Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Personal Life

What we talk about in the shadows–of death

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I’m back to talk more about the feelings the first three chapters of Schrödinger’s Call (Acrobatic Chirimenjako) have evoked in me. Yes, the game is about death, but that’s not the emphasis or even the point. If anything, I would call it the backdrop of the game. Everything in the game is shaped by the fact of imminent death, but it’s not really talked about. You’re reminded now and again about it, but more in a way to gently (or not so gently) make you feel the emotions of the game again.

It’s strange because normally, I would not like a game that was so blatantly manipulative of me, but for whatever reason I’m fine with it in this game. I think it’s because, well, let me put it this way. I love musicals. I adore them, even though they are about as far from reality as you can possibly be. In fact, they are the only form of media that isn’t realistic that I actually enjoy.

This game isn’t realistic at all in terms of depiction of the world and what happens, but it’s spot on in terms of emotions. I have not felt this much for or because of a game in quite some time. It’s made me tear up on several occasions and flat out cry more than once.

The whole time I’m playing, I’m tired. I hurt for all the characters–well, most of them. There are a few who aren’t meant to be likeable, but even with most of those, I can at least see why they think and act the way they do. I may not be sympathetic to them, but I can’t hate them, either. My heart actuually aches as I play, and I dread each upcoming moment. Not because I hate the game, obviously, but because each moment is like a shard of glass embedding itself under my skin.

I felt as if I were walking on glass with each step. There were times when my finger hovered over the A button because I couldn’t make myself go on. Especially when it was time to let go. This has happneed to me in so many games. When the time came to let certain characters move on, I just could not do it. In Spiritfarer (Thunder Lotus Games), there was a character named Gwen. She was a hardbitten, cynical deer who was damaged by her father and life in general. She drank a ton of coffee and smoked endlessly. She had a shell around her because life had treated her so badly.

I finished her last moments fairly early in the game, but I could not let her go. This was my flaw–I was so selfish. I had to keep her with me. I knew I was being selfish, and, yet, I could not let her go. She meant so much to me–hell, she was me.

This is one reason I vastly prefer indie games to AAA games. They can say and do things that AAA games would not dare to touch. The newest Wolverine game came out in the past few days. The scores have varied wildly, but many reviewers agree that it’s the equivalent of a summer popcorn movie. Even many people who like it admit that it’s pretty much by the numbers. It’s not groundbreaking in any way, and it’s definitely a PlayStation game.


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More thoughts in my brain, part two

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I have more thoughts about society and how my brain works. Strap in because this is going to go places. I don’t know which places, exactly, but we’re going to go to them. Maybe. You know how I do. I may end up somewhere completely different; we shall see. In yesterday’s post, I was all over the place. I eventually talked about not getting gender on a cellular level. No, that’s not how I put it, but it’s what I meant.

I’ve been tinking about it a lot lately for several reasons. One, because of *waves at world around me*. Two, because of my dip into Kpop as I mentioned in yesterday’s post. Gender roles are very prescriptive and proscriptive (as they are in many countries), but in a somewhat different way than it is in America. Granted, this is a very niche area in the first place (Kpop). I don’t know for sure, but I would wager than men in Korea who aren’t in the arts probably don’t–well, I just looked it up, and I was wrong. Men in Korea do shave their body hair. It’s the standard over there.  It’s considered dirty unkempt to have body hair, apparently. Which is funny because many Asian people have very little body hair. I don’t, and I haven’t shaved anything since I was in my early twenties.

As for makeup, that’s much less common, though a chunky minority(roughly 16%) wear it for special occasions. About 4% wear it daily. Interesting. I say it’s interesting because in general, at least from the Kpop I’ve seen (mostly Stray Kids, but I have watched other groups), there is less of the overt muscular masculinity, even though there is some of that, and more of a cute vibe. In fact, theat’s part of the culture–adults acting cute as social lubrication.

It’s been a really interesting look into how another culture does gender–and it’s another culture in which I would not feel welcome. I’m saying this as a person of Taiwanese descent. It’s not the same as Korea, obviously, but there are some similarities. The honorifics based on gender. The veneration of age. The rigid gender stereotypes. I will note that I have not been to Taiwan in a decade and a half, so I can’t speak to how it is now. But when I was there, I got a lot of shit for not fitting their idea of what a girl/woman should be.

