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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
| Things I just don't get I'm in a list mood, folks. Well, it'll probably have some commentary/explanation too. 1. How do mosquitoes poke through your skin to extract blood and it doesn't hurt? I mean they are basically cutting you. Are you with me here? A pinprick kind of hurts, and it's not sucking your blood. I probably should google this because maybe I'm not understanding the mosquito process correctly, but I take no shame in being uninformed. Plus, if you do a google search with the word 'blood', some nasty images could come up and I'm just not in the mood for that. 2. Why are songs from the '70's so long? Don't get me wrong - I love them for the first eight minutes or so but after that I'm like 'this guitar solo with an occasional scream is killing me'. Give me a slow fade, and let's move on. Except for Bad, Bad LeRoy Brown; that one can be longer! Maybe I just have a short attention span. Potato! I just threw that potato thing in for my husband; I think he'll get it. 3. How to upload pictures on here without going through adding them to your image folder! That takes forever and there has to be another way because some people have pictures on everything. Okay, if you look at the bottom of this post you will see I sort of figured it out, but I can't move them to where I want them to be! grrrrr! 4. Why when you finally make an appointment with the doctor, you start feeling normal about five minutes before the appointment. But don't cancel it, because then you are going to feel really like shit and if you die you are really going to regret cancelling the appointment. Plus, getting a shot is just like getting bit by a mosquito - apparently! 5. How kids who are 13 years old and older don't know their address or how to spell their middle name. First of all, I'm pretty sure you learned your address in kindergarten. I can see how you might have moved since then, but 'hello!' you might need to know where you live - for emergencies - like the pizza delivery guy. And your middle name??? It's YOUR name. You can figure out how to hack a computer, program any phone, ride a bike, feed yourself, but you just can't use that talent to learn how to spell your middle name? 6. Why my legs hurt at night and not during the day. This is just cruel. During the day, I wouldn't mind getting up and taking a Motrin. And I'm moving so hurting would make sense. But no, let's wait until I'm horizontal and tucked in. And taking a preemptive pill doesn't work; it makes the pain mock me. Recently, I've resorted to this expensive essential oil concoction called Deep Blue; it does work pretty well. However, I get the feeling my husband doesn't think me smelling like a 80 year old is very sexy. Now, that I type that I realize I'm actually relieved the smell of 80 year old men aren't a turn on to him. 7. Why do I keep dreaming about school!? Bruce (hubby) said last night I yelled, "I've about had it with you, Jerry. Sit down!" I don't think I've ever taught a Jerry, and I sure hope I don't have one in August because then I will know these dreams are signs of things to come; then the only thing to do will be to quit and find another job, because I'm not living out these dreams. Once is enough. And, according to the internet the only jobs teachers are qualified to do is teach. Try it - google 'other jobs for teachers'; you get tutor which is um... teaching. 8. Why if you ever accidentally overdraw your bank account, do they insist you rectify the situation immediately, but then a deposit takes 2 to 5 days to go through. Basically, they are asking you to do the impossible even if on the off chance you have money to deposit. Mind boggling. 9. British Comedy - Don't hate me for it; it's not my fault I hate it. Now it is my fault when people start talking about Dr. Who and I refer to him as Dr. Who Cares. 10. I have to think of one more because we must end on an even number. 'Why?' you ask. Because I'm me. Okay, I got it. Why can I never find a matching pair of shoes. I realize I kick them off as soon as I get in the door, but they should both still be there when I need them. It's not like I kick one off by the door and one off in the bathroom. Or do I? Also, why do I love to buy shoes but hate to wear them? Thanks for pretending to read, Audra Explanation of pictures I just put on here to see if I figured it out. A pretty view of our farm and sky, my son and I, Me looking like death should be on the other side of me with my hair down. It's backwards. The hair down one was taken before I went to school; the other one at 3:45 - it's a great before and after look at what a day can be like in 6th grade, Just a collage when I was trying to see if I could figure it out, Laynie, my sweet puppy, hubby and me -- I might have missed some because now I can't see the pictures on here. Geez!!!
