GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Ever been really excited to go to the movies?

Waiting and waiting for the release date and you just know it’s going to be great because it has your favourite actor in it, and you loved the book when you were 16, and your oldest friend who you never have time to catch up with can’t wait to see it with you. Finally, it’s available on the big screen and you’re too busy working, and getting a root canal, and organising driving lessons for your own 16-year old, so the movie is down to the last days of showing. Two days before it leaves town, you finally go with a group of friends.

You get there, grab your tickets and settle in for an awesome night. The moment has arrived. Nobody says much during the movie, then you go out for after-movie drinks and you all realise the movie was absolute shit. Despite starring your favourite actor, and it being a beloved childhood book.

Or maybe because of that.

All those expectations, all that build up, and then the overwhelming disappointment.

I paid $17.50 to see that drivel! I was looking forward to it for four months! I could have stayed home and caught another season of “Orphan Black” for free!

My expectations of people, places and performances have let me down more times than I care to reflect upon. And I have no doubt that many an expectation has been expected of me that I have failed to live up to – for whatever valid or invalid reason.

This is a lesson I find exceedingly difficult to learn and seem to repeat with a painful frequency at various points throughout my life. Each time I come away from a situation where I feel bitterly disappointed at someone or something, if I reflect carefully later, I realise my own expectations exceeded the potential.

The lower my expectations, the happier things seems to sit.

Now this might seem like a poor-me, dreary kind of attitude, but I don’t believe that is the case at all. If I want to go out for a night of dancing, go with someone who actually likes dancing, and don’t get all bitter and twisted the person I went with instead, doesn’t like dancing.

I need to respect people’s strengths and weaknesses, loves and hates, quirks and irritations, and adjust accordingly. As they do with me. For I have some quirky strengths and some irritating weaknesses.

Places and performances can ofttimes be irritatingly quirky and I am learning to keep expectations low. Not in an overly pessimistic kind of way, but in a realistic, prepared kind of way. If I go to the movie with my favourite actor, from my beloved childhood book, it has some pretty jolly big shoes to fill and there’s a high chance I’ll be disappointed. Because to be honest, my most memorable movie moments, have come from random films I’d never heard of, filled with actors I’d never seen before, organised at the 11th hour – if not a tad later – with a friend I only happened to by chance ring by accident an hour earlier. (Oh my gosh – so many gut-stabbing squeals of laughter that afternoon, I almost peed myself with happiness).

Planning can get in the way – which is a huge admission from an obsessive planner. But I acknowledge there is a time and a place for everything – and perhaps I don’t need to plan who/what/where/when/why we go to a movie.

I may have the gluttony-vice down pat, but I feel I’ve worked quite hard at keeping the snotty green envy-vice at bay. I am so much more fortunate than many in this world. And less than others. I can choose which way I look. Of course I indulge in self-indulgent pity-parties from time to time – they feel great. But to be honest, I have never been envious about what other people have – my anxieties are busy worrying about what they think of me.

Of course I’d like more money, a closer family, and a solid career. But I invested my energies into “other things”. Whether they are valuable to “other people” I don’t know. But as they’re not living in my house or walking in my shoes (if they are, give them back), then really their opinion shouldn’t count.

Travel is something I adore. For so many decades I yearned to travel – never having the opportunity or the material funds to do any at all. Then in the past five years we have been incredibly fortunate to have had several overseas trips, and this year a huge trip of a lifetime (in my very humble opinion) that I never in a million years dreamed would ever come to be. It’s costing us a small fortune, but there is no golden rule that says we should leave an inheritance for our kids. That wasn’t written in the baby manual. Not that I read the manual.

As my husband and I head off on a three month European adventure later in the year (yes, three months – insane? possibly), I know I will have planned the details down to the most minute aspect (my anxieties will not stretch to winging it through Europe for three months), but I’ll also cheerfully have a miserable time so I can blog all about it when I get back. They do say  travel disasters make for the best stories. I’m not sure who “They” are to be honest – perhaps travel bloggers who are paid to travel…

But I notice travel expectations are often huge and I wonder if that’s because we (me? is it just me?) put so much effort and planning and monies into the trip, that the non-perfect trip becomes a disappointment.

My international travel may have been non-existent up until recent years, but I have been blessed to have amazing friends whom I have had wonderful weekends (you know, 3-7 day weekends) away with on a regular basis for nearly 30 years.

