09-29-04
And they know that they'll make it alright.
Today at at work I had real work to do. Like, real, manual-labor style work, and although all I did was move a lot of magazines from point A to point B, it was the nicest day that I've had at work in a long time. That sort of light, brainless work is really the kind of thing that I excel at. I remember once when I worked at the science library we were shifting a bunch of books from one place to another, and my boss left me a long list of books to take care of (he wasn't usually there when I was, so we usually communicated by notes, which is the best way that a person can communicate with a boss, really). He didn't expect me to get them all done, but I did, and when he got there (just as I was about to leave), he told me that I could have the rest of the week off with pay! And sure, it was Thursday, so I only got one day off, and I only made $6.25 an hour, but it was still a paid day off.
Then later today, when I was working at a desk, I knew the answer to everyone's questions and I got a nice compliment from a coworker.
I wouldn't have thought that a day that started with killing a centipede in my bathroom could've turned out so good. [You might think that you're big and brave, but if this scrambled out from behind your toilet while you were brushing your teeth, I bet you'd spit toothpaste all over the floor just like I did.]
np: Spoon-All the Pretty Girls Go to the City
09-28-04
Continuing fun in the thumb, but without petroglyphs.
The thumb trip part two. Hopefully less long-winded than part one, because I'm sick of thinking about it.
This city's name found its way into every single sentence we spoke during our fifteen minutes there. "Look, there's the Bad Axe business district!" "Ooh, the Bad Axe chamber of commerce!" "Oh my, it is a Bad Axe person!" "What do you suppose the Bad Axe nightlife is like?"
Bad Axe wasn't on the lake, so we kept heading north. And pretty soon it seemed like we probably should've hit the lake, and I was beginning to wonder if we'd missed it entirely and had ended up somewhere in Ontario. Eventually, though, we rounded a corner and a large expanse of blue appeared behind some trees and houses to our right. The roommate said, "Is that Lake Huron?" And I said - I said something so stupid that it deserves its own line:
"No, that's a barn."
And I hadn't thought she was looking somewhere else and I wasn't trying to be funny. I had honestly mistaken Lake Huron for a large, blue pole barn.
But after we had established that I am dumb, the rest of the day was all about finding roadside parks with deserted beaches. And standing in the lake and saying, "It feels like there are fish biting my ankles," and then looking down and seeing that there actally were fish swimming around my ankles (but not necessarily biting them. and they might have been tadpoles.).
Although it was also a little bit about feeling intense regret about passing up the thumb's largest cones. Were they giant cones with a normal-sized scoop of ice cream or were the thumb's largest servings of ice cream also included with the cones? Why didn't we drive down that little road to the Grindstone General Store, lay down a couple of dollars and find out? All of these questions will remain sadly unanswered.
When the day was over, we suddenly could no longer find a single beach on which to watch the sunset. Which was odd, since we'd passed about a million of them earlier. We eventually settled on a boat launch that bordered a swamp that was hopping with (hah!) toads (and also with mosquitoes).
Then home! by the light of the moon. It was a long drive and we encountered several traffic jams, during which I instituted a new car rule: whichever song we are listening to when we first enter a traffic jam must be listened to throughout the duration of the traffic jam! It's kind of maddening, but I am willing to be annoyed if it means that I am also annoying others.
np: Spoon-Everything Hits at Once
09-25-04
Petroglyph fun in the thumb!
Since my roommate decided that she can't afford to go to Memphis or anywhere, we decided yesterday that we would determine whether or not (a) Lake Huron actually existed; and (b) people live in Michigan's thumb. Also, I've been wanting to visit the only petroglyphs in Michigan for quite a while, so we were going to go there too.
So, off we went. I had carefully written down the directions to the petroglyph site, but forgot to actually take them with me. We got there with very little trouble, though, partly because I remembered that the name of the road we were supposed to turn onto was hyphenated, and partly because of a helpful sign which read "PETROGLYPH ------>." There was one other car in the pitiful little parking lot, and when we pulled in, an old man approached us and asked us how to get somewhere (although he actually said a name of a town there. I just can't remember what it was.). Since this was the first time either of us had been in that area at all, we didn't. Then he said, "Are you here to see the glyphs?" and we said we were, but it totally cracked me up because I thought that maybe there was a whole dictionary of truncated petroglyph-enthusiast slang (but I'm pretty sure that glyph is a perfectly fine word just on its own like that. we had just been referring to them as the petroglyphs for so long that it sounded funny). He said that there was a fence around them, but that it was something to see, anyway.