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| I'm such a slacker (today, anyway) that I'm too lazy to reach over to the remote to change the channel from this show that is stupid but yet still making me feel like a grand champion life slacker. This is a sort of game show called Super Human. Don't think for an instance it is anything like American Ninja Warrior - that shit rocks. Just to give you the lame scale on this show. . . Mike Tyson is one of the judges. Apparently, you can still have a career after biting someone's ear off. I have never even heard of the two other judges, but that's not saying much. . .because, I'm a slacker even in staying up to date on has-been celebrities. This 'contestant' on there right now has the Super Human power of naming frogs and toads by only hearing their croak or ribbit. I'm not saying it's not impressive (to some people), but I'd almost rather be a Super Human slacker. I do have 2 uvulas - that could be my Super Human power. I guess I have wrongly been calling it a freak factor of these years - because, yes I'm a slacker. OMG! The frog dude just made it to the final 3. And Tyson just said 'yo' at least 4 times in one sentence fragment. Somebody turn the television off for me. . . Please. Fine, I will reach the 6 inches and do it myself. It might kill me though because I have a sugar headache and I can't find my essential oil headache oil. Sure, I could just give up sugar. But I'm slacker not a quitter. Ladies (pretending there are some reading this), what do you take off first when you get home - shoes or bra? I only ask because it varies with me which makes me feel like I can't even commit to comfort. But right now, at this moment, I'm too much of a slacker to ponder it. I wonder if the frog master eats frog legs. Maybe he imitates their 'call' and lures them to his lair. Definitely, need to quit thinking tonight. . . or start. Uvulas R Us, Branson (Audra) P.S. The dogs are getting cat food tonight because slackers don't carry a bag of dog food in from the car at 9:14 p.m. |
| In case you are unfamiliar with the topic of this blog, here is your vocabulary lesson: Takis Snacks by Barcel are tortilla snacks that resemble rolled tacos; this crunchy snack is coated with salsa and seasoned with lemon powder. They come in four flavors with varying heat intensities: Fuego (Hot Chili Pepper & Lemon), Salsa Brava (Hot Sauce), Takis Nitro (Habanero & Lime) and Crunchy Fajita (Taco Flavored). I hate them. Not the taste of them, mind you - actually, I'm not even sure if I've had them, but, in general I love spicy. But, I hate Takis! 'Why?' you may be asking. Because of my 6th grade homeroom class this year (though I still love them - the kids NOT TAKIS). I realize I'm one of those weird teachers that likes the students' minds to be working while I try to torture them with knowledge that they have convinced themselves they will never use. And while it's true that it probably won't help them get to level 48 on Call of Duty, I like to pretend they will use it at sometime in their young lives. After all, it is...English! So, anyway I let them eat so their brain has some sort of fuel other than the energy drink they got at 7/11 for breakfast. My rules are simple (at least to me): 1. Don't ask people for food 2. Don't smack or eat with your mouth open 3. Pick up your trash and any mess 4. It can't require utensils to eat (This rule was added on a couple of years ago when a student brought a bowl of spaghetti) 5. You aren't leaving the room to get a drink so you better bring water if you have salivary glands. 6. Basically, don't interrupt the lesson Well, 6th graders are addicted to Takis. It is like steak to a starving dog; marijuana to a 70's hippie, chocolate to a woman with PMS, late fees to the cable company. They lose any common sense they once had despite my expectations regarding food being continually reminded to the point of offensive redundancy. They will suck the spices off them to make them last longer. I saw a kid pay $2.00 for two Taki chips, not bags. . . just 2 pieces. I've seen a kids puke from gorging on the sauce. They sneak them, they sell them, their breath smells disgusting, they burn their taste buds off, and their hands are filthier than normal. Well, one day I lost it. I was attempting to discuss something of importance I'm sure and everyone was looking at one student who was counting out his Takis on his desk - I'm sure to see if he would earn enough money after sales for a PlayStation 4. Keep in mind, up to this point I had taken Takis away for the week as a punishment, taken snacks away for the number of days as wrappers were left out, etc. So, like any sane teacher, I screamed: "NO