Going to England was a different experience for us. Daniel and I have never actually travelled together just the two of us. When I came home from England the first time, his visa was not yet approved so I had to come alone and he came a couple of months later. The next time we went, we had Stephanie with us, and all subsequent times we had kids with us too.

Deciding to go – just the two of us – was hard. I didn’t doubt Stephanie, Dean or my Mum’s willingness to make sure that the kids were looked after. I did struggle with whether or not there would be difficult moments or incidents and whether or not it was fair or reasonable to leave them to deal with that. Abigail had really wanted to go. Not because of anything in particular, but because she doesn’t like to miss out on things and she doesn’t like to think that we aren’t there to do what she wants or needs. When we pointed out that she’d be bored as batshit because there would be no internet and no TV (the accounts/TV license etc were all cancelled soon after Allan died,) no other young people to talk to, and the majority of the time would be spent sorting through and cleaning the house, and it would be fucking cold, she decided maybe it wasn’t so bad to be missing out.

In the time between when we got booked and got the dates finalised and when we left, I did all I could to make them all as prepared as possible so it would be as easy as I could make it for them to manage. The three kids actually took it upon themselves, with no prompting, to plan out a menu for themselves for the not-quite two weeks that we would be gone and I stocked the cupboard/freezer with all I could in advance to minimise the amount of shopping Stephanie and Dean would have to do. It was arranged that Abigail and Kristian would go to my mum’s over the weekend, so they planned with her what they would have/do while there as well. That way Stephanie and Dean got a bit of a break. During the week the kids had to go to school as well so it was not like full 24 hour days that they had to be supervising them.

I still had a bit of worry that there might be an explosion or something, but Stephanie and Dean knew what to do if that happened and I kept reminding myself that we don’t have to cancel our lives because of that possibility. What we need is also important. It was important to Daniel to go. We did not go when Lisa died. That wasn’t a problem, we had seen her six weeks earlier and we were quite aware that it was going to be the last time. We were comfortable with that choice. But this time it was not ‘just’ Allan. The things that needed taking care of, the house that needed clearing out, the belongings that had to be sorted, donated, thrown away, etc. It was both of them, even though he was the only one living there for the last four years. It was the last chance to do something for his parents, and he wanted it not just for himself but so that it didn’t all fall to his siblings to handle. As it is, there is a lot they have to do anyway because we are simply unable, being so remote. When I say ‘they,’ I mean Nikki and Lee, because.. well, Sandie. Chris is the executor anyway so technically it’s all his job but it’s not like anyone is going to just ignore it all and leave for him to deal with.

Something else I thought about a lot is whether or not I was physically up to doing this. I wanted to go with Daniel for multiple reasons, of course primarily because he’s my husband and my heart and I wanted to support him because his Dad had died and it’s pretty shit. But there was also that the whole diabetes thing was still very new and being my strict and paranoid self, I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone else to look out for his needs as obsessively as I would. And like, England food is different. We had been eating so much salad and I knew that winter in England would be.. not very salady. He also was committed to doing the right thing and eating smart, but sometimes forgetful or just not aware when things were ‘yes’ or ‘no’ since I am the main meal planner and maker and had done a lot more research than he had a chance to given that he works full time. So my second reason was because he needed me to look after him. He said he needed me too, not because he’s a useless idiot who can’t look after himself but because he is unaccustomed to having to think about a lot of these things since those are my responsibilities in our team, and trying to start thinking about them all in a foreign country while you’re in a heightened emotional state is a big ask. And it was good to have him say he needed me. So often I feel like I don’t do enough, because I want to be able to do so much more and to have him tell me that he does need me and that what I do does make a difference was really meaningful to me.

Anyway. In terms of my health, I figured that my activities would not be so different in terms of physical demand to my normal life and if it did turn out to be too much, I made sure I bought plenty of medicine with me, which it would not be a problem to take since I did not have to make sure I was available as a responsible and alert adult who could drive. (We only had access to a manual car so I couldn’t legally drive anyway.)

