Dimensions

Mountains. I have fallen in love with mountains, and valleys, and tree lines, and rock slides, and canyons. And I miss them dearly. When you have spent your entire life in Houston you don't realize what your missing. There is no landscape. You don't look to the horizon because there is nothing there. It's flat. It's empty. If you live in Houston, or spent any time here, you will understand just how vast the nothing is. We used to drive hours to go to the hill country. Hills. Big road humps. Did you know there are almost no natural rocks in Houston? Silt. Our dirt is silt and plant matter in all stages of decomposition. I never really thought any of it was odd. Until I met my hubby. He is very vocal about all things, mostly negative things. So he complained, in length, about all the things Houston and this entire swamp lacks. I really didn't understand. Just a mere 3 hour drive is an old rock quarry. ROCKS. There's limestone, sandstone and even granite further north. And hills! We have landscape here. Wrong. There is land, fences, keep out and private property signs. We might have landscape hours away, but it's not ours. Texans don't have landscape, some land owners have a little bit. But there's Big Bend, which is about a day away. I've never been. It might be really beautiful, but I really have no desire to spend a week or more there to hike. Maybe I haven't seen the right pictures, articles, hike guides. Maybe not. Then my hubs takes me to Arizona. All I could think about was fucking desert. All that sand and no damn beach. Below mountains start appearing and he's telling me all about them. They're beautiful. I want to see them all. Then we land in the desert. Sand, cactus, and beyond that is peaks. So incredible. My entire world just had another dimension added. Out there. Amazing. This is not my first time to leave Texas. I've been all over the south from Mexico to Georgia. Nothing compares. Perhaps it was my age at the time, or how distracted I was with other things when visiting these places. But Arizona mesmerized me. A short trip north from Phoenix and we were in Sedona. The layers upon layers in the stones that told eons of secrets I didn't understand, the canyon hike from desert to pine, the jeep trail to the top of a butte where the stars suddenly were infinite, the lynx that paused to peer at us on the step ride down... I was in love. And needed more. A 9 hour hike was a trial for us. We live at sea level, Sedona is 4500 or so above that. It was early spring and blessedly cool, but we forgot to hydrate. There is no comparison to mountain bike trails, what we had in Houston to prepare, and canyon trails. We were sore, foot sore, dehydrated and a bit oxygen deprived. But I still needed to see it all. Further north to Flagstaff where snow on the ground had all the trails closed, then across the rim where the snow was still feet deep in the shade. Snow. Lots of it. We stopped multiple times, played in the snow, took mesmerising pictures and kept heading north. The Grand Canyon. Go. Don't hesitate, put it on your bucket list. Add Sedona Canyon hike & Flagstaff mountain hike to that list. I climbed out to the furthest ledge I could find and just stared. There was snow on the canyon walls where the sun rarely reached. Plants and succulents hanging onto rocks. The valley was vast and swept me away. Unfortunately we were not able to do any hikes down because we were still recovering from our hike and did not feel we could spend the time we wanted to explore. There were many other places we stopped, but those 3 changed me. It was only 3 days, 2 nights. Just the opportunities that a state with so much state and national park provide is astounding to a Texas girl. Add in the fact that you can drive 3.5 hours from desert to the tree line to the Grand Canyon, being able to stop, hike, camp & explore along the way, it turns into a life altering experience. We don't visit enough, especially now with a Sprite. However soon we will be moving to somewhere grand, awe inspiring, accessible and I can't wait. Motivation.

Brownies and bullshit

Last day of high school for my son, ever.

I wake up super early, 4ish am, because I planned on waking up at 5:30. No, it doesn't make sense, but it happened. I lay in bed, refusing to start my day that early, listening to the storm outside.

CRACK! And the walls shake. Now I'm 120% sure of 3 things. 1. One or both giant oak trees in the front yard have been struck by lightening and crushed our cars 2. I will be starting my day this early 3. I will need the dark roast set on expresso.

I pass the hall bathroom and my poor pup was curled up on a towel in the corner. She hates storms and tentatively follows me into the living room where the other two are eagerly awaiting my arrival. I open the back door to let the dogs out and they all jump back... right, rain. I leave the door open anyway.

Pecan is still in one piece in the back so I go to check the front. Pants. I forgot pants. I make it all the way to the end of my entrance, outside. Yes lol good anyway.

