Today, the holes in my head got a tad heated and defensive towards comments on a cruise blog. Sometimes I can't help myself. It is a sickness within a sickness with me, fighter of the underdog, crusader for the weak and ill.
Before I found out I had MS, it was superfund sites. A huge space of brain matter wasted with the knowledge of pcb's, asbestos, and many other yucky toxins all contained loosely around the holes in my head. Having an IQ in the top 5 percent of Americans can sometimes be a handicap in itself. I'm always hungry for more data like a computer.
Anyways, so they where discussing the swine flu epidemic in Mexico and seeing how I am going on a cruise in 2 weeks with my immunity depleted excuse for a body, that by the way still won't fit in a bikini no matter how many slim fasts I devour, I was googling and found the thread in mention. Well, people where telling those with concerns and illnesses that they shouldn't even fly or go on a cruise ship because of the possibility of being contaminated with the 3000 other people on board's germs.
I responded in not so kind words telling the %$*& poster to stop telling people with illnesses to climb under a rock and that I took their words personally.
Thing is, this really made the holes in the head weigh heavily on the fact that I cannot live in a plastic bubble, nor can the millions who also suffer from autoimmune diseases in this country. We can however be cautious and aware of our potential surroundings, ie; going into a country with a swine flu epidemic. I myself will probably choose to stay on the ship when we reach this port.
As the holes dug deeper and deeper into this issue it became apparent that there are many ill people who live in a glass house and live vicariously through others by observing them through an open curtain swimming, riding their bikes, mowing the grass, actually living life. Sad as it sounds, they lock themselves away in an attempt to preserve what life they have left and to avoid premature death by contamination.
Will this happen to me? Have I become so aware and cautious that I will eventually not wander from the safe constraints of my Lysol coated walls I call home?
Returning to the issue of the post in question. The original poster appoligized to me for my taking offense and I inturn advised them that I forgave them. Which ended with a promise of 2 drinks of the day (okay one is suposed to go to my husband but that's between me, you, and the internet) when we get onboard.
Okay, I over reacted, I admit it, sometimes I am a biatch and I can't help it. It's the holes in my head, they have a mind and a tongue of their own sometimes.
It is this authors hope that reading this will bring an awakening to those who choose to live in this manner. I have only one thing to say to you; Did you ever consider that the house could get hit by a tornado or you could get electrocuted taking a shower?
For God's sake, go out and live your life existentially.
Cyn
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Art comes in many forms
What is art?
To answer this I turned to one of my favorite websites, dictionary.com.
Their definition reads as follows;
Human effort to imitate, supplement, alter, or counteract the work of nature.
and
the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Art can imitate in many forms, writing, drawing, painting, and music. Today I discovered a new form, snow sculpture.
Check out this website, http://snowman49707.tripod.com/. The holes in my head where in awe when I went to this website and saw the creative endeavors of this person and the sculptures that they created with ice cold snow.
I spoke with the creator, Kurt and asked him, "how long does it take to make these masterpieces of snow?" His response was 2-3 weeks unless he has help which means he would have to buy the beer. Wow, 2-3 weeks molding tons of snow into basically a work of art. Know I know how he stays warm, the beer lol.Very creative in this authors opinion.
It is refreshing to see people use their god given gifts to create something that will bring joy to so many. Can you imagine smiles on the little children in Kurt's Michigan hometown when they see the many characters which Kurt has created in his front yard?
The holes and I wish to thank Kurt for sharing his site with us. You should check it out too.
BTW, Snoopy was definately my favorite.
Back to working on my next book, hopefully I can bring joy and smiles to everyone who reads my books.
Ciao,
Cyn
To answer this I turned to one of my favorite websites, dictionary.com.
Their definition reads as follows;
Human effort to imitate, supplement, alter, or counteract the work of nature.
and
the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Art can imitate in many forms, writing, drawing, painting, and music. Today I discovered a new form, snow sculpture.
Check out this website, http://snowman49707.tripod.com/. The holes in my head where in awe when I went to this website and saw the creative endeavors of this person and the sculptures that they created with ice cold snow.