As it turned out, I had a really good couple of weeks. A lot of what I usually do was greatly reduced as well as being shared by Daniel. We only had to feed ourselves, we only had our own clothes to wash and dry, when we went to the supermarket he was there to help and we were free to move as slowly as I needed because we had the luxury of time to go at my pace. The first day after we got there I was feeling pretty terrible and had to keep refreshing the PFs regularly, but I think that was a result of airplane confinement and the ludicrous amount of walking that happens in airports. And though we did a lot of emptying of cupboards and shelves and drawers, and sorting through all of the stuff we found, I was able to sit for a lot and we also took regular breaks when it started to get boring or painful, and the breaks were actually breaks. At home when I take a break from one thing it usually means going and doing another thing for a while so that one part of my body stops hurting and another one starts. Hips hurting from doing dishes? Go and fold up some washing until the burning in my back becomes too much. I didn’t have other jobs to do and other responsibilities to make sure I managed to complete before everyone got back from school and work so when I sat or laid down to take a break I could actually let go and relax. It was ok if I fell asleep for a bit. The opportunity to take real breaks and listen to my body and move at my own pace without constantly feeling the push of the clock and the weight of responsibility and the need to manage everything before I got too tired and too sore was quite eye-opening. Because I am figuratively wading through molasses so much, making a lot of effort to achieve what sometimes looks like so little; because I am so exhausted by what I do manage but I am also victim to that social expectation that the modern woman should be able to manage home, kids, hobbies, a job, a side business, a perfect relationship, charitable work and do it all with ease and grace; I feel like I am letting my family down. Not having to manage what I usually do made me see that I do a lot more than I often give myself credit for and having the luxury to listen to my body to keep the pain and exhaustion at minimal, manageable levels was a reminder that I am doing enough. It was also a bit sad to feel so comparatively good and remember that for most people, that is normal yet for me it felt almost revelatory.. oh yeah, this is what life is supposed to feel like. That you become so accustomed to hurting and aching and pain and exhaustion that you literally cannot remember what it is like to feel ‘normal’ is one of the hardest and cruelest parts of having a chronic illness. Because the aching and hurting and tiredness become normal to you, it is easy to forget that your normal is not everyone’s normal, and when you feel like you’re not achieving much it’s so hard to not blame and doubt yourself.

I even felt good enough for us to decide to go for a recreational walk around the lake one day. I don’t know when the last time I felt like that at home was. Sometimes we try to do things like that anyway, because I get tired of not doing things, but it’s always with the knowledge that it’s going to come at a price. Anyway. We did try to go for a walk and it was nice but we stopped for a rest at a bench and then we decided that was enough of a walk not because it was too much for me but because it was FUCKING FREEZING. It was also very late in the afternoon, like maybe 1530 or something ridiculous so it was starting to get DARK and even colder so we were like, nah, fuck this.



We had of course already had midsummer at the weekend. Christmas Day was a Wednesday and we were sitting in bed just watching videos, reading, playing games, etc. Just a weekendy type of day and enjoying that Daniel didn’t have to go to work and wouldn’t have to for another week or so. Abigail and Kristian were both doing things but weren’t too noisy and weren’t disturbing us. Stephanie was at Dean’s, so that she could have Christmas with him and his family as well as having had midsummer with us and my mum.

So, it wasn’t odd when Daniel’s phone rang, we often spoke to Allan on the weekend and especially on special occasions like Christmas. It wasn’t Allan though, it was Nikki, and although we don’t often speak to her it wasn’t immediately alarming that she was calling us because it was Christmas. So Daniel answered brightly with “Hi Nik! Merry Christmas!” And then she started talking, and he went quiet and stopped smiling.

Abigail had heard the phone ring and come in to say hello to Grandad. She was shushed away and told to come back in a few minutes. Daniel listened to Nikki for a bit and then thanked her for calling and they said bye.

I knew it was going to be something bad but I thought maybe he was sick or in hospital or maybe someone else was. But after trying multiple times through the day to call Allan and finding out that Lee had also been trying to chat to him but had been unable, they started to get really worried. (Being the 24th of December, it was the main celebratory day, per Danish tradition.) So Nikki called Pat and John since they live a lot closer to Lincoln and asked if they might be able to go over to check on him since he’d not answered his phone all day. It was already evening by this stage and they were out somewhere and had to then drive to Allan’s, so it was quite late at night by the time they got there. They have a key because they helped him look after Lisa a lot when she was sick and also because it’s always a good idea for someone to have a key to your house in case something happens to you..