Coffee, breakfast, kid. My very small list of things to accomplish because my brain isn't functioning yet. Coffee CHECK! Food... food...food... nope. Because someone got hungry the night before.

Kid it is. Hugs and hugs and congratulations and excitement. He's done after today! Yay! Not the big breakfast I wanted to make, but he has coffee and is totally content.

We chat before he leaves, laugh about stuff, and I give him another big hug and tell him how proud I am before he leaves.

Totally together. I'm good, no more tears. Today is a S.T.A.T. day. Orders to catch up on before tomorrow's crazy day of graduation, family party, etc. and lots of pre manufactured orders to get out. Busy busy bus... and I dropped my phone. Which I do all the time. But this time I knew it was THAT time. And it is. Glass is horribly spidered. But it works! A worry for another day when there's more money and more fucks given.

Make my oatmeal, another coffee, sit down at the computer to do my morning checklist and totally get side tracked. Stupid interwebs.

The hubs takes over primary toddler wrangler for the day, and I... well, I work on my online store front. I'm not generally a sitter and will perch on the edge of my chair for hours if I'm cramming computer work. But today I sit back and curl into my big armchair (yes I use a recliner as a computer chair) and get totally engrossed in fixing a major error I noticed in my listings... and there goes my day.

I pack orders, don't actually do any sewing, forget to start dinner, and end day.

My hubs complains and rants about having to dress nice for the ceremony, how he's just going to get stuck with miss toddles, how horrible it's going to be to keep her settled, etc. I let him talk. I always do. And he does. In length. About everything.

One of his favorite things is to look up random subjects about anything I've mentioned, have expressed an interest in, or am doing and tell me how it's either a horrible idea, that I'm wrong, or there's a better way to do it backed up with data and facts.

I'm not a stupid person. I'm overly analytical about everything. So generally he's wrong or doesn't have a grasp on the situation.

But I let him talk. And gently steer him to my logic or sometimes even tell him he's right or wow, great idea. Because that's how we do.

Tonight, however, it was my turn to talk. Which I generally don't do.

He was making brownies and if you're making brownies, cookies or cake it's a sin not to taste the batter or dough. Multiple times. Until the bowl and spoon are clean. He gives me the look and I proceed to tell him about an article I read regarding the actual dangers and chances of getting salmonella from eating raw batter and cookie dough. Tables. Turned. He tells me he doesn't fucking care. Because he doesn't want to take the chance with Ms. Toddles. Even though the risk is higher with cooked chicken. Which she eats all the time.

Doesn't. Fucking. Care.

All the lectures I listen to DAILY about literally everything, times he's spent hours researching just to tell me I'm wrong, or to learn a different way to do something than how I do it... and he's going to tell me he doesn't care.

Fuck you.

I've watched him "try things out" multiple times when it comes to even the most important things, like our daughter. I don't tell him I don't care. I explain why I do things the way I do, why it works for me and question some of the logic. Then let him try to prove me wrong. Repeatedly.

I try to talk to him about anything and he interrupts me, takes over the conversation, and talks. I listen, maybe make a few remarks, then walk away.

And he doesn't care.

I go off.

I can literally count on both hands the number of fights we've been in. Even with my crazy anxiety. I know when something is irrational and can generally talk myself down.

But this. This infuriates me and I'm fucking justified.

I tell him how he is constantly talking, almost always negative, trying to prove me wrong, taking over conversations and turning them into lectures... and that this is why I never talk to him.

And he tries to turn it around on me. Ummm, no. I didn't say I don't care what you say. I said I LISTEN to what you have to say. I try to converse with you. Don't try to twist my words.

He's sorry. He really does care what I have to say. He's stressed about having to handle the toddles during the graduation.

Suck it up. Stay home or deal with it. Everyone is anxious about my hubs being there because it's always a shitstorm of negative remarks and why anything we're doing is pointless and stupid when the sprite is there.

Does he listen to what I suggest? Or how I handle her? No, he doesn't. He says that's not how he's going to deal with her. So she walks all over him. And he ends up cussing and making belittling remarks about the event, why are we there in the first place, how he doesn't care about what the event is for whatever reason, why anyone would want to go, etc until I finally pack our shit and walk out. This will not be one of those times.

