Steam/Smoke

I thought this was supposed to be a happy ending, the siblings me and this Huntress have protected from werewolves, a dragon made of stoves, pans, clockwork and steam their witch of a stepmother created.  A witch of the most lethal intent.
Have I gone and shown how much of a fool I am? The youngest son of a blacksmith who can’t even help these children when they need me the most.  We reached Scarborough, the city that moves across the land, where their grandmother lives.  Just to have our journey end with their father and a king in our midst.
“Son, daughter.  Please come back home with me, your stepmother and I were worried sick” The father plead.  The siblings hid behind me and the Huntress.  Her black smoke rifle steady in her hands but not in a position to make issue.  I looked at the son, the trials we had overcome, his sister right beside him the whole way.  Me and the Huntress experiencing an adventure of strength and determination.  We became so close we could be considered a family by passerby.  The look in the son’s eyes was genuine, he would never go back.
“It would seem they’re pretty determined to leave you behind, they wish to live with their grandmother” the Huntress said causing the king to chuckle among us, his men confused.
“My children will not find their grandmother inside those walls, for she has proceeded to the next life some time ago” a carriage approached from behind the father and the king.  Out stepped a woman of genuine discomfort and unease, it was to my belief from the feeling I had and the trembling hands of the siblings, this was the stepmother they spoke of.  A witch capable of creating monsters that attack children.  A vile woman shelled in a beauty a fool would want.  The father seemed to be of good nature but a man of poor choice in love.  For if this is what he decides is a true love he is more blind than those who walk without sight.
I know not what I should do at this moment, my heart wants the siblings to have true happiness, but with their grandmother gone all our work falls on empty hope.  But a hand reaches to me.  The Huntress wishes for my attention.  The look in her eyes is all I need to know what our next option is.
“Then me and this huntress will take the children in, to care for and train”
“That’s absurd” the stepmother said “My king, of our many kings.  Please order your incompetent soldier to know his place” her slithering voice made the blood in my arms boil, my white steam rifle itching to meet her.  The king chuckled once more.
“It is clear these children are aware of an immediate threat within their own home, and wish to retreat.  My Soldier and this Huntress wish for the better of these children, which is in his right as a soldier of our country.  If he wishes this responsibility I will allow it” Everyone looked in surprise and silence to the kings words.  The father most surprised, his eyes must have been opened to a potential sight he was ignorant to.  Stepmother was upset in many degrees.
“My king, surely you see the predicament we face.  These children belong to my husband and me, not to these foolish heathens” Stepmother wished to cause these siblings harm by her hand, a witch through and through.  My heart filled with anger towards her, and the displeasure she had towards these children.
“If you wish to take your children back, than as king I demand a duel between the parents and the surrogates.  A duel to the death if necessary” I knew this king could be outrageous at times but this is a whole new level.  The father was no warrior, his knees buckled, the stepmother however had already started a spell, spirals of red magic swirling around her.  The Huntress moved the siblings out of danger and took spot in shadow to prepare her black smoke rifle.
Is this right? Is this still beneficial for the siblings? I look at the eldest brother, young but a heart so strong, nothing would break it.  He knew what had to be done as did his sister, she had a heart of radiant warmth capable of healing.  Their father would live and they knew it.  He would have to live with the choice he made.  I knew then, I had to take care of them. Me and the Huntress would.
It was decided, If I could, I will make the stepmother submit.  Allowing her to live so as to keep the siblings from seeing her death, I held confidence the Huntress felt the same way.  She had a lover who was turned into a werewolf whom she ended with her own hand during our journey.  Had she become a true love of mine? Time will tell.  In this moment we would fight to protect the siblings once again from their wicked stepmother.  Her magic a weapon against us.  My white steam rifle a weapon against her, along with Huntress’ black smoke rifle.  The two of us together will wrestle her into defeat.  We just want a chance for the siblings, our children, to live happily ever after.