He was in his bed. They called the ambulance and everything but it was clear that he had already been gone for some time. We thought that it was likely that his abdominal aortal aneurysm had ruptured, as he had been getting monitored for it regularly and it had been slowly growing. He told us that the doctors had said that usually they would operate at 5cm but a lot of stuff in the NHS was in a state of uncertainly due to the mess of Brexit so they now had a guideline of 6cm for surgery. After the last check up he told us it was at 5.8cm. It was something we were keen for him to be able to get fixed, because while he had it he was unable to travel, especially by air; and he had decided that he was going to try to come here but was unable to make any proper plans for it because of the AAA. So I think most of us thought it had been the aneurysm, but we wouldn’t know for sure until after his post-mortem examination. We were aware that it was Christmas Day and then Boxing Day and didn’t expect that would happen immediately, but I myself thought that they’d be open the next day (Friday, 27th December) because services like that are pretty essentially and only close for the minimum public holidays, right?

So, so wrong. Turned out the coroner’s office was closed for Christmas and New Year and wouldn’t be open again until some time in the first week of January. But it’s ok, I thought. It’s just a few extra days and he’ll have to be one of the first to be processed since he has to be one of the first to have come in after they closed, having died on the 24th of December.

It wasn’t because we were anxious to be certain about the cause of death – I actually don’t think most of us considered it likely at all that it would have been anything but the aneurysm – but because we had a difficult situation to coordinate where three of his children were in one country and one was in another, Christmas and New Year are notoriously uncool times to travel, especially when it’s “last minute” and we needed to try to plan when a funeral could be and how to get there and we could not even begin to do this without the death certificate which wouldn’t happen until after the post-mortem. To add to the frustration, Daniel was already off work this whole time as his office was closed between Christmas and New Year (but it’s not like they’re performing an essential service to the community) so it felt like wasted time that could have been used when he already wasn’t at work, saving us some of his holiday time as well as the fact that his father had just died putting rather a damper on fully enjoying the time off that he did have.

So then the few extra days passed into the start of January and it emerged that he wasn’t “first cab off the rank” or even anywhere near the top of the list because the whole “closing for Christmas and New Year” had actually started a couple of weeks before Christmas and as such they already had several weeks worth of autopsy back log to get through. This whole thing left me so frustrated and incredulous that a public service can be run in that way. If it is determined that a person needs an autopsy, then you cannot hold a funeral or burial or whatever it is you want to do until after that is done. For us, it was frustrating and annoying and drew out something that felt like it should have been able to be handled and managed and put to rest so much more quickly and smoothly. I’m pretty sure that there are other religions and faiths, though, that have strict guidelines on how and when certain rites should be performed following death and I can’t imagine how distressing it must be if you are unable to observe those because the coroner’s office has been closed for over a month and has a lot of bodies to get through. As it turns out, this seems to be the way a lot of government services operate in the UK. It shocked me and made me glad again and again that we chose Australia, even though it is far from perfect.

I need to back track a bit. After Daniel finished talking to Nikki, he basically repeated to me what she’d told him. He was clearly shocked, it was just so unexpected. We all were, really. I cried and I hugged him and then I took a deep breath and went out to talk to Abigail and Kristian because I knew they would be waiting, and of course I was not going to make him have to do that.

Twice now I have had to tell them that a grandparent has died and it is the most horrible thing to do. This was especially harder because they are older and have had more of a relationship with Allan than they did with Lisa. They too were waiting and hoping for the day that he would come back here, and stay. Grandad was funny and silly and a little bit spoiling them but also firm with rules, all the things that Grandads are meant to be. He was the only one they had and I hated having to tell them that he was gone.

Then there was Stephanie. Being that much older than Abigail and Kristian, she had spent more time with both of her paternal grandparents than they had and I knew she would be devastated. And unlike us who weren’t doing anything on Christmas morning, she was. She was with Dean’s family and they were doing the whole thing. Nikki and Chris decided that they were not going to tell Alice, Sam and Max until Boxing Day so as to not take way the joy of Christmas from them, and I don’t judge them for making that choice, but I did not feel like it was an option for me. So I called Dean’s phone, so that I could give him a forewarning that I was about to break Stephanie’s heart and to be ready to catch it. I don’t know if it was worse telling Abigail and Kristian in person or telling Stephanie on the phone. She was sobbing, big heaving gasps and I could see her in my mind and I hated having to do that to her but someone had to and I knew that she would ultimately prefer to know immediately rather than later. I was glad she had Dean there, and the festivities of Christmas with his family to try to take her mind off it a bit.