I don't argue with him when this happens, I don't yell at him, I pack up Sprite in the car and take a short walk while he starts it up, or get in the back next to her. Because he knows why I'm upset. He let's me cool off then will try to make conversation. Ummm, no. You just finished throwing a grown man fit in front of your toddler and a stadium full of people to get what you want, I'm missing the last half of my son's football game, again, and now you want to talk? Nope.

Not this time. One remark, just one and I'll escort you to the nearest door and close it behind you. I may or may not talk to you ever again.

Once again, suck it up. Shut your mouth for a few fucking hours and let me enjoy the turmoil of my son's graduation.

I'm still pissed even after I went off. Fuck him and his must prove me wrong negative fucking attitude. Also, don't fuck with my cookie dough and brownie mix.

You blinked

I'm sitting in my car, in my driveway, the car turned off, the toddler in the back asleep, rain falling and trying not to cry.

My son is graduating in two days. From high school. He's moving out shortly after. To his father's.

I could give him a list of 3,743 reasons it's a bad idea. But I don't. He's made his decision.

His father has instilled a horribly false sense of debt and loyalty by doing nothing other than emotionally manipulating him. I've tried to explain the subtleties of the manipulation, what to be aware of, how it feels... but in the end I try not to speak negatively about his father. I tell him his father is mentally unstable. That his father loves him.

Years of his father not showing up. Sometimes he forgot. Sometimes he slept to 5pm. Sometimes he would tell my son he felt inadequate because he couldn't afford to take him anywhere. My son, at 10, would console his father. It broke my heart to hear him say "It's ok Daddy. No, you're not a horrible father. We don't have to spend money, let's go to the park."

Over time it made my son feel obligated to make his father feel better about himself, about being a horrible dad. About forgetting him.

I didn't see it early on, what the end result would be.

And now it's done. My son feels guilty for living a better life than his father. For not needing him. For having more than him.

We can't even give him a car. His father got him one for his birthday 2 years ago. And he will take nothing until that one is running. Because his father put so much time and money into it. Which is all bullshit.

My husband feels betrayed. I completely understand why. He's worked so hard to provide a life we never had. We've worked so hard. And he's just leaving at the first opportunity. Not to live his own life, but to appease his father.

It all started with good intentions. I wanted him to be near his father. To have a relationship. To not hear me talk bad about him. To understand that he loves him even if he's having problems that are hard to understand. That he wanted to come today but couldn't.

Then I blinked.

And he's yelling at me telling me that his father has sacrificed, that he's given up so much for him.

What?

Correction: Your father has done nothing but make excuses for why he couldn't sacrifice for you. Why he couldn't pay child support. Why he couldn't pick you up and spend time with you. Why it was more important for him to stay with his girlfriends daughter. Why he needed to expend so much time and energy fighting for his step daughter's custody, child support and rights.

My mistake for saying any of that. He tells me his father deserves his time too.

No, no he doesn't. He hasn't earned your loyalty. You're better than him. You don't need to bring yourself down to make him feel up.

I'll be here if you need me. Please remember we love you and want nothing but to see you truly happy. Our door is always open for you.

The war

23rd of June, 1998. My son was born. I was 17 and he was my world. Everything for me shifted when I held this beautiful boy.

I cuddled him. I nursed him. I would stare at his little fingers, his little nose, his gazing eyes. I was in awe. He was perfect.

I struggled, but it didn't phase me. I knew no different. There was no concept of village for me. He was happy. Healthy. Hitting milestones early. His doc was happy. I was in love.

There was a hidden darkness.

All that advice that everyone tries to shove down a new moms throat? Nope. Not one remark. Not one supportive person in my life.

My entire family was conspiring behind my back from the moment he was born to convince me to give him up for adoption. I had no idea. No one was brave enough to say anything to my face, it was all small gestures and passive aggressive statements and outbursts starting in the hospital and continuing on until they tried to take him from me.

It was ok though. I took all their attitude and remarks in stride. He was my darling, my little genius, my grounding wire. Then they took him. They. My family. My parents. My sister. All based on lies my sister told and my mother's ideals that I should not be a parent, ever.

They didn't want him. They were going to give him away. My son. Something else I didn't know until many years later.

The fight was brutal. I had nowhere to go and no one to help. We, my darlings father and I, went to his father's farm so he had steady work and we had a safe place to fight the battle.