I spoke with the creator, Kurt and asked him, "how long does it take to make these masterpieces of snow?" His response was 2-3 weeks unless he has help which means he would have to buy the beer. Wow, 2-3 weeks molding tons of snow into basically a work of art. Know I know how he stays warm, the beer lol.Very creative in this authors opinion.
It is refreshing to see people use their god given gifts to create something that will bring joy to so many. Can you imagine smiles on the little children in Kurt's Michigan hometown when they see the many characters which Kurt has created in his front yard?
The holes and I wish to thank Kurt for sharing his site with us. You should check it out too.
BTW, Snoopy was definately my favorite.
Back to working on my next book, hopefully I can bring joy and smiles to everyone who reads my books.
Ciao,
Cyn
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Can't live with them and you can't live with out them
Let's talk teeth.
Teeth are these hard, enamel coated, white substances in your mouth. Their purpose is to chew if you are human. If you are an animal then their purpose is to bite, tear, and then chew. Sometimes humans forget that they are not animals and they tend to bite with them also. My 2 year old can attest to this, she comes home frequently with another child's bite mark on her arm or leg. Sometimes I can actually count the teeth that the aggressor has because the impression is so deep.
We need our teeth, with out them we would be a society of oatmeal eaters instead of carnivores. As the vicodin begins to kick in, the holes in my head and I are pondering why the hell I did not escape from the dentist's chair today and allowed him to remove 2 of my precious teeth.
Reality sinks in and helps to uncloud my brain. " The pain" the holes exclaim. Ah yes, the pain, now I remember that throbbing aching pain that at one point made me drink a portion of liquid codine that was meant to cure a previous bout of bronchitis.
Pain will make you do crazy things. The vicodin has not only numbed the gums that once held teeth but also my brain I fear as I cannot come up with anything cute or funny about pain making me do crazy things. I'll have to leave that for another time.
I am going on a cruise in 6 weeks and it cost quite a bit of money. Before the dentist pulled my teeth I enquired whether this would effect my cruise. He gave me a look like I had asked him if drinking out of a straw would cause a dry socket. He gave me a half attempt at compassion, "Don't smile with your mouth open for the pictures". That's it? $800 and agonizing pain gets me a few vicodin and don't smile for pictures? I can tell he was not a purveyor of philosophy during his Alma matter.
Next comes the bridge work. So let me get this straight, I paid $800 to have them pull 2 teeth out so that I can pay them $800 to put 2 teeth and a crown in? Does this make sense?
The vicodin is finally kicking in.
In closing I would just like to say that the holes and I do hope that when we awake we will realize that the phone call I just had with my eldest was a dream. Why the hell would I want to go out to lunch at a salad bar an hour after having 2 teeth pulled. She takes after my mother who fed me a sardine sandwich right after having 4 baby teeth pulled for braces. Some people are a few crayons short of a full box.
Teeth are these hard, enamel coated, white substances in your mouth. Their purpose is to chew if you are human. If you are an animal then their purpose is to bite, tear, and then chew. Sometimes humans forget that they are not animals and they tend to bite with them also. My 2 year old can attest to this, she comes home frequently with another child's bite mark on her arm or leg. Sometimes I can actually count the teeth that the aggressor has because the impression is so deep.
We need our teeth, with out them we would be a society of oatmeal eaters instead of carnivores. As the vicodin begins to kick in, the holes in my head and I are pondering why the hell I did not escape from the dentist's chair today and allowed him to remove 2 of my precious teeth.
Reality sinks in and helps to uncloud my brain. " The pain" the holes exclaim. Ah yes, the pain, now I remember that throbbing aching pain that at one point made me drink a portion of liquid codine that was meant to cure a previous bout of bronchitis.
Pain will make you do crazy things. The vicodin has not only numbed the gums that once held teeth but also my brain I fear as I cannot come up with anything cute or funny about pain making me do crazy things. I'll have to leave that for another time.
I am going on a cruise in 6 weeks and it cost quite a bit of money. Before the dentist pulled my teeth I enquired whether this would effect my cruise. He gave me a look like I had asked him if drinking out of a straw would cause a dry socket. He gave me a half attempt at compassion, "Don't smile with your mouth open for the pictures". That's it? $800 and agonizing pain gets me a few vicodin and don't smile for pictures? I can tell he was not a purveyor of philosophy during his Alma matter.