Steam (POV change)
Smoke
All this work we have done.  All for nothing.  Fighting the true love of mine who had turned to the ways of the werewolf.  Ended by my own hand.  A dragon made from cookery and clocks defeated by the youngest son of a blacksmith, now a soldier beside me.  A bit of a fool, but a heart capable of moving mountains.  If it meant that our Siblings could live happily ever after he would do it too.
Their father, a foolish coward of a man.  Stands before us now, with a king in tow.  This king knew me well.  Being a former member of his elite guard I ventured off to become a Huntress and to make a new life with my true love.  Once he disappeared I had no choice but to go after him meeting the Soldier and the Siblings along the way.  They spoke of the city Scarborough, a moving city.  A place I had longed to see since I was a child.  Now that we were here their father had caught up with us.
“Son, daughter.  Please come back home with me, your stepmother and I were worried sick” He said through genuine fear for their condition.  They moved not an inch from us.
“It would seem they’re pretty determined to leave you behind, they wish to live with their grandmother” I said, stating the wish they had from the beginning.
“My children will not find their grandmother inside those walls, for she has proceeded to the next life some time ago” Grandmother is gone? And he never told them.  A true coward to the marrow in his bones.  A stagecoach appeared and a woman appeared.  The clothing gave her away, A witch, a powerful one at that.  I would enjoy defeating her.  My black smoke rifle was not ready to fire but that’ll change soon enough.  I touched the Soldier, gave him a look that said we could take care of the Siblings by ourselves.  I didn’t know how, but I knew we could do it, we’ve come this far, we can keep going.
“Then me and this huntress will take the children in, to care for and train” the Soldier said, with as much courage as he could muster.
“That’s absurd” the stepmother said “My king, of our many kings.  Please order your incompetent soldier to know his place” She was making my hands tremble in excitement I’ve never fought a witch before.
“It is clear these children are aware of an immediate threat within their own home, and wish to retreat.  My Soldier and this Huntress wish for the better of these children, which is in his right as a soldier of our country.  If he wishes this responsibility I will allow it” the king chuckled
“My king, surely you see the predicament we face.  These children belong to my husband and me, not to these foolish heathens” the Stepmother said, sneering at the king.
“If you wish to take your children back, than as king I demand a duel between the parents and the surrogates.  A duel to the death if necessary” it was time.  The father dropped to his knees as he should, the Stepmother started a spell.  I escorted the Siblings to a safe spot before hiding in the shadows.  I readied my black smoke rifle.  This is right, defeating the Stepmother will ensure the Siblings a happy life.  But the Soldier seems unsure of what to do with her, I’ll leave him to decide her fate.  So long as the children get to live happily ever after.

Tool (Death Incorporated)

That day? Yes I remember it, the day I realized why it is that I am a tool for Death to use.  A mere item for him to send off to do his work.  It was years ago, before I even met Death.  I was still living at home.  The ones I referred to as my parents were, as any other day, oblivious to my existence.  Research and progress in the ways of science were more important than my well being, but it was supposed to be that way, A necessary ignorance in order to allow them to train me, to make me who I am to become.

"thats not good enough" he would say. "you need to be more aggressive, don't give me an opening to make a counter" I was young, and not very strong.  Not that it mattered to him, everyday him and the other assistants to the house put me through training that would break your average soldier, and I was still in elementary.  I took up the sword, and lunged at him again, his form so elegant and pure it made me look like a rotten sack of shit.  That day was a bare knuckle day.  His fist drove into my cheek with the force of a hammer.

"get up! we're not done yet" all the time I had with him meant I had grown somewhat used to his pain, it was required for me to break the false sense of superiority I had, I had no superiority.  Never did, never will.  A tool like me has no need for such useless mindsets, he did well to extinguish the thought from my body and mind.  If it weren't for him and his team of assistants, the world as we know it today would be very different.

Whenever I was at school, nobody asked what happened to me, the way I looked it was like I had been thrown into a cement mixer filled with hammers.  Not even the teachers asked me about my injuries.  Makeup hid most of my failures from the world but not all of it.

People were miles away from me, even when they were inches away.  He did good to make them seem insignificant, yet.  So, desirable? I walked among them but not with them, like I was alienated from them but found them so fascinating I dare not intrude upon them.  Like I could very well spoil their humble lives.

"get up Mercedes, we are not finished, now come at me again!" My children's books were replaced with fighting manuals, time with 'friends' was time with firearms, vacations were replaced with sleepless treks through mountains and deserts across the world.  Dinner time was filled with mends to wounds I had been dealt.  There was one thing, however, that did not change.  In all my time with him, with them, one thing that stayed the way it was meant to be.

Dessert.

