Last Saturday, I did something I didn’t really truly think I’d ever do. I attended a personal growth conference. Online of course. Some of the speakers were awesome and spoke the truths my heart needed to hear. Others pushed me away.

I’m not saying that the two have anything to do with each other, but I’ve hit a depression. I hate to admit this. Reading my own post I look like I bounce between highs and lows like breathing. I’m exhaust, wanting to go to bed and hide. Today is the first day, I’ve gotten up early. Green smoothie full of vitamins drank. Water in front of me. I’ve done my gratitude work. Have begun to write my dreams list and then will read my devotions. I need to dig in and work now too. I’m focused on the trees that want to cover me, keep me in shadows instead of the gorgeous forest. Where the sun shines through creating beauty in the adventure.

You know what you need to do, Mama Bear. Let’s Go!

I’ve had this motto, fairly consistently for awhile now. I want to grow and change and I’m here for it. Accept, the actual grossness that comes with and you have to go through to grow and change. My bipolar brain goes from pumped here we go #next90challenge . Lets Go! #risexlive Bring it. Ok, now you have to look at yourself through a transparent lens and figure out the poo poo you need to actually have to fight through, address and change. I want to puke.

The first time I did a challenge, I did pretty much the bare minimum because I was new to the whole concept. I did great at my food, I was doing gratitude, I was trying to move through my injury. I was getting up early. I felt like I was succeeding. I was doing some of the challenges, but I wasn’t truly digging in deep and doing the work. This time, I know, I need to. I can’t write down dreams/goals that are a reflection of my best me, without actually going through the discomfort.

When I signed up for Rise Live, I was beyond words excited because a Rise Conference has become a bucketlist kinda thing. But I know, if I don’t start doing the work, I’m not going to get out of it what I need. If I do the bare minimum on this challenge, true change isn’t going to happen.

Yesterday, I printed off all the pdfs for the last three weeks of the challenge. Perspective and Joy, I know will be good to work through. Its the Habits piece, I’m dreading with the fire of a thousand suns. With the fire I want to have for the best me. The fire I’ve heard so much about.

So, Ima wrap up this post. My tenacity list blaring in the background. Workbook in front of me. As soon as I’m off this site I will go to the Next 90 portal. Lord Jesus, please help me to become the person I believe you created me to be.

Anyone who has ever read my stuff (not that I really believe that there are any of you), know that I have a mild obsession with all things Hollis. 3 weeks ago, they started a #next90days challenge. I loved the one I started in October so I was super pumped. So far I thought I was making headway but now, I’m feeling a little defeated, and 3 weeks in, isn’t great. Yes, I got my water back into control. Yes, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since this started (Alcohol free April, Mac (Pasta) free May and Processed sugar junk free June). I’m doing gratitude work, most days, not always first thing though. I’m not getting up an hour everyday. I’m not moving my body for 30 minutes everyday. One of my goals/dreams is to get these habits down so that they are like oxygen to me. I know what I feel like what I do these things.

I also need to start doing some serious prepping. Brain dumps. Laundry every Sunday. Pills every Sunday. Figuring out meals ahead of time. These are habits I need too. I’ve also started the simple act of making my bed before I leave in the morning. Sounds silly or feels silly to type, but it does help. Like cleaning/organizing my desk, every night before I leave.

I realized something yesterday. All the times I’ve been told, I’m not a runner. That I won’t run again. Even myself. F*#k that! I’ve added it to my 10 years list. Thank you to Britney running a marathon and Miss Rae Rae video-ing herself running every damn day. Talking about running a 5k for holidays. I WANT THAT. My knees and ankles DO NOT want that. Come at me bro!

