I had the best of intentions

Over a month ago, I pasted in my sidebar the blogroll from Bloglines. When the hot links didn't transfer, I resolved to put them in and keep them current. Instead, my half effort made the sidebar a cluttered mess and I must defer to linking to Bloglines in keeping me organized. I am in awe the people who actually keep an active blogroll in their sidebar.

So, I've cleaned things up.

I also had to change my profile to show J age increase and decided that the overall sidebar needed to better reflect my present, not my past. So some extraneous things were eliminated. I am switching focus. Cob webs are cleared this day of remembrance and moving on.

That was strange

My hairspray, on it's last legs, smelled like pot.

Needless to say, I then used more than usual.

Funny balls

Sometimes I wish P were still around to make me laugh - for his funny little sounds and his continuing jokes or understanding of our mutual jokes. The man was hilarious and made me funnier, too. We fed off each other.

J and I were listening to the radio the other day. In the milieu of five people talking at once during the morning show, one made a noise that reminded J of P. J exclaimed, "Did you hear that? It sounded like P!" I said I didn't and asked what sound. He replied, "Doh?" My son doesn't think of Homer Simpson with a good "doh?" He thinks of P.

I miss many sounds and expressions. He called J a knucklehead, but not any normal knucklehead, it was more like a knucklehEEEEAAd, almost like an evangelist [insert verb for P's version - none describe: shouting, sing songing, raspily exclaiming, humorously leering, sillily hissing, whatever] "hEEEEAAl." He changed many words to have odd inflections which became normal parts of his speech. There are a plethora of examples, but it sure is hard to write out sounds. Sometimes I can still hear his fake "I'm so sexy" porn come hither sound and cream my panties.

What brought this post up was a conversation I had with J yesterday. He said that his dad declared the other evening that Baby Sister would play baseball when she gets bigger. J actually said that he and Ex's New Wife looked at each other and said that girls play softball.

Oh, to ride a child to make up for your own deficiencies...

P would be getting a good chuckle out of this one. Ex wants kid #2 to use all the equipment that kid #1 used and has now abandoned after over-buying dad insisted that kid #1 overstay his welcome in a sport not suited for him - something P and I figured was due to all the equipment that ex had purchased, because ex sucked at baseball and he desperately wanted J to be good. I'll admit, though, that I came to ex's defense and reminded J that lots of girls played on teams with him, especially the 5-7 age range, so maybe she'll start with baseball and see where she wants to go after that.

A note for record:

Ex: I agreed with him for once if only for the feminist-ish right of girls to choose between base- and softball. (I fully realize both are patriarchial, so it's a moot point anyway.)

P: laughing and fucking. Two things I still miss about him. (In other words, fuck patriarchial. Literally. Loudly.)

What an evening

Tonight, J managed to accidently turn over his plate of spaghetti onto the floor and to knock off his favorite snowglobe, Miss Liberty purchased a few months ago, from the bedside table. What an evening of disappointments and messy clean ups. We're going to have glitter remnants for the long term.

 

He kept insisting that we should take the snowglobe to WalMart and they could fix it. I replied that it's not a pair of glasses and there's no snowglobe fixing department there. He was desperate to fix this one; a substitute found online would not suit. I could just eat him.

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TransssitioNnnnn Mannnnn (sound wave)(sound wave)(sound wave)

We went out last night and I was dreading it a bit. I actually had a better time than anticipated. Maybe he was unusually quiet on Sunday, perhaps a little uncomfortable around J and at the festival, although it was all his idea and J was pretty cooperative. Maybe he was mad about something. Before Sunday, I had never equated him to being like Joan's husband, a drag on her coat tails. Maybe I was overly sensitive somehow, too.

 

The roller coaster thing won't work out for this Saturday, so we've shelved it until next month. I feel more comfortable about putting it off until then, but getting to that was a process that frustrated me, as I was pretty flexible/unvested about the whole thing. Me being flexible isn't me being indecisive; it's me not really caring one way or another and deferring to someone who cares. In this process, he finally admitted that he is indecisive. I finally admitted, "I don't do indecisive well." I threw something in there about "backbone" for good measure to fair indicate back what I prefer instead; decisiveness is a pet peeve. I believe Getty Lee: "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice."