Whether it be a slice of the most delicious cake, a handful of the best cookies in the world, a wedge of the sweetest pie, dessert was one small thing in my life I did look forward to.  If I did good I was rewarded with the finest sweets they could make.  I guess, it was a form of motivation.  As I got older, the rewards got smaller, I started to work harder to get what was given.  Then the moment came that told me what I am.

"Your holding back, focus on me and strike me down!" I talked back to him.  I was upset, angry with him that he took my reward away bit my bit.  I lashed out at him in a fit of rage, and he came back at me with the most important thing he could have ever done for me.  He parried my pathetic strike, hit me with all of his strength.  So hard he broke some ribs and punctured a lung, but those were nothing compared to his finishing blow.

"Remember your place Mercedes, you are a tool.  The greatest tool to have ever been crafted in this universe. I have the privilege of making you that tool, even if I have to break you a few times to make it perfect!" with the sword he gave me, he drove it through my leg, causing irreparable damage.  That day, was the last day I walked on two legs.

The next day he came to me, standing behind what he said.  He handed me a cane, a heavy iron cane that has since disappeared.  I stared at that cane, feeling it.  Swung it around and took its overall measure.  It might as well have been a hammer.  Thats when I realized it.

I am a tool, nothing more than a tool used for the benefit of others, a support for much more than just my existence.  A column for all the world to weigh on and more.  I am not a person, I am a tool.  The greatest tool ever crafted.  I had been awakened, been reborn.

I had been shown my destiny.

I had been broken.

White Russian (Random)

Another day, another drink on this mahogany bar I've grown so used to.  The same scratch marks, the same glasses, hell even the teasing percussion on the back of my ears felt familiar from times past.  I'm sure if I had given it my audience I would have found it to be unrecognized.

I lifted my glass and finished the first drink of the night, my beloved white russian.  I gestured the bartender who gave me his nod, the same one he's given me since my first night here.  Seems like centuries since then.  "Another white russian please" his nod I'd grown so fond of gave segue to the birth of my next glass of the night.  Vodka and coffee liqueur danced together in a spiral towards the stage of shimmering glass, flowing with the grace that is appreciated by so few as it settled around the seats of ice.  Curtain call came with the cream, a billowing conclusion to my drink of choice.  The bartender settled the drink and placed his signature nod.  I drew the glass in, admiring the scent.

I felt so at peace in this moment, the constant pace of work gave little retreat into moments like this, it would be safer to say it was void of any silent happiness to the core.  The constant rearranging of rare, exotic machinery across the country was no easy task.

Enough of that, I'm in my world now.  Here to stay as long as I need.

"So, come here often?" I heard from behind me, a smooth and majestic query settled in the seat beside me, almost as if it were a light gust flowing by.  I looked, a slight turn of the head presented a figure of which I have never seen in person.  My attention ensnared I took a full view of the intensity that has taken interest in me.  Pearl skin wrapped in a silk of red I couldn't take my eyes off.  The one thing that was more breathtaking than the deep red were the eyes.  Eyes of glistening amethyst  framed in locks darker than the grim reapers cloak.  She was unlike anything I've ever seen before, I found it hard to even think that her upward inflected statement was directed at me, if her sight wasn't latched onto me I would have never answered her.

"Often? sometimes it feels like I never leave" after I said it, I wished I hadn't.  What a stupid thing to say.

"That sounds nice" velvet letters across my ears.  Did I say something right?

"It seems like I'm burdened to never see the same faces, feel the same familiar scratches in the bar.  The glasses, the crystal on the shelves.  I envy that" her fingernail played at the scars in the mahogany, scars I was familiar with.  Memory's prodded at the back of my mind.

"So, what are you having this go'round?" She gestured at my drink with a finger.  What did I get? How stupid am I.  Getting so lost like that, I must have looked ridiculous.  I made slow retreat to a more proper, upright posture.

"White russian, my usual" A smile sailed around her porcelain skin.  She leaned in, showing her interest.

"My personal favorite" her fingers interlaced "My personal sanctuary in a world of noise" She snapped her fingers, the bartender nodded.

"A white russian please, and put his on my check if you would" The bartender nodded, did she just pay for my drink? Confusion started to make root.  I'm nobody, a regular, a head in the clouds.  Yet, somehow this, which is something that could very well be from my wildest dreams is conversing with me.  I feel frustration blooming.

