conversations with my uncle john are always hilarious. he's a very animated man. he gets ahead of himself when he's excited about a story, or thinks something's funny. similar to my dad, his brother, who couldn't get through telling a joke without laughing hysterically in the middle of it. it took forever for him to get to the punchline. because the only thing he was thinking of the whole time was how funny the punchline is.
my uncle was describing how his son, adam, was renovating his house. here's part of the conversation i had with him.
"his ex GIRLFRIEND is a MONster!" i thought maybe she was a raving bitch or something. he continued, "she bought a TOILET a WHOLE TOILET and came over and HOOKED EVERYTHING UP! pipes and EVERYTHING!! and it WORKS!!"
you know that high voice some women get when they're telling one of their girlfriends about an injustice, a good shoe sale, something their boyfriend, husband, boss, sister did that they couldn't believe?
my uncle john has a high voice. and so far i've only ever heard it when he describes a woman installing an entire toilet.
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
dreams are funny stuff
i was at a restaurant. ben, mom, ginger, nancy, chela, wanda, millie, melva, leroy, shirley, anetta, greg, gena were being seated. i sat down with them. more chairs had to be added. but there weren't enough place settings for all of us. so i kept scooting over, moving my chair, and then my chair was taken away, and i was standing up next to the table. and then the table got smaller. i watched them flip and fold the table up and tuck chairs under the table so there would be no room for me.
and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.
i wasn't hurt or even mad. i thought to myself "how fucking rude. there's obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners." i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. "fucking rude."
i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.
=====
the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.
=====
phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn't be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.
i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame "the nothing" in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.
i've had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.
in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don't know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.
my last parachuting dream.... i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.
how sweetly disgusting is that?
=====
anyone who's known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i'm reading eat love pray. i'm in bali with liz now. she's spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.
seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to "Worry about your craziness only--make you in peace."
this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. "you can't understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy." i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.
so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else's book, in someone else's words, under someone else's copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i'm letting voldemort go. for now. i'm letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i'm letting it go.
easier said than done. but it's on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.
=====
another thing i'm holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it's been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don't like being alone. i'll leave the tv on, i'll stay up late, so i'll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don't like being alone.
so back to this thing i'm holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they're there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you're going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying "I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me." the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.
my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.
so this talisman, i'm taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.
goodnight to you all, and peace.
and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.
i wasn't hurt or even mad. i thought to myself "how fucking rude. there's obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners." i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. "fucking rude."
i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.
=====
the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.
=====
phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn't be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.
i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame "the nothing" in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.
i've had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.
in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don't know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.
my last parachuting dream.... i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.
how sweetly disgusting is that?
=====
anyone who's known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i'm reading eat love pray. i'm in bali with liz now. she's spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.
seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to "Worry about your craziness only--make you in peace."
this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. "you can't understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy." i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.
so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else's book, in someone else's words, under someone else's copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i'm letting voldemort go. for now. i'm letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i'm letting it go.
easier said than done. but it's on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.
=====
another thing i'm holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it's been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don't like being alone. i'll leave the tv on, i'll stay up late, so i'll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don't like being alone.
so back to this thing i'm holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they're there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you're going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying "I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me." the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.
my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.
so this talisman, i'm taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.
goodnight to you all, and peace.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
i have my mom's hands

- she was a bad driver
- she never used her blinkers
- she loved us. oh how she loved us
- she sang to us
- crazy silly songs about catalina matalina oopsy daisy donna wanna okopokoloko was her name.
- she sewed
- quilts
- sunday dresses
- for me and my sister
- every sunday
- she fixed everything with an ice cube or a popsicle
- she loved us
- she was a lady
- she taught us manners
- every part of me that is a lady is from her
- she protected us
- you didn't mess with her
- she never knew how much i admired her
- but she does
- every part of me that is strong is from her
- she typed fast
- she taught me how to make tortillas
- she taught me what family was
- she was so funny
- she was so patient
- she had a favorite
- and that is fine
- because she's my favorite, too
- she had this way about her...this way of speaking. she had this way of putting so much emotion into one word. she could say my name and i would know instantly that i should stop pulling my sister's hair, or that she was proud of me, or that she wasn't kidding when she counted to 3.
- her hands soothed so much. her touch on my forehead, the way she brushed my hair, how she tucked me in at night. i have that touch with those i love. i feel the way they love that touch, how much they feel my love from my touch, and i learned it from her.