We thought he meant a small barrier keeping people from tap dancing on the stones. In actuality, though, the fence was about ten feet high, and virtually unscalable for uncoordinated people like myself. We pressed our faces against the fence and tried to see something (anything!), but weren't able to make out anything that looked even slightly like a petroglyph.
I felt sad that the first stop of the day was so unsuccessful, so when I saw a sign that said something about a mile long nature trail that passed a 100-year old white pine and the remains of an 18th century logging village, I said, "Let's walk on this trail that passes a 100-year old white pine and the remains of a logging village!" I'm a sucker for a nature trail. Unfortunately, the trail went on and on for much more than one mile, and we never saw anything that looked like an old tree (well, we saw lots of old trees, but not the old tree) or a logging village (unless 18th century loggers lived on big rocks, in which case, we totally found it). What we did see was a stagnant pond and two swingy bridges. For a while I thought that the trail was never going to swing back around to the parking lot, and the roommate kept talking about how this was the part of the movie where inbred woodsmen appeared and pursued us. I explained that we weren't attractive enough to actually have a major role in the movie, and it was more likely that we would be killed off quickly at the beginning so that the audience would get an idea about what was going on, and then some sort of beautiful starlet would come to the woods and be pursued by the woodsmen.
Eventually, we found the parking lot again. My car was the only one left, and I said, "I bet if we were here between Memorial Day and Labor Day [which is when the park is officially open and, presumably, the fence is gone], this place would be packed full of people." The roommate said, "Yeah. Right," because she was skeptical about the draw of the glyphs.
I'm tired now. So the existence of Lake Huron will have to remain a mystery until the next entry.
np: Ted Leo-Many Rivers to Cross (because we crossed many rivers on our little road trip. at least two, anyway.)
09-22-04
Go look to his words, don't look to his past.
There has been an exciting (not really) development in my life in that I currently have three books about the GRE checked out from the libary. And several more on my request list. [I'm mostly looking forward to the vocabulary builder one, since right now my vocabulary mostly consists of the words "huh," "stupid," and "what's on the teevee right now, bubba?"]
However, so far there has not been any indication that I intend to actually open or read any of the books. Nor has there been any evidence that I will one day be able to bring myself to pay $112 to register to take the actual test. But I guess this might be a start, sort of.
np: Ted Leo & the Pharmacists-Dead Voices
09-19-04
But if your life is such a big joke, why should I care?
Today I made veggie dogs (veggie dogs in blankets, to be precise), because the other day I dropped the soup which was to have been today's dinner. When I was pulling the veggie dogs out of the oven prior to wrapping them in their blankets, I tilted the pan a bit too far and all of the veggie dogs rolled off of it and onto the floor.
I yelled something ambiguous in mournful disbelief. "Is this kitchen cursed?" I thought. "Has my uncoordination reached such heights that I will no longer be able to cook for myself? Is it only a matter of time before I will have to hire someone to feed and dress me? Has what I've thought of as the golden age of my youth actually only been the beginning of the end?"
Then I pulled myself together, washed those veggie dogs off, wrapped them up and ate them*. But if you didn't have to pull your dinner out from underneath your microwave cart, I think you should consider yourself lucky.
*well, one of them. one was for my roommate, who was (and still is) at work, and who will never, ever know that those veggie dogs were on the floor**. unless she reads it there, in which case, hi roommate! those veggie dogs were full of floory goodness, weren't they?
**actually, the first words out of my mouth when she gets home will probably be, "ohmygosh, guess what? i dropped the veggie dogs on the floor!" because i enjoy telling stories illustrating the ways in which i am an idiot. obviously.
np: Interpol-Leif Erikson
09-16-04
Mellow out or you will pay.
I was getting some water out of the refrigerator, and since I have a tiny, dollhouse-sized refrigerator (which I am still not sure keeps things cold), I had to move about thirty things out of the way to get to the water pitcher. One of the things I had to move was some butter bean soup that I made today (and which was responsible for me singing the praises of butter beans in that last entry) so that I could use up some carrots and celery that were on their last legs. Of course, I dropped the soup and the lid flew off and soup splattered everywhere.
