I can't remember the last time I felt 'really, truly' happy. I'm...okay, alright, good. But happy? Or even at peace?

Happiness is overrated, but it would be nice to feel it more often.

You may not know

1 – I’m not overly fond of the word ‘slit’. I don’t know why, it irks me. I think it’s too close to other things.

2 –I have a slightly inverted nipple.

3 – I’m a step-aunty...it’s the only ‘aunty status’ I’m likely to get, cause James ain’t having kids any time soon.

4 – Whenever I have a pen in my hand, I always have to doodle. Stars and hearts come out the most.

5 – If I had been born a boy, I probably would’ve been called Julian.  

6 – Sometimes I envy people with babies. To have something that loves you and depends on you unconditionally.

7 – I have an account on oasis active. I use it now and then and I seem to always get the stupid people wanting to talk to me. I wrote on my profile ‘not here for just sex’ and that’s all the requests I get. I don’t know why I still use it, because I haven’t been interested in one person I’ve spoken to.

8 – I almost had another younger sibling.

9 – I know he’s old, but I fancy Billy Idol.

10 – I also like 90’s Val Kilmer...not so much 00’s Val Kilmer.

My wish isn't to mean everything to everyone but something to someone.

It’s hard to admit when you want something. Really want something. It’s easy with trivial things like “I want a drink” or “I want to go on holiday” and “I want to go to sleep”. Those sorts of wants are easy to express, easy to talk about, because those sorts of things don’t make you vulnerable. Everyone wants those things and everyone knows that you want them too.

How do you express feelings that you’ve never really had before? How do you say ‘I want this’ if you’ve never had it, never tried it, always pulled away from it or ignored it completely?

It’s easier to block it all out, keep it close to you, tight to your chest so that no one else can see it, so no one else could even think that those feelings and thoughts were there, buried deep inside of you.

Sticking to fairytales and books of what you secretly crave, secretly want and need just as much if not more than any other person. Sticking to make-believe is safe. It’s not easier, but you get used to it. You resign yourself to the fact that people are not like their novel counterparts, that there is no Mr Darcy’s out there, only lots of and Mr Wickham’s and the dreaded Mr Collins’s.

As a rule, I don’t open up about things. Not to my mum, not to my best friend, not even to myself most of the time. It’s not as hard as you might think, lying to yourself about what you’re really feeling, what you’re really wanting, needing. It’s a battle of wills and the stubborn bitch that refuses to let one chink of armour get damaged always wins.

I think I’m not...worthy. I don’t deserve to be happy like that. I don’t deserve to show myself like that to someone. I know people who’re such loving, caring, considerate people who should be happy and would make anyone they’re with happy. I don’t think I could be that to someone.

Sometimes I wonder whether I really will be that weird friend of the family who used to babysit your children, yet never had any of her own. The weird only lady who sits at home watching tv with her cats, dreaming of the days when she was younger and didn’t know that her life would turn out like this.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

It happens when I try to go to sleep. I don’t know why, I would have thought that being more relaxed would make it less likely to happen but I’m wrong. I can feel it as soon as I try to lie down and shut out the world. I breathe in deeply and it’s as if my lungs are infinite, no matter how much I breathe in, it is never enough and my lungs keep wanting more, pushing me to inhale and inhale. I choke on the air, because I know that it’s too much, the rest of my body knows it’s too much – but my lungs don’t care, they crave more, always more. If I called the Name of the Wind to fill my lungs, they would never be satisfied, they would be forever filling, growing, expanding never happy with what they’ve got. But I have to stop myself, shut off what my lungs are screaming for because I’m choking on all of it.

My heart is beating like a drum on the inside of my chest; I can feel it beating faster than normal, which makes me panic, causing me to give in to my lungs once more and gulp at the air, drawing in more than my body can handle. With every breath in, I choke; I cough and splutter with the amount of it trying to feed down my throat. The more I choke, the more oxygen wants to get in. I panic, my heat racing, using up the oxygen that’s coming in. But I know I can’t go on breathing like this forever. Panic has taken over and it’s hard to stop.

I have to sit up, distract myself so I’m not thinking about it, because otherwise it will just continue. It eases after a few moments and I lie back down again, trying to fall into one of my many dream worlds where dragons are real and medieval times were a lot more hygienic.