- she loved the opera
- and ballet
- and classical music
- i used to hate it
- i miss her sewing room, so full of light and so many fabrics, always with the classical music
- she wore opium
- i see the bottle, but i can't smell it
- if i were to smell it right now, the memories would bring me to my knees
- she loved my dad
- so much
- i never heard her call him by his name
- he was always dad or honey, never ever gilbert
- she made his lunch every morning
- i remember so many mornings waking up next to her
- the sheets so warm
- we would just lay there, feet tangled, morning breaking
- she was so safe
- so safe
- she made popsicles
- she gave me so many things to pass down
- one day, after a hard day of school, i cried into her shoulder. she told me then, "friends will come and go, but your sister will always be there."
- i didn't believe her then.
- but that is the strongest, truest thing she has ever taught me
- she didn't teach me to speak spanish
- she called my history teacher a "fuck hole" after they had an argument about an assignment of mine when i was 16
- i was never so proud to have her in my corner
- she loved her sister and her family
- she left us with that, our blanket
- she married young
- she protected her family
- everything ballsy i have ever done or ever will do, is from her strength
- she gave me my fair lady, brigadoon, the quiet man
- oh, and she gave me my love of books
- she read and read and read to us
- she would ground us by taking away our books. while our friends were getting their phone taken away, their nights out with their friends, she would crush us by taking away our books
- she was funny
- she had her own living room, with the "special" furniture and glass table
- and we didn't cross that line
- only to take pictures in our sunday dresses
- she called me lally. i will always be hers. other people in my family call me that, but it's never the same
- i miss her so much
- she broke my heart
- i still love her
- forever
- she taught me how to tie my shoes
- she gave me an infinite amount of memories that i can't even think of right now, but that have shaped me into the woman i am today.
- i was a surprise
- at the ripe old age of 38
- she stopped for a milkshake on the way to the hospital before delivering me
- i will think of a thousand different things to tell you about her after i post this
- i love her so
- i would give anything to see her, just to see her, not even to say anything to her. just to see her reading a book in the sun.
- i pretend to have conversations with her over the phone
- i catch glimpses of her at the grocery store, i think of her when i hear someone whistling south pacific
- oh, she could whistle so sweetly
- she gave me my sister so i wouldn't be lonely growing up
- my sister has proven quite a valuable plaything/cohort/partner in crime
- my mom was right about so many things
- oh, how i love her
- "if a a boy tells you he doesn't deserve you, he is right."
- "also believe him if he tells you he is an asshole."
- she thought i was funny
- and was always in my corner
- i don't know what i would say to her if i saw her
- i would say nothing
- i would hold her
- i would thank her
- and that would be enough for me
- i smell her perfum now
- oh, and i want to hold her
Thursday, June 21, 2007
thursday 4/26/07 1:58 pm
I was in a hospital room. In a chair at a round table. Surrounded by curtains and beeping machines. Curtains all over. Yellow ones. I could see feet where the curtains didn't reach the ground. Feet and scrubs. I don't know why I was there. They were doing ekgs. They got an ekg back from Barron. I heard the lab tech say to calibrate the machine. Barron’s ekg was all pink instead of yellow. They thought the ekg was off. I looked over. I was waiting for medical records. I didn't think I'd actually see him. My dad was laying in a hospital bed. In his blue bathrobe. That bathrobe with the red trim. They got the paddles out. He was writhing in pain. I didn’t want to go over there because I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him that way. His eyes were closed. Maybe he wouldn’t even know I was there. I walked over scared. I couldn't breathe. This is what we waited for, what we needed, what we were looking for all that time, what our mother would never give us. I reached and held his hand to try and calm him. He fought it. I told him it was me and fought him back. I told him I was there. His writhing calmed.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Who?
Me, Yolanda.
You have to talk slower.
Yo land a, I whispered.
Nand?
He held my face and kissed me.
stay asleep
He kept having heart attacks. One every few minutes. The doctor gave him pills. We left the hospital. As long as he had those pills and as long as I was asleep, this little world existed.
how much time do i have
We stood in front of a garage door. He pressed a button on a key fob. The garage door opened. He pressed another button, the car beeped and the doors unlocked. He stole mom’s car from the garage. A car I never sat in, from a garage I never walked through. We hopped in, he told her we were going to the store. She was yelling at him to get back in bed, or to take his pills. Whatever she was saying, she was pissed at me. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. One of many similar outfits. His glass case rested in his chest pocket. "Face to case," he always said.