I've been planning my meals pretty carefully so that (1) I am not eating complete garbage; (2) I can afford what I'm eating; and (3) I am finishing things up before they get old and I have to throw them away. That soup was scheduled to last until Sunday. And now I feel all overwhelmed because I'm going to have to rethink my food schedule for the whole weekend and I'm probably going to end up subsisting on veggie dogs and frozen corn (which was what the food schedule was supposed to prevent from happening). I think I'm just going to have to stop trying to plan ahead or save money or be less wasteful, or actually, I'm just going to stop trying to anything that could be considered smart in any way, because that never seem to work out for me.
ps: on the other hand, my dad just emailed me and many others to say that my aunt and uncle in alabama are a-ok after hurrican ivan. the business district of their town was pretty much destroyed, and they might not have electricity again for quite a while, but there was no damage to their brand new house. i sort of hate being reminded that people have bigger problems than dropping their soup, but i guess that that's a good thing to keep in mind.
np: the Delgados-California Uber Alles
09-16-04
I hear your conversations with your boring friends.
Last night my roommate emailed me from her job to tell me that I'd better be awake when she got home because she had big news about two of my favorite people. Now, two of my favorite people could mean just about anyone, but I like big news and she was only working until midnight, so I thought something like, "Of COURSE I'll be awake when she gets home."
By the time she burst (bursted?) through the screen door at 12:15am, I was fast asleep on the couch. She said, "I'M BACK," and I replied with, "mleh," and rubbed my eyes. She said, "[My coworker who we always talk about even though you've never actually met him] knows Michael Moore!" (And just for the record, I believe the roommate was being sarcastic, as Michael Moore is someone whe actually doesn't qualify as one of my favorite people.) And then the next thing I remember is waking up again at 12:45am, stumbling into the bathroom to brush my teeth and collapsing into bed (even though it was covered with clothes and books and a hairdryer).
Today I asked my roommate if she'd told me that [her coworker] knows Michael Moore. She said, "Yeah. And then I kept talking and you fell asleep. It was really disappointing. If my life was a sitcom, everyone would've felt sorry for me." And I imagine that it would've had that sad music and the studio audience would've sighed. That is, assuming a studio audience would want to watch a sitcom about my roommate and I.
But really, I've been waking up way too early every day. Not because I want to, but because that is when I wake up and then I stay awake and spend my days being absolutely miserably tired. I was briefly considering taking sleeping pills because, although I have no problems falling asleep, I would like to remain asleep for at least six hours (is six hours of sleep too much to ask for?), but sleeping pills seem like a big step and I guess I'll just go back to pretending like nothing is wrong and wishing that I liked coffee.
Unrelatedly, I just came across a website that claims that butter beans and lima beans are the same thing, which I can't believe because I LOVE butter beans and can't stand lima beans. Seriously, butter beans are the best.
np: Saturday Looks Good to Me-When the Party Ends
09-14-04
Life on the ground floor.
Today, 26 days after moving into my new apartment, I finally flattened my last box and dragged it out to the recycling bin. That's not to say that I'm done, since I'm not very happy with the way my room looks - I spent 20 minutes this afternoon sitting on the floor and staring at everything and knowing that there was a better way to arrange everything, but not having any idea how to do it - it just means that my room is no longer full of boxes and that everything currently has a place, however temporary that place may be.
We live on the ground floor and I spend half of my day opening and closing the blinds. I never bothered with blinds when I lived on upper floors, because (1) it was easy to just stand out of the way of the window when I was changing my clothes or doing other things I didn't want the casual passerby to look up and see; (2) I always figured that no one was craning their neck upwards in order to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside my room; and (3) even if someone was out there watching me, I'd probably never know about it and, therefore, it wouldn't ever bother me. But now people congregate in the driveway outside of my window to talk loudly, and cars driving in the driveway are at the perfect height to glance into my window and see me lying slothfully on my bed, so I have to be slightly more diligent in my use of the blinds. However, I can feel myself caring less and less about it every day, and at this point, a lot of people who don't know my name have seen me in my pajamas.