He had a lawyer paid for by his father. I did not. He wouldn't represent both of us. He did nothing. Didn't file one paper, didn't read anything I sent. NOTHING.

I was on the phone, filing papers, reading past cases, studying family law and writing a detailed journal about every moment from the day he was taken. I fought a war that no one else cared to show up for.

His father and his father's wife would constantly tell me I didn't want my son back. I wasn't doing enough. Lying to my darlings father and telling him I wasn't doing anything at all to help get our son back. They never questioned the lawyer they paid for him to have. I did. Many times. And was shoved aside.

Court. I couldn't see him. I didn't see the judge. His attorney handled everything. With no documents filed. I filed my own. And got to see my darling. He was beautiful. And it hurt so bad. And was so short. I had more work to do.

I can't even recall all I filed, all the amazing attorneys, DAs and assistants that believed me and offered advise. It was endless.

I did something right and got the judges attention. My son was appointed an ad litem. She wanted to know everything I had to say. So I told her, and gave her my journal to copy. Every moment, every conversation, every thought from the day he was taken months before. She was not pleased. She assured me I would hear from her within the week.

My moment of hope. It had already been months. I had been through multiple drug tests, evaluations, another drug test and fought with everything I could find. Against two attorneys. My parents' and the father's. Alone. 18. They found nothing. Not a trace of drugs in my hair, no endangering mental health issues, behavioral traits, NOTHING.

The ad litem came through and I went in front of the judge. It was terrifying. I had my file folder full of everything I've filed and I'm standing in front of a judge between two attorneys.

Pro se, yes your honor. Yes, I'm sure I want to speak. I understand the possible consequences.

So I do. In length. Attempting to keep to a timeline of papers filed, court orders followed, more papers filed and crying. I can't help it. I ask the judge what I else I need to do to get my darling boy back. She calls me to the bench.

In front of both the attorneys she tells me she's heard from the ad litem who is convinced my darling needs to be with me. No question. That the entire case was built on lies, judgements and personal gains. That my darling was never in any harm. I waited for the but... and there was one. I had to take a parenting course and my parents had visitation rights.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

They brought my darling son in. I held him and cried. Months without him. Months of being doubted. Months of betrayal. And I did it. He was with me. I didn't let go.

I didn't speak to my parents again for years. I lived in constant fear of someone taking him. I was afraid to leave his father. I didn't set enough boundaries. They would be back if I was too harsh.

He graduates high school Friday. My darling. My love. My first born. My only son. He doesn't know what I've been through. He doesn't know the story, the war I fought, the fear I lived in.

He, like all children, see things skewed. I left his father and his father was devastated. I kept him from his father. His father has sacrificed.

His father is emotionally manipulative and has made my darling feel guilty. Guilty for not seeing him. Guilty for not calling enough. Guilty for me leaving.

I did leave. His father was devastated. But I was free. He never held a job. I gave him money to live AFTER I left him so my darling could see him. Spend time with him. Not see him struggling to afford gas to pick him up. I would call his father and tell him to spend time with him. I listened while his father complained he didn't have money to take him anywhere. I watched my son's heart break when he didn't show up. When he made excuses. I stayed in this city so my darling could be close to his father when I wanted to get him far away. I sacrificed.

And now my darling will be moving out. To his father's house. Which is 3.1 miles away. Because his father deserves his time too.

No. He doesn't. His father didn't earn it. He didn't call, he didn't come pick him up just because, he didn't make any effort. He met a girl, with a daughter. He spent time raising her. Fighting against her father to have primary custody. Picking her up after school. Spending money to support her.

He doesn't deserve you my son. You are better than him. I'm sorry for not taking you away. I'm sorry for not being strong enough. I'm sorry for being too scared your father would take you from me.

I'm sorry for never telling you any of this. It's not your burden.

I miss you. I love you with all that I am and all that I am not. My only son, my first born, my lifeline.

Spirited Woodland Creatures

I have a foster pup who we have named Fawn. She was previously abused at the hands of the male in her last home. It has taken her some time to come around, and she will still cower from non family members, but for us her personality has really blossomed. And she's a hellion. Not necessarily bad, just a tornado of energy. Her and my toddler tag team destruction throughout the day.

When Fawn first came to stay, the only person she would not shy from was our toddler, who will now be called Sprite because it's easier.