Things can creep up on you slowly, so slowly you don’t even realise its happening until it’s too late. What you thought was never-ending and unbounded  has been cut in half, you’re suddenly struggling to pull in half a breath before your lungs give out, full to bursting point and unable to hold even a smidgen of what they once craved.  

You’re stuck between limited and limitless and all of the empty air in between.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

On the whole, I like scars. I like the idea of them, what they represent and the memories they invoke. I know that I don’t really have that many, or any that are disfiguring or that make life difficult, but I like them. I know people who hate the tiniest scar, that hate to have any imperfections on their bodies but I rather like the idea of having something on me, that becomes a part of me and that shows that I've lived, that I've had experiences whether they be good, bad or otherwise.  For me, scars are kind of like tattoos in the way that that I become proud of them, because they’re now me. They show the story of my life, what I've been through and what I love. It’s like having a story book of your life on your skin. I would never give up one of my scars, because they help e to remember experiences, people and what life was like when this or that happened.

I’ve got a backwards ‘c’ scar on the tip of my index finger. This is a present from my cousin Sam on Christmas morning when we were about twelve or thirteen. Her family had stayed at our house on Xmas eve and in the morning when we’d gotten up, we were the first ones down to the presents. Sam had gotten these Winnie the Pooh plushies that she wanted and they were all stuck down with those plastic tag things and she wanted to open it up right then and there. So we grabbed some scissors and proceeded to open it up. Sam held the scissors while I held the plastic thing so she could get them out. Now, Sam is really as blind as a bat without her glasses on, and in our haste to get to the presents, she hadn’t put them on. Instead of cutting the plastic, she cut my finger instead.

Everyone had a lovely xmas morning because of it, and it’s something I’ll never forget.

I’ve got a scar on my knee from when I was younger. We had a banana lounge out the back and I ran and jumped on it, landing on the metal bit that makes it bend. A couple of stitches later, I’ve got a cute little crescent moon-shaped scar.

I know I'm rambling, but all’s I want to say is...I like them. I would not object to having more of them. I’m clumsy so I know I will by the time I'm an old lady, and hopefully I like them just as much then and I do now.

Blood & Ink - Wise Man's Fear

"...Teccam explains there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart.

Most secrets are secrets of the mouth. Gossip shared and small scandals whispered. There secrets long to be let loose upon the world. A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you're barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free.

Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.

Teccam claims it is better to have a mouthful of poison than a secret of the heart. Any fool will spit out poison, he says, but we hoard these painful treasures. We swallow hard against them every day, forcing them deep inside us. They they sit, growing heavier, festering. Given enough time, they cannot help but crush the heart that holds them..."

Untitled.

The nights were longer and darker up here, the wilderness more free and overgrown. But none of this mattered to the young girl. She actually preferred it this was because everything gave her more cover. Both she and her 'special friend' had been moved, this new institution more secluded and private. The land sloped downwards from the main house, the only source of light on the property. The girl watched her carers, moving slowly towards the small hole in one of the many doors in which she used to get out every night. No one had noticed, none of them moving as she suddenly rushed out of the door and into the frosty night. But her carers was used to this and they gave her a head start. This was a nightly ritual, something they all thought she would be over by now, but she was determined never to give up until she had him.

The soles of her bare feet padded along the cold, narrow footpath. The long and overgrown toenails clicking slightly with each step. She moved as silently as she could, stopping every now and then to look back at the main house, peering through the windows to see her carers still sitting and watching the big black box that made noise. Her small, yet oddly muscular body stayed close to the ground, her stomach almost touching the footpath. Crouching in the shadows of the line of trees, she tried to control the beating of her pumping heart. The warm breath distorted her view as she again set off, coming up to an abandoned building.

There were many of these buildings on the property but most were so ancient and decrepit that they began to crumble and break as soon as you stepped foot in it. Most of the buildings were like that, but one. And that was the girl's destination. That is where she went every night, where she was found every night.