Saturday or Sunday a friends sent me a pic from 2000-ish. I didn’t even recognize myself. I now know how messed up that girl was. Lost. Hooked on pain meds. Not eating. In and out of a toxic relationship. About to fail out of school. Not in treatment/meds. Self-medicating with booze and sex. I would love to look like that 19 year old. NOT at the expense of what I have now. NOT at the expense of going through what I did when I looked like that. I want better. I will have better. I just need to get my habits locked in. Quit emotionally eating. Bless my body. Get/keep my mind right. Hustle. Tell doubters/voices of authority to hit the bricks. My brain and emotions are not open for vacancy.

I signed up for a Rise conference in a few weeks. I’m beyond freaking excited. Fire, here I come. Better/The me I want to be. As Mr Hollis would say….”LETS GO”

Now, can this Bear, really get all my habits into place constantly? When we fall, we get back up. We RISE. I will RISE.

The above words are apart a bible verse one of my best friends introduced me to a few years ago. My faith fundamentally changed about six years ago when my daughter started (and my son has followed) into a Christian school. I thought I had a relationship with God prior to their start. It was so weak in comparison to what it is now. The summer before Goldilocks started Kindergarten I had her enrolled in Vacation Bible School. We bought the cd from the songs that she had been singing that week and they became the only rotation in my vehicle at the time. Some of the songs’ lyrics would catch me. Then I started seeking out more Christian music and artists.

Then new people came into my life or at least a different level of friendship was introduced as I started growing in my faith. I was fearful at first of growing. My husband is very agnostic and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but honestly, now my faith is ingrained in who I am. Like it or not. I’m trying to not hide that part of me, because its one of my favorite parts.

In the last month, or so, the plague has taken over the earth. Places are on lock down. You can’t even go to church. That being said, I’ve sought out worship more now than ever. Learning more. Growing more.

My faith makes me cry. I watched a video during a praise team concert and it showed God chiseling away the sin and things that kept the man from being true to God’s image and wants for his child. My tears made sense, to me. I cry during alot of church services. I cry at lots of songs. I explain this, as God uses my tears as a chisel. They wash away the junk that keeps me from him. That keeps me from the person I’m meant to be.

With the plague raging and churches closing, I’ve had the opportunity to help several churches get either their messages or a devotion or an entire service on the radio. Radio, my passion. My second home. One of the things I believe God put me on this earth to do. A daughter to him first, a mom to my babies 2nd, wife and radio employee. I’ve believed that it was my calling since I was 17. Its grown like crazy in the last 6ish years. Coincidence? The last few months have been extremely challenging and have had me questioning alot. Friday, Good Friday, we were given the opportunity to have the afternoon off. I loved every flipping minute of it, until 4pm. When a rush of text messages blew up my phone. My church couldn’t but on the service they thought was safe. Is it possible to get it on the radio? Can I bring the word of God to my community through my stations? I didn’t think twice I jumped in, we’ll make it happen. I rushed to the studio, started a promo. It was on. I saw my Pastor for just a few moments yesterday to help get the finishing touches on the plans. He looked wrecked. Exhausted. I knew how he felt. I told him to go rest.

When I started listening to the service (because I HAD to make sure everything was going like it was supposed to) the Pastor thanked me. My name personally, and I wept. The words from the verse/title of this post flooded my brain. On social media I thanked Him for the shout out. His response dropped me to my knees, gut wrenched, heart exploded tears streaming down my face. “God has placed you at this specific place, at this specific time, for this specific reason. To share the good news of Jesus”. All past decisions, choices that felt wrong, how exhausted I have been, how defeated I have felt and unsure and completely un-confident in pretty much everything was all for a purpose. Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created. Ester 4:14

This school and church grew has grown my faith beyond words. I believe with all my heart my son will be in ministry in some way. His faith blows me away everyday. My parents have grown away from the church since my sister and I went through high school, etc. My mom has been watching the services through streaming. My career has grown to the point where I had the ability to use my faith and spread His message. It has felt like a truly full circle. Now its time to dig in and become the rest of who I’ve been created to be. Mind, heart, body, soul and fur!

