I Don’t Know How


I can’t do it. I cannot do it. I can’t.

Tonight I’m so scared about the thought of leaving here, of changing my life. How can I really make it work out okay? I haven’t had to start over in 11 years. To have to start all over again? To have only a couple people to fall back on logistically? To lose people who love me and whom I love (DH’s family)? How the hell do I do that?! I don’t know how to do that.

There are a lot of things that need to fall into place and I’m so worried they won’t. If the first thing doesn’t work out, I’m kind of screwed. What if I really can’t get things to work out the way they need to?

I feel really terrified about it all tonight. And very trapped. And I keep crying. And I’m switchy and we keep going between me, Rhiannon, and Robert. Robert is outstanding at putting my father’s words into my head. He was programmed to do that and he’s way too good at it at times. Like tonight. “You’ll never get out. You’re where you’re supposed to be, taking care of a man, and don’t you forget that. You’re not strong enough to do this. You don’t have the guts. You are his forever!” And Rhiannon knows this is all true, and what are we doing trying to change that? We should go to DH’s bedside right this minute, even though he’s sleeping, and give him the love and hugs we (I, Kali) have been withholding lately. And I’m trying to have hope that I could make the changes happen and work out even though I’m fucking scared. I think it’s a very good thing DH is asleep, because I think Rhiannon would have gone to him and told him what’s going on and said we wouldn’t leave.

Fear sucks. My bravado is completely obliterated tonight. I know I want to be out of this marriage, out of this town. I know I need that. I’m just so afraid something will go badly once the process is in action and I’ll have nowhere to go. I’m afraid of the stress migraines I know I’ll get, am starting to get right now. I’m afraid of losing my belongings. I’m afraid of ending up in the hospital from the stress. I know the logistical steps to make things happen (or at least try to make things happen) but I don’t feel brave enough to move forward.

I hate this.


What I Am is What I Am (Are You What You Are or What?)


It’s seven minutes past midnight on my eighth wedding anniversary. A day that means less to me now than ever. Dear Husband’s (DH) schizophrenic forgetfulness is often very frustrating for me but this past week I’ve been glad he hasn’t seemed to remember the anniversary. And I haven’t brought it up either. In fact, I’ve been pulling away in small ways and it almost seems like he notices a bit and is following my lead. I think that is probably just me reading into things but as I’ve gotten less and less lovey with him, he has acted accordingly. I’ve been pondering for days what to tell him if he mentions the anniversary or that I’m less lovey. Sometimes I want to brush it off and say I’ve just been tired or something, which is true. Sometimes I want to come right out and say that we both know this relationship couldn’t work out in the long run and we need to work out the details for moving on. Much of the time I’m in the middle somewhere, and I can’t even tell you what kind of conversation that would be. I guess I’m at the spot where I’m trying to figure out how to get my ducks in a row while working with tight monetary and logistical constraints.

It would be easy to say that I need to be out of this marriage because DH can be difficult to live with, but that’s not such an issue these days. I’m in much less a care giving role with him than I used to be. Partly because I’ve pushed him to do more in this home and in his life and partly because I am (we are!) much less controlling than I (we) used to be and can let things roll off my back more easily. And there’s the fact that some in the system–who took serious issue with the disparity between how much I do and how much DH does–have calmed down a lot over the past several years. Lots of growth and change in us, and it really makes a difference.

No, the biggest reason I need to be out of this marriage is because of who I am. Of knowing who I am. Over the past year or so there’s been a growing tide of really knowing who I am and feeling strong in that. It’s nothing I haven’t known all along but when multiplicity is involved things can be complicated, of course. The uber-Christian Gloria may have been in front and married Cory but she hasn’t been in front for years and as far as i know, will never be again. (DH does know this.) Yes, she pops out and shares life with me in some way almost daily, but I’m the host and I can’t imagine things will change in a way that someone else would be in front for more than brief periods of time again.

I know who I am. A huge part of my identity is that I am an atheist lesbian. Married to a Christian man. Obviously that really can’t work. And I don’t want it to. I made it work but I’m not willing to keep doing that. It’s not fair to me and the rest in the system. And even though some people (namely his family) might beg to differ, it’s not fair to DH. Being in a sham of a marriage isn’t fair to him, even if he gets the long end of the stick because I do so much to take care of this household. It’s not fair to either of us for me to keep living a lie.