 

I feel better about him, but just hours beforehand, my therapist declared, "He must be transition guy," and I agreed. I know he's good for the shorter term. However, I also need to be, "Miss Let It Go Because It Clearly Wasn't Meant To Work Woman," and I don't have the best track record at that.

 

On Saturday, we'll go to a sports bar and watch his favorite college team; I'm not a fan of his team, although I respect them, and if anything I always have enjoyed watching the other team. Further, I've been such a fan of pro football for so many years, I know I'll miss that aspect, as I haven't watch college football in a long time. Don't worry, I'll make it somehow. (Tongue in cheek there for the lingering without senses of humor.) BTW, Invincible is incredible.

 

Unrelated to this and after the movie, he was trying to push me about a very personal issue and it made me uncomfortable. I told him that I can talk about sex or fucking or blow jobs, but I cannot talk about/accommodate this. I said that if he were to feel verbally pushed like this (and stating that it was not the first time he'd pushed me like this about a subject he didn't understand) and have how he feels changed, he'd be angry about it. This actually resulted in a few tears (mine) as I explained again about my take on the situation. He said he didn't get it and I guess I appreciated his voicing that, but I never try to make sense to others when the subject hits this close to home; it only needs to make sense to me. I don't need someone else's pushing, rationalizing, similarity, or coping skills.

 

No, it wasn't about breastfeeding in public.

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Evaluations and minor frustrations

J started school and thinks his teacher is really nice. I have high hopes. Back In School Night is coming up.

 

Because the construction is finished and we finally have a light with a button, I need to start walking him to/from school as part of my exercise program as a prudent use of time. However, I really like walking with Norma and her son in the later evenings, although her son and my son get in trouble together going too far away on their bikes. J wants to walk not ride anyway (in part to be nosy about our conversation we think), so I should try that mode of travel if it doesn't hamper us in other ways. We've already gone the scooter route, but it doesn't work when Ben is on a bike going faster. However, it works well if J is alone with us. Logistics.

 

Anyway, I am learning that walking an hour-ish in the evening isn't conducive to getting homework done. I need to force him to finish up before walking as an incentive. I know the June Cleaver thing is to make a kid do homework the second they get off the bus, but I figure they've been at it all day and deserve a break. Need to find a compromise. Or literally ride it out until it's too cold.

 

For the third Wednesday in a row, ex is going to be late picking up J. At least he called in advance this time. Glen and I are going to have a quick dinner and a movie, the football one, so his choosing, but I'm sure I'll like it, at the very least, like it more than The I11usionist.

 

In talking to Norma, I've realized more concisely the things I like about Glen and the things I don't. He has a knack for choosing fun things to do - good dates, good family things, he even wants to take me roller coaster riding on Saturday. Thing is, once there, he's no fun. I really thought we could work as activities partners with some benefits, but I think that would imply that I like spending time with him.

 

He makes strange, derogatory comments about situations and people, like breastfeeding mothers, that radiate such bad energy to me; I wish I could remember more examples. The comments are not really directed at me, except he appears to not understand my most basic of statements/jokes and then I have to explain everything and it winds up feeling sour. This is strange dynamic is magnified on the phone. He'll say something and I think he is cooperatively fishing for ideas on what to do/how to do them, then I have other ideas to run by him, I chat some because he's not talking, then there's a five second pause I create on purpose, and he finally fucking tells me his real intention, what he really wanted from the outset. Drives me fucking crazy. No need to go around the block if you can go right next door, buddy.

 

Norma is of the mind that everybody has good and bad and you see how much of the bad you can minimize; she sounds like a Realtor around here: attempt minimize the bad in the property you're viewing. I've said it many times that I don't expect perfection in people/relationships, but jeez you have to understand each other's jokes and not be negative/critical all the time. I can handle introverted, but not carping.

 

Further, he radiates a complete lack of confidence, a nervous laugh accompanies each statement as he fears owning his words/ideas and he walks slumped over with his hands in his pockets. The good thing is that we three at the festival over the weekend all perfectly wanted to do the same things at the same time - food, shows, leave - and that was comfortable, so the hands in the pockets while walking to the right places and doing the right things is a good thing. I can also see my son's interovertedness in him and they have a commonality because of it, although me son has more life and interest that I hope he doesn't lose. I'm fishing, can you tell? I don't think I'd want Glen as his role model.