MORE TAKIS! IN THIS CLASS EVER! I REFUSE TO COMPETE WITH A FOOD PRODUCT THAT SMELLS HORRENDOUS AND I'M QUITE SURE IS WHAT IS LEADING TO THE GASEOUS FUMES LATER IN THE DAY!" I think I said more than that but at one point as I noticed their mouths (and takis coated tongues) hanging open in shock and I realized I was losing my cool over a snack food. I have to give it to the kids. . . they did learn something - when you think a woman has gone psycho have the sense not to mention it. I thought this was the end of it. (The Takis Drama, not my career) But, noooooo! Later that day, I found probably one of the neatest, well-thought out posters on my desk. I mean it was colorful, things were spelled correctly, there was a border! My heart was so proud. . .until I actually read it. Takis Lives Matter! I did smile at the creativity, so they thought they had me. Poor, silly kids. They looked at me with angelic smiles with a hint of winning in their eyes. I looked back at them and smiled. "Do we get Takis privileges back, Mrs. Branson?" asked the designated speaker. I met each students' eyes, letting the moment linger - the possibility of triumph. And then I squashed their dreams like a cockroach on the Thanksgiving table. "It's either me or the Takis - and I'm the only one voting. So you figure it out." Several of them were confused. Apparently, they hadn't learned what a dictatorship was. They know now. Whatever Happened to Funyuns, Audra |
| Barry Manilow is Distracting Me If I am unable to blog coherently tonight, I am putting the blame on Barry Manilow. He is currently singing "Even Now" on the seventies station. Retro Saturday, ya'll. I'm not saying I don't enjoy a little Barry now and then, it's just this song is distracting me. See, I was going to write on the complex issue of why my dog, Laynie, enjoys rolling in huge horse poopies - otherwise known as manure, feces, excrement, shit, horse marbles, the brown grapefruit. (You get the picture.) But, how can I attempt such a serious issue with Barry belting out Evvvvvveeeennnn NOOOOOOWW! I found myself wondering if he feels as passionate as he is making it sound. And then my mind wonders what I feel that passionate about if provided he's not faking it; which, hey, haven't we all at one time or another. Oh my gosh, where is the remote?! Now it's the Jackson 5 sounding like they are on crack talking about going back to Indiana. I'm pretty sure Michael wasn't in support of that song. I don't think Indiana times were necessarily his happiest. What can't Ike Turner say his 'r's on the word turning in Rolling on the River. I'm sorry to be so critical tonight. Trust me, I'm not singer and I do enjoy the seventies but give me some Kansas or Styx or the Guess Who. Maybe, my creative mind is just rebelling because it didn't want to write about my dog smelling like the backside of a stallion with dysentery. My thoughts are so fickle. . . and slightly disturbing as I try to think of myself as semi-normal. It's Manilow's fault I tell you. Seriously, if he had been singing about the Copa Cabana, it would have been your average my dog smells like horse hiney and seems quite proud of it. Speaking of dogs, I guess I should feed them. Plus, I have a feeling I'm going to look back on this blog and . . . well, not think it was exactly profound. I can't smile without you, Audra |
| When I was a little girl...okay maybe not so little. I had this weird bedtime routine. I would kiss everyone goodnight, go to the stairs, count to four and then exclaim 'Goodnight, to the Great Walt Disney!'. I have no idea why or what started it; in fact, I'm not sure if I would even remember doing it if my family didn't enjoy reminding me of it every so often. But it's late at least for me and I'm tired. Soooo... Goodnight to the Great Walt Disney, Audra |
| You Know the Feeling When You Finish Your First Half Marathon? Yeah, me neither. But I couldn't think of a title for this blog entry because I have no idea what I'm writing about. This, folks, is what we call winging it. I'm drinking a glass of wine. . . wine from a box - don't judge. It's cheaper and lasts longer and if I never drink the good stuff, I don't realize it tastes like cat piss. I'm not buzzed or stressed. It just seemed like a better idea than going out to the car and carrying in the bottled water. Well, maybe not better, but definitely more convenient. Last summer we drove to Montana for vacation. This summer we are driving to the Bahamas. . . I mean New Mexico. Any suggestions for things we should see or do? Why do I keep having dreams about school during summer break? Honestly, it seems unfair. I mean technically if I'm in school when I sleep that's taking almost a half