We drove through this little hillside town. Full of bouganvilla vines and cobblestones (interesting, it was the same kind of roads as the dream I had with him in the white waiting room that June). He laidthe seat back. He was driving. Wouldn’t let me drive. For some reason. I didn’t insist, for some reason. He kept taking pills. Kept wincing in pain. Kept driving.
stay asleep
I don’t remember what else we did. We talked. I told him I loved him. I had to tell him I loved him so he would know before this little world dissolved. He looked me in the eye. I saw that smile. That smile I knew so well growing up. The one I could always coax out of him with a joke. That laugh. Oh god, his laugh. I knew I had to say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye before my alarm went off, before he died again. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
i want more time
He was out of pills. He grabbed his chest and pulled over. He needed water. Cold water.
not now
I ran into the house we stopped in front of. He followed behind me. It was an Asian family. They didn’t speak English and were scared. I tried to tell them it was okay, I just needed water. We were strangers in their house. Of course they were scared. I didn't care. They grabbed the phone. I ran into the kitchen. My dad needed cold water. Cold, it has to be cold. I saw a water cooler. Got a glass of cold water. He drank it and it was better. The mom was on the phone talking, yelling, pointing and waving at us. I said we were leaving and thanked them.
We were back in the car. Then we were walking in the cobblestone street. Hand in hand. The change in his cargo shorts jingled like always. No words. All words. Peace. Ticking clock. Mom’s voice. Someone's voice. Inner voice? Said it was time.
i know
We were down the hill from the Asian family’s house. I put my hand on his shoulder and said I wanted to talk to him. He was happy. He said yes. We walked up the stairs.
it’s okay
We walked up a flight of stone stairs to the Asian family's backyard. There was a party, trays of food, tables and red table cloths, candles, silverware, fireworks. It was late afternoon, before dusk. They were glad to see us. They were celebrating. We were at a party. I was at a party. Phill was there. I hugged him. I tucked the top of my head into the crook of his chest and chin and smelled him.
My dad’s here.
Where?
I looked over. He was gone.
He’s not here.
That weight of grief hit my chest again, like it always does.
He gave you to me.
i woke up exhausted, drained, gasping for air, filled with grief all over again. these dreams are like reliving his death all over again. these dreams are different than any other dreams i've ever had. i both welcome them and dread them. i wonder every time if this dream is the last dream.
i'd rather relive the grief than say goodbye.
I was in a hospital room. In a chair at a round table. Surrounded by curtains and beeping machines. Curtains all over. Yellow ones. I could see feet where the curtains didn't reach the ground. Feet and scrubs. I don't know why I was there. They were doing ekgs. They got an ekg back from Barron. I heard the lab tech say to calibrate the machine. Barron’s ekg was all pink instead of yellow. They thought the ekg was off. I looked over. I was waiting for medical records. I didn't think I'd actually see him. My dad was laying in a hospital bed. In his blue bathrobe. That bathrobe with the red trim. They got the paddles out. He was writhing in pain. I didn’t want to go over there because I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him that way. His eyes were closed. Maybe he wouldn’t even know I was there. I walked over scared. I couldn't breathe. This is what we waited for, what we needed, what we were looking for all that time, what our mother would never give us. I reached and held his hand to try and calm him. He fought it. I told him it was me and fought him back. I told him I was there. His writhing calmed.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Who?
Me, Yolanda.
You have to talk slower.
Yo land a, I whispered.
Nand?
He held my face and kissed me.
stay asleep
He kept having heart attacks. One every few minutes. The doctor gave him pills. We left the hospital. As long as he had those pills and as long as I was asleep, this little world existed.
how much time do i have
We stood in front of a garage door. He pressed a button on a key fob. The garage door opened. He pressed another button, the car beeped and the doors unlocked. He stole mom’s car from the garage. A car I never sat in, from a garage I never walked through. We hopped in, he told her we were going to the store. She was yelling at him to get back in bed, or to take his pills. Whatever she was saying, she was pissed at me. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. One of many similar outfits. His glass case rested in his chest pocket. "Face to case," he always said.
We drove through this little hillside town. Full of bouganvilla vines and cobblestones (interesting, it was the same kind of roads as the dream I had with him in the white waiting room that June). He laidthe seat back. He was driving. Wouldn’t let me drive. For some reason. I didn’t insist, for some reason. He kept taking pills. Kept wincing in pain. Kept driving.
stay asleep
I don’t remember what else we did. We talked. I told him I loved him. I had to tell him I loved him so he would know before this little world dissolved. He looked me in the eye. I saw that smile. That smile I knew so well growing up. The one I could always coax out of him with a joke. That laugh. Oh god, his laugh. I knew I had to say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye before my alarm went off, before he died again. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
i want more time
He was out of pills. He grabbed his chest and pulled over. He needed water. Cold water.
not now
I ran into the house we stopped in front of. He followed behind me. It was an Asian family. They didn’t speak English and were scared. I tried to tell them it was okay, I just needed water. We were strangers in their house. Of course they were scared. I didn't care. They grabbed the phone. I ran into the kitchen. My dad needed cold water. Cold, it has to be cold. I saw a water cooler. Got a glass of cold water. He drank it and it was better. The mom was on the phone talking, yelling, pointing and waving at us. I said we were leaving and thanked them.
