Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Closed
I think I am officially done with this blog. Thanks for following me on here! I will be opening a new one and you are invited to find me there. :)
Sunday, 15 November 2009
The Long Memory of Fear and Oppression
I am sitting in on a class this semester about Loyalty, and we have reached the point in our discussions at which to bring in Bonheoffer. Believing the background of this man’s story critical to a proper understanding at least of the context in which he wrote his letters, Prof. Meilaender showed us a film about him.
Neither Bonheoffer or the film are particularly new to me, but it has been some great time since I have read or watched anything to do with him particularly—at least nothing I recall since early high-school.
But I found myself having a very interesting reaction to the film this time around. It managed to trigger a number of memories in my head which I had forgotten, and it upset me.
I moved to Slovakia with my family when I was twelve years old—a very impressionable age—and a few years after the fall of the Iron Curtain. And somehow, I managed to have a lot of the sort of fears expressed in the film.
I had so many nightmares that first year; vivid, torturous, blood-soaked nightmares filled with Nazis and KGB. My parents were killed—sometimes mercifully—in each. I will not describe the dreams to you here, but I can tell you; I remember every single one of them.
There was such a haze of oppression even then that lingered over the country. It probably didn’t help that the war in Kosovo/Serbia took place around then, and our house would shake as the jets flew over and we would wait in long lines of cars while columns upon columns of tanks rolled past. I remember a great scare that same time-frame, too, when it seemed likely that the communist party would reclaim power through the “election” of a man known to be corrupt—suspected even of kidnapping the President’s son! Expatriates had their bags packed and ready to flee, with rendezvous points set up outside the country, and I remember sitting in the sanctuary of my favourite apple tree wondering what would become of all of us.
With the assistance of my older sister, who suffered occasionally from similar nightmares, I mapped out an escape route for her and I to take our younger siblings out of the country to safety with. We never expected to be able to save our parents. We hoped we might be able to get some other children out with us. We made up games where the children had to go through great varieties of physical stress—riding bikes whilst we blasted objects at the wheels (they had to keep going no matter what); making them skirt across iron gates and fences (again, sometimes with objects and mud-balls being hurled at them), and so on. In public school for physical education, the teachers made us climb ropes and scale walls—I always suspected for the same reasons as those “games” I put my siblings through: to give us some capacity for escape.
And though the old government of oppression had fallen, there were shadows of it everywhere. People dressed alike still in those first years of living there, with all in black and grey. Few people asked how anyone else was doing; you didn’t want to know, because you didn’t want to have to report it. Border crossings were still long and hard (though not nearly as long or as hard). Village loudspeaker systems remained in place, used now for simple community reports rather than propaganda, but nevertheless, left over from the not-so-distant past.
And the stories were there. Stories that had always been, but now creeped slowly out into the open. Of my parents’ co-workers, who had been involved in smuggling Bibles. Or of my friends, whose parents or grandparents, aunts or uncles had disappeared into the night courtesy of The Black Cars. Stories of those people who had turned their neighbors, friends, relatives in.
It didn’t help that the police were poor and pulled you over for anything, looking for a bribe from you in order to support their own families. They terrified a twelve year old. It didn’t help that we moved there in winter when the whole world was grey and I had only ever known the colourful warmth and vibrancy of the Caribbean. It didn’t help that we lived in a city, where everyone is stranger to everyone else, when I did not yet understand that concept. It didn’t help that the million and one tiny things which makes a place or country home were all off, or non-existent, in that then-foreign land to me.
And yesterday, as I was mulling over all this in my head and wondering how I should be able to understand these fears, wondering at the nausea that washed over me, wondering how come I had seemed to always have had some of these fears and have known them so vividly already entering Slovakia, I remembered we studied the underground Church in Russia one year when I was seven or nine, and the father was killed and the KGB was everywhere and there were secret meetings and fear—so much fear. And I absorbed it all in my overactive imagination and took it with me to Slovakia, where it had existed, and where the shadows still moved.