of my vacation away. Oh, and to clarify these aren't amazing dreams like everyone actually understanding what a pronoun is or maybe the whole class turns in all their work. They are nightmares akin to dreaming of being in college and realizing you've forgotten to go to a class all semester and it's time for the final. Plus, I hold conversations in my sleep, so it's just a matter of time until my husband requests I sleep in the other room. Nah, he wouldn't do that; I might, but he wouldn't. I just realized that alcohol must not be required to put the caloric intake information on the box. No one regulates boxed wine! What kind of an atrocity is this!? Come on, USDA! You make them put it on Oreos, and you have to be in some pretty great denial to think those aren't bad for you. Let's be real, you eat too many of them and they turn your poop black. Or so I've heard. And on those Styrofoam Rice Cakes which seriously if you chose those over Oreos you are a saint anyway and shouldn't read the fine print. I'm pretty sure they NEVER expire before or after you've eaten them. I think my mom still has some next to her 1978 box of Triscuits with Bruce Jenner on the back holding his decathlon medal in one hand and a triscuit in the other. Yes, kiddos, Bruce Jenner used to be a male. I think I've written enough and apparently had enough wine since I've run the gamut of subjects from transgender, USDA regulations, black poop, and the unfairness of job-related nightmares. You are welcome, Audra |
| 'Never Look Back" - you hear that said often and I'm sure it has various messages depending on time, life, speaker, situations. I think, however, I know at least two circumstances where it is true. 1. If a Freddy Kruger type monster is chasing you, NEVER LOOK BACK! It doesn't end well. I have yet to see a movie, where the character running looks back and the monster says, "Man, you are way too far ahead; I give. Thanks for the cardio workout." It just doesn't happen. 2. Looking back on your blog - at least for me. I reread some of my blogs from when I started blogging; I don't even recognize me and/or remember much of the junk I'm rambling about. The thing that rattled me a little I guess, is I'm sure at that time those things were huge to me and maybe why I wrote them is because I had the foresight to realize I would forget them. But, hey, some of them are worthy of wiping from my mind and everyone else's. It's not like I'm going to delete them. I recognize they are a part of me. I guess what floors me is I remember believing as a kid that when you became an adult you don't change much after that. You see grownups go to work and take care of family, and I guess as kids we are so into ourselves that we don't see the change in others. Except, for my dad balding; we always noticed that - we had to have at least one thing to tease him about. Obviously, I was mistaken in my youth; I dare say I have changed more in the last twenty years of my life than I did in the first. Which may be an exaggeration since in my first 20 I learned not to pee on myself, talk, walk, etc. But then again, some days I feel as if I'm still working on those. Go ahead look back if you want; just don't forget to keep looking forward. Time for zzzzzzzz, Audra |
| Holy Hat! What a morning (or I guess just a couple of hours aka eternity)! At 8:26 a.m., I'm going through my basic morning routine for summer - letting dogs out, watching the Today show, chillin', ya know? I get a call from my neighbor that our horses are in the other neighbor's pasture. I have come to learn this is REALLY not a good thing. But for some reason my stomach didn't drop; I woke Bruce up and told him we had to get the horses. I need your to remember four things (there is really just three, but I hate odd numbers so I will come up with a fourth). 1. I AM NOT A COUNTRY/OUTDOORS/PHYSICAL LABOR TYPE OF PERSON. 2. Since my husband's stroke, his mobility is limited though it has made great strides. 3. I have a fear of ticks, snakes, bob cats, biting insects, rats - basically things I've witnessed on our farm. 4. Today is our 2nd Wedding Anniversary. It's a farm, right? In the country. I knew the neighbors weren't home; therefore, I just went in my sleep attire which is a tattered t-shirt and cut off sweat pants. Just to throw it out there... That is ALL I had on besides my trashed out sneakers. We get in the truck and begin this adventure. First, I opened a gate, then I opened another where we know for a fact ticks have taken over that part of the land. I'm honestly still positive and ready to do what needs to be done (I don't know what has taken over me. Aliens, perhaps?) The truck has gone as far as it can get. I need to follow