The first time I went was when I was ten or so. Taiwan did not have a taboo about talking about weight. I had more than one cousin I had just met for the first time tell me how fat I was. You can porbably guess that this made me feel really good about myself. My mother put me on my first diet when I was seven. And she nagged me about my weight until I put my foot down when I was in my late thirties. I told her explicitly that she could not mention my weight. Or health, for that matter, because she would use health as a cover for weight.

I know I’m going to dip out of Kpop at some point because the environment is not healthy for me. Also, I know that it’s a world that I most definitely do not fit in. I mean, that’s all worlds so far, but this is the one I’m currently interested in.

This is my life, by the way. I stay in a space for as long as it’s tolerable for me, and then I move on. I know there is no place that would feel 100% comfortable (because that’s life), but I would settle for 50%. Maybe even 40%. I also would like to know if others feel the same way.

Here’s the thing. Any time I’m in a crowd, I’m keenly aware of just how different I am, and it’s been that way my whole life. It’s because I’m several deviations away from the norm, and it’shard to find a middle ground. Let’s list them out. I’m queer  (bi), Taiwanese American, areligious, agender, able to think about things on several different levels, and that’s just the start of it. I don’t wantto be in a long-term relationship, and I’m ethically nonmonogamous. I am looking to date again, but just for sex. I would love a fuck buddy who I could call two or three times a week–have a laugh and a few tumbles in the hay, and then send them home again.

I don’t believe in marriage. I mean, I know it exists–I’m not saying it doesn’t. But it’s just not for me. As for kids…the less said about that topic, the better. I’ve talked about it enough–you know what? No. I am going to get into it.

When I was in my early twenties, I realized I did not have to have children. I grew up assuming I was going to have them because that’s what you did as a woman. You were for breeding and spawning and anything else was extraneous. That’s what my mother and her very sexist evangelical Taiwanese Christian church had me believing, and American society did not do anything to dissuade me of that belief.

So when I realized that I could actually choose not to have children, it was the best decision of my life. I was so excited about it, I shared it with anyone who wanted to know. And, boy, did a lot of women want to know. So many woman. So much questioning. Ugh. If I could go back, the one change I would make is that I would have kept my decision to myself. I naively thought that it was a small thing that should not matter to anyone. In reality, I got a lot of shit for deciding not to have children.

See, this is yet another way in which my brain is broken. I thought, “This is a decision that doesn’t affect anyone but me. No one is going to care.” I was so, so, so wrong. for some reason I still don’t completely understand, many women* were heavily invested (and, sadly, still are) in propping up the ‘a woman’s purpose is to have children’ bullshit and took it REALLY personal when someone like me came along. More tomorrow.

 

 

*Yes, only women in this case. Men at the time wnated to avoid getting me preggo because they wanted to get in my pants. A gross generalization, but not far from off.

 

An elegy for my fake-hubby, Yutsy

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As I’m writing this, it’s my fifth re-birthday. Just. I should have declared my re-birthday to be the day I woke up from my week-long coma (which would be almost a week from now), but I chose my re-birthday as the night I literally died–twice!, and that’s right now. So, happy re-birthday to me. I have never cared for my actual birthday, but I’ve gone from hating it to being truly neutral about it.

My re-birthday, on the other hand? I’m all about it. I have nothing but the warmest feelings for it, and I loudly proclaim it when it comes around. Hell, why not?

That’s not what I want to talk about, though. I have a much more sobering post for today, but it’s related, somewhat, to my medical crisis.

I used to be a member of the Balloon Juice community (political website). This was before the Obama days, and into his first term. Maybe longer? I really liked most of the regular commenters, and it was a great place to talk to other lefties. I was still probably one of the most left-leaning as ideological, I am very far left. At heart, though, I’m a pragmatist. I would rather get half of what I want actually passed into law than nothing. To a certain extent.

One person had the ‘nym Yutsano, and we became fast friends. We were both queer (he was gay, and I was/am bi), had a very dirty sense of humor, and clicked on several levels. I called him Yutsy, and he called me wifey. He was gay, but as he said, who doesn’t like boobs? He praised mine to high heaven (likening them to pillows), which always made me laugh.