I think that one of the reasons I love Slovakia as deeply as I do is because of experiencing those fears, and moving through them with everyone else. When I left the country for the last time two years ago, it had a vibrancy all its own. It had smiles, and laughter, and chatter on the public transportation. It had colourful buildings and clothes, and free theatre and press. It had travel and open (EU) borders. It had a hockey team that won the gold once and made us all go crazy screaming mad with joy and unity. It had its first mall, and then many malls and stores. We wore blue jeans, chewed bubble gum, and listened to rock ‘n’ roll and jazz in cellars and on the open streets. Slovakia fought its way out of the fog of fear and the shadows of oppression, and I was there with it through that, and I am free, too. But I think, the memories and the capacity to understand the incomprehensible will always remain. And that is what I experienced watching the movie in class the other day: the long memory of fear and oppression.
Neither Bonheoffer or the film are particularly new to me, but it has been some great time since I have read or watched anything to do with him particularly—at least nothing I recall since early high-school.
But I found myself having a very interesting reaction to the film this time around. It managed to trigger a number of memories in my head which I had forgotten, and it upset me.
I moved to Slovakia with my family when I was twelve years old—a very impressionable age—and a few years after the fall of the Iron Curtain. And somehow, I managed to have a lot of the sort of fears expressed in the film.
I had so many nightmares that first year; vivid, torturous, blood-soaked nightmares filled with Nazis and KGB. My parents were killed—sometimes mercifully—in each. I will not describe the dreams to you here, but I can tell you; I remember every single one of them.
There was such a haze of oppression even then that lingered over the country. It probably didn’t help that the war in Kosovo/Serbia took place around then, and our house would shake as the jets flew over and we would wait in long lines of cars while columns upon columns of tanks rolled past. I remember a great scare that same time-frame, too, when it seemed likely that the communist party would reclaim power through the “election” of a man known to be corrupt—suspected even of kidnapping the President’s son! Expatriates had their bags packed and ready to flee, with rendezvous points set up outside the country, and I remember sitting in the sanctuary of my favourite apple tree wondering what would become of all of us.
With the assistance of my older sister, who suffered occasionally from similar nightmares, I mapped out an escape route for her and I to take our younger siblings out of the country to safety with. We never expected to be able to save our parents. We hoped we might be able to get some other children out with us. We made up games where the children had to go through great varieties of physical stress—riding bikes whilst we blasted objects at the wheels (they had to keep going no matter what); making them skirt across iron gates and fences (again, sometimes with objects and mud-balls being hurled at them), and so on. In public school for physical education, the teachers made us climb ropes and scale walls—I always suspected for the same reasons as those “games” I put my siblings through: to give us some capacity for escape.
And though the old government of oppression had fallen, there were shadows of it everywhere. People dressed alike still in those first years of living there, with all in black and grey. Few people asked how anyone else was doing; you didn’t want to know, because you didn’t want to have to report it. Border crossings were still long and hard (though not nearly as long or as hard). Village loudspeaker systems remained in place, used now for simple community reports rather than propaganda, but nevertheless, left over from the not-so-distant past.
And the stories were there. Stories that had always been, but now creeped slowly out into the open. Of my parents’ co-workers, who had been involved in smuggling Bibles. Or of my friends, whose parents or grandparents, aunts or uncles had disappeared into the night courtesy of The Black Cars. Stories of those people who had turned their neighbors, friends, relatives in.
It didn’t help that the police were poor and pulled you over for anything, looking for a bribe from you in order to support their own families. They terrified a twelve year old. It didn’t help that we moved there in winter when the whole world was grey and I had only ever known the colourful warmth and vibrancy of the Caribbean. It didn’t help that we lived in a city, where everyone is stranger to everyone else, when I did not yet understand that concept. It didn’t help that the million and one tiny things which makes a place or country home were all off, or non-existent, in that then-foreign land to me.
And yesterday, as I was mulling over all this in my head and wondering how I should be able to understand these fears, wondering at the nausea that washed over me, wondering how come I had seemed to always have had some of these fears and have known them so vividly already entering Slovakia, I remembered we studied the underground Church in Russia one year when I was seven or nine, and the father was killed and the KGB was everywhere and there were secret meetings and fear—so much fear. And I absorbed it all in my overactive imagination and took it with me to Slovakia, where it had existed, and where the shadows still moved.