Am I dreaming? Or could it be that I've dipped into a dementia like state? I feel numb, but a wave of warmth overwhelms the back of my hand.  She touched me, her thumb massaging my knuckles, one after another.  She smiled at me.  A smile so comforting, so welcoming I couldn't help but crack a smile of my own. A genuine smile, not the kind I masquerade with.  She brought her drink up to view.

"A toast, to the drink of peace and solitude in a world of ambient noise and distraction" A toast.  Well, if this is in fact a dream or a joyful moment of dementia, I have no reason not to indulge in it.  I raise my glass, give it a gentle knock against hers, and we trade another smile.  Bigger than the last.

I feel again, the faded shirt on my back, the weight of the coat behind it.  The percussion teased my ears again, the radiating warmth of her hand still holding mine.  The pulsating healing warmth drew me out of the near dead state I had occupied for years now, a state of cynicism and reality I had grown used to seemed further away for a moment.

Please, stop time.  Even just for this moment.

Formal poems (Homework)

Rose of war (revision


Here I am standing in the center
Standing between lovers of combat and war
The tools of men’s hate that beg for no more
Than to make rupture that my heart cannot render
For in this place I am not a contender
Their armor and weapons that beg for much more
The blood in their hands is beginning to pour
Here I am standing in the center
The armor behind me is ready to fight
To take on the soldiers of hate
Thick armor plating to protect her today
The woman ahead is off in mid flight
To reel in the opposing forces like bait
Her weapon like body protects her this day

Madness

What is this thing we call madness really

Is it a thing for us to fear or to avoid hastily

What if its related to another of strong choice

A word with such immense power and poise

That its capable of corrupting almost equally

The word I’m talking about is of course is bravery

don’t you think it’s a close resemblance anyway

They both dig in and move you with choice

Madness is a choice of anger and hostility

Bravery is a decision of strength and sincerity

One of hate one of love such influencing voice

Warmth of blood or lovers hand it is your choice

Madness and bravery are one in the same equally

A waste of time and money?

So if you didn't know from my recent posts, I've been in a writing class.  Intro to creative writing 2250.  This class, is something that I've been trying to get into for the past 2+ years of school.  Its only a single class so it fills up really quick when registration comes around.  I was lucky to get a seat, or so I thought.

I just had mid-terms last week and at this point in the class, I don't like it.  Its not the classmates, most of them are tolerable.  The issue I'm having here is the content being taught and the teacher.  I'm going to say it, I don't like the teacher.  From the get-go I didn't.  In all the time I've had in the class she has not left a good impression on me.  But the biggest deal in the class for me is the content we're dealing with. Its a creative writing class and all the homework is disgustingly specific.  Homework A has to be done in this format and style or else its not acceptable.  Homework U must be completely broken down and rewritten in a format ranging from 1-5. Homework L has to be a formal poem down to the umpteenth degree.

Now I understand its important to see and try various forms of writing but I feel the class is limiting.  When everything has to be done in a specific way the creativity falls into a bottleneck.  Not a single piece of writing I've done for the class has had my full heart into it (exclude one or two maybe) I haven't been inspired at all in this class and my lack of interest is starting to impact my grade.  I took mid-term and didn't do so well, and I don't care that much.

I keep telling myself that this isn't something in my major (which is still undeclared) and that just makes me daydream the class away "Ok, a formal poem and last weeks assignment must be redone in a new style... great..." The teacher throws out the names of other writers and I'm sitting here thinking 'who the hell is that?'

Since starting college I haven't felt this frustrated with a class in a LONG time.  Pretty much my first batch of classes were a waste of my time and money as I took other classes I started to get better rounded in how the college life works, I've found teachers I like (one I hope to get into next semester for another round of psychology) teachers I hate (most of my auto shop teachers) and teachers that didn't wow me (intro to English)

Is this class a waste of time? maybe, maybe not.  Have I learned anything? not much that feels can improve me as a writer (a writer of fiction to be specific) cause thats what I wanted from this class.  Improvement, the ability to write something I have heart in, let my classmates tell me how it was and let me revise it.

I don't like this class.  I worked hard to get the seat I have and I no longer want it.  I had high expectations for this class, just to have it become a disappointment.

Safety and emissions

I've been asked questions about this before so i'll try to give a few pointers for how to prepare for this test.