I've never lived in an apartment building before, and I don't think I'm cut out for it, as I have absolutely no desire to meet any of the neighbors. I know I should, because maybe someday I'll need one of them to let me in if I get locked out or to jump start my car, or maybe they're just really nice people and I could exchange recipes and book suggestions with them. But mostly the idea of talking to strangers just stresses me out. Our front window is right by the front door of the building, so I know pretty much everyone by sight (I see one guy in the library all the time and I'm almost sure that one of the girls lived in my dorm my sophomore year), but the closest thing I've had to an actual conversation with any of them was when I was carrying an armload of recyclables outside, and a man burst out of the laundry room just as I passed the door. I shrieked and threw bottles, cans and boxes everywhere. He apologized and I tried to make it look like I'd meant to drop everything in the hallway.
Speaking of recycling, would it be unbelievably trashy of me to dig returnables out of the recycling bins? When I lived in the dorm, I used to visit every bin on each floor before I went to the store, because it seemed stupid to leave pop cans there when I could be getting a dime for each one. And it didn't seem trashy because the bins were small and clean and inside. These ones, though, are in the dark parking lot behind the building and they're fairly big, so getting things out of them might be difficult/time consuming, and I'm worried that someone will come outside and see me digging through the bin. On the other hand, though, a dime is a dime, and if people are just going to throw their money away, I might as well have it. So far my first impressions on these people have been that I lay on the couch in my pajamas and read a lot, and that I shriek and throw things when I am surprised. I guess I might as well start digging through the garbage.
np: Elliott Smith-Twilight
09-12-04
It's such a drag to be on your own.
Today I made some extremely garlicky hummus. When I mince garlic by hand I get really tired of it and only cut up exactly the amount that I need. But when all I have to do is throw it in the blender, it seems stupid to not use five or six cloves.
I also meant to make falafel from scratch (because I never had before - in fact it had never even occured to me that it was possible to make falafel from scratch. i just assumed that everyone went to the store and bought those boxes of dry falafel mix.), but after a very valiant attempt, I had to accept that the project was a failure and move on. Instead, we had lentil soup and pita bread with hummus, tomatoes, cucumbers and spinach for dinner, even though it wasn't especially soup weather.
While I was at the grocery store acquiring things to make garlicky hummus and falafel and lentil soup, I nearly bought some superfine mustard, because the idea of owning a superfine spice made me giggle (on the other hand, bay leaves, which were what I was actually buying, aren't funny at all.), but I couldn't remember a time that I'd ever needed ground mustard for anything, so my kitchen will have to remain being populated by spices that are merely ground or in leaf form. But in my heart, each and every one of them is superfine.
np: Ted Leo-Many Rivers to Cross
09-10-04
Another day, another major disaster.
It sounds dumb, but I've been having a lot of problems with balance lately. I've fallen down a few times while getting dressed (the first time I just thought, "Hah! Putting on my pants made me fall down!" but after it happened two more times it didn't seem quite as hilarious), almost fell down while getting out of the shower, fell out of bed and came very close to falling down the stairs at my grandparents' house (it's a good thing they installed that sturdy new handrail. they didn't have a handrail at all before, and grandchildren were constantly toppling over the edge. but most grandchildren falling over were significantly younger than 23.). And I'm almost certain that this is somehow related to my neverending ear problem, which IS actually a problem, regardless of the fact that whenever I go to the doctor about it I am told that there is NOTHING WRONG WITH MY EAR. Other people's ears don't constantly throb or take up to five minutes to clear out after a sneeze or have a gurgly liquidy sound coming from behind them. The doctors all told me to take Sudafed, and I took it for four or five months, until I realized that it wasn't doing any good and I might as well just save my money and live with ear problems. And now I get ear problems AND (even more) klutziness. Yay.
np: Pulp-I Love Life
09-09-04
Road trip 2004! But probably not. . .
The roommate and I were talking about how it has been almost a year since we went to Louisville and about how we should go there again to celebrate how we went there a year ago. Then we decided that it would be stupid to go there again, and that we should take a road trip to somewhere else in order to commemorate our trip to Louisville. I, however, am not interested in traveling to places that take more than one day to drive to (after I get out of the car after I've been in one for a long period of time, it takes me hours to feel like I've actually stopped moving. During the night after we drove to Kentucky (and also during the night after we drove back), I woke up several times with the terrifying feeling that I had fallen asleep at the wheel), and I'm too poor to fly, so our choices of destinations are kind of limited. So far we have considered (and by we, I mean mostly me, because I'll be doing most to all of the driving and we'll be taking my poor old battered car, so I should get to do most of the planning) the following:
- Memphis
- Philadelphia
- Toronto
- Montreal
- Niagara Falls
- the upper peninsula (I know! I really aimed low on that last one, but I like the u.p. And my car has never been there because I have a (probably irrational*) fear that it will be blown off of the Mackinac Bridge.)