I think that one of the reasons I love Slovakia as deeply as I do is because of experiencing those fears, and moving through them with everyone else. When I left the country for the last time two years ago, it had a vibrancy all its own. It had smiles, and laughter, and chatter on the public transportation. It had colourful buildings and clothes, and free theatre and press. It had travel and open (EU) borders. It had a hockey team that won the gold once and made us all go crazy screaming mad with joy and unity. It had its first mall, and then many malls and stores. We wore blue jeans, chewed bubble gum, and listened to rock ‘n’ roll and jazz in cellars and on the open streets. Slovakia fought its way out of the fog of fear and the shadows of oppression, and I was there with it through that, and I am free, too. But I think, the memories and the capacity to understand the incomprehensible will always remain. And that is what I experienced watching the movie in class the other day: the long memory of fear and oppression.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Disturbances
Sometimes i get so disturbed over the things that i don't know. i want to know everything. Why does that have to be impossible?
I'm learning how to do print-making right now. Prior to last Tuesday night, I had absolutely no idea what that was. Well, I had seen silk screen pieces before (and wondered where the silk was), and I did attend a gallery of prints and listen to the opening speech, but I still didn't understand it. And now, I'm delving in.
But the problem is, I'm not learning it "officially." I'm just trying to pick it up and pick it out of people who do know it. I hate not knowing, and flitting around the studio as the one helpless person who has to harrass everyone else in order to accomplish anything. And furthermore, I just want to know it already. I had my first go at it last Thursday night, from 9 until 11:30 pm! It was wonderful, and I fell in love with it.
Tonight, though, nothing went right. Not even a little bit. My prints didn't come out well. The ink kept drying too fast because my lines were to fine. The gunk didn't come off the screen very well. And then the door was locked to get into a room I needed, so I had to stop after doing...nothing. Nothing but not do what I wanted. I printed off some overhead transparency, so I will be ready to go, but I have nothing good to show for what I learnt on Thursday, and nothing but a mostly clean silk-screen and a transparency or two for the next time i have the chance to try.
I wish I had studied art when I was still in university. Why didn't I? I feel so inept when i try these things out, and I want so badly to know everything about them. And mostly? Mostly I want to paint. When I was little I would always try painting. I even stole my dad's white-board eisel once and set up a little "art studio" of my own in the garage. It didn't last long, but oh how i loved it. I painted a rock once, and it was really good... but then then someone put it outside and it rained. No more painting. I wish I knew how to use brushes and colours and make those things which are so beautiful that I cry when i see them. And I wish that trying to learn them back handedly worked out a little better. But maybe it is enough for now that i am even making the attempt?
I guess I'd rather be disturbed with my life and try to grow it than be fine with my life and live it narrowly.
I'm learning how to do print-making right now. Prior to last Tuesday night, I had absolutely no idea what that was. Well, I had seen silk screen pieces before (and wondered where the silk was), and I did attend a gallery of prints and listen to the opening speech, but I still didn't understand it. And now, I'm delving in.
But the problem is, I'm not learning it "officially." I'm just trying to pick it up and pick it out of people who do know it. I hate not knowing, and flitting around the studio as the one helpless person who has to harrass everyone else in order to accomplish anything. And furthermore, I just want to know it already. I had my first go at it last Thursday night, from 9 until 11:30 pm! It was wonderful, and I fell in love with it.
Tonight, though, nothing went right. Not even a little bit. My prints didn't come out well. The ink kept drying too fast because my lines were to fine. The gunk didn't come off the screen very well. And then the door was locked to get into a room I needed, so I had to stop after doing...nothing. Nothing but not do what I wanted. I printed off some overhead transparency, so I will be ready to go, but I have nothing good to show for what I learnt on Thursday, and nothing but a mostly clean silk-screen and a transparency or two for the next time i have the chance to try.
I wish I had studied art when I was still in university. Why didn't I? I feel so inept when i try these things out, and I want so badly to know everything about them. And mostly? Mostly I want to paint. When I was little I would always try painting. I even stole my dad's white-board eisel once and set up a little "art studio" of my own in the garage. It didn't last long, but oh how i loved it. I painted a rock once, and it was really good... but then then someone put it outside and it rained. No more painting. I wish I knew how to use brushes and colours and make those things which are so beautiful that I cry when i see them. And I wish that trying to learn them back handedly worked out a little better. But maybe it is enough for now that i am even making the attempt?