The information I'm going over is related to the standards set by the state of Utah, every state is different so your mileage may vary.

A basic rule before getting your test done is to know whether or not you need the test at all.  in 2011 cars from 2010 to 2006 that are even numbered do not need a test, if its an odd year car you will need it. If your from out of state these standards are the same (you want utah plates you go by utah standards, likely the same for other states too)

call ahead of time to see when the best time to come in is.  its easy and beats waiting in line for excessive time.

Make sure you have proper paperwork with you at the time of the test.  You are required to have your current registration and insurance in your car at ALL times.  make sure to have these with you and easily accessible to whoever might need it.  If you just bought the car the title/bill of sale are acceptable to bring so long as your information is on it and its accurate 100%

A law in Utah is that inspectors are not allowed to tell you if your car 'fails' prior to the test. Its the law.  If your curious as to whether or not something might be rejected ask us what the law regarding that specific thing is. we can tell you the written law but we're not supposed to outright say "yeah that'll fail"

Before you take it to be tested stop and think if theres anything that might cause a rejection.  is that crack in the windshield too long? are your windows tinted too dark? what about your tires? from your knowledge of your car think about whats not working right, you might need to fix it.

Now you can go get tested. when you arrive it'll take (should) around 20 minutes to test it properly.  The older the car the more time it'll take.  schedule enough time so your not in a rush.

Be polite and respectful, it does you no good to cause a scene by screaming and yelling if your car is rejected.  remember your still in public.  make sure you understand what the problem is, we're here to help you. and remember you might have to go back.

If you feel your car has been rejected for an unjust reason, contact the Utah highway patrol.  They're in charge of the safety portion of the program and the emissions is controlled by the Salt lake valley health department (SLVHD) if you have questions or concerns let them know.

There are many places in Utah that can inspect cars.  Dealerships, some gas stations, jiffylube and its spin offs, and there are locations that only do safety and emissions.  And they all have different types of people and standards for what is inspected (although they all should be the same... their not)

jiffylubes (and likely their spinoff's) are not repair stations, they are inspection stations.  They cannot make major repairs on your vehicle. where as a dealership can.  so take into consideration who you go to for the inspection and whether or not you trust them.

Being an inspector I have seen many many MANY cars, yours is not special to me.

Every year (seriously) the rules change so if your car passes for something your aware of, don't be surprised if it doesn't pass next year, the more risque the more likely it is to be rejected.

If your car passes for something and fails the next year, remember we are all human.  it might have passed last year because the inspector was careless/forgot/didn't care/whatever.  report any concerns to their respective overseers

Your car/truck/motorcycle/RV is not exempt from anything in the safety and emissions program. Period. If its explicitly marked in our manual its liable to whatever standard is set.

Get your car inspected at the same place every year.  Build a (positive) reputation at your station of choice, don't go to new ones every year, you'll wish you didn't.

We understand some of you are curious about what happens during testing, the more you bother your inspector the longer it takes for the test to finish.  I personally hate it when people look over my shoulder. Be patient.

Building a relationship with your station is important, it allows you to better understand who it is your working with.  And their more likely to want to talk to you and help.

As an inspector I hate cars with little 'nuances'.  if it takes a group of scientists to open your door/roll down the windows/start the car. be aware that those might be grounds for rejection based on the severity.

Your car is your responsibility, you bought it you get to fix it. you are 1 out of potentially 20+ cars a day that get this test at a single station.

The month your car is due, is when its supposed to be done.  If its due in February, do it in February. Not March/July/November/January.  And the further you push the inspection to the end of the month, thats time lost to getting repairs done.  If you show up on the last day of the month and get rejected its YOUR fault.  Don't blame us for your procrastination.  If you do go over the month and get pulled over, show the officer your getting the work done, there is no guarantee he won't ticket you.

Take into consideration the condition of your car, not based on your standards.  everyone loves their car.  what you might see as your precious point A to point B car. is potentially the next pile of crap to be tested. cars are not created equal (especially when owners are added to the equation) your car might meet your expectations but your expectations are not the same as Utah's.

If you feel that a certain rejection is outrageous, take a moment to consider why it might be a rejection.  broken bumpers that stick out can cause injury to people walking by.  Battery braces keep your battery from causing fires or even exploding.  cracked windows obscure your line of sight.