Sprite would sit with her, try to play with her, feed her by hand... all things you do to build trust. They became fast friends. Sprite enjoyed being bigger than her (she's not quite 3 and our 2 permanent pets are 60 & 90lbs) and Fawn loved her energy level.

And then there were 2. Two small spirited beings looking for outlets for their energy. The skinny, fearful little white fox is now a spring loaded talkative puppy. Who loves to jump. And run. And jump while running.

She's just a small thing, maybe 20lbs, knee height or so... but she can leap straight into the air a good 5 feet. From a dead stop. Her favorite game is to leap off and on the back of the coach and play tag with Sprite around the house.

Perfect. The two little balls of energy can keep each other entertained for awhile and hopefully burn a bit off. Wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.

Sprite taught Fawn wooden toys are dog toys. Sawdust.

Their games of chase include behind computers, through seemingly immobile objects, out the back door, back in, into the bedrooms because Sprite's new trick is opening doors... in their wake are couch cushions, sticks, toys, clothes, discarded snack bags, dog fur and dirt. My poor four legged children look on in horror as the two Littles wiz by.

Sometimes the doby mix, Sunna, will play with Fawn, and my basset marked pup, Zenith, has found her occasional puppy side as well. Furniture may get bumped, a pillow or two fall off the couch but nothing like the utter devastation of Sprite and Fawn.

So, in light of all that, anyone in search of a new four legged companion? She's beautiful, white thick medium length fur, big standing ears that are full of expression, cuddly, loving and already fixed ❤ Must have an active lifestyle, or 3, or just a toddler with a free range backyard and couch 😉

Ship wrecked

I've been treading water today, trying to remember how to swim. I want to go somewhere, do something, but i can't figure out how to get there and I'm not sure exactly what the something is I want to do.

There was little I remember about today. Just an automaton running through its minimum daily tasks.

Do, do, do, sit and wait until the next do, do, do.

Where's my lifeline? My way back? Why do I still feel lost? My mind is so quiet.

From 1 to 10, I'm a 9

I dream. A lot. And vividly. It isn't just color, taste and smell vivid. It's all that plus emotions and lucid thought. Almost every night, repeatedly. There are times when I wake up and feel so detached from reality, after a night of endless dreams, that I have to remind myself who I am. Over and over. Most times the dreams fade and I resume a normal day, other times I can't shake it.

This morning I had an exceptionally emotional dream, but one of those dreams you know was a dream. Peddling your car among the birds type feel. But that didn't change the emotional rampage that was warring inside of me looking for real situations to attach to.

I tried to start my day normally, albeit very early. With coffee made and the dogs let out I sat down at my computer to do the morning Stuff To Accomplish Today and it all went down hill from there. I couldn't get the photos right, I couldn't remember what I had planned to do, I got stuck working on an item that I had no intention of listing anytime soon, the toddler woke up in a flurry of cuddles and broke my concentration and I realized my coffee was cold and it's been almost two hours. The emotional turmoil is boiling and I don't know why. 99% of the time I can run through an inner dialogue while working, do some serious personal reflection and find the trigger to work my way back. Nope. Nothing.

Calculating. Crunching numbers. Evaluating my prices, income projections, raw material value, inventory... This is what keeps me collected while I chatter with the toddler and go take a shower. I wash my hair, twice, because I can't stop my scalp from itching. I scrub with apricot scrub and an exfoliating pad from head to toe. I let the water beat on my shoulders while the tub fills up so ms toddler can play while I try to decompress. She wants out. She begs for baths all day long and now wants out. All the sudden I'm angry. I'm angry with the hubs for not being awake, not giving me the time I need that morning, the sudden appearance of the toddles and that I don't know if I can calmly get dry, get her wrapped up, dry, dressed, fed... and there he is sitting on his computer like it's any other morning. The toddler is handed to him with a snarky remark about finally getting out of bed and I go back to the shower.

I can't breathe. My muscles are knotting up. Why does he get to sleep in. I work too. My job is demanding and I have the toddler while doing it. What makes what I do less demanding. Any less deserving of sleeping in. Why are there tears. What's wrong with me.

Inner dialogue. Breathing exercises. Rational thought comes into focus and slips away to the reeling tide of the unknown. Focus. Focus. Long enough to wash your hair. Again. Scrub down. Again. Focus. Focus. It doesn't work.

