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In which we deal with the fact that the calendar and the earth DO NOT AGREE!

Jezebel: Wacky Tradition of Leap Day Allows Women to Ask Men Out

In which I wrote the following comment, which I reproduce her for FEMINISM! And romance, and some laziness.

"Yeah, Leap Day is cool for calendar reasons but kind of silly for dictating the actions of humans.
"I proposed to my fiance in late October two years ago, because the ring I bought for him was faster to make than the ring he bought for me. I got down on one knee and his immediate response? "Nooo! You were supposed to wait so we could do dueling proposals!" And then he said yes.
"Of course, this did come after I asked him on public transport, "So, I wanna marry you- why aren't we married yet?" (Don't surprise people with proposals! Check and make sure they want to marry you first! If you can't lay the groundwork, don't pop the question!)
"But, my proposal seems to surprise people. Lots of people ask about how *he* proposed, and no one has ever preceded that with a question of *who* proposed. And then I get to feeling like the person is now making all sorts of judgements about me and how I'm pushy and annoying and stole his moment of manly romanticalness by my harpyish hyphenated-last-name-having feminazi ways.
"And then I remember that, instead of being missish and dancing around someone I wanted hoping that he would read my mind, I got engaged instead. Woohoo!"

Yeah, I'm pretty happy with my decision there.

Warpaint

Feb. 24th, 2012 01:24 pm
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She selects a wide soft brush, squirts a dollop of foundation onto the back of her hand, and sets to work. Chin, cheeks, foreheads, smoothed and perfected and simple. She picks up her glasses to check in better detail, squinting through them without unfolding the legs.

She sets the brush aside to be cleaned, not by her of course, and selects again. This one pointed as a misericorde and bearing the another pale peachy shade, lighter than the foundation but not by too much, not so much you'd see it once she's done, and she strokes it slowly over the lines of the narrow scars. Those are from the flying glass. The shrapnel scars tend to be slightly sunken ovals, whatever the shape of the original hot metal. Those get a soft pat from a fatter brush to correct for the shadow they would leave on her face without correction. A fluff of powder to blend and set, and she is done.

The surface is smooth, a canvas ready for her ministrations. She is alone now, so she will paint as she likes.

She'll be wearing the green coat today, she's already decided that- something solid and bright so that the cameras will pick her up at a distance, so that the crowd will be able to make her out even at the back. She will draw the eye. The weather means that she will already be rouged by the wind, so she doesn't both with blush. Instead, she selects a shade for her eyes, a warm and subtle purple that will be just out of the range of the natural blush of her pale skin.

The room is quiet, selected especially for it- a refurbished pantry closet that happened to have a window to the east for natural light, but small enough that aides and assistants will not be able to linger one atop the other while she prepares.

She could have a professional do this-- who wouldn't be honored to call themselves the personal esthiologist, cosmetic assistant, whatever it's called now, to the august lady herself. But she does not have the poise in private that people born to her position seem to drink in from the water in these ancient houses with their rusty pipes. She could not help but smile and be sweet to a stranger in her service, and chooses not to spare the effort. She'll need the effort for other things, most days.

Another quick glance through the glasses, and it's time for lips. She tried bleaching her teeth once, and her mouth felt itchy for days, so she chose another route and now picks redder lipstick to push the contrast. Her smile for her people will be genuine, because even on her worst day she knows that she can't fake it, so she finds a thought to make her laugh and holds it for as long as she needs to. They were not kind to her in the first few months after the wedding, and her early pictures look defensive. She was untried, and the skills have come after a long hard slog. But she learned.

After the first bomb, and the short hospital stay and the first set of scars, when the epithets applied suggested more "hero" than "interloper", she took advantage of the respite to rally her forces. She studied her enemies, rested, stretched the muscles she was growing, gathered allies, and returned to the public eye with the scars as the chief weapon in her arsenal- who could call her unwelcome now, when she had bled to save their prince? Who could challenge her loyalty, when she pushed past security to grab the explosive first and throw it away from the crowds? If royalty is a matter of blood, then has she not shed her own beyond the call of a wife's duty? They forget she was a soldier first, and that the scars they see are only the ones on her face. There is a reason she does not care for backless gowns. They think this was her first time returning a grenade to its source.