Holes and ditches which could be seen clearly by day became deathtraps by night. So she ran hastily, with a sense of caution but never really knowing if she was going to suddenly fall. The black shadow loomed up to the front of the minuscule building which looked more like a chicken pen than anything else. The young girl's body shivered with the cold air and excitement of what was to come. Here eyes gleaming like two floating orbs in the darkness. Yet again she had made it, to the building, or more importantly, what was inside.

Looking consciously over her shoulder, the girl made sure her carers were nowhere in sight before turning around towards her target.. Her heart was racing, fluttering around in her chest like a trapped butterfly. Moving with great speed she rushed towards the vulnerable side of the building where he was waiting for her, watching out of the corner of his eye. Both parties froze as if time had stopped and simply stared at each other. They knew this 'game' well, the girl tired to play it every day, every time she got loose.

The strange building was like a holding cell on show, with three of the four walls made of old, rotting timber that looked as id a slight wind would knock the planks from their resting place. The last, forth wall was open to the public. Made of some sort of wire which seemed tough to manoeuvre was soft and bendy; good thing for her, bad for him. The boy never tried to escape though. It was his home and he liked not having to be near the crazed girl every hour of the day. He knew she couldn't get to him and he always taunted her with the fact. Moving slowly around his little house he watched smugly as the girls tried to think of a way in. She was failing dismally.

But she couldn't accept that, wouldn't accept that. She wanted to get in there, needed t get in there with him. her emotions ran rampant as she began working herself up into a frenzy; becoming more and more agitated that no matter what she tried, the wire did not give. There was nothing around to help so bare hands and teeth were used with vigour.

A low rumbling sound emanated from deep within her throat as she puffed and panted. All he did was sit there smugly, enjoying the show. The girl's dilated eyes concentrated themselves solely on his tiny form crouched in the corner. Nothing else mattered now but getting into his cage. Everything else was drowned out. No longer could she feel the cold gusts of winter air blowing against her white, speckled coat. No longer could she hear anything; like a door at the main building sliding open, voices shouting to one another and the trudging footsteps on the decking. All of her energy and attention was directed to the one boy right in front of her and the challenge of getting to him, getting at him and finishing it once and for all.

A light, bright and illuminating shone from a distance. It spotted her with one flick of a button. Not like it was hard to guess where she was. The girl had become hysterical and she didn't even realise. She was screaming at the top of her lungs as she stretched and clawed her way at the wire. A small hole was beginning to form, a small bud. This made her even more frantic than before, revving her up as the light came closer to her. She could feel the light burning her skin as it got stronger, her carers closing in. She didn't know which one it would be, but she was in trouble no matter what. Promising not to get at him ever again had been a bad idea. The voice yelling at her sounded fuzzy and distant, as did the rushed footsteps, but even she knew at a time like this, it would only be a matter of seconds before the cold, harsh hands would grip around her shivering torso and drag her back inside.

The girl was screaming and squealing like a piglet as the tiny hole got bigger and bigger in front of her glowing eyes.

 She tried to squish her face through the ever growing holes, trying to push herself through. The boy began to pay more attention now. He saw the carer coming, but he also saw that the young girl was dangerously close to breaking through. His heart began to pick up the pace, making him slightly nervous.

Finally, after many tries, her head fit through the hole she had made, the rest of her was scrambling to push through. But it was too late. She was suddenly pulled back, her head moving out of the hole and her whole body being lifted off the ground, pushing and kicking and howling. She'd been caught.

                                     _____________________

"Millie, what do you think you're doing?!" Carol said to the dog as she picked her squirming body off the ground.
"Leave the damn rabbit alone already" she continued as Millie tried to get free of her owner's firm grip.
"Don't even think about it Mill" Carol warned as they began to move back towards the house, Millie watching the cage and more importantly the rabbit over Carol's shoulder.
"You're a nut Mill" she mumbled to the dog as she walked through the door, sliding it closed behind the both of them.

                                    ______________________

The young girl stood at the door, peaking out behind the curtains, staring out into the darkness.
'You're mine'




This was something silly I wrote for an English sac in year 12.

On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero

I don’t know how I got onto the subject but the other day I was driving home and I realised that I’ve never had someone close to me die yet. Don’t get me wrong, I know people who’ve died, I’ve had relatives and classmates and teachers and family friends die. But they weren’t someone I spend my days with, who I’ve grown up with, that I’ve had the opportunity to really get to know.