I make it to my bedroom, put on my favorite perfume because sometimes comforting smells can bring me back around. Nothing. Fuck. Don't look in the mirror. That's a rabbit hole I know to avoid. I'm lost deep inside one already. I. Just. Can't. I can't focus, I can't think, I can't do anything.

I lay down and cover my eyes. The tunnel is getting tighter and darker. Why can't I make it stop. Hours being pulled into the black hole. I don't know how to get away. Rational thought doesn't exist here.

Fuck, I hear his voice. He thinks I'm angry. If he comes in here I'm going to break. Tears so far, but no sobbing, just the tears. But he does. He comes in and is on the defensive. Asks if I have a migraine. And I tell him the truth. I woke up having an anxiety attack and can't get out. I break. Admitting it out loud crushes me. I'm fucking utterly ashamed. I'm smarter than this. I was in control. I could take on any random emotional outburst and conquer it with rational thought and reasoning. Now I'm weak. Fucking weak and a waste of all the effort I've put in to being in control.

In the years we've been together he's never seen a full blown, completely incapacitating anxiety attack. He flounders. He was expecting me to blow him off and tell him I need time to calm down. Just another minor outburst that I need to work through. But I don't do that. Instead I crumble in front of him.

This man recovers. He's a fucking hero. Somehow he knows I need him, but not too close, a hand through the hair, his presence next to me. He asks me what i usually do to bring myself back, and I just tell him it didn't work. Any of it. He doesn't question if I've tried this or that, he's just there. Telling me everything's ok. He doesn't tell me to relax, uncover my face, look at him, nothing. He talks about how he went to the store late last night so i could have bread for toast, and other things I don't remember.

The toddler and the dogs join us. She's so calm and sweet. My poor sprite has no understanding of what's going on, but knows that mommy has an owie.

He's still talking. Just simple things. Everyday things. Not one time does he mention anything that would cause my anxiety to peak higher.

Suddenly my blood pressure drops. I take a deep breath and exhale to a full on migraine. Nausea hits, my jaw aches, noises become unbearably loud. But I'm back. I'm back. He brought me back.

Another unknown amount of time passes while I continue to listen to him talk, he turns out lights and adds pressure to my head while I try to open my eyes without passing out.

I'm an emotional wreck. Balancing on the tipping point of going back over the edge. But he helps me up and we go to the kitchen. I make it to the counter where the fresh pot of coffee is and the drugs are in the cabinet above. But I can't get the steps right to make myself a cup. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He stops talking and I realize I said it out loud. He asks if he needs to make it. No, I got it. 

Coffee made, a couple pills for my headache in my hand, and I'm looking for my oh shit pills. That I just recalled I have. They're here somewhere. I have to find them. I can't relapse today. I can't. I can't find them. Fuck. I'm shaking. What if I can't find them? I'm emptying the cabinet. There. Right there. Two added to my little pile and I break again.

I'm kneeling in the kitchen and can't breathe. Why won't it just stop. Another unknown amount of time passes. But my coffee is still warm. I take everything and go sit down in my chair to wait amidst intermittent tears, but at this point I don't think my body had enough to give to send me back into the abyss.

What's left of the day passes. I have no idea what was done today. I was in and out of focus. Emotions seemed to surface in the tide of my anxiety hangover randomly throughout the day while I sat curled up in my chair.

I was able to get up and help with dinner. I couldn't remember what to do though. It took massive amounts of effort to focus on what the next step was.

Two glasses of wine and I'm in bed. Completely drained. Physically emotionally, mentally. There's still tears. My headache still lingers. Tomorrow will be less so, the next day even less. By Wednesday I should be 100%

It doesn't make sense. I know this. I understand this. There is no mention of what I was so anxious about because I don't know. I don't fucking know. This was the problem. If i can't find the root, I can't dig myself out. I always find the root. 2, 10, 30 minutes of that inner reflection and there it is. The root. Fix it, make a plan to fix it, or realize it's an uncontrollable. A bit of emotional hangover, but it's over with.

No root. No starting point to begin unravelling.

Just the decline and seemingly neverending tunnel downward.

This is a level 9 for me. Hours of peak, hours more of circling the maelstrom, constantly paddling against the tide.