a 'horse trail' along the fence line to see if I can see where they got out and/or where the horses are. A horse trail, I come to find out, is not a people trail. It has not been cleared or blazed (not that I really know what that means). I have with me a rope - that's it. This trail goes forever and gets thicker and thicker and more narrow. I trip once but get up - seriously, who I am? - this has got to be my giving up point. I need to thank Mrs. McConnell, my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, who made us memorize the 23rd Psalm. At this point, the only part I can remember to recite as my country mantra is 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil.' The terrain looks like Vietnam war movies I've seen. I wondering which will be a more painless death - bobcat mutilation, snake bite, lyme disease, or unknown evil. Eventually, the trail ends. . .no hole in the gate, no horses. Yep, so I get to go back up the trail. I am a person who sweats a lot (yes, I know sooooo attractive). So now my contacts are burning from sweat. I'm convinced ticks are crawling up my legs and since I don't have underwear on that they are going to nest in my woo! I beg the ticks I see on my shirt to please tell their friends along for the ride to retreat. And then I say Psalm 23 again. Back at the truck, we drive to another area. Bruce sees the horses over a hill and sees where they got through. I get to open another gate - barbed wire this time. I grab my rope to hope to lead the stallion in and the others will follow. I walk about 1/2 a mile thinking if my Fitbit battery is out and these steps aren't going to count, heads will roll (I don't know whose, but someone). Scooter lets me lead him and the 3 girls. I'm calm, dare I say content? Then he rears, the not-knotted well rope comes off and away they go. This happens several times. One where the rope didn't come untied but Scooter was pissed by now and I was stubbornly determined. So...when he reared; I didn't let go. Apparently, I had tick fever because I figured I could keep an 1100 pound horse from doing what he wanted. This resulted in me doing an impression of a flying Wonder Woman (she does fly in the comic books; she got her invisible jet later in her career). I flew for about .3 of a second but I was airborne before I did a belly buster in the pasture. And do you know what I did? I got right up!!! No cursing (aloud anyway); no crying. Seriously, I don't know what got into me. Maybe it was the Spark I drank in the morning. Two more barbed wire gates later, somehow the pregnant mare decided to lead the crew through the open gate to our land. I got the gate that had provided their escape to hold with a rope. Bruce picked several ticks off my shirt as we headed for the hacienda. I know we took at least 6 off without even looking. When I got to our front door, I stripped clean down OUTSIDE- butt-white naked. Those clothes weren't coming in the house. I walked to the shower stepping in cat puke on the way. And then I had a fabulous anniversary. However, at the moment (12 hour post-horse rustling) I hurt so much I'm wondering if maybe I wasn't run over by the horses and just have blocked that part out as a survival mechanism. My husband and I said our own vows at our wedding and they were wonderful and I still mean all of them; however, I feel the need to add to them after 2 years of relocating to the farm. I, Audra, take you, Bruce, for my husband, to mend fences and be dragged my animals from this day forward, in 100 degree weather, or 30 below, during mice in the tub, possible ticks on my woo, narrow paths reminiscent of Ninja Warrior, hand in hand forever and forever. Because, truth be told, there is no where else (except possible a hot tub) I'd rather be. Do they still make Bengay?, Audra |
I Can Talk About It, But Am I Ready To Write About It? Why would something be harder for me to write about than it is to talk about? I guess because there is no hiding behind a smile, or turning the conversation around to the other person, or cracking a joke so the other person isn't uncomfortable. I realize that writing can be a give and take between author and reader, but not this time. This time it is just me. I think I might be brutally honest in this entry, so flee if you must. I probably won't make it through in one entry. Too many feelings and events to reflect on. I'm not always as strong as I seem. I don't know, maybe I don't even seem strong. I am though, or I wouldn't have made it through. God gives me strength every day, hour, minute, second. . .in every breath. Tomorrow is my 2 year wedding anniversary. That is small in comparison to many, but each day I have with my husband I