From these trips I learned that the company you keep is far more valuable than the destination you visit.

And that is priceless. Not that I want to stay home for free – we have to go somewhere, otherwise those root canals and driving lessons come knocking on the door. And rain and hail and best-laid plans are all meaningless. Make the plans then wing it anyway. The best of times are had at the most unexpected times. You can’t plan for a great time.

As travel is going to be occupying a lot of my year this year, I find myself thinking about it a lot. I know I am often simultaneously filled with the wonder of where I am – regardless of shitty weather, rabid dogs, and sleepless nights – while consumed with anxiety about talking to strangers, getting to the next location, and making sure my companions are happy.

But every time – Every, Single, Time – my expectations of someone or something else, are built up in a way that in some way reflects, It might be different this time. If only it were like this… then I know I’m setting I’m setting myself up for another pity party. Because I’m making arbitrary rules, to suit my needs. Rather than meeting my needs, by finding the suitable means.

As 2018 blossoms along (hello? it’s day five!) I hope we all have great things happen, and realistic expectations.

DREAM WRITING

Today I did some dream writing.

It was a technique I learned through Joanne when I did her Seven Day Challenge. I was super teary and tired when I started the day today. It’s been a bit of a rough road but you know – that’s life. These things happen. It’ll be fine. I knew I needed to do some writing and couldn’t think of what I needed to write. So I thought I would do some dream writing – I want to mix and match a lot of writing over the period of this January challenge (have I mentioned the January challenge is to write a thousand words every single day? Which doesn’t daunt me in the least. But I don’t want to write the same thousand words in the same boring place every day.) So today I thought – dream writing. And I did. Dream writing involves setting a timer for a set period of time (just 15 minutes today), starting with a “prompt”, and then letting your hand flow across the page for the entire time without stopping or resting or going back at all – just an unbroken stream of thoughts. I wrote the prompt “In the clinic I hope to…” and then my hand flew across the page for fifteen minutes with the following stream of consciousness.

Heal. Recover. Learn. I have every tool at my disposal already – I think I own the world’s largest eating disorder toolkit. Now I need to assemble the tools and learn the habits. That is what I don’t have and what I believe people really struggle to comprehend. In all my almost 52 years, I have never known regulated, normal, healthy eating. I have known how to eat in a healthy manner. I have had arbitrary rules placed upon me – by others and by myself – for short periods of time. I have been controlled but always felt out of control. I am so incredibly ready to let my body reset with regular feeding and to learn how to eat regularly and to stop thinking about food in between times. That is the most precious gift I seek. To stop thinking about food when I do not need, require or desire it. When instead my thoughts and emotions and energies can be invested into my family and friends, my work and words, my loves and my home and all the things that make up a life. Food is but a small part – a necessary – but small part of living. And many moons ago it became the central, almost single focus of my being. My greatest hope and dream for the stay at the clinic this month is to regulate food and lose the obsession. I also hope to refocus all those loose thoughts into healthier places (because my thought processes are wild and woolly and rampant and rapid at the best of times – they need to be kept busy!) 2018 is my year for writing. Lots of it. For writing rubbish and gems and heartfelt messages and useless self indulgent twat and every now and again finding something that touches somebody. Or me. Writing is where it’s at for me for now. And unlike music, I don’t feel precious about it. It isn’t my career. If it’s not good and nobody likes it that’s fine. I don’t feel any necessity for it to be great or perfect or amazing. I just want the words to flow and to let my insides out. Which I struggle to do with the spoken word. Which brings me back to the clinic. Emotions have strangled me over the years. And then I ate them. And then I got an eating disorder. And now I’m going to an inpatient program for eating disorders. So it would appear the root of the problem – as so often is in these situations – is malfunctioning emotions. Which terrify me in a way that is all out of proportion to most people. So that is definitely something to think about as I endlessly contemplate my navel for six weeks. So in the clinic I hope to heal. And when I leave I hope to eat. Without fear. Without guilt. Without loathing. I have eaten all my life. But never – ever – have I eaten without these accompaniments.

I don’t know if these words are useful to other people. They were useful to me.