I haven’t had someone really close to me go and I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it. I don’t know how people do it when they lose a beloved parent, sibling, family member, friend, partner. I don’t see myself coping well. But I can’t say either way, because as of yet it hasn’t happened. I don’t want it to for many years to come, but I know that I will have to face it sometime. That's the way life goes.

My Pop (dad’s dad) died when I was about 7 or 8, and I have very few memories of him apart from photos. I have memories of him in his shed, making toy trucks and dollhouses for his grandchildren. But he never had the chance to know any of us, not really.

Then there’s Darcy. A classmate. An acquaintance. Both of us would never have considered the other a good friend. We never had the opportunity to. I remember getting mad at him once in high school. Before there was anything wrong. Or before we found out there was anything wrong. It was lunchtime. He was sitting with all of his friends at the chairs looking out over the oval. I was sitting with Jenny on the footpath in the shade outside the windows of the IT rooms. You remember where I mean? Anyway. He and Andrew Wat were being complete dicks, throwing stones and shit at us and I completely lost my shit. I remember getting up, stomping over there and yelling right in Darcy’s face. He promptly said sorry and he was nice to be from then on...he may have avoided me for a while but he was always nice after that.

Casey’s step-dad Phil. He was hilarious. He was nice, he joked around, he was a big kid. Knew him for maybe a year before he passed. He was always fun whenever he picked up the phone calling for Casey. I thought he was great when I saw the ‘Jenny St’ sign in their house. He’d stolen it for Casey’s mum. That he would get her a street-sign of her name. Yes, theft impressed me. I couldn’t believe that he was dead when I saw their family photo on the news. It was right after New Years’ Eve, days before his birthday.

Nicole. My God-father’s daughter. That was one of the worst feelings. I was about 15 at the time. I remember staying at Lau and Jen’s house and mum rang me early in the morning, telling me that Nicole had died. I’d grown up with her, known her my whole life. We were babies together, I felt numb. I’ll try to get the story right. She’d broken her leg and the cast had been put on too tight. She fainted at home and the ambulance came. Took the cast off. They said she’d be fine and left. She had a blood-clot and it moved to her heart. She had a heart attack and died. Found out later that she’s actually had a stroke, not fainted in the first place.

I’ve made myself slightly depressed now, because death is a fucking bitch of a thing. It can bring salvation, it can end pain and agony – and it can also cause it.

I can’t imagine my life without the people that matter most. I don’t want to either. If I could die first, that would be fine be me, because then I won’t have to go on missing them every day. That’s a selfish thought, because I know that at least...5 or 6 people will miss me, but it means I won’t have to miss them. I don’t want to have to. But the pattern of life will continue and end in the same way it always has. I will enjoy the time I have with people, and hope that I don’t have to worry about things for quite a few years to come...

Unless you really piss me off, then I have no issue with sending you to your maker :)    

Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.

So, as of today, I've finished my certificate III in Business - yay for me.

That was never an issue - finding the work easy and having plenty of time in which to do it.

Now comes the time for decisions. One's that I'm not really sure how to go about. I need opinions so I can try and work out what I should be doing.

So, the situation at the moment. I am employed my a company called WPC Group. Think of them as a pimp, whoring people. Yes, in this analogy, I am the whore. So, I've been pimped out to Soughate Fleet Management. I do my study (or did now) at work through Vic Uni. Okay, now everyone understands? Okay.

Now, what I wasn't aware of, which has rather pissed me off, end of november my health care card ran out. So I applied for a new one and I was rejected (nauw) because I get this, earnt too much. $13.71 an hour is too much according to centrelink - the bastards.

So, since November, I've had to pay something like $1.64 an hour. Doesn't sound like much, until you factor in that I've been satudying a minimum of 12 hours per week, every week since November. I've currently got a $400 bill and I think there's a $300 one coming too.

I will not be finished, technically finished the course and get my certificate until that is paid.

Until Vic Uni recieves the payment, they won't send off my completed paperwork to my pimp, WPC Group.

Now, I've been looking into it, and hopefully once they get my completed paperwork from Vic Uni, they will complete my training from their end and I will be finished with them.