This post is continuing on with yesterday’s long ass diatribe. See, already discounting myself. Blah. This is along the same theme of unpacking my “stuff” to try to get better. I wrote in my goals/dreams down. I did a list of gratitude. I’m almost finished with my coffee so now its time to start with water. I need to take Charlie Brown for a walk to hopefully get 30 minutes of movement in. I’ve read my daily devotional and spoke to a friend about faith. Now what?

Yesterday and today I started day dreaming about my 40th birthday. 1 year and roughly 3 months away. I have told Jeremy for years I want a party. To celebrate surviving when some of my actions shouldn’t have let me get there. But with whats going on in the world, will a party even be possible? What do I want it to look like? Who will I want there? I picture my back yard, landscaped to my desire. Lights everywhere. Something about lights hanging on a patio feels magical. On the potentially shallow end of the spectrum, I picture wearing a casual denim skirt and a tee shirt saying est in 1981. I picture short curly blonde hair. I picture being healthier. I was about to type skinnier but thats not an actuate. I want to feel strong and secure and confident. I picture Jeremy trying to find comfort in this, but not being comfortable at all. Janet and Chris Prime. Maybe Madonna and Cory. Brett and Kelly. Lacey and Jeff. Maybe Doug. Mashea. Donnie, I pray, and whomever he may be dating. Maybe a lot of other people. It will no doubt be John C Fremont weekend, so who knows how that will play out with the guest list. I picture a strawberry pineapple birthday cake. I picture cornhole and maybe yard jenga. I picture laughing and smiling. I picture joy.

Back to reality, I’ve already put some time in at work and have more to do. I’m groggy. Coffee didn’t help. I just want to go back to the bed I just made. When I was writing out my 10 dreams, everyday, a bachelors degree ends up on the list. I’ve already talked to Janet about classes. I doubt I will get that by 40, but I will make it happen. I have other parts of my life I need to figure out and lock down before I add something like that to my short term/full attention list. My faith needs to grow so that I go to it first to deal with situations. Then my health. Walking the last week-ish has made me feel stronger. More sore at times. A knee flat out pissed off at times. But stronger.

Thats another daydream. Running. Picturing myself putting on my shoes. Wearing a tank and shorts and feeling strong and confident. Going for a run. I picture a dirt road. I picture a gym. Like the movie from earlier this week, I picture a finish line. If the world is spinning in a closer to the normal we all think we miss fashion, I’m supposed to walk a mile in November for the veterans. I want to run it. I want it to be a 5k and not a mile. But I don’t want my crutches back. I don’t want another set back. I picture doing a color run with Goldilocks.

Our church is having their Palm Sunday service in 30 minutes. Time to worship. Say thanks. Hopefully have special moments with my kids. Celebration. I’m trying to unzip all the crap on my chest. I’m trying to get my mind right. If my mind and heart aren’t right, nothing else is gonna follow. I’m trying to figure out how to let go. To lay it all at my Father’s feet. My life is in his hands. Whether its a birthday or a 5k. His plans will always exceed my dreams. “Nothing gonna knock me down” (the We are Messangers playlist continues). My God has it all.

Ok, the headline might be a bit confusing but I promise there is a purpose behind it. This is a long-ass post by the way. Have you seen that commercial on tv or on facebook even, where this woman is clearly struggling and she then unzips her chest and all of her feelings fall out? I need a zipper. I’ve been avoiding some thoughts and feelings and I know that its time to unzip. I’m not sure why I don’t want to do it. I know that if I don’t start unpacking some of this though, I’m not going to stop anxiety meds anytime soon. I’ll need more to sleep. Then more caffeine to wake up the next day. Chest pains from too much caffeine, etc. Its time to deal with my shit.