 

What was acute to me this weekend was how much being with him reminded me of my old friend Joan's husband and how him not talking and him riding her energetic, lively coat tails (my term, my pet peeve, my situation now) drove her crazy. Her husband didn't help plan activities much, so Glen is one up on that, but when a guy like that talks, I think it ironically carries more weight as they attempt to hide in the shadows and when it is so often negative and delivered with such sharpness (kind of a 'get in there and get out' mentality to speech), it is not a pretty picture.

 

Sigh. I want a good one who laughs at my jokes, tells good jokes, has a similar sense of timing, likes to plan/go/do, and has enough disposable income to have fun. Is he out there?

 

Norma is a bit pessimistic and figures there are always ones out there worse than Glen.

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What not to say

He: Eww. Did you see the woman breastfeeding behind me?
Me: Nooo?
He: Eww.
Me: You realize it is for food, right? It is not sexual.
He: Yeah, well, that's beside the point. It's in public.
Me: No, there is no point except it being food for a child. I don't care if she has the whole thing hanging out; it is food for a child when a child is hungry.
He: Eww.
Me: Don't dis a breastfeeding mother. Don't do it.
He: ...

Now I didn't go into the tirade about me pumping for seven months and how I would have loved the simplicity of a boob and an eager mouth with no plastic intervening, especially out in public.

Sometimes it is so evident that he is childless by choice.

He finally met mine today and I did no breastfeeding in public to celebrate the occasion. Otherwise, it went fairly well. They're both sweet, unassuming introverts, peas in a pod if they would reach out. Well, J did reach out and gave Glen a neck rub. Glen didn't know what to make of it, so I whispered to smile and act like it feels good. I kind of feel that way around Glen, too.

Canned, predictable, yawn

There is no trick. The I11usionist is just plain boring, the worst movie I've paid to see in quite some time, to include M0nster House. We actually turned to each other during the flick and said, "This is boring," and he contemplated whether or not we should leave. However, I'm too much of a die hard for that, plus I'd paid.

[Per our "usual" pattern, (being that we're not in a relationship and do not have any real routines and I resist all such implications although he might meet my son this weekend, because he had such a good idea for something we all should do together over the holiday), I paid for the movie and he the dinner. Yes, I get the long end of that stick, but I like the sense of contribution nonetheless, while still getting a steak out of it.]

Drugs are rampant. The reviewers (74%) at Rotten Tomatoes are high. The select reviewers (87%) are even higher. Perhaps they were actually mesmerized by Edw@rd N*rton's overacting and he extracted positive reviews like a bunny from a hat.

Skip it. You'll thank me.

Book, err, movie meme

First off. Note to self. Compose your mother a NetFlix picks list so she'll actually cash in the gift certificate you sent her.

Second, a fellow mom tagged me for a book meme. I did a similar book post recently that pretty much covered the same bases, so I will conduct my meme movie-style, hence, the NetFlix reference above. (Like I don't mention movies enough around here.)

1. A book movie that changed your life.
Without a doubt and as embarrassed as I am to admit it, a Dickens adaptation led by Bill Murray did me in: Scrooged, 1988. It opened my heart and warmed my cockles for the long term. You know, I wasn't always this fucking nice.

2. A book movie you've read more than once.
Tombstone, 1993. I remember as a little girl watching Disney and seeing that cuuuuute boy with the beautiful blue eyes who always looks so eager and intense. I didn't know his name. In my age-conscious youth, I decided he was too old for me, but I loved when one of his shows came on. He's grown up beautifully. However, my main draw (ha, get it?) for Tombstone is Val Kilmer, the Val of old, not the Val of today, but then the Cricket of old was a studette... nevermind. I'll be your Huckleberry is one of the greatest lines ever, simultaneously no ego and all the ego in the world. I live that line.