And so I’m in the thinking and jotting down stage of getting my ducks in a row. Which isn’t easy when our money is tied together and I can’t get mine separated from his until we can prove a physical separation by one of us not being on our rental agreement anymore. And there’s not much money to begin with. And when I split from him, I no longer have bio or in-law family. (Yes, many of them would say they’d still love me and all that but when it came down to it, I doubt they would help me out if I needed it.) And I have only a couple local friends and don’t know people. Lots of little stumbling blocks. But notice I said little. They used to feel huge but as time goes on they have felt smaller.

It helps that a friend has offered to let me stay with her for a while and I’m really considering it. It would be a change for both of us but it would also be pretty neat. It would give me a chance to get my Social Security sorted out from DH’s. (Marriage and SSI/SSD don’t mix very well. I highly recommend just living together and keeping benefits separate.) I’d be directly in the Portland metro area, which would open up so many opportunities for me. I’d be closer to my sons, which would help make up for the fact that they wouldn’t be able to spend nights with me. It would be easier to go to school if I chose to, to meet new people, to get involved in things that matter to me. It would make me a better, more well rounded person.

I can say all of this with plenty of bravado at the moment but I know I’ll have times of panic as I go about considering how to put some sort of plan into action (whether it includes staying with my friend or not). But I feel like I’m at the point where bravado trumps panic. I feel strong enough to quit sniveling about how I can’t get out of here and figure out how to go ahead and do it. If only it were so easy to have The Conversation with DH. That will not be fun, whenever it happens.

I am Kali. I am fractured but the pieces are gluing themselves back together more and more. I am a proud lesbian. And an equally proud atheist/humanist (or as I like to say, you know, just…a person!). I know more and more what I want for myself. I feel more and more like I can make that happen. I am strong. I am strong!


End of an Era


Thirty-six hours ago I had my very last appointment with the therapist I saw for over eleven years. We worked together for all that time, plus I saw her for a couple years before that with a three year break in between when I lived in a different county. So we have a long history. It was a somewhat sad but mostly sweet day. She and I were a great match and I’ll never forget her. When I started back with her eleven years ago I was a shell of a person. I had no clue I was multiple, my father was controlling me completely (including purposely making sure I couldn’t seen my kids), I remember not feeling much purpose in my life. Oh, how things have changed, and a lot of that is because of my T.

Most therapists are warm and invested in their clients, of course, but the bond that my T and I had went quite deep. There were so many similarities in our lives. Many years of incest. Being in a straight marriage, having children, and then coming out as lesbian. Losing custody of our children. The long tern effects of so much abuse even to this day. It helped us connect. It helped her work more effectively with me and it gave her more credibility in my eyes.

About two years ago we started dancing around the idea of ending therapy or at least cutting our sessions back. I wasn’t at all ready to end therapy and made that clear to her but we did start leaving more time between sessions. A year ago we talked more seriously about ending therapy. I still wasn’t ready to do that and she respected that. I only saw her about once a month over the past year and many times it was more of a check-in than really working on things. She and I both agree that this was a way of working on things, including getting to the point of being able to end therapy, though. When I saw her at the end of July I told her I finally felt that it had naturally come to being time to end our sessions. We considered letting that be the last session but I got quite emotional and told her I needed true closure. So we set up one last time slot as a goodbye session.

I had a color copy made of a watercolor pencil work I did several years ago and mounted it on three colors of card stock. On the back, I wrote this message:

Eleven-plus years is quite a long journey and I’ve been so fortunate to have you along for the ride. I’m not one of faith but I like to think that we ended up on the journey together for a reason. Not just anyone could have related to me so well and, because of that, been able to guide me so well. Not just anyone would have been moved to tears by my struggles and my growth. Many folks may well have dismissed me when things were rough and I did some very harmful things with my body and my life. Many would not have stuck through it with me, but you did and I’m so thankful for that. You have helped shape who I am now—who we all are now. It’s possible I might not be around without your help and support but here I still am. Thank you for listening and guiding me,  for watching me grow and encouraging me. Thank you for taking the time to learn about DID and working with that in the best way that you could. Thank you for being instrumental in the relationship I have with Hayden and Isaac today. Thank you for helping me learn to be strong. And thank you for being a bright, wonderful beacon in my life for more than a decade.