I don’t do nearly enough dream writing. It is certainly a useful tool. It is interesting how teachers and mentors know a lot of stuff and if only we trust their knowledge to just do as they suggest, then perhaps we might learn something!

I have done the dream writing in the past and enjoyed it, but it has been a while. I know I will come back to this stream of consciousness again over the next few days, but it was really interesting to me that I broke away from the clinic for quite a while, and then briefly came back to it, before ending with the real heart of the matter – the thing that really struck me in the end. I have never, ever eaten food without the accompanying feelings of fear, guilt or loathing. Ever. I mean never, ever. I have zero recollection.

Perhaps as a child I ate food without care? I don’t know. I have no memory of such a thing. All I remember of childhood eating is being told not to eat something because it was the wrong food, or it was too much, or save it for later, or it would make me fat. Messages I absorbed and took to be true. Messages I taught myself and repeat now. All these years later.

The real question is – can I unlearn these messages in a mere six weeks? Can 52 years of messages be undone in 42 days? Can I dare to hope that is possible? Some days I think it impossible. Some days I believe anything is possible. When I wake tomorrow, I hope to believe that anything is possible.

MELANCHOLY

I’m consumed with sadness today.

I know it’s the stupid drug, but fuck it’s annoying. On the upside, the psychiatrist rang and said to wean myself off and I’m being admitted into the inpatient eating disorder unit instead.

It’s a strange world where that seems like a good thing – right?

This drug has really hit me for six. This morning I could not for the life of me work out what year it was. I don’t mean 2017 or 2018 (see – I’ve got it sussed now!) I mean – I didn’t know if it was 2000, 2008, 2020… I had NO IDEA. I was utterly confused. I had to ask my husband and he looked at me with a very familiar, “you have two heads” kind of look, well it’s not 2017 any more, and then it all clicked back into place and I knew what the year was again. But for a moment – it was panic stations. Have I mentioned how much I hate this drug?

Today is 02 January and on Monday 15 January (13 sleeps away) I’m going to the clinic. I have 13 sleeps to get my shit together. I will need to contact work and let them know what’s happening. At this stage I don’t even know if I’ll return to work at all. By necessity I’ll be in the clinic until the end of February, and then I’m traveling overseas from mid-June until mid-September, so I’m not sure they want an employee who is so unreliable. This is a discussion that needs to be had. And now it needs to be had before Monday 15 January.

All the writing I discussed yesterday (yesterday? no – the day before…) needs to be sorted and taken to the clinic with me. I view this inpatient stay as a good opportunity to establish writing routines and patterns. I think mornings are taken up with counselling sessions, but afternoons and evenings look to be fairly free. I hope to write and read, and read and write. Then read and write, and write some more.

When I mentioned to friends today that I have a date for admission to the clinic they of course immediately asked how I feel, am I happy and excited, and of course I have no idea. Today I’m teary and tired and confused because I’m all drugged up. But also, I think my emotions are far more complex – when I find them.

And do I have to choose between happy and sad? Is it really that simple?

I am happy. Happy that this is an option. Happy that I am afforded the opportunity to try something that many are not able to. Happy that I am in a position to be able to go away from “life” for six weeks and dedicate this time to myself. It feels incredibly selfish – to leave my home and family and let them just look after themselves while I contribute nothing. Just faff around “getting better”. I am happy that I am surrounded by people who support me to do this and that we have the means to do it. So yes – I am happy this is an option.

I am sad. I am sad it is necessary at all. I am sad I have an eating disorder. I am sad that I have had it for so long and that I could not “figure it out” by myself. I am sad that I have to go away from my family and friends and my home and lock myself away in a hospital with strangers and become institutionalised in order to become “better”. I am sad it boils down to this kind of last resort option.

I am nervous. It is not easy at my age to go into a hospital full of teenagers and young women – most of whom will be anorexic and underweight – and be forced to consume food six times day. I will have no choice but to eat every morsel that is put in front of me – in a specified time frame. I will be watched like a hawk before, during and after meals. Before, during and after bathroom trips. There will be no exercising. No using stairs. No burning up excess energy. No living my “normal” life. It will be a very foreign environment and I know I won’t like it for so many reasons and it is going to make me incredibly uncomfortable and anxious for so many reasons and I am going to have to suck it up and that’s that. So of course I’m nervous. I will know nobody. I have social anxiety at the best of times and this is the worst of times.