The lipstick is the perfect red. She thinks of otters floating in the hostile sea holding hands to keep each other close, and smiles. Her teeth gleam. She is ready. She replaces her tools unlingeringly but without hurry, and in the mirror she looks calm, poised, prepared but not plastic. The camouflage of her status has set, and they forget again she is a soldier.
kitewithfish: (Default)
This is the first time I've read Tillich in about year. It's amazingly clear and yet just deeply hard to wrap your brain around at the same time. Copious notes are all that save me.

In other news, I have received roses, and shall make mint brownies in return.

Whenever I get roses, I think of this passage from Alan Moore's V for Vendetta. The personal is political in Valerie's Letter.

walls

Feb. 3rd, 2012 08:41 am
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...4.5.6.7 turn 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9. turn then 7 then 9 then 7. She measured the limits of her world in against the only rubric she had- her own strides. She rode close to the walls, seeking the familiar patterns of rough and smooth against the blistered sides of her feet as she traced the walls.

Stop.

Did she just measure 10 strides on this wall?

Can't be. Can't be ten. Confused. Not paying attention. Start over.

Steps back, backwards in the dark, and begins again. Measures it perfectly, confident, knows exactly when her hand will trail over the patch of bare concrete where the paint has peeled and become powder (it grows so slowly but she won't pick at it!), the small sharp spur against her left foot where the metal baseboard has cracked and pulled outward, the smooth expanse of the wall. And in the dark she adjusts her stride, pulls her step back just a hair to keep from breaking her toenails against the wall where on the ninth step, her foot will hit...

empty air. Nine strides leaves the wall unfinished, but she stops anyways. Can't be right. Can't be right. This wall is nine, that wall is seven.

Begins again, hand fisted against the wall so that the bare concrete of the paintless patch scrapes her knuckles, scruffs her foot on the spur, reaches step nine and puts her hand out to meet the wall...

And the wall is out of reach. She has walked seven steps (as it should be), turned, walked nine (as it should be) and

she cannot reach the wall. Both hands outstretched, but rooted to the spot of that ninth step, the borders of her world. Reaching into the dark.

(and there is a wild rush in her mind of doors and windows and skylights, half forgotten in the dark, of spaces vast and free and unconfined and she cannot remember them but she knows she did once, she knows that once she ran and struck nothing and she can't remember hope, it was something she gave up when it cost too much, it drove her mad and it was better to forget, to just accept and respect the walls as inevitable so she did, she gave it up and lived in her room 7 by 9 by 7 by 9 by 7, the circuit around her stretching out into eternity except that it's not any more and what does that mean and she'd almost forgotten the fear of never getting out because it had been a bosom companion for so long and a better friend than hope so she'd kept it close to warm her at night and now it was eating her up.)

What was she supposed to do when the world fell open?

She is crying. There are no echoes.

Her world is broken.

She takes another step. Ten. The world is broken. What is she supposed to do?

Eleven.

Twelve.
kitewithfish: (Default)
Last night I had a dream where I was traveling secretly across Europe via freight trains. I had paid a beautiful Romani girl in jeans and a tee-shirt $2000 to guide me around, and grumbled to myself about how I couldn't really afford it but I had to get going. (Why? Dunno.) We hopped a train and got moving. She reminded me of someone from college.

The first night, we slept in the woods, only to be attacked by velociraptors and other bird-like dinosaurs. (This was a great arial shot of the little camp site with the three of us (because my Gentleman showed up from nowhere, but he does belong in Europe....) as little loafs inside our sleeping bags with the 'raptors approaching through the trees.)

We fought the 'raptor off with swords that we brought with us- some of which were battered rusty old rapiers, some more heavy, and went back to sleep. Only the raptors attacked again throughout the night, so we were exhausted in the morning.

The next nights, we traveled around and stayed in empty houses left behind by German tourists, which were all incredibly rich and full of dark wood. The 'raptors got in anyways, so we still had to have umbrella stands full of swords in every house to fight them off while they slinked around the nice furniture. The last night, the actual owners of the house were still there, and I walked in on the woman standing naked in a hip bath while her pudgy husband sat reading a magazine on a stool in their HUGE bathroom. Aside from going, "Oh!" they didn't notice us at all, but they were no help at all fight off the raptors.