So much peace to you,

I feel so fortunate to have had my T in my life for so long and thankful that I’ve gotten to a spot where I can stop seeing her. And I’m glad I could recognize that even with our long history together, she wasn’t the best fit for me anymore if I did want to continue with therapy. I’m still hooked into the clinic because I see the pdoc and if I ever feel the need for therapy, I can request to do an intake and get involved with someone again. I know it’s entirely possible that I might need that sometime but I’m hoping I won’t. And I’m really proud of myself for getting to the point that I can work through my struggles pretty well on my own and be able to come to the end of an era.

“My Journey So Far” The drawing I copied for her. She has been a huge part of my journey!


I Really Don’t Do So Well


**This post discusses self injury that has not occurred, and not in detail. Still though, take care in reading if it could be triggering.**

“You’re so strong and brave.”
“You’ve come so far.”
“You inspire me all the time.”
“You’re amazing.”
“You’ve been through so much and still deal with a lot all the time, I don’t know how you do it.”

I hear and read things like this quite often in my daily interactions with friends and family. And I’m not saying that their words aren’t true or that they don’t mean a great deal to me. I do know I’ve come a long way–and one has to be strong and brave to do that, they go hand and hand. I believe the people who say these uplifting things and I love my friends and family for saying them.

But! People don’t know what’s going on in my head. Most of my friends and none of my family know I still struggle almost daily with the urge to hurt myself. People don’t realize how much of the time I feel overwhelmed with daily life. They don’t know how much I hate myself at times. How insecure I really am. How sad I often am. That I feel completely crazy quite regularly.

It’s true that my functioning is much better than it used to be. When my father was in my life before he was arrested for hurting my niece, I was his puppet. He truly controlled me and I was a basket case. Then he was physically out of my life and I was reeling from the truth of what he’d done to me and to my niece. Over the past 6 years I’ve (we all in the system have) slowly started functioning better. Self injury by myself and others has gradually dwindled to virtually nothing. I rarely think seriously about suicide. I can get up and get on with my day most of the time. I’m not having flashbacks and other crazy shit going on all the time like I did for a while. There’s less rage-y, tantrum-y stuff going on with a few insiders.

But several of us think about cutting almost every day. We’re extremely ritualistic about cutting and need the right supplies and for everything to be just so. I’m doing my damnedest to make sure the supplies never make it into the apartment but it’s been rough. Right now this very minute I feel like I’ll publish this post and then go order what I need from Amazon so I can have the relief of cutting in a few days.

I may not think seriously about suicide very often these days but thoughts still come quite often. I don’t want to leave anyone behind, of course, but it’s my sons and my cats that keep me from entertaining the thoughts and thinking about a plan of any sort.

Nearly every day feels like a struggle. Between my physical and mental health, much of the time I don’t feel like I have it in me to make it through the day in a very successful way. I hate that getting half a dozen things done is a big accomplishment. Oh, I cook a few meals each month for a handful of people in my life? So what! That’s nothing. It feels like nothing and that makes me feel weak. And yet I don’t feel strong enough to do much more. I’m not a wreck anymore but daily life still bowls me over. I’m so tired of that.

I fully acknowledge that I’m stronger and healthier than I used to be. But I still feel so weak and inconsequential. I don’t feel strong enough or brave enough to change that. My life has changed a lot in the past 6 years but to be honest, I really don’t do so well.

Thanks for listening.

More on the Baby Grief


After reading and replying to a comment on my last post, I realized I want to explain things better and just plain write more about how I’ve been feeling. I’m hoping it will continue to help me work through the grief and sadness about not having another child. I put four books about dealing with grief on hold at the library so hopefully I can find something that will be helpful. So many books are specifically about grieving over the loss of a loved one so I’m already having to wade through the options just to find things that aren’t just about that. I’m thinking something about infertility grief could be helpful even though that’s not exactly the situation I’m in. It’s similar in some ways though.

Something I realized in reading and replying to the comment in the last post is that my question of “Why couldn’t having another child have happened?” is rather rhetorical. I do know and understand the technical, literal reasons. When a friend and I tried to make a baby in the mid-90s it didn’t work, I didn’t conceive. I didn’t have a safe opportunity to try again until I met my husband and then there was a lot of pressure from my father to not dare have any more children. After he was arrested things blew apart for me quite fantastically for a while and we weren’t in the best position to have a child. In the past year or so, though, I’ve felt strongly that we, or at least I, could handle raising a child.