3. A book movie you'd want on a desert island.
Because it would be such good company: Monsieur Ibrahim, 2003 and because I have a new crush on Omar Sharif. He has such charm, such engaging eyes and smile, such warmth and presence. I'm glad I finally realized it. Add to him is the youngster: Pierre Boulanger who is so worldly and suave for his age. The richness of the relationships in this film captivated me. I always seem to like coming of age stories or change and personal growth dynamics. If I could have two, the second would be Waking Ned Devine.

4. A book movie that made you giddy.
I saw Young Frankenstein, 1974, with a girlfriend in HS. It was the evening that my misguided dream guy I didn't know too well dumped me before the Freshman Prom. Mel Brooks was my salvation and I didn't know I could laugh so hard. I also remember feeling very adult seeing it. Little did I know that the yummiest Senior in school would come to my rescue in the coming weeks and escort me to the prom. He'd recently broken up with a cheerleader and that crowd was agog that little ol' me went with handsome Senior. Pristine and knee-knocking nervous, I wouldn't even let him kiss my braced-toothed mouth goodnight.

5. A book movie that you wish had been written. [I read this as you wish you had written and I'll stick with that.]
I wish I were this clever: The Red Violin. The complexity, the history, the beauty. I can watch it over and over. I like movies with layers. Pulp Fiction qualifies, too.

6. A book movie that wracked you with sobs.
I'm not generally the movie-sobbing type, but I could understand the potential when recently saw Born Into Brothels, 2004. Talk about immersion into another culture. In our cushy world, we think, "poor in Calcutta, awwww," but this documentary showed it graphically, while it showed so many smiles of such bright, insightful, and hopeful children.

7. A book movie you wish had never been written.
I will make this general and say anything by Michael Moore. I say this not because he isn't a passionate film maker, but because I wish the things he filmed had not have happened and forced his hand.

8. A book movie you are currently reading.
Again with Omar Sharif. I still have a little bonus material to see with Hidalgo, 2004 still in the player. I had no idea I would enjoy this movie so much. I've been getting action adventures to share with J lately and now I eagerly await them, too. National Treasure, 2004, and Sahara, 2005, are two others we enjoyed.

9. A book movie you've been meaning to read.
My NetFlix queue has almost 300 films in it, all worthy and desired. I think if there's an oversight classic film in there, it'd be Taxi Driver. Oh, yeah. Not so classic, My Name is Earl, Season One, 2005, (discs 1-4, cheating to call it one) would catch me up on pop culture and edgy Jason Lee.

9a, The Infertile Addition. A book movie that you once really liked, but don't so much anymore.
I used to profoundly enjoy Raising Arizona, but now it makes me sad.

10. Tag 10.
If you've commented here in the last two or three weeks, you know who you are and you're it: movies or books or whatever, your choice.

What I don't have to do anymore

1. Be a mom.

Remember, I got Super Phone...

and I don't have to parent any longer! He was at it all day yesterday, except while we were out getting the car serviced - the very reason I got a phone like that, to occupy us while having to wait, but he'd worn down the batteries from being on it all morning. Gaming = auto-pilot parenting! I would say "who knew?," but I am fairly confident everybody else knew and I avoided. I never thought I would hear my 8yo would exclaim, "Mom, these graphics are great!" Where do they learn this stuff?

I'll give him a few days, warning him that it will not be the routine because I have to earn my mothering frequent flyer wings somehow. He's been coached and hopefully the fascination will wear off. Humph. And tomorrow morning he won't wake me up rooting around for another game card like today.

Which makes me say wooooooo at it occurs to me to fuck with him and call while he's on it. I could turn the volume really high and scare the bejesus out of him, except see number 2.


2. Feel smarter than my phone.

I can't even figure out how to turn the ringer off, much less make it loud. It is humbling to find that your phone is smarter than you. Things just aren't evident, even for the intuitive. I turn it off if I don't want it to ring. I turn it off because I can't figure how to close the web window and I don't want extra charges. (You hear the one about the American soldier in Germany who passed out drunk and left his phone off the hook? This was at least twenty years ago; charges were incurred whenever the phone was off the hook, +/- being in a call. His bill was large, because somehow it became days off the hook. Okay fine, somebody tell me it is Military Urban Legend. Doesn't matter; I do not want to become Web Phone Urban Legend.)