I don’t remember how we decided to get fake-married–probably as a way to protest the inanity of the whole marriage equality debacle, er, debate, but we had a great time with it. The whole site was in on it, and we brought another gay guy into our fake family. Yes, we were a fake-throuple before it became a thing.

Yutsy and I kept in contact after I drifted away from Balloon Juice (politics were starting to really weigh me down. Ironic given what’s happening now). Any time BJ’s proprietor posted a picture of his cat, Tunch (who was the blog’s mascot. I have merch with His Royal’s roundness on it), Yutsy would tell them that the proper authority had been notified (me) and then message me.

He was much better at keeping in touch than I was. I’m not good about it, especially since my medical crisis. He would reach out every now and again (three-to-six months), but I had not heard from him in much longer than that.

I gave up completely on Twitter when it became the social media platform formerly known as Twitter, and I barely used Facebook. I had a Bluesky, but I rarely checked there, either. In fact, after my medical crisis, I effectively gave up on social media. So if he wanted to reach me, it would be through FB. I did check my messages there, but that wasn’t how we normally communicated.


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Big braining and small braining, part three/seven

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Let’s talk more about how I brain–or don’t. One of the most frustrating things is to be told not to worry/be anxious, etc. Or to be told that it doesn’t help. Of course it doesn’t! I already know that. I try not to talk about my anxiety because I know it doesn’t help, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I hide it better than most, but it’s still pretty bad.

I noted that when I had my medical crisis, I came out of it with my depression down by 90% and my anxiety down by about 60%. Now, it’s because up to depression about 80% of what I used to have and my anxiety is about 90%. I’m talking of the original depression and anxiety. Granted, it’s still down from what it used to be, but it’s still not great.

It’s so frustrating to know that much of my problem is (literally and figuratively) in my head. I am am used to thinking my way out of my problems, and I can’t do that when my brain is the  problem in the first place.

Side note: I have been working on my Taiji/Bagua routine. I have it somewhat hammered out in that I do all the Taiji stretches/warmups every day. I also do one section of the Taiji Solo (Long Form) every day. In addition, I do the Swimming Dragon Form (left side or right side) every day. All of these are easy and gentle, which is why I can do them every day. Before, I had all my weapons rotating on a weekly basis. This was fine when I only knew a few weapon forms. Now, though, I know…let’s count them. Sword Form (left and right); Saber Form (left and right); Cane Form (left and right); Cane Form with Saber (left and right); Double Saber Form (right); Double Fan Form (right); Fan Form (right); and I’m learning the Bagua Knife Form (right). I’m almost done with it; I’m hoping to finish it in a month or two. I also do a staff/spear set that is not a form. I’m hoping my teacher can teach me the two-person forms for the staff/spear–they’re all very short. Or the two-person form.

I want to work on Push Hands (which is the basis for the two-person form. I’ll write more about that later.

Back to the weapon forms. I was doing the forms a varying amount of times a week. The Double Fan Form I do every day as it’s my newest form, and I want to make sure it gets in my body. Plus, I’ll be doing it for the next demo, so I want to have it down.

When I knew four or five weapon forms, it was fine to practice them all every week. I did one a day, and I was good to go. Now, though, it’s overwhelming. The whole routine takes up to two hours, and that’s too much. I was starting to hate practicing my weapons. Or rather, not hate, but dread. That’s when I needed a change.


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The hidden costs of my way of braining, part…two/six

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I want to talk more about my brain and how it works, but also how I have to constantly monitor what I say. In the prior post about the former, I was talking about how fringe I am, even in places where I feel mostly welcome. In the latter category, in yesterday’s post, I mentioned how I have to constantly figure out what Ican say to normies and what I can’t.

Side note: Because I’m usually extremely good at reading the room, it really bugs me when I fuck  up. Quite plainly, it’s part of my anxiety and how I try to control my environment.

Side note to the side note: I see it in my mother, and it’s so clear how she tries to control her anxiety by endlessly spinning out over what might happen. She tries to plan for every little thing that could possibly happen in a vain attempt to make sure nothing bad happened. I do the same, but iI do it inwardly and not outwardly. That’s one reason it’s so hard for me to listen to her–it echoes the voice in my head.

I know that other people aren’t thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about myself. However. I also know that people notice me because I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m Asian an a very white area, and I just have a distinct look. I wear all black, have a funky pair of glasses, and my hair (that I wear up in a high pony and halfway braid) reaches my waist (when done up). And I have huge boobs. Believe me–I don’t fade into the background.