I am hopeful.

I have tried so many things over so many years and I have learned so much and made a lot of progress. And slipped a lot too. But those slips do not negate the forward movement. There are people in whom I have a great deal of faith who believe a sustained inpatient stay will offer me a huge chance to “reset” and there is a lot to be learned and gained and that I should be extremely hopeful this is a very positive step in the right direction. Not a panacea or a “cure”. Just a good positive hopeful step in the right direction.

And exhausted. Emotions are exhausting. I am happy and sad. Nervous and hopeful. I have no idea what year it is. I have cooked a lot of food to take away tomorrow. But I can’t work out what meals to make. I can’t string thoughts together but I can sort of make sentences (can I? are these sentences? I certainly hope so?)

To everyone that sticks with me and continues to read, thank you for your persistence. I feel like I’ve gone completely insane. In fact, I believe I have. The good news however – my dosage is now reduced, and tomorrow is the last day I have to take it at all. So hopefully my brain will return very soon!

WELCOME TO THE NEW YEAR

I used to be gung ho about making New Years’ resolutions – now I know better.

I am old and wise. But that is not to say this is not a good time to reflect on the year that has been and put behind me those moments I never wish to see again. We all have a few of those – of that, I am quite sure. And to look ahead to new beginnings for the year ahead and make plans for both the would-be hedonist who loves to live it up whenever she has the opportunity and the practical lass who knows we all have responsibilities and that – occasionally – bills must be paid.

Before I get into the nitty gritty, here’s a speedy catch up on where I’ve been the past ten days. I’ll see if I can explain in 100 words.

Preparing for Christmas. Delightful holiday away for three nights. Zombied out on this stupid new drug. Going downhill rapidly on this hateful new drug. Sleeping a lot on this useless new drug. Bingeing, purging, gaining weight, and starting to drink, while taking a drug designed to reduce compulsive behaviours. Complaining a lot about this new drug. Increasing issues with depression and anxiety. Sleeping some more. Having a hangover and sleeping some more. Feeling proud of myself for unstacking the dishwasher. Making plans for 2018 that don’t involve sleeping or taking this stupid new drug. Drafting a letter to my psychiatrist.

I won’t mention this drug any more. It’s boring. Let’s just say – I hate it. This too shall pass. I have to wait and see what the psychiatrist says. Right now it’s Sunday. New Year’s Eve… Onto more interesting topics.

The year about to come to a very gentle close, has been a very gentle year. Nothing chaotic, dreadful or catastrophic took place in my little world. For that I am eternally thankful.

My grandmother passed from this earthly realm to be with all her most beloved – her 98 year body now at eternal rest with my mother and sister. I am employed. My children are all legal adults. My husband still talks to me. As does my cat. The house is still standing. The car still goes – just. We have good health. We have the means to comfortably feed and house ourselves. We are more comfortable than the vast majority of souls on this planet. I must never forget the luxuries afforded to me for no greater reason than the country in which I was born.

Western privilege does not always bring happiness however, and for the previous two years I was in the midst of a complete breakdown.

This year I have slowly pieced myself back together and tentatively wondered if it was okay to feel okay. If I stood up for a moment, was something going to knock me down again. And you know what? For a whole year nothing knocked me down. So I feel a whole lot less wobbly. Cool huh?

So that’s where I’ve been in 2017 – finding my wobbly feet. I don’t make resolutions any more, because I no longer believe in them. But I do like to have a few little goals to aim for and I would like to make a little public declaration here of my goals for 2018 – cleverly buried at the end of this post so not too many people will notice them.

As many of you know, writing is my new passion. I am hoping to incorporate writing into my world – as part of my recovery but also as a means to generate a bit of income. And I don’t mean I think I’m going to become a famous author next week – the drug hasn’t made me that deluded yet! I have another idea.

Here’s my plan for 2018.