The phone came with a CD-ROM instead of a booklet. I am frugal with my printer ink and I do not care to print out 200 pages. I do like being about to do an electronic 'find' but believe it or not nothing comes up using anything like ringer or off or silence or shut the hell up thing. I wish I could thumb through it electronically. Maybe I'm really tactile; need the paper, man. Maybe my phone is smarter than I am. ETA: Wait. Glen sent me a link to try when I get it back in my hands; see the phone is smarter than he as well. Okay, the phone is smarter than he is while tipsy on a grassy knoll.


3. Wait for Norma or feed the guinea pig.

They got in last evening bearing a couple gifts for J, one being for his collection of elongated/flattened pennies and a real hit to him. We will resume walking tonight.


4. Weigh more than when I had my son.

Last night I borrowed a 9V battery from Norma for my scale this morning. Mine said I've lost a quick little chunk, as in knocking through a plateau I've held for months, and I figure it has to be the scale, not me. ETA: Nope, it's me. Down into another decade and over 20 pounds since last Thanksgiving. Hope the after effects of a hangover hold.

Powerful forces

You know how it's so much easier to do something if someone does it with you? Or goads you? Or guilts you? Or merely asks you? Yeah, me, too.

My Mormon friend, Norma, got me to start walking with her a few weeks ago. We gad about 45-90 minutes four or five times a week. She, however, went away weekend and will be gone over a week. Essentially, that meant I had to motivate myself to get out there.

Instead, I borrowed other motivations. For one, J loves this walking stuff. In practice, it is actually scootering or biking stuff for him. He pesters me all day to confirm that we'll go. For another, I'm going to have to report to Norma about the walking when she returns. She's very rules-oriented and structured, whereas I'm the flighty artist, and she'll want to know exactly how I kept up the routine. I'll admit I didn't maintain one of her prescribed other mandates activities; she instituted a rule that after walking we need to do 15 minutes of cleaning once home. Um. Kinda.

Norma is a dear, dear person. I can't wait until she gets back in a few days; I've missed her. We'll also turn guinea pig duties back to them, although that has been amazingly delightful (J loves holding her and she doesn't mind), particularly considering that the four year old, decrepit-in-guinea-pig terms rodent usually hits the trail with them on trips, yet Norma trusted us and da pig is still alive!

No guinea pigs were harmed in the making of this week.

Unattached: one DVD player

 Was this fun or what? Even better than mud pies or sling shots.

Last week, I would have self-deprecatingly joked/lamented/whined that this gift from P is shattered just like my heart. Sending that email Tuesday was hugely cathatic and I, instead, feel more intact than I have in a long time.

Progress, people! That and a new portable DVD player. 

Swimmingly

J's last swimming lesson was today. He kinda passed. His butterfly was sub-par and I wondered what the heck he was doing. It was kind of a breast stroke; he said got confused as he was starting out. I wish he were more verbal and could speak up about messing up and request another try. He passed everything else and his teacher said he could go up to the next level if he works on his butterfly.

Today, I was swimming, too. Enjoyed the hot tub, but earned it doing a good number of laps, too. J is so happy when I'm in the water with him, but it's not so cool when he smothers me with himself in 12' of water. Finally, I had to institute a 'no touch' rule. So we raced. And I always won, because I am a Bad Mom.

I'll admit to enjoying the sights while at the pool. J's teacher is delish in a more serious Greg Kinnear kind of way. Yummy especially when he's fresh out of the water. The swimming trunks are stuck in all the right places and I'm such a perv. A dirty old lady oogling. Or maybe I'm overdue for some affection.

I like watching how other classes are conducted and seeing the teachers. There's the one with about five tattoos who looks like a middle-aged Dead Head. J's youthful teacher has a bar through his eyebrow. Others wear very odd combinations of clothing.

The water aerobics instructors seem to rotate. Yesterday was a new guy and I actually took a couple videos from a distance, but I haven't downloaded them yet. This guy was an absolute hoot, a flamboyantly gay hoot with limp wrists and bouncy knees. Who else would choose show tunes for a water aerobics class? Some teachers do along side in the water, but he chose to grandly gesture and wildly shimmy on the deck. He would crack jokes and give silly instructions to little old ladies, i.e. "Now go all the way round and do this up side down." Or as the next instruction, he'd demo the 60's nose-holding-going-under-water dance move. I was captivated. I wanted to buy him lunch so he could perform for me.