It ended up being the 16th of January before the post-mortem was done and his body was released to the undertakers. 23 days. Personally I think that is disgusting but also I have absolutely no control over anything so no one gives a shit about my opinion. It also turned out that it was not the aneurysm, but a stroke while he slept that bled out into his brain. When we were cleaning things up in his house, we cleared up a lot of his medication and some of what he was taking were blood thinners, so it was kind of inevitable I guess that any blood loss where he didn’t have immediate medical attention was going to be fatal. There was a bit of comfort in knowing that he was asleep while it all happened and likely wasn’t aware of any pain. In a way, it was kind of a relief that it wasn’t the aneurysm, because I didn’t know what the situation would be then. We knew that he had been waiting for surgery and it had been pushed back and the prerequisites changed, and the thought that he might have died from something that he should have been able to have fixed but hadn’t because of a bunch of political bullshit made me angry. But again, I don’t know what anyone would have done about it, anyway. .

Eventually the funeral was set for Tuesday, 11th February and Daniel and I arranged to go to England for two weeks, to help with sorting and clearing out the house and to then be at the funeral. We went on the 1st of February and Stephanie and Dean stayed here to be in charge of Abigail and Kristian while we were gone.


it just keeps going

Life. Time. Whatever.

It is meant to be that a big thing happens and then that will settle down and I can figuratively catch my breath and recover and get used to whatever ways this thing has changed my life and then I can be ready for the next thing. Except it has all been a series of Big Things for a while, without the settling down and resting part in between. Someone has really dropped the ball on the scheduling.

By this point I am not even sure if I have track of all the Big Things. I think the first one was Daniel and the diabetes. That was back in early December. Yeah, like last year. Like 6 months ago. The doctor catching it when he did turned out to be an incredibly fortunate timing. Daniel had just been generally unwell, I can’t remember, a cold or random shit like that and had a couple of days off work and also needed new prescriptions soon so we took him to the doctor for the medical certificate and to get the prescriptions. It had been a while since he just had some general check up things, so the doctor said “I think we should have some blood tests just because it’s been a while and we live in a country that allows us to do general blood tests even though there is nothing specifically wrong with you which is pretty awesome, so stick out your arm, bro.” I mean, I paraphrased a bit, it has been six months after all. And we had to go next door for the bloodletting also.

Next day the doctor’s office calls Daniel and said some of his results already came back and the doctor would like Daniel to come back to talk about it. It’s not urgent, but could you come today? So he made an appointment for after work and of course I decided to go with him too because I am the prime authority on Daniel’s health and well-being and, well, Daniel can’t always be relied upon to properly relay details and names of diseases and the specific test results and all that. Which I need to have.

Turned out his BS meter was off the chart. Haha. But really. His blood sugar was pretty high, and so was another that gives an indication of average blood sugar over the last three months. Just getting a high blood sugar reading doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it having been at the high level for months meant that he was immediately diagnosed with diabetes.

The reason I say that this was all very fortunate timing is because once we had this information, we realised that there were some things that Daniel had noticed going on that were obviously a result of the high BS. In particular he had been having problems focusing on some things, especially at a distance, but he had gotten new glasses about a month earlier so at first he thought maybe they weren’t quite right or it was just an adjustment to them. It was almost getting to the point where he was going to go back to the optometrist to ask about it. But he was just a few points away from where he could have been at serious risk for coma and stuff so him having been sick and having the blood tests done came within a day or two of him maybe having reached the Very Serious complication stage.

We have changed a lot of things we eat, cut out a lot of types of carbs and sugars and replaced some of them with wholegrain varieties so that we aren’t completely deprived of the lovely stuff. I don’t buy potatoes anymore though which is so sad because I do very much love them but with his pancreas being stingy with the insulin and my liver wanting to hoard fat we just gotta be grown ups and accept that lovely potatoes have now very much become a “rarely occasionally” type treat. I am trying to include more meat and the fruits and vegetables that are “approved” and it is going ok. The part where it is difficult is finding things that are ok to eat, affordable to eat and that people will actually like the taste of to eat.