So I finally got to the place where I knew I could manage raising a child and now it’s too late. I had a permanent procedure to prevent pregnancy (which I’ve regretted pretty much from the day it was done) and I’m in my mid-40s. There’s nothing I can do now. The only option, IVF, is something that I can only dream of.

And I raise the question again. Why couldn’t it have happened? Not what are the exact reasons it didn’t happen, but why did it have to be this way? There’s no real answer to that question but sometimes I can’t stop asking it. I can have a good cry and ask it over and over in my mind or even out loud. Why? Why? Why?! I don’t understand!

I’ve realized I’m actually dealing with two issues: the fact that I didn’t get to raise the children I have and the fact that I never got to have another child. They’re separate but intertwined. I have no doubt that not having another child would be easier on me if I’d been able to raise my guys. Yes, they’re very much in my life now, but they were mostly away from me from the time the were not even 2 and 4 years old until after each of them turned 18, and not at all by my choice. There’s a lot of grief about that.

So I have two things to work on when I read about dealing with grief. The good thing is that I can identify the issues so clearly. That should help a lot as I read about grief and start working things out for myself. I’m cautiously hopeful about the grief work. Part of me wishes I could work on this with a therapist but I’m at the very tail end of my work with the therapist I’ve had for 11 years and I don’t feel up to starting with anyone new right now. (More about ending with our T in the next week or so.) I can do this though! I think the fact that the pain has been so raw and in my face is a good indicator that it’s time to really dig in and work on it, and that I’m ready.

I’m sorry if this sounds rambly or if anything doesn’t make sense. I didn’t decide to write until after I took my bedtime meds and I’m feeling pretty tired and loopy. Hopefully I won’t find a bunch of craziness when i read through it later!

Thanks for listening.

Grief Can Feel Endless


It’s four-fucking-thirty in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep yet. I just ate an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers with cream cheese on them. Yes. An entire sleeve. And from the moment I grabbed them until the moment I was done eating them I kept thinking “Ask me if I fucking care how much I pay for all of this gluten. Nope, I don’t.” (I know I’ll think differently in 12 hours or so when my body is aching and my legs hurt so much I can’t rest my laptop on them and I’m so fatigued I can barely think.)

I’ve been a mess tonight. I know being premenstrual is making it worse. But there’s so damn much pain and grief about not having another child. When will it go away? So much pain. I don’t know what to do with it except cry and feel horrible. I feel like I may have taken a small step forward with it all tonight though. It’s been far too easy to know there is a tiny chance of getting pregnant and let my mind go there. Miniscule chance. But hey, 1 in 10,000 (or worse) is still a chance. I let myself go there this cycle and had sex at a fertile time. Except the chance of a tubal failure AND conceiving at almost 46 years old is that 1 in 10,000 (or worse) chance and is just not going to happen. I was able to let myself concede that even without a tubal, getting pregnant at nearly 46 is so unlikely. Put the two together and there’s just no chance. That tiny chance isn’t a chance. I can go around and around though. Maybe the tubal has failed. And my cycles are still regular and I know from earlier this year that I’m still ovulating. And and and. But the age thing is starting to shake some sense into me. Okay, the age thing practically brings me to my knees with sadness and pain. But just the thought about my age making it virtually impossible is a step forward.

Twenty fucking years. Over twenty years of wanting another child and I’m still in this position. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I didn’t get to have another child. I don’t understand why I didn’t get to raise a child. I don’t understand why I didn’t get to raise the children I have. I just don’t understand why I never got another chance. What the hell did I do so wrong? My mind can really go to that question but I do my best not to get sucked up in the thoughts that come in answer. And the rantings of Robert, who will jump on that and let me know well and truly that it’s because I’m a worthless piece of shit who doesn’t deserve it. He jumped in for a brief moment tonight and I was able to keep him from going on. My pain pushed him away. At least there’s a good reason for bowling-over emotional pain.