1. I’m enrolled in a masterclass where at the end of the year I will have completed a draft for my first book – this time next year, watch this space. I don’t commit to things I don’t complete.
2. I have every intention of continuing to regularly write in this blog – but I would like to take the focus away from mental health. However, I would like to continue the focus on mental health writing by sending articles to The Mighty and Recovery Warriors etc. Who may or may not publish them. That is fine. I’m not precious.
3. I would like to start writing short stories for various magazines and online publications. Again – they may or may not publish. That is fine. I’m not precious.
4. Obviously none of the above will earn me a single penny – of that I am painfully aware. I do need to earn a little money – of that I am also painfully aware. This is where my last idea comes in – one that merges money and writing. I’m spending the next three months finalising the details of a business for writing people’s biographies. I won’t go into too much detail. I’m getting really tired again. (Stupid drug…) I’ve finished one biography and started the website. I need to trial three more biographies then research the printing aspect of it. I know I won’t become a millionaire, but honestly – that’s not what I want. I just need a little extra cash.
5. I also keep being asked to assist people (small businesses) with their websites (proofreading and copy writing etc). This is something I love doing. I wouldn’t do it day and in and day out. But helping someone clean up their website and teach them how to use the software is something I love doing – every now and again. Extra cash comes in handy as well. And proofreading is something I am also very, very good at 🙂

Oh my gosh – my brain is dissolving now. It’s three hours and nine minutes until the new year rolls around – in Australia. I will surely be in the land of nod by then. May 2018 fill your heart with joy, your house with sunshine and your skies with rainbows. Much love to you all my friends.

WORDS TO LIVE BY

I’ve started reading again.

Please let it be known, this is very good news – on numerous levels. In case you haven’t picked up on it before, I have a somewhat addictive nature, and one of the many ways I’ve numbed myself is with candy crush. I take no pride in this. It is a stupid, trivial, pointless game. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with playing candy crush if you’re the kind of person who pops on and plays a couple of levels every now and then. But if you’re like me and managed to get past level 3000 in a depressingly short period of time, then clearly there’s a problem. And no – I haven’t spent any money on it – just a ton of time, which is far more valuable than money.

Yesterday I did something very brave and removed it – not just from my phone, but from my computer as well. Of course there is nothing to stop me downloading it again, but for now it is not on any of my devices, and I have instead chosen to start reading some of the many books I have longed to read for quite some time.

For years and years I was a voracious reader. I have a house full of books and dreamed of one day having a dedicated library in my house. I have been known to sit up all night to finish a book. And then start another. And another. In the past I was banned from starting books because I couldn’t put them down. Then the internet came along and I lost the habit, and then I discovered candy crush and got even better at numbing my emotions.

Today I started reading Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning – and I feel like I’ve come home. In the preface is a quote that isn’t even by Viktor Frankl, but I immediately knew this book is destined to change my life:

“He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How”

These are words Frankl quotes from Friedrich Nietzsche but they resonate very powerfully with me, as I’m sure they do for many. Viktor Frankl was a renowned neurologist and psychiatrist and also survived the Auschwitz concentration camp in World War Two. His book – which I have only just begun – investigates his observations of the psychological aspects of those prisoners who survived by finding meaning in even the most brutal forms of existence, and a reason to continue living.

It may seem ridiculously shallow for me to compare any aspect of my life to the horrors faced by those interred in a Nazi concentration camp, but I do believe no matter who you are, where you are in life, or what you are experiencing, you need a Why.

Why am I here? Why do I want to stay?

And these whys are followed by whats.

What am I doing? What is the meaning of my life?

Because you know what? While I do believe that He who has a Why to live for, can bear almost any How. I also believe that She who has no why to live for, cannot bear any How.

Without purpose, life has no meaning. Without meaning, life has no purpose. And when we are young the purpose and meaning is really easy to see – or at least it was for me. As I got older, the purpose and meaning has vanished and my role now is to seek these things.

I have quite a bit of time off over the coming months and I shall enjoy burying myself in some books to see if I can find a little purpose and meaning.

Oh – I forgot. There is more than one reason why reading – and ditching candy crush – is a good thing. As my writing course with Joanne Fedler will commence on 01 January 2018 – and 01 January 2018 is now a mere ten days away – I have set myself a goal of reading and writing on a daily basis. I cannot expect to be a writer if I am not a reader. And a current reader at that.

And of course reading is going to be a wonderful way to work on improving my mental health – rather than wallowing in self pity or hiding away. I view it as a very positive step in the right direction. I have been collecting a lot of digital books for quite some time (and hard copy books as well) and I hope I can reconnect with my once voracious reading habits.

HOPELESS

Aside from going on a cruise and having all my pubic hair ripped out in large patches, there have been a few other firsts in my life recently.