I guess I'd rather be disturbed with my life and try to grow it than be fine with my life and live it narrowly.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
General Colin Powell
I went to a conference the other day at which General Colin Powell was a keynote speaker, and I have to say, it was really exciting to hear him and see him in person. (no, I did not meet him, sadly). Honestly, I had never paid that much attention to him; I knew from magazines that he was an active leader and I was definitely aware that like most people in positions of power, was surrounded by plenty of controversy over his actions and inactions. I recall a time vaguely disliking him, but cannot remember the reason behind that leaning (perhaps just agreeing with the opinion of my friends. who can say...?)
Whatever my thoughts or lack of thoughts have been, and stating outright that I know very little about what he has actually done and not done, or whether I would like or dislike them... I really enjoyed hearing him. When he walked onto the stage, it was with such a command that you were instantly ready to listen to this person, and when he spoke, you still wanted to listen!
I think what I really apreciated was that he gave something of an answer to a question I have been pondering in my personal thoughts. If I ever want to "become someone important/powerful," what happens when that time is over? So many people talk about something being their purpose in life... and if your purpose in life is to do x job, what about when that job is finished? Should you just finish yourself off, since your life mission or purpose is completed?
There are many things I could say here on what I think about life mission and/or purpose, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever one's reason for being at the top is... the fact is, it will come to an end like all other things. Moreover, if that end comes before your death rather than as a result of it, what does that mean for you?
Gen. Powell talked about how yes, he has been a world leader and the fact is, now he is "just another ordinary person." [ordinary meant as being like others not in politically powerful positions.] And he spoke about the transition that requires, and the questioning you experience, and the fact that whether you are at the top or the bottom... you are still yourself, and your life [as being, you] is not over.
It was encouraging to hear someone like him speak of the position he was in not as the end-all-be-all/end-of-your-life-journey, but as a step along the way in continuing to be you. Furthermore, he spoke of such positions as not being ones that you seek--to paraphrase him, "A real leader does not even need to look for followers; a real leader is someone people will follow if for nothing other than curiousity." He also talked a lot about how leadership is not just about positioning yourself, if it is about that at all. Leadership is, instead, about taking care of your followers and making sure that they are in the best possible place and will continue to be so.
I don't know about his politics... but what I heard of him, and how he appeared IRL to me at the conference makes me say his lifestyle/character is one that perhaps I would not mind people following more.
Whatever my thoughts or lack of thoughts have been, and stating outright that I know very little about what he has actually done and not done, or whether I would like or dislike them... I really enjoyed hearing him. When he walked onto the stage, it was with such a command that you were instantly ready to listen to this person, and when he spoke, you still wanted to listen!
I think what I really apreciated was that he gave something of an answer to a question I have been pondering in my personal thoughts. If I ever want to "become someone important/powerful," what happens when that time is over? So many people talk about something being their purpose in life... and if your purpose in life is to do x job, what about when that job is finished? Should you just finish yourself off, since your life mission or purpose is completed?
There are many things I could say here on what I think about life mission and/or purpose, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever one's reason for being at the top is... the fact is, it will come to an end like all other things. Moreover, if that end comes before your death rather than as a result of it, what does that mean for you?
Gen. Powell talked about how yes, he has been a world leader and the fact is, now he is "just another ordinary person." [ordinary meant as being like others not in politically powerful positions.] And he spoke about the transition that requires, and the questioning you experience, and the fact that whether you are at the top or the bottom... you are still yourself, and your life [as being, you] is not over.
It was encouraging to hear someone like him speak of the position he was in not as the end-all-be-all/end-of-your-life-journey, but as a step along the way in continuing to be you. Furthermore, he spoke of such positions as not being ones that you seek--to paraphrase him, "A real leader does not even need to look for followers; a real leader is someone people will follow if for nothing other than curiousity." He also talked a lot about how leadership is not just about positioning yourself, if it is about that at all. Leadership is, instead, about taking care of your followers and making sure that they are in the best possible place and will continue to be so.
I don't know about his politics... but what I heard of him, and how he appeared IRL to me at the conference makes me say his lifestyle/character is one that perhaps I would not mind people following more.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
License to drive...
I just got back at 12:30am this morning from a roadtrip... the last leg of which involved driving up from Cape Henlopen State Park in Delaware to my home in NY--completed through torrential rain in seven hours time. Not bad.