At the moment he only has to take pills (metformin) to keep it under control, as well as the diet changes we have made. He has a blood sugar monitor and as long as he is feeling good he doesn’t really have to keep track of it too much. I would like it if he would do it once a week for my peace of mind but his memory is not so good at managing that so it ends up being more like two or three weeks. Which I do not like but it is his body and he’s the one who has to poke holes in himself and even the doctor did say he didn’t really need to monitor it at this stage so I am not nagging and complaining about it even though it makes me feel better to have numbers and data.

I was a bit hesitant initially to tell some people about the diagnosis. Daniel is overweight, and there is a decent portion of the world that subscribes to the idea that the way you get diabetes is by eating too much bad stuff and if you end up with diabetes, it’s your own fault for being fat and piggy. And I just don’t want to deal with anyone who might suggest that. Even before the diagnosis we had been slowly and surely making changes to our food and drink consumption. And yeah, they were slow, but we have been successful in making and keeping to the changes. One of the biggest for him was drinking water. It is not something that he ever learned growing up, probably because water in England tastes like shit and it’s also not anywhere near as hot so it is easier to have a lower water intake. Over the last couple of years he has pretty much switched to only drinking water apart from our morning coffee and special occasions like going out to a restaurant or a birthday or Midsummer. That alone was a huge adjustment.

I’ve bought a lot of different foods over the last six months, things that are alright to have in combination with the other approved things he’s eating. Some of them are good and have become new regular inclusions. Some of them really are not good and we tossed that shit out or tried to give it away to someone else. Haha.

So yeah, that was the first Big Thing. And it’s kind of a forever Big Thing in that we have to make these changes for life and establish good habits and remember that doing the “wrong thing” isn’t just like a failed day on a diet, it could actually have real ramifications. So it’s all very much learning when and how much you can have the treats and how to not feel too ripped off when you know you can’t.

The next thing was Christmas.

it just keeps going


Last week.. actually it’s almost two weeks now.. we had our twentieth wedding anniversary. This makes me happy. Of course.

Sometimes people say it’s something to feel proud of. Making a relationship work for that long and still missing each other during the day and still wanting to fuck and stuff like that. They’re like, you must have worked hard to do that. And I’m like.. well… no.

It’s easy.

Being married to Daniel is the easiest thing in the world. Being happy with him, wanting to make him happy, wanting it so much that it is easy to put aside other things I might want is not something that takes an effort to do. Making him happy makes me happy. When people talk about having to work to achieve this, it doesn’t seem like how my life is. Aren’t the “other things” meant to fade away when compared to your spouse’s wants and needs? If they don’t come first and you have to force it, why persist with the relationship? Is this part of the reason why so many places have such high rates of separation and divorce?

It isn’t that we never disagree about things or have different preferences. We do. It’s just that it’s rare that we might have different views and it is a super high priority for both of us. If something matters more to him than it does me, then it’s easy for me to let go of what I wanted and he is the same. Sometimes I do do things that don’t feel instinctively natural, like offering to give him a Creme Egg. Sometimes he will take it and say thankyou and sometimes he says it’s ok and I should keep it for myself. Sometimes I cut up onion for him.

Where I run into problems is when what I want to be able to give him does not match up with what I have the ability to give him. I want to give him everything. The world. All of the most interesting and exciting things there are to see and do. But not even all of those things that aren’t even realistic for most people. But maybe the luxury of a car with decent air-conditioning and a stereo that works properly. Of not having to feel bad when your glasses are going to cost a few hundred dollars. Something he has been interested in doing for ages is getting a motorbike license but the course to learn has always been too much. I would love to be able to pay for the course for him as a surprise for his birthday or something like that. Like this year would be especially good because he’s turning 40 and it could be his midlife crisis, right on time. As it is he will probably have to go without one because we can’t afford it.

He doesn’t complain about these things. He doesn’t ask more of me than I am able to give. He actually encourages me to take it easy and rest more than I am likely to do by myself. I apologise sometimes for not having managed to do a particular thing on a particular day and he tells me not to worry about it. And I am so glad that he doesn’t worry about it and doesn’t feel resentful or ripped off at what I can’t manage. But I do feel that. It’s not just material things. Sometimes I would like to be all kinky and throw him down and do unspeakable things to him and be the boss and whatever… but five minutes in and my body is saying ouch. Or he wanted to go to a boating and fishing show and I said I would go with him and he said he thought it would be a lot and I said I’ll do it anyway because you want to go, but then he said it’s at like [wherever] and I realised that it really was a gigantic place and I probably could not actually do that. It is hard not to resent the things that I have to give up on and let go of because of this stupid condition. When it means that he is also giving up on things, it’s almost unbearable.