Then we get to the tricky bit. Southgate, if they wanted, can take me on as an employee of theirs, instead of a host employee.

Right now, I feel torn about it. I really like the people here, and the atmosphere is really good and I've only been here since August. On the other hand, there's honestly not enough work for me to do. Because I'm only the assistant, there's lots I can't do and really not enough time to train me to do anything else.

And they keep hiring consultants. So all of the things that I can do, the new guys are now doing as well. I don't think I want to stay here, with the travel and seriously, I'm working in finance right now - what the hell.

I've spoken before about the travel courses and the anthopology stuff. I want to look into that, see what's good for me....

And if I finish and Southgate doesn't want to keep me on, I won't have a job, and it'll be back to looking for work. So I need to start looking now and making a decision and applying for jobs.

I'm in a precarious position right now and I'm really not sure what to do. Congrats if you've followed along with all of that.

Thoughts, ideas, help, advice etc?

A dog will flatter you but you have to flatter the cat

I'm like a cat. Do not touch me before I've given you permission or I've come to you first. Every so often I will want to cuddle on your lap and only then will I allow you to touch me.

You should feel lucky that I've let you, because it doesn't happen often.

If a dog jumps into your lap it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing it is because your lap is warmer - A.N.Whitehead.

Children need love, especially when they do not deserve it

I met two of my third cousins on my mum's side on the weekend.

Now, many people have heard me state my disgust and wrath towards children many times. I tend to group kids into the "I hate them all" category but I've come to realise that it's not really true.

There are roughly about....5 children I like - all related to me, but it's a good start!

Whenever children first meet me or I don't see them very often, they always tend to look at me, see a big fat girl, crazy hair, dots all over my face (you can see their little minds working that I must be diseased or something, because otherwise why would I be so speckly) and they just tend to stare, not want to come over to me or play with me at all.

I smile and pull faces and attack the colouring books and pages and as soon as they see that I can draw and colour in with the best of them, I'm in.

It also depends on the kid as well. There's different ways of getting in with boys to girls of course. Colouring in works for girls. Playing with trucks and cars (and stealing/hiding them) and being all manly and awesome work for the boys.

Anyway, back to what I wanted to say.

So, my third cousin  - mum's cousin Vicki's two year old - I met for the first time on saturday. Neiko. She's the cutest little blond child I've seen in a while. She stared at me for quite some time, trying to figure out who I was, how I fit into her world, why the hell I was in her living room. Then she hit me in the face with a ball, squealing in delight, and I was her new best friend.

As soon as that happened, she made me colour in and draw with her - but I wasn't allowed to draw love hearts or flowers...or fish...she scribbled all over them as soon as I did - you don't have to tell me twice (most of the time).

And then she tried to wipe me freckles off with a cotton ball.

My shitty never-gunna-tan skin is quite a draw for kids, not sure why.

I remember by cousin Aeryn when dad's whole family went to QLD for a holiday, she was sitting in the car with me...she was probably 5 at the time I think and she asked me why she didn't look like me, why she couldn't catch freckles, why I couldn't share them and that she wanted freckles to look like me.

I'm taking that as a compliment and not because she wanted to be able to dot-to-dot herself.
Anyway, I like certain kids.

I think I need someone I see on a regular basis to have kids (danni I'm looking at you) so that I can play with them then give them back at the end of the day. It might build up my tolerance to stupid, annoying, children.

But then again, it may make it worse.

For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else

Things are constantly changing. I understand the concept and I both embrace it and push it away.

Things change around you and no matter whether you try to stop it's going to happen. Even if you try to hide from the world, things will go on changing without you, expecting you to adapt to the new situation.

Shorts-girl changed. She was wearing leggings today. I was shocked. And disappointed. (For those who don't know who shorts girl is, I have mentioned her in a previous post) I liked being able to depend on the fact that every day when she walked to and from wherever she was going with her backpack and her runners - whether boiling hot or raining or windy -  that she would always be in her shorts and all would be right in the world.

But she changed. And I don't like it.

I could fill the world with all the things I don't like.