When the 'raptors came back, the German couple was useless- they didn't do anything but we sort of had to protect the bathroom all the same because letting the 'raptors eat them would be Wrong.

I woke up really tired.
kitewithfish: (Default)
In the past few days a number of things that had felt pinned down and settled in my life decided to FLARE back up again. I'm feeling a bit more settled now.

But I did end up getting that IUD that I've been trying to get since last year (when I discovered my insurance was worth bupkis in this part of the country) and while that took a chunk out of my week, I'm still sitting pretty. With some ibuprofen. But pretty!

Someone on LJ commented that she'd watched the first episode of West Wing and she wondered if this President Jed Bartlett was going to become a major character, and now I have to go and rewatch that first episode again.

I never saw the first episode of West Wing when it first came out. I think my family only got to watching it in the third season, so it wasn't until they started doing reruns of the first season at all. The idea of actually getting to start off that series with the actual first episode would be kind of shocking, actually. I came to it already knowing how some things were going to turn out, so I watched it with assumption that certain people were going to leave, annoyed at the presence of some people who are only really in the first season, and kind of basically wanting it to move along.
kitewithfish: (Default)
I'm still reading Hitchens, and I wouldn't be adverse to doing more readings-through if I didn't need to step up my pace. Grad school is no place for a slow reader.

In other news, I have two doctor's appointments today, one for the womb (which is behaving) and one for the foot (which is slowly coming to heel) and class and such and it's just... at this point in the quarter, I wish I actually was free to do all the socializing that I'm invited to (and want to do!)

In other other news, the Gentleman wonked his knee fairly assiduously at Heavy Fighting Practice on Sunday, and so I've been treating him very gingerly since. He thinks it's getting better, but I am still paranoid about it and doing most of the around-the-house stuff for a bit. He's just hard to get up and down. This, when yesterday I'd got about four hours sleep and was just dead tired. Meh. He's off to work today, so I think things are on the upswing.

Sexy meme

Jan. 12th, 2012 11:13 am
kitewithfish: (Default)
The meme: Find the book nearest to you, and turn to page 45. The first sentence you encounter will be your sexual destiny for 2012.



" So Jacob went in to Rachel also, and he loved Rachel more than Leah."


Well, I got nothin'.




kitewithfish: (Default)
Reader's background: I am an Episcopalian, white, bisexual, cisgender woman in the process of getting her Masters of Divinity. I have a number of important people in my life, one of whom is atheist after a childhood spent in a country where religion is the major determining factor in a person's ethnic identity, and the leaders of the dominant religion seem to perpetrate a state of tension that leads to continual (ie, for the last several hundred years) ethnic violence.

My project: (and this description is nebulous because I have an instinct about this rather than a clear thought) a paper in which I am trying to figure out a common ground and a common critical language to use to talk between atheist and liberal Protestant(ish)* communities, which seem to have a lot of cultural overlap.

Writer's Background: The late Mr. Christopher Hitchens.

The Book: God is Not Great

Chapter 1
After becoming embarrassed and annoyed at the incompetence of his religious instructors in scientific thought (one teacher tells him that God made the grass green to delight and rest the human eye, and it was very clear to the young Mr. Hitchens that the eye adjusted to find the color green restful rather than the grass changing to fit us) and their seeming inability to justify the point of religious practice, a young Mr. Hitchens sincerely doubted the point of religion. (He seems to be making England's Anglican Church the measuring stick for religion in this example.)

He comes to make four conclusions about religion
1) it misrepresents the origins of man (sic) and the cosmos
2) that (1) makes it maximally servile and maximally solipsistic
3) it results/causes a dangerous sexual repression
4) it is grounded on wish thinking.

Atheism, on the other hand, embraces principles of science and reason rather than faith. Most religions are either irrational and easily turned to violence, or have turned to an "admirable but nebulous humanism" (and here he cites Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and theologian hanged to refusing to cooperate with Nazis).

I'm going to say that this is a good pick, in terms of strategy. Bonhoeffer is an official saint in several mainline Protestant(ish) denominations, including my own, and his theology is widely read and respected for its focus on social justice. I don't know him well enough to say if he's a liberation theologian, actually, but he's on my To-Read list. Picking Bonhoeffer effectively defangs several strands of Christian thought as "nebulous humanism" rather than the actual religion that Mr Hitchens finds objectionable. However, speaking for the nebula, I don't think we'd agree with his assessment.