Check engine lights/ service engine soon lights are a big deal.  If that little orange light is on, something potentially serious is wrong with your car.  the longer you drag it out, the worse it can become and therefore, more expensive to repair.

Many vehicles that come in are not ready for the emissions test (if your car is '96 and newer), that comes up on your paperwork as 'not ready' that means you have disconnected your battery or have battery issues and memory is not being kept in the cars computer.  Getting a car ready shouldn't be difficult if you follow the proper procedure.  all makes and models are not created equally when it comes to 'not ready' status.  Some are easy and many are not.  If you come up not ready call the dealership of your make.  Ask them for the "Manufacturers recommended drive cycles" doing this will optimize your chances of becoming ready by the time you return.  Keep in mind it may take more than one try.

Big expensive cars have big expensive repairs, end of story. things like oil changes and light bulbs turn into big deals the more you pay per month. Big brand names are big bucks every month.  that payment is not the only major expense you'll make with that car from gas to oil to wiperblades.

thats about it, if I remember something I'll add it later.  feel free to pass this information on to other people you know.

Rage (Homework)

My life is stressful.  Every moment of everyday.  At work is where I’ll focus cause that’s where the brunt of my stress happens.  Now I’m just a messenger, here to inform you.  You however, don’t see it that way.  What I do for work is inspect cars.  I go out of my way to look into every nook and cranny, every crevice and open space.  Any rubber pieces or rubbing metals.  This is what I do.
But the rules I work by are not of my own decision, if something is 2/32 out of spec its my job to make sure to tell you that this has to be fixed.  But instead of acting like civilized people who are respectful and understanding, they let out a form of rage equal to the power of the sun.
A white truck, just a small one.  The owner says its for his job, seems like a nice fellow.  I do my job and his turn out comes red.  I tell him of his windshield that is out of legal acceptance.  After five minutes of explaining that he has no choice but to fix it he refuses to pay.  I’m fed up by this time and allow my manager to deal with it.  Him and the customer walk out and view the situation.  I’m gone, working on other things.  After a minute I hear “Scott call the cops!” my heart races like I’ve stomped on the gas.  I whip my phone out and dial those three little numbers.  The cop appears “Pay them or come with me” lets just say he paid.
A family’s mini-van.  Dad brought it in to get its inspection.  He informs me that he has disengaged his horn cause his child has seizures or something like that.  A stupid move if you ask me, but I take it in stride.  If I decide to make him fix it he’ll just drive down the road, fix it and come right back.  I mark it in my notes and continue.  I sit in the car and almost fall into the backseat.  His seat is broken, and not in a simple way.  I mark him red for that and he leaves.  Time goes by and I have a phone call, its dad.  Talk about upset.  He thinks I’m a pushover, he doesn’t know me very well.  “I can’t afford to fix that!” he said “See if you can get a waiver from the highway patrol” I reply “I don’t think that’ll work!” “Then get it fixed” we repeat this process for a few minutes.  Me just sending him in circles and him getting even more mad with every lap we run.  He hangs up on me and I smile in victory, I haven’t seen him since.
An orange jeep.  Now this one I didn’t do personally but I was there for the storm it brought.  Daughters jeep needs smaller tires, she doesn’t really care.  Daddy however does, quite a bit.  He pulls into our lot like he’s in a race “Where is your inspector!!” he yells, making over exaggerated hand gestures.  Turns out his inspector is our manager, and he too has a short fuse.  Staying out of eyesight me and my colleagues listen in on the back and forth.  Daddy storms out to his car, arms flailing like he was on fire and our manager on his heels pointing his finger.  He probably wished it was a gun, I know I would “You people are outrageous bastards!!” Daddy yells out “You sir are out of control” manager yells back.  I don’t like our manager but its moments like this that made me glad he was around, makes things entertaining for the rest of us.
 A white jeep.  This one was pretty recent.  Surprise surprise, it’s another jeep with big tires.  This one also came over the phone.  “Those tires have been that way for over ten years and everyone has passed them!” he says with a stern and upset tone “Says here in the book its got to be dealt with” we go back and forth he wants me to pass his truck and I say no.  He hangs up and I never hear from him again.
It seems to me that people like to make me the bad guy, when in actual standing I’m not.  I’m here as a representative, a messenger.
I would like to apologize for protecting you from yourself, cause its all my fault.