I was bitten by a wasp last week on Mystery Island. I’ve never been bitten by a wasp anywhere before. Not anywhere geographically – or physically. So this was a definite first. And not one I’d care to repeat as it definitely fucking hurt. It bit me on the hand and pain instantly ran up my arm. Stupid insect. It turns out I’m not allergic so running into tropical waters and snorkeling pretty much quelled the pain and by the following day I’d forgotten all about it. I still don’t care to repeat the experience.

I have also learned to use Uber. I just googled and apparently Uber was founded in 2009. So it’s been in existence for eight years and I used it for the first time on Monday. It seems I’m a dinosaur. I’m a convert now though. Marius and I are on first name terms and I’ve learned a lot about scuba diving. And where to catch an Uber at the Melbourne airport.

The reason I was ubering at Melbourne airport, is I was visiting an admitting psychiatrist at the clinic where I have been considering an inpatient stay for persistent eating disorder issues. In order to do an inpatient stay, I have to be assessed by an admitting psychiatrist. So off I dutifully trotted – full of hope. Foolish me. That hope was quickly quelled – as hope so often is. I’m not sure why I was hellbent on going into hospital, but as soon as he suggested I trial a drug for a month before considering inpatient, I got all teary and sulky. I’ve been sent home with a prescription and have no faith whatsoever that a pill can change ingrained behaviours.

So my next first is I trying a new drug. One that apparently works on compulsive behaviours, and has the added bonus of reducing migraines and aiding sleep. Two side effects I would be very grateful for.

I am trying to process my negative response to the doctor’s suggestion, and a lot of it is to do with not getting my own way. It pains me to say that… But it is true. I had put a lot of expectations, hope and plans into the hospital stay, and for those plans to be postponed or cancelled is not easy to take. I DO want to live without an eating disorder. I really do. You have NO idea how badly I want that. I can’t imagine it… But I want it. I imagined going into hospital was the answer I needed and to be told a pill is a better option is a very bitter pill to swallow – ironically. As the days pass however, I’m getting more okay with the idea. I have so far taken two pills and there have been no miracles. I have in fact, been in a cycle of horrendous bingeing and purging – as though I need to prove to the doctor his idea is wrong. I know this phase will pass, but let me assure you, it’s no fun right now.

Compulsions are the biggest problem of all – and this drug has been chosen as one that can apparently target compulsions. I have zero idea as to how that works, but apparently it is possible. I rarely eat because I am hungry – if I’m eating it’s because I have to. Either out of a social obligation or an emotional necessity. And this is why I tend to stop eating altogether – because I can’t do it in moderation. Or at least historically, I have never managed it.

Anyway – this is a long winded way of saying I am trialing a drug that should start to take effect in the next few days, and if it has shown no positive effects within a few weeks, it is unlikely to do so at all.

When I was first told of the drug in lieu of the hospital stay, I promptly caught my Uber to the airport, ordered a large meal from a fast food outlet and scoffed it at lightning speed then threw it all up. I then ate four Krispy Kremes while sitting in the ladies room and threw all those up too. I was well and truly into punishment mode. I’ve only ever eaten Krispy Kremes twice in my life, and both times were under the same circumstances.

I’m not sure if my overwhelming negative reaction to the doctor’s probably very sensible suggestion of trialing the drug before doing an inpatient stay is because I felt I didn’t get my own way, or my carefully planned timetable of events is now all topsy turvy, or if I felt all hope for recovery just dissolve completely. Possibly it’s a little of each. Whatever the case may be, I am now trialing a drug for a month, and if I do an inpatient stay, it won’t be before April. I also need to keep reminding myself an inpatient stay isn’t a magic cure – although I always knew that. It just felt like a reprieve. For six weeks I could abdicate responsibility and let someone else make all the food decisions for me.

If I could abdicate responsibility for my food decisions for the rest of my life I would do so right now. Right this minute. There is so much angst involved in food. I desperately desire food and simultaneously hate every moment of it.

As the weeks go by, I will let you all know if this miracle drug has indeed performed a miracle. I won’t be holding my breath for I have found hope to be a dangerous thing to cling to. But I will also doggedly continue to believe that if one thing doesn’t work, another thing will come along, and until I have tried all the things, it is not yet time to quit.