When I’m suffering like this, especially when PMS is playing into it, it’s so easy to think about suicide. I wouldn’t do it. I could never do that to people, especially my sons. Then I can find myself pleading to the universe to not wake up in the morning. Could I please just not wake up once I finally fall asleep? But I can’t wish for that either because (husband) Cory’s parents need contact information for people who would need to know, and information about our debit cards and bills. You know, logistics. Not that pleading in my bed will make me not wake up in the morning, of course. If that worked, I’d be pregnant.

But I’m not and never will be and have spent more than 20 years wishing and hoping (and Gloria praying) for something that will never be. And it hurts. It really cuts deep. And I don’t know how to deal with it. I know I need to find some books about grief and maybe even a group if something suitable is available. I’m working in that direction. But for now I’ll post this and lay down again and hope that I can finally sleep. I took Ativan several hours ago. Vicodin about an hour ago because fibro pain was part of why I couldn’t settle down to sleep. I’m so damn tired. I just need to sleep. I want to sleep. I don’t want to be awake and feel this emotional pain. I just need to sleep.


i am… (take 1)


i am…
    bored and restless

i am not…
    wanting to spend time with in-laws tonight

i feel…
    sad and lost

i want…
    to cut

i need…
    time with a friend

i have…
    a heart that won’t seem to heal

i love…
    my sons

i hate…

This is a writing exercise I found on the Bodies Under Siege message board. When I want to journal but am not sure where to start I use this. Sometimes it ends up being a jumping off point for more writing, other times I feel satisfied with the brevity of those few words.

Cut Off


It took three stages and nearly four years but I’m proud (and sad at the same time) to say that my family of origin is officially cut off. This may sound strange coming from someone who can have no more children, but BabyCenter helped me a lot with this. They have a board called Dealing with the In-laws and Family of Origin (DWIL Nation). For one thing, it’s nice to see that I’m not the only one who has felt the need to cut family off entirely. (And many of you know all about time outs and cut offs and all that entails!) I’m a major lurker on the board and it’s been invaluable. I highly recommend it as a source of support.

It’s been interesting to look back and see how the stages came about. In the first stage, being around my FOO was triggering so I had to step away. I always knew it could go either way in the end, either being around them again or cutting them off entirely. I really didn’t know how it would end up but I hoped I could be around them again at some point. I sent letters out to several family members explaining that I needed some time to get myself together and that I loved them. At this point in my life (present day) I would only barely even consider such letters because I know I don’t have to JADE (justify, argue, defend, explain). But back then it was where I was at with it all.

About nine months after sending the letters my brother contacted me and we did talk on the phone and see each other occasionally for a couple years. I saw family once (twice?) when we celebrated a birthday or something. I ran into my aunt a few times at the store and would talk to her for a few minutes. Last year, even before my grandmother died, my brother was calling less and I wasn’t willing to call him myself. I haven’t heard from him since the day he let me know about Grammy’s memorial service. I suspect he may be upset that I didn’t go to pay my respects even though it didn’t make sense for me to reconnect with family at an event like that. By this time, it was just easier to stay away from my family.

Since my Grammy died last year, I’ve thought a lot about my family. Around the holidays I was really missing them but I also knew that wasn’t the right time to reconnect. I planned on visiting my aunt and brother early in the spring but the more I thought about it the more I realized I really didn’t want to. I missed my family in certain ways (and still do) but not enough and not in ways to give me a push to see them. As spring has come into summer and especially as this summer has gone by I’ve realized that we have practically nothing in common. At first I thought that sounded callous and awful, but what’s callous about the truth? I can hardly imagine they feel some strong connection to me at this point, either.

Part of the not having anything in common is the fact that my life is completely different than when we saw each other, and they have no clue what my life is like now. They know I “go by” Kali but they don’t know why. They don’t know what I do with my daily life. They don’t know about my older son being diagnosed with high functioning autism a year ago. They don’t know I got my tubes tied two years ago. Or that I get allergy shots. They don’t know me! And how do you explain some of these things to people? Why I had to step away? Why I’m Kali? Even how a 23 year old finally gets diagnosed with autism. I knew that explaining these things would end up being huge JADE sessions with my critical, condescending aunt. And I’m not willing to put myself through that, because I deserve better. It was time to be done.

I guess there’s actually a stage three and a half. The half being, I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about the fact that I have no interest in being around my FOO and feel hardly any connection to them anymore. I don’t care who thinks what. It matters not that my family may feel I’m a heartless bitch. It’s inconsequential that even my parents in law may think I made the wrong choice just for my own comfort. (I have no proof of this, it’s just a suspicion.) I don’t care what anyone thinks about it, and that is the biggest, best part of it all. The most freeing.