All of this is at this time, of course, merely speculatory, and the fact is that we will probably not go anywhere.
Also, pear-flavored Jelly Bellies are the best. I don't mean the best kind of Jelly Belly or the best jelly bean or the best candy or food. I mean that they are the best things ever in the whole world. Every time I eat one (and I eat them one at a time because they are expensive, and each one must be savored), I think, "What is this? Have I accidentally put a small, bean-shaped pear into my mouth?" I am almost certain that they count towards my daily fruit allowance. They are just that pear-like.
Now I have a date with a Freaks and Geeks dvd.
*Speaking of irrational fears, I also have one of pregnant women. I mean, they have a person growing inside them. I can't help but be a little freaked out by that.
np: Sufjan Stevens-For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti
09-07-04
The only good thing about the weekend is that Monday's two days away.
Yesterday I had French toast for breakfast, which was decidedly odd, since I can't remember the last time I ate French toast (or, actually, if I've ever eaten French toast at all), and also because I have adamantly professed, on many separate occasions, to not like French toast. But I was sitting there in Big Boy with my parents, and we were in a hurry because we were on our way to my grandparents' house, and they were both ready to order and I didn't want to be the one that was slowing us down, so when my dad said, "Do you know what you want?" I panicked and said that I did. Since the only picture on the page of the menu that I was studying was of cinnamon French toast, that is what I ordered.
When it arrived, I was faced with the problem of not knowing how to eat it. Do you butter French toast? I decided not to, since it was fried in eggs and I generally don't butter my eggs, and anyway, the waitress hadn't brought any butter for me. I thought that syrup, though, was acceptable for French toast, but she hadn't brought me any of that either. Eventually I ordered a side of applesauce and poured that all over everything, and it was sort of ok. But I don't know why anyone would eat French toast when they could just as easily eat waffles or pancakes or omlettes, and my official stance is still that I don't like French toast.
After breakfast, it was onward and northward to my grandparents' house*, where we did some more eating. Unfortunately, we got there early enough that we also had to help with the preparation.
My aunt Sandy brought over her ice cream maker, and for some reason my dad took over the job of watching it. He kept saying, "I don't think it's working. It's not getting done. I'm not sure, but I don't think it's working right," but eventually the ice cream maker stopped,
and he and my aunt took off the lid to reveal a bucketful of fresh vanilla ice cream!
A side note: if you are on the ball, you can claim the beater/stirrer/plunger (there was some discrepancy within my family about what this was called; in any case, it's the thing in the middle of the ice cream maker that stirs the ingredients around), ensuring that you get to eat the ice cream off of that before dinner, and it won't interfere with your claim on dessert ice cream because you can say, "Well, I only had what was stuck to the beater/stirrer/plunger!" If you are not on the ball, your mom takes the beater/stirrer/plunger while you are off taking pictures of the dog (Sadie)** and cat (Gus)***.]
After the ice cream was made, my dad was also enlisted to do the grilling, even though he didn't know how to use the grill. My grandma stood by, delivering orders while simultaneously refusing to actually do the grilling. My dad isn't used to using a large gas grill (he has a small, charcoal one),
and eventually everyone gathered around to give him advice (my mom's advice consisted mainly of not mixing the sweet Italian bratwursts up with the regular ones, because she didn't want to get a sweet Italian one by mistake).
[A second sidenote: quite a while after dinner, we were all gathered around looking at some hydrangeas that were on the ground behind the grill, and realized that we all smelled gas. Upon closer inspection, the gas was still happily gassing away. It could've been our last Labor Day extravaganza ever.]
Even with my dad's lack of expertise, dinner was eventually ready. The side dishes included my grandma's best ever number one wilted cabbage salad (made with cabbage freshly picked from my aunt Sandy's garden), which I could eat all day and all night and never, ever, ever get tired of.
