded because I didn't check it straight away, and the dream may have ended when I finally sent the youtube links to him. 


Let's dissect this dream. Joe Hildebrand (whom I follow on twitter) is constantly retweeting, and generally tweets quite frequently. I fell asleep watching HIGNFY on my iPod. And I spend way too much time on the internet. 


Wow, not really that much to it, is there? Though this was a fairly ordinary dream, remarkable only because I really, really thought it was real. When I woke up I thought 'Yep, that's what happened'. 

Even more remarkable is how boring my blog is when I am happy. Because, really, how interested are you in reading about the reasons for someone's good mood, or the fact that they're in a good mood at all? Cynicism can be a lot funnier and more entertaining. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll have something to whinge about before long!

Peace and love,

S.

More dreams.

Just thought you'd all like to know what I've been dreaming about. Saturday was a cousin's birthday, used it as the perfect excuse to binge on cake. Am pretty sure this contributed to the many and odd dreams I had that night. This included one with my dad and I in the bathroom, him helping me shave my beard and them me panicking because I had hair on my neck. Then I dreamed that I posted that I'd dreamed this on facebook. 


I am having trouble deciding whether I'm going to be depressed this year and just not worry about the outcomes, or to try really, really hard. I know what I want, kind of, and I know what I'd like as a back-up, but neither of these is likely to happen. So I don't really have a plan or back-up plan. I think I'm more worried about the fact that I'm not worried. Or maybe I am worried, and this is how I'm channelling it? I don't really know.


Anyway, it's not important. The important thing is that my cousins from the US are here for a while, and I get to see them and IT IS AWESOME. If all else fails I will just have to focus on organising children's birthday parties. And travel the world. And farm pomegranates. May be waitressing? Haha, what a waste of a science degress that would be!


We got our lit review marks a few days ago, I thought I'd done quite well. But my supervisor didn't seem too enthused. I think he knew the markers were being really soft. Ah well, at least I can't disappoint him, now that he has learned not to expect anything great of me! The other guy has been trying to be nice to me and it weirds me out. 


Haha there's this guy here who is CONSTANTLY smoking and nearly always dresses like a gangsta (but no bling). A few weeks ago I saw him with an asthma puffer in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Silly boy. 

Anyhow, I've realised that my main problem is the fact that I get bored, easily and all the time. I don't do well at 'easy' things because I can't be bothered putting in the effort for something so small - because if I have to put effort in, it's going to be everything, or nothing. I don't necessarily do well at the harder things, but at least I'm happier.

So, again, I have nothing useful or profound to say. But that's okay, because I'm in a fairly good mood. I love my family and my friends. I'm pretty sure I'm the favourite grandchild as well as the favourite sister and cousin. Only thing left is to be the favourite aunt, but that's a while off. And then I can conquer the rest of the world with my awesomeness.


I would like to leave you with a little bit of awesomeness: 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b011k12c/Rhod_Gilbert_04_06_2011/


 (Rhod Gilbert Show, from BBC Radio Wales. Enjoy!)

Peace and love,

S.

Cows, grass and soup.

I know all dreams are weird, but I had a REALLY weird one.


It was actually an amalgamation of several dreams and scenarios, but the one I woke up with is as follows. 

There was a cow in a corner of my bedroom, akin to the foam promotional cow I have somewhere on my bookshelf. I had to milk it, which I did into a paper bag, and I did it with much proficiency given I have never milked anything but a bottle before. The paper bag kept drying up, and I had to keep adding water to make up any form of milky liquid.


Once I'd finished milking it I noticed the udder looked all deflated, like a balloon once the air had been let out of it. But this was normal in the dream. I realised the cow needed water, which I brought in a bowl. And then I remembered cows eat grass so I took pliers from the kitchen and recruited both of my sisters and we went out into the garden to get grass. The grass was incredibly short with tufts of longer grass here and there, and we had get down and cut it from the roots.

And then there was a stranger at the door.

Also, my bedroom was really messy. It made me feel a little sick. Sicker than drinking milk straight out of a cow from a paper bag. 

And there was something about terrorists at the airport, an evil-looking man who proclaimed innocence, everyone believed him, and then turned out to be the terrorist-kidnapper after all. I think he was Eastern European. And I was throwing soup around, or something. 


I'm killing time, waiting for the Dotslide to free up. Knew I should have booked it yesterday. 

Peace and love,

S.