You know that The Hulk quote, “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry.” That’s me. I’m always angry. Before my medical crisis, I was able to keep in in control except on rare occasion. Now, I have a much harder time modulating it. I would add, “I’m always anxious” to that. Anxious about being outed as a weirdo. Or rather, as being super weird. I thin kit’s fairly obvious just by looking at me that I’m not normal.

You know what? I’m not sure that’s true any longer. Now that I’m middle-aged, maybe I can get more of a pass. I still have huge tits, though. And I still have people talking to me when there’s no need for that.

*Restrains urge to go off on a thousand-word rant about charisma*

This is how my brain works, by the way. Me going on tangent after tangent until there’s no main path any longer. I’m used to it by now, but I’m still slightly amused when I start veering wildly off path. I promise you that I fully intend to write what I initially thought about in my mind. It’s just that so many things are interconnected to me, I can’t stick with just one.

At least now I know why that is rather than when I was a kid and just thought my mind was haywired. Well, to be fair, at first, I thought everyone thought the way I did. I mean, it was so clear in my head, why wouldn’t it be clear to others as well?


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My brain and me, part four

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Let’s talk more about how my brain is weird. I’ll give a very recent example. Tonight (last night? About five hours ago), my carbon monoxide detector/smoke alarm went off. I thought it was four quick, sharp (and loud) beeps in rapid succession while the lights flashed green. I looked it up, and four beeps meant CO. Before I go any further, here’s my post from yesterday.

I’ve had one go off before, and it was because it had reached the end of its life. I read a lot of conflicting information about the beeps, but I finally decided that calling 911 and just explaining the situation as I did the last time was probabl yfor the best. Three policemen came, and I explained what happened. We tested the detector/alarm (I had put the two batteries in wrong, so we put them in the riht way and tested it.) It was actually beeping five times. We counted several times. That meant it was at the end of its life, but why is it so close to the actual alert for CO, I don’t know.

They checked the gas levels all over my house, and there was nothing. The lead cop told me to buy a new one (I only had one) and to monitor how I was feeling. I knew the basics–flu-like symptoms, dizziness, etc. The lead cop told me that I really don’t want to turn chherry red.

I’m not overly concerned, but there is a nagging thought in the back of my mind that maybe there is gas somewhere. And I should have tried harder to get the detectors (I’m getting them tomorrow morning). I don’t think that’s so unusual, but I don’t know.

That’s the worst part of having a weirdo brain. Not knowing what is normal and what isn’t. I don’t think this is that unusual (to be worried even though there’s no real reason to). The higher the stakes, the more the worry explodes. And even though the chance of dying from CO poisoning is minimal, it’s impossible to detect except for with a detector.

I don’t know if I’m overreacting or underreacting. Or maybe just reacting? It’s so hard for me to gauge. Also, I’m tired AF because I only got three-ish hours of sleep last night. So knowing whether I’m fatigued or not is not that possible. I was joking with the lead cop that who wasn’t fatigued these days? He had a girlfriend and a child, so he knew all about tired.

He sent his cohorts back to the cop shop to get the CO monitor, and we chatted while they were gone. I learned about his prior jobs and how he ended up in New Brighton on the night shift. It was a nice little chat, and I proved I can be normal when I need to be. Granted, I had a vested interest in keeping the cops on my good side, but still. I was able to talk like a normal person, and that felt good.


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Not feeling it

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I was startled by some loud popping about ten minutes ago. Some VERY loud popping. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and for several seconds, I had no idea what the fuck was going on. Then, I remembered that it was the fourth of July tomorrow.

Sigh.

I can deal with fireworks on the actual day as long as it’s brief and at a decent time. It’s gone from fireworks on the day to fireworks the weekend of (or the few days surrounding the actual day) to more than a few days sometimes.

It’s so loud. SO loud. And sharp popping. I was not happy, and I know that poor animal friends will not be happy, either. Funnily enough, my scaredy cat, Shadow (who jumped at everything including his own, well, shadow) did not bat an eyelash when it came to fireworks or the vacuum–two things that most cats did not like. Raven, on the other hand, did not like either.