Next comes the bridge work. So let me get this straight, I paid $800 to have them pull 2 teeth out so that I can pay them $800 to put 2 teeth and a crown in? Does this make sense?
The vicodin is finally kicking in.
In closing I would just like to say that the holes and I do hope that when we awake we will realize that the phone call I just had with my eldest was a dream. Why the hell would I want to go out to lunch at a salad bar an hour after having 2 teeth pulled. She takes after my mother who fed me a sardine sandwich right after having 4 baby teeth pulled for braces. Some people are a few crayons short of a full box.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Okay, now for the real post of the week
Lately, I have been having a difficult time concentrating on my latest book, Come out fighting with your goulashes on. The holes in my head have taken over I must attest. I don’t know if you, the gentle readers, keep up with the recent news on Fox (or as my husband calls it faux news) but the world has gone insane to be quite forthright.
When did this turn into a nation so self-centered that we feel we must make a testimonial by killing innocent adults and children and then end it in an egotistical way by offing themselves?
Once, long ago, I could honestly say that nothing dazed me. Sadly, those days are gone and now the holes and I are intensely saddened at the unnecessary slaughter of lives.
I was not going to divulge a little secret that I have hidden from my readers, but I will share with you today one of my current projects that I have kept under wrap. To be honest I was never good at keeping secrets anyways, ask my brother. By the way when we where kids, he used to run around in my high heels and put lipstick on. Okay I just made that up.
Now for my secret, I have been working on a book entitled, Florida Death Penalty; A Controversy in Paradise. The premise showing both sides of the death penalty debate in Florida, those who believe in it and those who don’t. The conclusion will reveal why I am for or against and the reasons behind my beliefs. I have a predicament now, I don’t know if I should finish this project or not. My opinions have been genuinely affected by the current events.
Sometimes, when the holes in my head crave variety, I work on my autobiography Like a Hole in the Head. I want to share with you a poem that I wrote for this book. It seems fitting today.
Sand in My Shoes
I was standing on the beach, watching the waves crashing at my feet.
Miles of shore, massive to a child of barely ten.
I pondered the disease that had stolen my mother, as the birds flew carelessly.
Swooping down, one trapped a fish and swallowed in a single gulp.
Horrified, was this the end of the fish’s being?
Continuing along the shore, a crab scurried amidst the powder dunes.
“Mr. Crab be careful” I cried as the birds began to encroach.
He did not appear to hear me, so I gently cupped him in my tiny hands.
Just in time, as the gull plunged, instead he ate a mass of sand.
I carried the crab to the nearby reeds, depositing him ever so gently.
Thunder in the distance, my father announced it was time to go.
At home I obediently removed my shoes, by the kitchen entry.
Sand still balmy from the beating sun, the sand felt hot between my toes.
I filled a baggy with the sand, my father head shook with disapproval.
“A reminder” I said.
“A reminder”? He questioned.
“Yes, of how precious life is”.
Still confused my father listed as I spoke in almost a whisper.
“I think we are here to save a life, father, and one crab at a time.”
By Author
When did this turn into a nation so self-centered that we feel we must make a testimonial by killing innocent adults and children and then end it in an egotistical way by offing themselves?
Once, long ago, I could honestly say that nothing dazed me. Sadly, those days are gone and now the holes and I are intensely saddened at the unnecessary slaughter of lives.
I was not going to divulge a little secret that I have hidden from my readers, but I will share with you today one of my current projects that I have kept under wrap. To be honest I was never good at keeping secrets anyways, ask my brother. By the way when we where kids, he used to run around in my high heels and put lipstick on. Okay I just made that up.
Now for my secret, I have been working on a book entitled, Florida Death Penalty; A Controversy in Paradise. The premise showing both sides of the death penalty debate in Florida, those who believe in it and those who don’t. The conclusion will reveal why I am for or against and the reasons behind my beliefs. I have a predicament now, I don’t know if I should finish this project or not. My opinions have been genuinely affected by the current events.
Sometimes, when the holes in my head crave variety, I work on my autobiography Like a Hole in the Head. I want to share with you a poem that I wrote for this book. It seems fitting today.
Sand in My Shoes
I was standing on the beach, watching the waves crashing at my feet.