And that, my friends, is improving major life dynamics by making a complete family of origin cut off in three (and a half) stages in four years. I’m freaking proud of myself!




It’s hard to believe it’s been a year, but I’m back! I enjoy and miss writing, there’s a lot to write about, sessions with my therapist have come to an end, and I need something to do with myself. So I decided it would be good to start blogging again. There’s plenty to say but I want my first post back to be light so I’m doing some free writing. Hello to all my faithful readers and hi to anyone new!

Needing: New glasses, badly! Oregon Medicaid won’t cover them and I’m finding it almost impossible to save up for an exam and glasses.

Watching: Daria. She reminds me of myself, a smart, snarky wallflower.

Wishing: For several things that simply cannot be, one of them ever.

Waiting: For a package that should have been here by now. Hopefully Monday.

Wondering: How some people can be so hateful and hurtful.

Marveling: At how clear my body can be about certain things. Like the fact that gluten makes my fibro symptoms worse.

Liking: The fact that I haven’t had to wash dishes in at least two months. DH has been doing them every day.

Thinking: About how far I’ve come in the past 6 years. Even when I feel like a wreck, I know I’ve grown a lot.

Listening: To demo versions of songs by The Cars lately, because it’s neat to hear what earlier visions were.

Noticing: How much it helps to give up the need for control in my life. This is not easy for me!

Making: Nothing, and I need to change that. Too much time online, not enough (read: any) time creating things. That’s one function of this blog, thankfully.

Getting: Frustrated with all of the nightmares and other PTSD stuff I’ve been dealing with again for almost two months. I’m starting Prazosin again tonight and hopefully that will help.

Snacking: On too damn much junk and gluten! Being multiple doesn’t help with this one bit.

Hoping: My older son gets through his first real job interview with flying colors in a few days. Asperger’s will make this harder for him than for many people.

Wanting: To go to the beach. I’m only about an hour away and I have no way to get there.

Knowing: That I’m going to have a very hard time when my brother in law and his soon to be wife start a family.

Enjoying: Fresh local fruit, especially Hermiston watermelon.

Following: Not enough of what’s going on in the world. I know tiny amounts about a bunch of things and feel like I should better inform myself.

Coveting: Far too many things, from a bigger kitchen to a different relationship.

Admiring: My mother in law for writing a yet-unpublished novel and getting a meeting with a literary agent. Impressive!

Reading: Too few books, about the right number of blogs, and too many web pages for fun.

Bookmarking: Things that wouldn’t make sense to most people because they would think I have no need to bookmark them. But it’s part of a process for me, so I let myself do it.

Considering: What to tell people when they ask what to get for this body’s birthday. Amazon and PayPal gift cards!

Cooking: A lot of main dish salads and muffins. And food for several people who pay me for it.

Looking: At my cats lounging here in the living room. When they’re awake, wherever I am is where they are. I love them!

Loving: The freedom and relief I feel since cutting my family off completely. I wish I hadn’t felt the need to do it but it was best for me.

Smelling: The lemony, minty aroma of the catnip plant one of the cats just nibbled on. Divine!

Playing: Boggle with my older son several times a month. And Words With Friends with several folks online.

Pondering: How to continue improving my life and how not to be afraid of that.

Feeling: Sure of who I am in many ways.

Giggling: About the most recent Maru video that was posted. I can be in a horrible place emotionally and Maru and Hana never fail to make me feel better.

Drinking: Barefoot Pink Moscato tonight. Or tomorrow. Or both.

Opening: A new chapter of my life in many ways. Family cut off, therapy ending, considering school next year. Good things.

Helping: My sons navigate through life. Sometimes just by texing “Hope you’re having a great day.” Other times much more hands on, including hemming interview pants.

Disliking: How much hot (for western Oregon) weather we’ve had this summer. Bring on the crisp days of autumn!

Wearing: Men’s cargo shorts. They’re part of who I am.

Deciding: Not to contact my mother, because it would make my life far too complicated.

Hearing: The whir and creak of the fan that is keeping me from having to use the air conditioner.

(And getting used to: The new WordPress format.)