Religion, Mr. Hitchens writes, has served its purpose for furthering humanity- it will survive as a vestige of a less advance era, but it has nothing new to say. Atheism is not just an opposition to wonder and amazement- pictures from the Hubble telescope will bring about more awe than Moses and a burning bush.

Consolation, a major component of the point of religion, seems to Mr Hitchens to be better served by actually addressing the harms that influence people's drive to turn to religion rather than merely providing comfort. (Yes, he quotes Marx. No, it's not terribly sensationalist- it's a decent reading of Marx's line, from what I know of him.)

The most devastating critique to be made of religion, Mr Hitchens claims, is that it is man-made. Believers claim to know everything, down to the nubbins, and that is deeply arrogant. To claim certainty is just dead wrong.

Moving into his next argument, Mr Hitchens does not want to abolish religion (which he thinks is impossible anyways), but rather to just leave it alone, and be left alone by it. But this is not to be. For! Mr Hitchens dramatically ends the chapter, "Religion poisons everything."

*The Episcopal Church maintains that it is both Catholic and reformed. This has some interesting ecumenical ramifications. For instance, when the Roman Catholic church decided that baptisms were only valid when done in "the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit", the Episcopal Church made damned sure that its priests were using that EXACT PHRASE in baptisms. Now, we're free to use a more radical interpretation of the Trinity right after it, but there's now a rule. Reciprocally, when the Methodists and Quakers ordained woman, the Roman Catholic church gave not a single damn. When the Episcopalians did it- big. effing. deal.

My thoughts on this are a bit mixed. Mr Hitchens seems to want to claim himself as a smartass intellectual asshole so that he can proceed to be just that without remorse. It's an choice that gives him a lot of leeway to be smarmy.

On the other hand, he's also arguing cleverly- see the Bonhoeffer note. But he while he pushes the nice religious folks who think that they are doing religion onto the sidelines, he does not offer a clear definition of religion to compare. Which, admittedly, most religious scholars have a huge amount of trouble doing- religion is hard to effectively pin down. Religion can be defined in such a way as to leave out all the nice stuff, or to include only the nice stuff and not the violent stuff, and lots of people do just that. I'm feeling like it's kind of sloppy but! maybe he's doing something with it that will make it clear why later.

On the "radical and devastating critique" that religion is "man-made," I'm not feeling particularly wowed by that. I mean, while I'm in the nebula of fluffy nice people who only think that we're doing religion, I actually think that it's a fairly well-acknowledged idea that a lot of what a particular religion does it arbitrary and that something else might be just as valid, which acknowledges that religion (at least parts of it) are man-made. Pluralism kind of makes the idea that aspects of religion are influenced by humans not terribly shocking. I waved around a metal ball full of burning incense this Sunday because there's Christians comes from a ritual history that thinks frankincense communicates something about the divine, humanity, and honor- I'm prepared to admit that this is historically contingent.

However, my feeling of threatenedness (or not) may not be the rubric by which Mr. Hitchens wishes to be measured.

On one note, however, I'm going to be clear: every time Mr Hitchens uses the word "man" to mean "humanity" or "human beings," I feel [sic].
kitewithfish: (Default)
I'm sipping down a cup of tea with a pile of homework that I should be doing sits comfortably next to me.

I've changed my thesis project- I'm considering writing something on the New Atheists philosophy, with reference to the thoughts of some of the major thinkers I've read and enjoyed. I'm vaguely considering writing up some of my notes for this blog-thing- would anyone be interested? I'll be starting with "God is Not Great" by Christopher Hitchens, and I'm planning to continue reading through a few big names before I really start digging into the philosophy of it.

In other news, my dear and delighted language study bunch has returned to having study sessions at 5pm- this is the time I'm normally cooking dinner before the Gentleman gets home.

I've started to exercise a little bit- only four days in a row so far, and it is NOT a New Year's Resolution (TM), but it feels... sustainable. I do a little bit of crunches and push-ups and then mostly a bit of prancing about and throwing punches and kicks when the dance moves fail me. I put something interesting to watch on in the background and use that to time myself. I stop when I want to, I stretch when I want to, I get more intense when I want to- it's quite nice.