Miles of shore, massive to a child of barely ten.
I pondered the disease that had stolen my mother, as the birds flew carelessly.
Swooping down, one trapped a fish and swallowed in a single gulp.
Horrified, was this the end of the fish’s being?
Continuing along the shore, a crab scurried amidst the powder dunes.
“Mr. Crab be careful” I cried as the birds began to encroach.
He did not appear to hear me, so I gently cupped him in my tiny hands.
Just in time, as the gull plunged, instead he ate a mass of sand.
I carried the crab to the nearby reeds, depositing him ever so gently.
Thunder in the distance, my father announced it was time to go.
At home I obediently removed my shoes, by the kitchen entry.
Sand still balmy from the beating sun, the sand felt hot between my toes.
I filled a baggy with the sand, my father head shook with disapproval.
“A reminder” I said.
“A reminder”? He questioned.
“Yes, of how precious life is”.
Still confused my father listed as I spoke in almost a whisper.
“I think we are here to save a life, father, and one crab at a time.”
By Author
Who am I
I decided to share with you my bio from cynthiaparrott.com.
Cynthia Parrott was born in Rochester, NY and at the age of 5 she moved to Pinellas County, FL with her family where she has resided since. Cynthia graduated from Dunedin High School and attended college at Saint Petersburg College where she majored in Communications.
The mother of three daughters, one son, and two step sons; she is now raising her two year old grand daughter.
For many years, Cynthia has had an interest in environmental issues regarding toxic contaminants with a specific significance towards superfund sites and the socio-economic background of the neighborhoods where the contamination has occurred. She has photographed and documented many superfund sites and the surrounding communities.
In 2004 the author was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, in her mind this disease was merely an inconvenience and she refused to accept it as a debilitation. Although there have been long term effects with her mobility she continues to live an active life with her husband, Casey and their grandchild, Maggie. Just recently the trio traveled on a cruise to Cozumel, Mexico where they had a wonderful time.
Her first book, Ten Little Fingers was recently published by Lulu.com. Ms. Parrott has a genetic predisposition to a familial cancer on her maternal family’s side and with her search for answers over the years regarding her family’s medical history as well as an account of her own childhood illnesses, she came up with the idea for Ten Little Fingers. It is her desire that many people will be able to utilize her book to document their child’s health records as well as their family’s history in order to assure the child, as well as future generations, access to this pertinent information.
Cynthia is currently working on her next endeavor, Come out Fighting with Your Goulashes On, a book geared towards motivating those with a serious illness or disability on the road through getting a diagnosis, above adequate treatment, and a quality of life far above expectations. Cynthia has done it and wishes to share her story of her trials and tribulations in an effort to show others they can achieve their goals too.
OKAY, now that you know about my boring existance to date, it’s your turn. I want to hear what you aspire to do? What is your dream? Come on don’t be shy.
Cynthia Parrott was born in Rochester, NY and at the age of 5 she moved to Pinellas County, FL with her family where she has resided since. Cynthia graduated from Dunedin High School and attended college at Saint Petersburg College where she majored in Communications.
The mother of three daughters, one son, and two step sons; she is now raising her two year old grand daughter.
For many years, Cynthia has had an interest in environmental issues regarding toxic contaminants with a specific significance towards superfund sites and the socio-economic background of the neighborhoods where the contamination has occurred. She has photographed and documented many superfund sites and the surrounding communities.
In 2004 the author was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, in her mind this disease was merely an inconvenience and she refused to accept it as a debilitation. Although there have been long term effects with her mobility she continues to live an active life with her husband, Casey and their grandchild, Maggie. Just recently the trio traveled on a cruise to Cozumel, Mexico where they had a wonderful time.
Her first book, Ten Little Fingers was recently published by Lulu.com. Ms. Parrott has a genetic predisposition to a familial cancer on her maternal family’s side and with her search for answers over the years regarding her family’s medical history as well as an account of her own childhood illnesses, she came up with the idea for Ten Little Fingers. It is her desire that many people will be able to utilize her book to document their child’s health records as well as their family’s history in order to assure the child, as well as future generations, access to this pertinent information.