I like this pool better than the one J had for lessons two months ago. I hope I can keep him up with it. I asked him today about more lessons and swim team and he said he'd rather take art classes again. Go figure.

Charting the hits

This song made me cry on Sunday, but certainly not because I feel that way about crawling across the floor... or begging.

Bell Bottom Blues
by Eric Clapton

Bell bottom blues, you made me cry.
I don't want to lose this feeling.
And if I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms.

Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day, please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I want to stay.

It's all wrong, but it's all right.
The way that you treat me baby.
Once I was strong but I lost the fight.
You won't find a better loser.

Chorus
Chorus

Bell bottom blues, don't say goodbye.
I'm sure we're gonna meet again,
And if we do, don't you be surprised
If you find me with another lover.

Chorus

I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I long to stay.

.

The following song made me cry on Monday. It must be in heavy rotation, because I have cried to it no less that half a dozen times in the last two months. It represents the acceptance I had of P in our relationship. I saw his faults and stayed despite them. I saw the glory of the sun and great potential. Little did I know how that potential would be applied as I still miss his way, everyday.

BABY, I LOVE YOUR WAY
Frampton 1974 [one of the most expressive songwriters of all time]
Almo Music Corp
Nuages Artists Music LTD (ASCAP)

Shadows grow so long before my eyes
And they're moving across the page
Suddenly the day turns into night
Far away from the city
But don't hesitate 'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
Moon appears to shine and light the sky
With the help of some fireflies
I wonder how they have the power to shine, shine, shine
I can see them under the pine
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
I can see the sunset in your eyes
Brown and grey and blue besides
Clouds are stalking islands in the sun
I wish I could buy one out of season
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day

.

Glen told me something that I might actually apply. He said he was having trouble after a break up, that songs were making him miserable.

:Aside: For me, it's not so much 'our song' as it is P saw every Rock 'n Roll group in existance... three times over. He has the quickest mind and the best memory that one note would tell him song and group. I'm good, but I was in awe of him, especially because most of his memories were generated in party-influenced hazes. A year ago, I experienced/heard about him downloading about three thousand songs into his iPod thing. (I do take comfort that he's probably being tortured emotionally with much Blues - Lang and Shephard in particular - and World on it due to my influence.) He introduced me to a Clapton song that I'd never heard before; it was his favorite Clapton and it immediately became mine: The Core. (Lyrics far below.) I've been a longtime Clapton fan. In fact, J was born to Clapton Unplugged. Now I am having trouble enjoying Clapton. Sad. :/Aside:

Back to Glen: he'd told his sister after his painful break up that songs were making him crazy. She said that there's a simple solution. Start listening to Country. There are no memories chasing or ghosts haunting there.

I found the local country station this morning. So I can officially cry in my beer with some twang.

.

The Core is probably my very favorite song, lyrics optional while listening to all the instrumentation, as you can't understand much. However, finally reading the words today provides a swift kick in the pants.

The Core
By eric clapton and marcy levy

Every morning when I wake, a feeling soon begins to overtake me.
Ringing in my ears resounds through my brain; it finally surrounds me.
There is fire, there is life, there is passion, fever and fury.
There is love and there is hate, there is longing, anger and worry.

Oh, I am a flame; feel it touch my heart.
And down at my core is the hottest part.
I can run without fear.

If it should become too cold, I know I can endure the frostbite.
Oh, a blanket then Ill wrap around me; I keep myself so close to my sight.
No one then can cause me harm, just as the river runs into the sea.
cause every day, a fire alarm is deafening the silence all around me.

Chorus

It is burning.
It is burning.

You can trust me; we can laugh.
together we can share our sorrow.
I will give you secrets too, an attitude that you may borrow.
Gypsy woman said to me, one thing you must bear in your mind:
You are young and you are free, but damned if youre deceased in your own lifetime.

Oh, you have a flame; feel it in your heart.
And down at the core is the hottest part.
We can run without fear.

It is burning.
It is burning.