But as I was driving up past Scranton (shout-out to The Office) and working to keep awake, I started thinking about everything my car and I have gone through together. I have now had my license for a year and a few days. That's it. I have technically owned my car for about 15 months, but I did not actually go get and drive it until a month after getting my license... So let's see... I haven't yet had my dear Goochie (name-of-my-car) for a whole year yet, really. And what have we done together?
9 States, plus Washington D.C. as well: New York, Pennyslvania, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, NJ
I actually did 8 states and D.C. in just this last road-trip... (everything but NJ this last time around). By this weekend I'll have several more states to add to that list of my car and I.
I've also been through a set of brakes, a coil, several vaccuum thingers, a hose, and a transmission. And of course, lots and lots of gas and oil. My trunk got bent in by some annonymous person or thing, and I managed to scrape my side door all by myself this last trip around (on a pillar).
I've driven in torrential rain, a terrible blizzard, lots of snow, on ice, in 100 degree weather with a lousy air-co, up mountians, down mountains, and through flat flat flat land and marshes (sticking to the roads. and don't follow the lights, Frodo...) Hmm, what else? Backroads and detours, too.
I've used Google maps ten-billion times, gotten lost only a few (usually visiting the same friend!!), and did the last road-trip entirely by the old-fashioned Atlas except Maryland--Delaware.
I've now driven in Buffalo, Rochester, Philadephia, Cleveland, Columbus, Knoxville, D.C. (mostly belt-way, thank goodness), etc and feeling much more secure than my first venture into a city (at night, with minimum other cars around) where I was so scared my passengers had to keep telling me to breathe because I was holding my breath and going to pass out!!!
So I think my license, my car, and I have come a very long ways, not just in mileage. My first time driving at night was not even a year ago, and it was an 8 hour trip--from 8pm--4am with two other friends. Last week I drove from 8:30pm--9:30am, and now I'm afraid I don't give much thought to whether i drive by night or by day. Haha.
Anyways. Now that you know my car history, look out! I know this was a perfectly random post, but what can I say? It's what I was thinking about. :)
But as I was driving up past Scranton (shout-out to The Office) and working to keep awake, I started thinking about everything my car and I have gone through together. I have now had my license for a year and a few days. That's it. I have technically owned my car for about 15 months, but I did not actually go get and drive it until a month after getting my license... So let's see... I haven't yet had my dear Goochie (name-of-my-car) for a whole year yet, really. And what have we done together?
9 States, plus Washington D.C. as well: New York, Pennyslvania, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, NJ
I actually did 8 states and D.C. in just this last road-trip... (everything but NJ this last time around). By this weekend I'll have several more states to add to that list of my car and I.
I've also been through a set of brakes, a coil, several vaccuum thingers, a hose, and a transmission. And of course, lots and lots of gas and oil. My trunk got bent in by some annonymous person or thing, and I managed to scrape my side door all by myself this last trip around (on a pillar).
I've driven in torrential rain, a terrible blizzard, lots of snow, on ice, in 100 degree weather with a lousy air-co, up mountians, down mountains, and through flat flat flat land and marshes (sticking to the roads. and don't follow the lights, Frodo...) Hmm, what else? Backroads and detours, too.
I've used Google maps ten-billion times, gotten lost only a few (usually visiting the same friend!!), and did the last road-trip entirely by the old-fashioned Atlas except Maryland--Delaware.
I've now driven in Buffalo, Rochester, Philadephia, Cleveland, Columbus, Knoxville, D.C. (mostly belt-way, thank goodness), etc and feeling much more secure than my first venture into a city (at night, with minimum other cars around) where I was so scared my passengers had to keep telling me to breathe because I was holding my breath and going to pass out!!!
So I think my license, my car, and I have come a very long ways, not just in mileage. My first time driving at night was not even a year ago, and it was an 8 hour trip--from 8pm--4am with two other friends. Last week I drove from 8:30pm--9:30am, and now I'm afraid I don't give much thought to whether i drive by night or by day. Haha.
Anyways. Now that you know my car history, look out! I know this was a perfectly random post, but what can I say? It's what I was thinking about. :)
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Decisions & Dreams
My car died yesterday, or at least, it died for all practical purposes. It has been giving me trouble for about a week, growing worse until I took it to the car doctor. Driving there I was praying the whole way not to have it die on the side of the road, and that it would be a simple, inexpensive fix.