I’m in no mood to celebrate. I haven’t been for a long time, and–

Wait. I need to clarify something. I have never been a patriotic person. When I was a kid to when I was thirty, I was neutral to slightly negative as to how I felt about America. Then, when 9/11 happened, my opinion took a sharp nosedive. Not because of the event that happened, but because of what happened afterwards. Everyone put American flags outside their house, and so many people said if you didn’t, you were unpatriotic.

And the company line from the president and his acolytes didn’t inspire confidence in me, either. We all knew who was really in charge, and I knew he had a hunger for power–no matter what. it seems kind of quaint now, but also sad that I considered W and his VP to be the pinnacle of corruption and the worst thing to happen to the country.

I was so naive back then, thinking that was the worst it could get. Then again, how could I know how utterly batshitcrazy my country would get just because we had the temerity to elect a black man as the president. We are still paying for that in so many ways.

When I think of the trajectory of the country from 2016 until now, I just want to close my eyes and cry. That wouldn’t be wise or advised, but that’s how I feel. When I think about all the steps we could have taken to avoid this, and when I think of how many men weren’t willing to have a female president–let’s just say that I have very dark thoughts in my head.

I find myself saying often, “I did not come back from the  dead (twice!)”, and it’s really distressing. It’s not even the fact that this president is so mean and spiteful, and he (and his acolytes) are doing so many vicious and vindictive things.  I mean, that’s a large part of it, but it’s not the only thing that is bothering me these days.


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One more post about labels, part six

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I still have one more post about labels in me s so let’s go! I’ve been planning on writing about labels when it comes to dating for the past two posts, but, well, that’s not what I ended up writing about. In the last post, I talked about labels I use for myself that I’m mostly fine with, including bi, Taiwanese American, and areligious. I don’t love two of them (bi, and areligious0, but they do the job. The other one (Taiwanese American) is factual, which makes it fine*.

I was going to say that in writing a dating profile, I would like to be able to avoid labels completely and not include a picture–but then I realized that’s not exactly true. What I want to do is avoid the people (ahem, men) who loooooooooooove Asian women and send me pics of their dicks unasked for, and, indeed, unwanted.

This was my experience the last time I tried to use the dating apps, and it was really dispiriting. I explicitly said that I did not want anyone who had an Asian fetish and DO NOT SEND DICK PICS. The  vast majority of responses I got ignored both of these edicts.

In a twisted way, it’s a blessing because they are just self-selecting out. If I didn’t have to actually see the dick pics, I would be ok with that. This was decades ago, so I don’t know if there are strictures in place on apps now that do not allow unsolicited dick picks to go through. I would think there should be a way to do that, but I’m not a tech person.

PSA: Guys. My dudes. I rarely make blanket statements, but this is one I’m more than comfortable in making . Do not send unsolicited dick pics. Period. There is no exception to this, and you are certainly not it. (I know there are guys out there who think their dicks are just that special; trust me, they aren’t.)

PSA II: Your dick really really isn’t that special. For many people who are not dudes but like dicks, it’s a specific dick that is attractive and not just dicks in general. I know for many straight dudes, any tits and/or pussy will do. But even then, I think more of them would be weirded out by random pic of them out of the blue. It can be disconcerting, and especially when you were not asking for it nor especially in the mood for it.

Again, I don’t know how common or acceptable that is now, but back in the Wild West days of PlentyofFish, it was rampant. I would hazard that I got a dick pic for at least one out of four responses I got. And the “I loooooooove Oriental girls” response ratio was much higher.

I was talking about this with my brother when he started dating again. Not the specifics of my travails, but how now that we were in our mid-fifties, we were much more certain about what we wanted and didn’t.

When I talked about this with my Taiji teacher today, I mentioned how as she knew, I liked being alone. So anyone I dated needed to add something to my life and not make it more stressful. When I was in my twenties, I was told that I needed to settle. Basically, that any man was better than none, and the worst fate that could befall me was ending up alone.

After several disastrous relationships, I would have to disagree with that. It’s much worse being with someone who is disdainful of/tired of you than being by myself. In fact, I love being by myself. It’s the only time I can relax and be me. I miss my Shadow (still) more than I can say, but that’s not the same as living with another human.