treasure as much as decades. On December 31, 2015 my husband had a massive stroke. He was 46 years old. We had been married 6 months. He lay on our bedroom floor for 6 hours before my father found him. (I was about 60 miles away when I realized something had happened. He didn't show up for work and wasn't answering his phone.) My son was with me as I was speeding, weeping to get to Bruce. My son called the ambulance upon learning Bruce was responsive but couldn't move. They met us at the house. The neurologist told me Bruce quite likely wouldn't live through the night. I told him he was wrong. I mean my husband was talking and we had only found each other again. I blogged that night because I didn't know what else to do. I was helpless. Not helpless - I begged people for prayers. And we received them. Bruce's left side was paralyzed and his speech was slurred some, but mentally he seemed okay. But here's the thing, when your brain has an acute bleed it's go some rewiring to do. After a month in inpatient rehab, he still couldn't transfer from the bed to the wheelchair without quite a bit of assistance. He had no feeling or movement in the left side. The 'case worker' told me I needed to look into nursing homes. I told her that would kill him...and me. She told me it was too much for me to be his caregiver. "That's fine, because I plan to continue to be his wife," I replied with certainty that I had no idea was in me. This isn't just a sad story; you have no idea what we have gained from this experience... I mean besides the debt, of course. We got 8 months without either one of us having to work at a job; trust me we were working. We would never have had that amount of time together. A farmer and a teacher don't equal much free time. We laughed and still look back and laugh at things that I would never have thought anyone could laugh at but you do. Just to be overtly truthful (hide your eyes if you are timid), at the beginning I laughed more than once when I was helping him go to the bathroom and somehow the stream hit my face instead the urine jug. I colored the jugs with sharpies because the nurses kept moving them, and you have to be able to find those suckers when they are needed. Apparently, when guys have to pee there is no'okay give me a second'. I wouldn't have gotten a text from my brother telling me I was Rock Star. I didn't understand at first, until later when my sister explained he had told her I had been feeding Bruce like it was no big deal. And feeding him wasn't a big deal, making sure he knew he was a person of value was a huge deal. If the stroke hadn't happened, he would be farming and I know that would make him happy. But at the same time, if it hadn't happened he wouldn't have been able to volunteer for 6 months in the severely handicapped room at the school I teach at also. Those kids needed him. And he needed them just as much. We would laugh in the night when he would pick my arm up and put it across his chest. When I asked if I could move it; he was puzzled. He replied, "Sorry, I thought that was my arm. I didn't want it to get stuck under me." The stroke was and is real. And it sucks, yeah it does. But so much good has come out of it. My heart is kinder. I treasure moments and small things so much, not because I'm afraid they won't happen again, but because I realize all things matter. The laughter, the tears, the prayers, tiredness to the point of losing yourself, the joke he tells for the 3rd time that wasn't that funny the first 2 times, but I freaking love it. Tomorrow, when we go to lunch...We will walk together, slowly, but I don't care I'm not in a rush because I have been blessed with going through this with him. I don't care if I push him in a wheel chair, walk, or run; I'm just going to soak in every nuance. I love you, Bruce. For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. I meant it two years ago, and I will always mean it. All my love, Audra  |
| I am typing this on my phone so I will probably have mucho errors to correct later. Sorry to be a whiny baby but my stomache has hurt for a week now. It's weird. I don't think I have felt this before. It feels kind of bruised inside up high, between the ribs I guess you would say. I don't feel as hungry as usual, but my mind tells me it will feel better if I eat. It doesn't. I mean I don't feel like I'm dying, but it isn't pleasant. I've had gall bladder removed and hysterectomy so that takes out about 1/2 the things I googled. It's not a burn like acid reflux. Maybe my stomach is just pissed off. Pissed off belly syndrome. Dr. Oz better not steal my modern diagnosis. Life is weird but good, Audta |
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