Well, it wasn't. They took my keys, rode Goochie (my car) around, hooked her up to something, and told me my transmission was in its final moments of life--this information coming the day before I begin something of a 15 day roadtrip. wow.
I don't have money to fix my transmission. Do you know they are ridiculously expensive? (or at least, they are for those of us with small paychecks, student debt, and too many bills...) Furthermore, I don't have a credit card, because I don't want to live on credit. I have enough invisible binds on me as is; why would I want a card that would tempt me to *unwittingly* bind myself more? Now I know why I should at least have one, though. For emergencies.
So I could try buying a car. Because my roadtrip really isn't cancellable--my sister is getting married and I need to be there. That only involves applying for credit, taking out another loan, and paying all my extra money into that loan over the next four years of my life.
Frankly, the car (actually, Ford Escape) offered me was a really good deal. And maybe I am childish not to take it. But I do not want to bind myself for four years, not to mention binding myself in such a way that I would hardly be able to appreciate the fact that I had a new car. What's the point, if you can't afford to go anywhere?
And the fact is... the money spent on a new car (when I was *planning* to sell mine in a year, anyways) would be taken from my savings for a boat (which I was *planning* to buy asap). And I know that the boat is just a dream and the car is my reality, but I want that dream to come true, and I am the only way it can happen. If I don't believe in it, who will? People struggle enough with their own dreams; they don't go around making any little nobody's dream come true, especially when the nobody's aren't somebody for being such a nobody.
So someone else lent me their credit card, and I will re-pay them over the next few months, and then I will be free to continue following my dream unfettered by payments for a car i didn't want. Maybe refiguring a transmission in an old car isn't smart. I don't know. But if its the clearest way to a dream i have right now, however nonsensical the dream is, at least I still have my dream, and at least i know the value of it to me now; its worth more than a car and more than my own transportation in the meanwhile. Because I realised that I would rather be car-less for a year than give up the possibility of tomorrow.
As it is, I will only be one day behind in my roadtrip and one transmission behind in my savings. Maybe that's not too bad.
Well, it wasn't. They took my keys, rode Goochie (my car) around, hooked her up to something, and told me my transmission was in its final moments of life--this information coming the day before I begin something of a 15 day roadtrip. wow.
I don't have money to fix my transmission. Do you know they are ridiculously expensive? (or at least, they are for those of us with small paychecks, student debt, and too many bills...) Furthermore, I don't have a credit card, because I don't want to live on credit. I have enough invisible binds on me as is; why would I want a card that would tempt me to *unwittingly* bind myself more? Now I know why I should at least have one, though. For emergencies.
So I could try buying a car. Because my roadtrip really isn't cancellable--my sister is getting married and I need to be there. That only involves applying for credit, taking out another loan, and paying all my extra money into that loan over the next four years of my life.
Frankly, the car (actually, Ford Escape) offered me was a really good deal. And maybe I am childish not to take it. But I do not want to bind myself for four years, not to mention binding myself in such a way that I would hardly be able to appreciate the fact that I had a new car. What's the point, if you can't afford to go anywhere?
And the fact is... the money spent on a new car (when I was *planning* to sell mine in a year, anyways) would be taken from my savings for a boat (which I was *planning* to buy asap). And I know that the boat is just a dream and the car is my reality, but I want that dream to come true, and I am the only way it can happen. If I don't believe in it, who will? People struggle enough with their own dreams; they don't go around making any little nobody's dream come true, especially when the nobody's aren't somebody for being such a nobody.
So someone else lent me their credit card, and I will re-pay them over the next few months, and then I will be free to continue following my dream unfettered by payments for a car i didn't want. Maybe refiguring a transmission in an old car isn't smart. I don't know. But if its the clearest way to a dream i have right now, however nonsensical the dream is, at least I still have my dream, and at least i know the value of it to me now; its worth more than a car and more than my own transportation in the meanwhile. Because I realised that I would rather be car-less for a year than give up the possibility of tomorrow.
As it is, I will only be one day behind in my roadtrip and one transmission behind in my savings. Maybe that's not too bad.
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