Cynthia is currently working on her next endeavor, Come out Fighting with Your Goulashes On, a book geared towards motivating those with a serious illness or disability on the road through getting a diagnosis, above adequate treatment, and a quality of life far above expectations. Cynthia has done it and wishes to share her story of her trials and tribulations in an effort to show others they can achieve their goals too.
OKAY, now that you know about my boring existance to date, it’s your turn. I want to hear what you aspire to do? What is your dream? Come on don’t be shy.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Like a Hole in The Head
Welcome to the insanity of the holes in my head.
Four years ago I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, an auto-immune disease that causes my body to attack itself by destroying the myelin sheath that protects the nerves of my brain. Simply put, my brain has lesions in places that used to have healthy nerves covered by myelin. Now there are holes in my head.
If I named each one of them, it could take quite a while so I won't. Trust me though, they each have a mind of their own and effect me each in many different aspects of the big realm of my life.
Since my diagnosis I have refused to live my life as an invalid. In fact, my life is better then it has ever been. I have a wonderful husband, beautiful children, and an enigmatic little miniature genius of a grandchild, I call Pooky. She is two and the sprinkles on my ice cream. With out her life would be plain and boring.
At 42 years old, I have only just begun to live. I have written one book and I am currently working on two other projects. You can read more on my website, www.cynthiaparrott.com . My husband, Pooky, and I love to take cruises, and yes we bring along the holes in my head and no it doesn't cost any extra although they do seem to enjoy margaritas it this can be costly on a cruise.
In closing I wanted to share with you an entry I wrote last year in my blog on myspace. It is fitting to include with this first blog.
Thank you again for taking the time to visit and feel free to comment.
Cyn Parrott
Like a Hole in The Head
There is something to be said about self pity and when I can come up with a positive acronym I will let you know. For now I will wallow in it. .
What exactly does wallow mean? I had to know so I looked it up.
urbandictionary.com
Self-pity is an icky liquid you swim around in when you blame the world for your problems. People who wallow in self-pity usually go around in a bad mood, feeling sorry for themselves, feeling they've been wronged some how. They only care about poor little them. They failed because of someone or something else. They don't own up to their own faults.
Dictionary.com
1. To roll the body about indolently or clumsily in or as if in water, snow, or mud.
2. To luxuriate; revel: wallow in self-righteousness.
3. To be plentifully supplied: wallowing in money.
4. To move with difficulty in a clumsy or rolling manner; flounder: "The car wallowed back through the slush, with ribbons of bright water trickling down the windshield from the roof" (Anne Tyler).
5. To swell or surge forth; billow.
I may not be a rocket scientist, but this does not make sense. It is sort of a contradiction.
How about defecate in self pity. That sounds more like it!
So, I went to a new neuro yesterday. Seems that a recent CT I had shows that my lone lesion (Ed as I named him) has reproduced. I believe that is called asexual for those who did not take biology. Ed has actually had a whole slew of little lesions, a dozen or so in all.
“Forget the RRMS” the doc says, “you have PRMS”. If you don't know what all this means either Google it or in simple English my brain is Swiss cheese. He wants to put me in the hospital and inject me full of steroids just weeks before I go on my cruise.
FOR GODS SAKE, it took me 6 weeks to loose 6 pounds how am I going to loose the other 14 if they fill me full of steroids!! Okay, so I am defecating in selfishness too. I have planed this stupid cruise for a year. I am going and I am drinking 1 margarita for each lesion each day!!!
What did I do next? Called my father. After spending 5 minutes bitching about my smoking and my response of "what the hell does that have to do with my Swiss cheese brain?" He asks "So what does Casey say?" Casey doesn't want to talk about it, he is too upset. I told him. My father is silent and then he says "what they hell am I, no one?" and then he adds " I am upset too".
"It's your fault you know" he balked at this statement. "How so?" he replies rather shocked.
So I explain that when I was younger he was always saying things like , you need to smoke those cigarettes like you need a hole in the head, you need to marry David like you need a hole in the head, and oh yes, you need to have more children like you need a hole in the head. The truth comes out I advised him. He has placed another one of his curses on me, just like the one where he said that he hoped I had a daughter just like me that drove me crazy (umm Jen).
He laughs "yes, blame it on me like everyone does. Everything is always my fault".