There are some people, I think, who really enjoy the feeling of being "in their body," for lack of a better term. They like the feel of being attentive and careful with their bodies as they are exercising and moving around. I don't do that- I exercise best when I am not thinking about my body, when I am distracted and my body is just a nice stable hum in the background, doing what I need it to. Paying too much attention to it just makes me stumble and get worried about it something feels wrong or right
kitewithfish: You are the warm rock that my happy lizard self lies upon. (lizardhappy;somethingpositive;)
It barely 6pm here, and I've fed the Gentleman (who was out since 1pm whacking people in armor with sticks, and dodging).

The both of us can barely keep our eyes open- when he came in at 5:30, I was halfway dozed off over an episode of The Closer. I just barely managed to notice "Hey, that's the door. I'm being robbed." before nodding back off. (Somehow it didn't seem urgent.)

So I lied

Jan. 2nd, 2012 09:11 pm
kitewithfish: (Default)
I wrote that last post with all the hopes of reassuring myself that I am cool and nonchalant and totally okay with not being in control of things, because when you are okay with not being in control that is just like being in control.

Facts are facts- I'm not quite panicking. Quite.

But there are some lovely things that sustain me, and that's a good feeling. Permit me to share a few.


My Gentleman has a job that he loves and it pays well and gives him health insurance, and when we get hitched it will give me health insurance.

We live in a safe and comfy apartment and have all our needs for food and shelter well met.

My bad tendon in my foot is getting slowly better as I work on it, and it feels less hurty all the time.

I have gotten a haircut short enough that the back of my neck is no longer a mullet.

My family is all in good health and employed in jobs that they like and they're doing okay.

Cooking is both necessary and relaxing, so doing it doesn't really count as procrastinating. I have learned a new way to cut up an onion that is much much faster, so I cry less on the whole doing that.

I will be moving out of this apartment in the summer, rather than the freezing winter, and I will be able to see the new place and make judgements on its kitchen.
kitewithfish: (eowyn;lotr;bitches)
I am going to make it through this year if it kills me

If all goes according to plan, this year I will be

-writing my masters thesis
-defending it.
-finishing my graduate degree.
-moving into another home in the same city.
-marrying my Gentleman.
and, nonchronologically,
-getting a job.

For all but that last one, I've got a pretty solid plan.

It seems like it's going to be a lot to do. But there's something inspiring about the sheer bald boldness of a single singer who calls himself "The Mountain Goats" that's kind of inspiring.

Let's be honest. I have no idea what I'm doing, and neither does anyone else have any idea what they are doing, if they're doing anything interesting or brave. The easy stuff we don't think about too much, the hard stuff tends to loom large until we get past it and look back. I'll figure it out.

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.
kitewithfish: (Default)
Apropos of nothing but Dirty Jobs.

I'm at my parents' home, which entails all of the usual adjustments of going from MY HOME to living in someone else's. I am, at best, curmudgeonly towards my parents' cats- they moved in last year around this time, but I only met them this summer. They like to knock over things that I own and I really cannot predict at all where they will get into- it's like living with squirrels.

My brother, the major reason for the cats' existence in this home, will be arriving by plane in the next few hours, to my joy and amusement. He's delightful, and I've only seen him in once in the last year- not okay. When my Gentleman got home from our joint visit to my parents (with HIS parents as well, big big deal), he found a birthday gift from my brother waiting for me. My birthday is November 23rd. :D

SIgh

Dec. 7th, 2011 08:59 am
kitewithfish: (Default)
I've been resisting doing the "OMG It's finals and I'm overwhelmed!" but... it's finals, and I'm overwhelmed.

(Admitting that feels better. Not that I've not been talking about it, but my usual conversation partner for this is usually the Gentleman, and he does not do anxiety or being overwhelmed very well. The sarcastic bluff bonhomie that usually helps me laugh my way out of the doldrums tends to fade when I am doing finals period.)

It will all be done soon, and I will get to pack my bags and head to Massacusetts.
kitewithfish: (Default)
I have had a long and annoying struggle with upgrading my internet, or should I say, helping SOMEONE in his mad scheme to get faster internet over the pokey but reliable internet that already worked.