After we were forced by rain and wind to abandon the picnic table, my youngest cousin Matthew told me a story about a mouse he found. Being 10 years old, he kept getting hung up on details like how big the tree near the mouse was: "It was just a little tree, probably about this big around [hand gesture] and a little shorter than Mitchell [his brother]. Well, maybe taller than Mitchell, but not any bigger around than that tree. Well, maybe a little bigger around than that tree." I don't remember what happened to the mouse.
Later we all looked at pictures of my grandparents' trip to Hawaii (because my parents are going to Hawaii in January for their thirtieth anniversary (which was in August)), and then I found a photo album of my mom and her siblings when they were young and wore karazy seventies clothing. There were a lot of stories that went with the pictures and began, "That is when Bev drove to. . ." "That was when we all drove to the. . ." and it made me realize that I never really just get in my car and go anywhere. I go to the store or I go to the movies, but I certainly don't embark on long voyages across the country by myself, and I can only barely imagine sleeping in my car.
Then we had to leave because I needed to drive back to my house that night. I did not leave empty-handed, however, as my grandma gave me two pints of freshly canned mustard pickles, a bunch of potatoes (from my grandma's garden, and she says that they're yellow inside, which both excites and disgusts me), and a big measuring cup with a lid (which was from her motor home that she recently sold). When we got to my parents' house I took more food from them (homemade raspberry jam, half a package of flour tortillas, some leftover pasta salad), and then headed home through the rain along with the 90 million other people who had gone away for Labor Day weekend. I dragged everything into my apartment, threw everything that needed to be refrigerated into the refrigerator, and collapsed in a heap until 6:45 this morning, when someone started yelling loudly near my window (which is just unneccessary).
*We did stop briefly to buy hamburger buns and hot dog buns, which reminded me that I still find a lot of humor in the phrase, "We're going to get grandma's buns!" Also, I will probably always remember the time that my ninth grade biology teacher asked me to get something out of her drawers, and I returned to my seat and told my friend that Mrs. Scobey told me to look in her drawers, and we laughed and laughed. It is a good thing that I am only thirteen years old, because otherwise I might just be really immature and stupid.
**Officially, Sadie is the guard dog, but when I jumped out of the car and said, "Hello, Sadie!" she promptly ran behind the house to hide.
***I'm sure that I have posted a nearly identical picture of Gus in the past, but this one was taken outside and commemorates a day when I didn't have to dangle food in front of him to make him look at me. Gus is usually pretty uppity, but yesterday he actually allowed me to pet him for an extended period of time. His owner (my aunt) is in Haiti right now and I think he misses her.
np: Sloan-Don't You Believe a Word
09-02-04
Bugs and sunshine.
1. Last night I went for a walk, and a bug flew into my eye. I stood on the sidewalk and cried, and eventually I decided that it must be gone, but when I went home and looked in the mirror, it was still floating around in there! It was a big bug, too. Well, not a big bug, but a big bug to have stuck in your eye.
2. There is a car that is just like my car that lives in a house down the street from my apartment. I've been on numerous patio stakeouts trying to discover who would drive a car like mine, but I only managed to observe the car when no one was getting into or out of it, and watching a parked car gets kind of boring so I usually read or fell asleep (and actually, if you had asked me what I was doing, I would've said, "I'm reading on the patio," not "I'm watching that car down there that looks like mine so I can see who drives it," because that would've made me sound like a nutjob.). While I was walking to work this morning, though, I saw the guy that drives that car! He was about to drive away (I saw that the brake lights were one and thought, "If I had left 45 seconds earlier, I would've seen him getting into the car!"), but then he got out of the car to do something to the windows and . . . well, after a week of patio stakeouts, he was a bit of a letdown. He was kind of tall and wearing a tie.
3. Speaking of walking to work, the majority of my walk now occurs on a street that walks straight towards the sun with no shade whatsoever. I spend most of the time staring down at the sidewalk, occasionally glancing up to make sure that I haven't missed my destination. All of the people walking towards me could be friends and family (or enemies or brain-eating zombies, for that matter), but I'd never know because I can only make out their silhouettes against the sun. I always have a huge headache by the time I get to work and I'm sure I'll be blind by the end of the month. I can't wait until winter.
4. Wearing the same clothes two days in a row should make me feel dirty, but instead it just makes me feel thrifty.
np: work
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