We were back in the car. Then we were walking in the cobblestone street. Hand in hand. The change in his cargo shorts jingled like always. No words. All words. Peace. Ticking clock. Mom’s voice. Someone's voice. Inner voice? Said it was time.
i know
We were down the hill from the Asian family’s house. I put my hand on his shoulder and said I wanted to talk to him. He was happy. He said yes. We walked up the stairs.
it’s okay
We walked up a flight of stone stairs to the Asian family's backyard. There was a party, trays of food, tables and red table cloths, candles, silverware, fireworks. It was late afternoon, before dusk. They were glad to see us. They were celebrating. We were at a party. I was at a party. Phill was there. I hugged him. I tucked the top of my head into the crook of his chest and chin and smelled him.
My dad’s here.
Where?
I looked over. He was gone.
He’s not here.
That weight of grief hit my chest again, like it always does.
He gave you to me.
i woke up exhausted, drained, gasping for air, filled with grief all over again. these dreams are like reliving his death all over again. these dreams are different than any other dreams i've ever had. i both welcome them and dread them. i wonder every time if this dream is the last dream.
i'd rather relive the grief than say goodbye.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
my dad liked donuts.
my dad liked donuts.
what dad doesn't like donuts?
i stood there in the cafeteria this morning. holding my cup of scrambled eggs, sprinkle of cheese, and salsa. and i fought back tears.
that lump they said, those feelings they said, that pain they said would hit you in the oddest moments. it always does.
it hit me.
in the cafeteria today.
while i tried to talk gia out of getting donuts for breakfast. after, actually.
i couldn't remember what his favorite kind was.
i looked at darcie. trying to decide between coffee and orange juice. i looked at that guy with the pleasant face and scrubs. smiled at me.
my dad liked donuts.
oh.
oh god.
not here.
look, potato chips.
dad.
shhhh.
choke it back.
don't lose it here.
coffee?
no.
cranberry juice?
stop.
i wanted it to go away. this basketball in my throat that choked me every day after i read that letter. after i got that voicemail. after months and months of looking, of asking, of begging, of sending, of writing. that firepaingiantpunchtothegutcan'tbreatheveragainiamdrowningsuffocation of grief. i knew it would go away. i knew i wouldn't always gasp for breath while gassing up mycar or brushing my teeth. i wanted to be through it. i wanted to stay in it. i wanted to fuse to the couch and live as blue velvet.
he tied my shoes.
he liked donuts.
he taught me how to catch a baseball.
he bandaged my knees.
he said i was strong.
he took off my training wheels and ran next to my bike with his hand on my back.
it never goes away. it evolves. it changes you.and it sucker punches you in the cafeteria.
chocolate. with peanuts.
what dad doesn't like donuts?
i stood there in the cafeteria this morning. holding my cup of scrambled eggs, sprinkle of cheese, and salsa. and i fought back tears.
that lump they said, those feelings they said, that pain they said would hit you in the oddest moments. it always does.
it hit me.
in the cafeteria today.
while i tried to talk gia out of getting donuts for breakfast. after, actually.
i couldn't remember what his favorite kind was.
i looked at darcie. trying to decide between coffee and orange juice. i looked at that guy with the pleasant face and scrubs. smiled at me.
my dad liked donuts.
oh.
oh god.
not here.
look, potato chips.
dad.
shhhh.
choke it back.
don't lose it here.
coffee?
no.
cranberry juice?
stop.
i wanted it to go away. this basketball in my throat that choked me every day after i read that letter. after i got that voicemail. after months and months of looking, of asking, of begging, of sending, of writing. that firepaingiantpunchtothegutcan'tbreatheveragainiamdrowningsuffocation of grief. i knew it would go away. i knew i wouldn't always gasp for breath while gassing up mycar or brushing my teeth. i wanted to be through it. i wanted to stay in it. i wanted to fuse to the couch and live as blue velvet.
he tied my shoes.
he liked donuts.
he taught me how to catch a baseball.
he bandaged my knees.
he said i was strong.
he took off my training wheels and ran next to my bike with his hand on my back.
it never goes away. it evolves. it changes you.and it sucker punches you in the cafeteria.
chocolate. with peanuts.
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