I could go on, but it would only swiftly become a rant with no redeeming humor. It's the same old story of "We thought this would be simple and nice to have, but it's hard to get and not worth the effort."

The end result is internet that, while hooked up properly for the first time in two weeks (after six technician visits and two days of my time), is now noticeably slower than the "slow" internet setup we had before that took no installation and had worked for two years. And technician #7 will be showing up later today.

However! On the redeeming side, I finally got the intestinal fortitude to put my foot down and make that SOMEONE be the new pointperson for handling this, so while the internet might be going in and out again, I don't have to deal with it firsthand anymore. (I actually got a call a few hours ago, that AT&T was running ahead of schedule and could they come earlier? Nope! I have planns, suckers! which I will not be canceling for you, unlike the first two times you decided to drop by and stay for four hours.) I'm willing to call that a win at the moment. I expect that by the end of the day we will get back to the first service we had, if possible, and that will be the end of that.

In other news, I'm learning Croatian/Bosnian/Serbian to impress the future in-laws and it's going quite nicely. I think that the class introducing more grammar than they need to, right off the bat, but I've got German, Latin, and Greek under my belt so the stuff that is throwing other students off is old hat to me.

I have a thesis that I need to work on, but it's not happening today- the internet is too pokey for me to be able to do the kind of heavy research that I need to do.
kitewithfish: (Default)
Since Diigo seems determined to make their service a fandom-unfriendly place, I have decided to cough up the money for a Pinboard account. I don't like the thing about the sign-up fee, but I'm willing to stomach it once. The import seems to have gone on alright: check it out

I am worried, though, about what's going to happen to all the organizing and thought that went into organizing the tagging and referencing of comment fic challenges. The Dresden Kink Meme, previous organized on Delicious, rocked my world and showed a whole lot of anon!talent- what's fandom going to do for this kind of crossreferencing in the future? Separate Pinboard accounts for each challenge seem like it would get more costly than anyone would want to admit.
kitewithfish: (Default)
Well, I waited to see how the new Delicious owners would handle the service, and wow. It's pretty awful. So, to Diigo with my bad self, and we'll see if I've screwed up my bookmarks after all.
kitewithfish: (Default)
Earlier this week was the social Drink-and-Chat-athon that always precedes the start of the school year. It's the first time we get to meet the new crop of students, true, but more importantly, it's the first time we've see EACH OTHER since the panicked final days of class.

And in true form, much merriment was had. I did try to do more listening and worry less about entertaining people so that they like me, but it's still by nature an dance of an event rather than a sit-in. We all orbited slowly round each other, relating our summers and occasionally rocketing off for more beer. I was glad to see people back, but there were some highlights:

-ZEBEDIAH*, the older student in my cohort who's recovering from a very strict black-and-white religious background, had gone to boot camp and chaplain training for much of the summer. He came back looking lean and whippet-like and a bit haunted by the experience, but not really able to put it into words yet.

-STUBBLE* has gotten into a dual degree program and will not be around as much.

-GHANDI** has come back from his musical travels and I'm just generally less jealous of him than I used to be.

*Not the real name.
** Not the real ethnicity of said person.
kitewithfish: (Default)
The pace of my grad school life tends towards intensity with periodic moments of panicked relaxation. I've gotten so used to being pushed to my limits and the corresponding thrill of learning and doing so much in a short period of time that taking a break requires re-learning how to slow down.

This summer was much the same: my summer gig, being a chaplain at a very very poor hospital, pounced on me just hours after I managed to finish my final papers and shoo my in-laws-to-be out the door. Just before the end of that, the Boy started his permanent (ihopeihopeihope) job and I had to start cooking for the two of us. I got about two weeks to myself, mostly for vegetative purposes, before rocketing off to my family home for a week to do some wedding planning at breakneck pace.

And now, school is about to start up again- my last year looks like it's shaping up nicely, but I'm currently trying to get my ducks in a row in terms of health care before the quarter starts up. I've some sleeping to do, which always seems to come best when I end my day totally exhausted and need to be in shape to get ready for the next incredibly difficult job. The breakneck pace has gotten to be a habit, and while I sometimes hate it, I just enough rope not to hang myself.

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