But I won't. Because that would be depressing and who really wants a list of things people don't like? I prefer to make lists of things I do like...things I want to do in my life, with my life, books I've read, quotes I adore.

I started writing a new blog of quotes I like.

See what I mean about change. The topics change, the mood changes, the intent changes. I'm changing now as I write this. It's both a great thing and horribly annoying. Because you never really know what you're going to change into next. Whether it will be for good or bad. Most of the time, I want it to be for good, however I find myself mainly taking the pathway to bitchy evil.

It's like a security blanket. If I can't be 'the bitch' then who can I be? What role do I play if not the bitch? Most people are quite happy to give me the title, and I use to quite well. But I don't know whether I still want it....would anyone else take that title, do it justice?

Ramblings great. You never know where you're going to end up. More of that motherfucker: change.

The best way to appreciate your job is to imagine yourself without one

What in the hell am I going to do with my life?

I can't see myself doing anything in particular in the next ten, twenty, thirty years. I'd love to be an archaeologist, I'd love to be a zookeeper, I'd love to be a writer, I'd love to be an astronaut. I'd love to just be...something. Something interesting. Something that's going to hold my interest.

I've been looking around at courses and things, and I've got a few in mind but they're so different from one another and I really picked a stupid time to do it - after applications close.

I've almost finished my cert III in business and initially I was going to do cert IV but life and money issues got in the way.

I'm so envious of people who have direction in their lives, know what they want to do with the rest of it and are actually doing something about it.

With all of these options rolling around in my head, I honestly don't know what to pick, whether I should pick anything or just find a job then go from there. But I want to study something in order to get the kind of job/s I want.

I hate making decisions, I suck at them. And being proactive in life is one of the things I am loathe to do.

I've been looking at going back to uni, doing a bachelor in arts, focusing on anthropology. When I was doing my uni course a few years ago, anthropology was one of the best classes I had and if I was in the right mind frame, I think I would've enjoyed it and actually done well at it.

On the other hand, I've been looking at the tourism/travel industry. There's no jobs in tourism without studying for it. So I could do a course with that, then look for work...or something.

I don't know. I don't know what I want, I've never known what I want and when I finally decide, it's too god damned late.

Suggestions, comments and the like are really appreciated at this point.

If you haven't ever witnessed it before, this is me reaching out.

Help, anyone?

Fuck them, fuck them all. Just fucking ask, even if you already know the answer. You may think you know, but I could surprise you with a different answer. Fuck you - angry Ian noises rushing through my head right now.

More than annoyed, because it seems to be happening more and more often. So fuck you all - I can't be bothered with you for a while.

Friends

I don't come on here much anymore. No one reads this so what's the point? But then i think, that kind of is the point. I want this to be like a diary, and no one else need read this but me.

My friends - some of them at least - some of the things they do...baffle me. I'm being selfish in this right now I know, and I'm not saying what I want in any order but I know what I'm trying to say.

They will be on their phones the entire time I'm with them, even when I'm talking to them, there they are, texting other people, having private conversations with other people. If you wanted to talk to them so goddamned much, go and hang out with them and don't even worry about spending time with me. They sit on their phones so fucking much when I'm with them then every fucking time I message them, it takes half a day to get a response.

Am I not worthy enough to get a prompt fucking reply, and yet everyone else that you text gets to have hours of conversation with you in a row.

What the hell.

And then there are others who crave attention and I give it to them, yet I never really get the same amount back. Sook sook, whinge whinge. Well everybody wants a little bit of attention, and right now I want it. Why is it that, for example, friend A is sad so me and friend B make them feel better. Then if friend B is sad, I do the same thing yet friend A & B do the whole 'you're awesome' 'no, you're awesome, and great and blah blah blah' and when I'm sad I get nothing.


And again, there's people who know you're free, know that you're bored or at home  - so they get together, posting about being all together and they don't invite you. Don't ask if you want to come with them, you get nothing. You get left out and it's bullshit. So you do it back, and the cycle continues.

It doesn't help that I don't like telling people how I'm really feeling. I know I should open up more but really, it just come sout as bitchy and then people get defensive.

Goddammit - I hate people. And friends just get under my skin. They're like family - they piss you off but you couldn't live without them, couldn't get rid of them even if you tried.