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My daily report for shits and giggles

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I’m back with the daily weather report. Why? Because it’s still occupying my mind, and I’m going to keep going on with it until I’m bored with it. Here is my post from yesterday in which I did just that and a whole lot more. It’s 62F now, which seems to be pretty normal for this time of year. I ran to the pharmacy and for the first time this season, I wore shorts. Long shorts, yes, but shorts, nonetheless. It was such a nice day out, and it’s finally spring? I think? I am not an outdoor person at all, but it felt nice to have the sun on my face. And 62F is right at the top of my comfort zone.

This is another thing I know and accept about myself–I hate the heat. I have hated it since I was little. It doesn’t make sense because I’m hypothyroid, which usually means quick to feel the cold. However, I was hyperthyroid before that, which maybe is where my hatred of heat comes from. It should have gone away when my thyroid was destroyed, but it did not.

Now, my tolerance of/enjoyment of the cold is slightly lower than it was before I hit menopause, but I still much prefer it to the heat. And, to me, the heat is anything over 65F. Actually, up to 70F is tolerable. Once we go over 70F, then all bets are off.

Back when I was younger, I was much more into the cold than I am now. I mean, I was dancing in the snow naked at midnight for funsies. I haven’t done it in some time, but it made me feel so alive. I may have to revive it for next winter. Then again, I’m not sure I will be able to handle it, either. I’m not going to do it foolishly if my body can no longer deal with it.

Similarly, I used to play a fun (for me) game of seeing how long it would take me in the winter before I rolled up my window. When I was at my peak, I could tolerate the cold until roughly -10F. Then, I would reluctantly roll the window up. After that, it was another new game of when was I going to turn on the heater? I did it once or twice a winter, which was about how often I used the heater inside the house. Well, that’s a slight exaggeration. I probably used it three to five times a winter in the house–and that was mostly as I slept.

I can tell I’m getting older because I have my heater in my house at 62F all day round instead of 62F during the day and 60F at night. Yes, it’s just a matter of 2 degrees, but it’s still a significant different.

I’m still adjusting my sleeping schedule. I went to bed around 4:30 a.m. last night and got up at noon. Well, a bit before it. So seven hours of sleep, which is decent for me. I got up once to pee, but quickly went back to sleep again.


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Groove is in my head

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I’m back with the weather report once again. Right now it’s 55F, which is nice for me. It’s supposed to get down to near-freezing tonight, which…look, we all know I love the cold. I think I have been pretty clear on that. However, I am having the roughest time with the wildly fluctuating temps. My body is, I mean. Here is my post from yesterday, and I’ll just keep going with my musings in this post.

At the same time, I’m just exhausted from the lack of sleep. I mean, I don’t sleep well in general, but I’ve been managing to have decent sleep until the last month or so. Maybe a few months? It’s been especially terrible in the last few weeks. Going to bed at eight or nine and still forcing myself up by two-thirty because I was determined to have a regular time to get up. I was hoping that it would force me to go to bed earlier. Did this work? No. Did I really think it would work? No.

I know myself. I know the way my brain (doesn’t) work. I know what I can make myself do and what I can’t. And yet, I still foolishly do things I know won’t work. It’s not even as if I’m fooling myself–it’s me trying to convince me that I can fool myself.

I think this is one of the things that frustrates me the most about my weird-ass brain. I know what I can and can’t do, but I still try to do the thintg that I know won’t work with the futile hope that it’ll end differently this time.

What I’ve learn is that I just have to do something big and completely different. NOT stay up for 72 hours straight, but moving from one computer to another by a certain time after actually doing the first thing I need to do. This is how I used to do it back in the day before I had my medical crisis.

Side note: I’m exhausted. I’m so tired. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. After having so much trouble sleeping and being so sleep-deprived, now that I’ve actually gotten a few nights of decent sleep, I’m more tired than ever. I’m not alarmed because that’s how it’s been in the past. My body can get used to not sleeping much (at least when I was younger), but once I start making up the deficit, my body wants more.

I don’t know if there is ever a point when I’ll be truly caught. I’m guessing that if I do this for, say, like six months, I’ll make up a good portion of that. Even if I don’t, I’ll still get more sleep and more consistent sleep than I have already so it’ll be a net plus. That’s the thing I have to remind myself about any progress I make–it’s progress. Even if it’s not as big or as much as I want, I’m still better than I used to be.


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