Yes, Dad it is. Being a parent you learn to accept responsibility for all that fails.
So while I defecate in self pity feel a little responsible and quit giving me a hard time about the cigarettes! The surgeon general has not issued a warning that smoking causes holes in your head, yet.
Four years ago I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, an auto-immune disease that causes my body to attack itself by destroying the myelin sheath that protects the nerves of my brain. Simply put, my brain has lesions in places that used to have healthy nerves covered by myelin. Now there are holes in my head.
If I named each one of them, it could take quite a while so I won't. Trust me though, they each have a mind of their own and effect me each in many different aspects of the big realm of my life.
Since my diagnosis I have refused to live my life as an invalid. In fact, my life is better then it has ever been. I have a wonderful husband, beautiful children, and an enigmatic little miniature genius of a grandchild, I call Pooky. She is two and the sprinkles on my ice cream. With out her life would be plain and boring.
At 42 years old, I have only just begun to live. I have written one book and I am currently working on two other projects. You can read more on my website, www.cynthiaparrott.com . My husband, Pooky, and I love to take cruises, and yes we bring along the holes in my head and no it doesn't cost any extra although they do seem to enjoy margaritas it this can be costly on a cruise.
In closing I wanted to share with you an entry I wrote last year in my blog on myspace. It is fitting to include with this first blog.
Thank you again for taking the time to visit and feel free to comment.
Cyn Parrott
Like a Hole in The Head
There is something to be said about self pity and when I can come up with a positive acronym I will let you know. For now I will wallow in it. .
What exactly does wallow mean? I had to know so I looked it up.
urbandictionary.com
Self-pity is an icky liquid you swim around in when you blame the world for your problems. People who wallow in self-pity usually go around in a bad mood, feeling sorry for themselves, feeling they've been wronged some how. They only care about poor little them. They failed because of someone or something else. They don't own up to their own faults.
Dictionary.com
1. To roll the body about indolently or clumsily in or as if in water, snow, or mud.
2. To luxuriate; revel: wallow in self-righteousness.
3. To be plentifully supplied: wallowing in money.
4. To move with difficulty in a clumsy or rolling manner; flounder: "The car wallowed back through the slush, with ribbons of bright water trickling down the windshield from the roof" (Anne Tyler).
5. To swell or surge forth; billow.
I may not be a rocket scientist, but this does not make sense. It is sort of a contradiction.
How about defecate in self pity. That sounds more like it!
So, I went to a new neuro yesterday. Seems that a recent CT I had shows that my lone lesion (Ed as I named him) has reproduced. I believe that is called asexual for those who did not take biology. Ed has actually had a whole slew of little lesions, a dozen or so in all.
“Forget the RRMS” the doc says, “you have PRMS”. If you don't know what all this means either Google it or in simple English my brain is Swiss cheese. He wants to put me in the hospital and inject me full of steroids just weeks before I go on my cruise.
FOR GODS SAKE, it took me 6 weeks to loose 6 pounds how am I going to loose the other 14 if they fill me full of steroids!! Okay, so I am defecating in selfishness too. I have planed this stupid cruise for a year. I am going and I am drinking 1 margarita for each lesion each day!!!
What did I do next? Called my father. After spending 5 minutes bitching about my smoking and my response of "what the hell does that have to do with my Swiss cheese brain?" He asks "So what does Casey say?" Casey doesn't want to talk about it, he is too upset. I told him. My father is silent and then he says "what they hell am I, no one?" and then he adds " I am upset too".
"It's your fault you know" he balked at this statement. "How so?" he replies rather shocked.
So I explain that when I was younger he was always saying things like , you need to smoke those cigarettes like you need a hole in the head, you need to marry David like you need a hole in the head, and oh yes, you need to have more children like you need a hole in the head. The truth comes out I advised him. He has placed another one of his curses on me, just like the one where he said that he hoped I had a daughter just like me that drove me crazy (umm Jen).
He laughs "yes, blame it on me like everyone does. Everything is always my fault".
Yes, Dad it is. Being a parent you learn to accept responsibility for all that fails.
So while I defecate in self pity feel a little responsible and quit giving me a hard time about the cigarettes! The surgeon general has not issued a warning that smoking causes holes in your head, yet.
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