But somehow he doesn’t seem to be bothered by that. He says he just wants me. And that’s where I have a problem understanding, because I don’t know what is so good about me. There are the obvious reasons, of course, with baggage and being conditioned to believe that I was a pathetic excuse for a normal human being and that is a big factor. But even logically putting that aside I recognise that there is nothing special. There are lots of people that share some of the same traits that I do that are what I think make me a decent person. Some of them even aren’t crazy or fibro’d.

But then I think about it the other way around. If he was the one with fibro or anything else, I would do all I could to ease things for him. And I wouldn’t be mad about it because it would feel worse to know he was hurting and not do anything about it. And he is a good person and has lots of good qualities but so do lots of other people. But none of them appeal to me. So what is it?

Je ne sais quoi.

No one else is him. It is intangible, it is something I feel in my heart and my soul and in my breath and dreams and through other dimensions and lives. And knowing and feeling that means that even though I don’t fully understand it, I can believe that he wants me because no one else is me.



I feel nauseous. Partly because I feel like everything is going to shit and partly because I’m still in the middle of a migraine but I can’t go and lay down because then it feels like I am doing nothing and being the cause for all of the problems.

Arthur’s transmission went. We got some money from cashing in some of Daniel’s accumulated holiday time and got Sirius. Now Neville is fucked. I knew he needed some stuff done but I didn’t realise that it was so bad that he is essentially not legal. So. No one knows what the actual problem is, so the only way to try to fix it would be to start swapping out parts and see what happened. That is of course not an economical option and therefore not an option. He’s registered until December and I had been hoping to try to save and scrape together something to find something to replace by then but looks like it is much more urgent than that.

So looks like I am back to not having a car for a while.

The Abigail situation is as always on a balance and you never know when it’s going to become unstable. She lost her shit a while back and I have contacted CYMHS and others asking for help. CYMHS referred us to some other place. They did shit fucking all. The lady that called me said that they had some possibilities if Abigail was willing to work with them. There was some kind of intensive youth worker who would work with her from home to try to teach skills like not going psycho on your family but she didn’t qualify for that or something. I also asked what options we had if she didn’t want to be cooperative and she told me that there were none. There’s not really anything that can be done without the child’s consent. So thanks for that. I am telling all these people that she loses it at tiny things, or things that we have no control over, she has physically hurt us and threatened to physically hurt us and we don’t know if and when it will happen again and how bad it will be and there is nothing that can be done. So that was obviously a great helpful relief to know that we are all alone and no one fucking cares that our safety could be at risk and we (figuratively) tiptoe around her and lie to her in order to try to not set her off and we can never relax because we never know what could do it and there is no help available for us.

I did get a piece of paper from the paediatrician that says that she has been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder level 1. I asked for her to formalise the diagnosis because I wanted a fucking paper trail that shows I have been trying to get help for this and I don’t want to be the one that is blamed if she loses it one day and burns down a building full of people or something. You know what fucking pisses me off though is that we first took her to a psychologist when she was 9. We have been seeking help from various people and services since then. Everyone says that with ASD the most effective thing is EARLY INTERVENTION. Yet it took until last year to effectively get a confirmation that she had it, and even then the paediatrician told us there was not much point in formally recording the diagnosis because she functions too well at school and shit for her to ever see any kind of assistance. That’s because she’s extremely skilled in masking or camouflaging her ASD traits to seem normal when she’s in public but then the weight and effort involved in that results in us dealing with the fallout. But it’s not like we didn’t TELL all these professional people these things. We did. So why did none of them pick up on this? Time and time again I told people how bad it is and how miserable it makes us all and all we got was “do a parenting class” or “be more firm.”

Anyway. Apparently with the piece of paper that says she has ASD we may be able to claim a Carer’s Allowance. So I have applied for that. I don’t know why no one felt the need to mention THAT when they first confirmed to us that she has it, either, ’cause in the in depth family history and shit they take it has certainly been mentioned that we are not exactly blessed with an overabundance of dollars. And everything helps.

But whatever.

Oh, and still haven’t heard anything about the DSP.