Its not just my shit. Its also the fact that everywhere you turn, my work included, you hear about the world has a plague and millions are dying and everything is closed. Speaking of work, that’s a huge part of the need for this post too. I’ve felt insecure and unqualified for my job the entire time I’ve had it. I’m taking on or working through the biggest project of my career and its way outside of my wheelhouse. I’m trying to learn everything, on the fly. I feel insecure about my parenting. Its been worse since I started working again, and at times, my job has taken over my life. Right now is a tough season at work. Growth time. Skills needed that I do not possess in anyway. I made the casual joke the other day that I wasn’t the person they needed and they needed to find someone else. Half truth, half knowing I’d be destroyed if they did. My friend called me the hell out. She was right. I can’t think like that. Speak like that. I’m where God wants me. I have a purpose.

I watched a movie the other night with my husband. I saw so many parts of my life in it that I couldn’t quit thinking about it and reliving some things that were echoed. I’m the overweight blonde that makes jokes to cover up her insecurity and pain. That lets guys joke around me and shouldn’t. The one that has in the past done whatever a guy has wanted so I didn’t feel alone for five seconds. No self respect, discipline, or confidence all while telling everyone that I was fine. In the movie the main character eventually starts getting her shit together and then an injury sets her back. She then has two options, regress into what she was before or truly deal with her shit and move forward. I was getting my health put together. I was seeing a counselor and trying to get my head right and then I had an injury. I couldn’t afford my counselor anymore. I haven’t regressed back to my 20 something train wreck. I’m definitely not in a good spot though. The fact that I didn’t want to write this or have found a way to deal with everything that’s flooding my brain and causing chest pains make it clearer and clearer I need to deal with my shit or I’m not going to move forward.

I’ve been obsessed for close to nine months with self-improvement. Practices or habits that would make me successful or feel better at my station in life. People were telling me how they could notice a different. I felt surprise and joy in that. Then I started to doubt it with my next breathe. Why are they saying that? Was I terrible before? Maybe I’m a fraud. And on and on and on until chest pains or Xanax kick in. Not what the self improvement books and practices I’ve flooded my senses with have been trying to get me to figure out. Quite the flipping opposite.

I was talking to a friend about my thoughts about confidence. Now that I had been called out on it, my husband repeatedly getting pissed that I was beating myself up over things and having a visual in front of me I wanted to know what the secret to confidence is. We talked about different things and one of the theories was “how have we been raised?” My parents taught me to work my ass off. I wouldn’t have been able to work my way up to the job I don’t feel qualified to have most of the time without seeing that ethic. I wouldn’t love my children the way I do, if I hadn’t had the experience I did growing up. There were things that I don’t remember seeing as much as things I do that stayed with me. Being told I couldn’t do things has stuck with me. Sometimes its a challenge that makes me dig in because I want to prove everyone wrong. But I think I’m proving it to myself more, Even when I do something I don’t think I could, I beat myself up and think it should have been better, faster, etc. Nothing is good enough. I logically know perfect doesn’t exist. I don’t think anyone has explained it to my emotions. I don’t know how to explain it to my emotions.

“Those statements are weapons of the enemy. God created you perfectly. The enemy wants you to focus on those feelings because he is in control when you are filled with fear and doubt. Fear and doubt do not live in the same realm as Faith.” I started to tear up when I read that. I have started tearing up again typing it. I tell the kids, that God uses my tears to wash away the junk that keeps me from him. He, didn’t create me to feel like this. Again, logically I know it. “You are qualified, gifted and worthy. As a child of a God. You are a mighty work of God and can do mighty works. Untrained, unqualified and uneducated are circumstances not personality traits.”

So here’s the honest truth. I made some bad choices. I chose to self medicate and in process picked up some really negative thoughts, feelings and coping mechanisms. I’m not those things. I’m not the person I was. I am not defined by being a high-functioning person with bipolar. Even positive things can be negative coping mechanisms because I’m turning to them to the point of injury. I need to flip the script in my head. Would I beat Goldilocks up for every single mistake she ever makes? Would I ever tell Baby Bear that if he doesn’t look like a 10, he’s not going to find love? If I’m not going to get my shit together for myself. As their Mother, I need to for them. If I don’t figure out how to find Joy and Thrive in the middle of a plague when I don’t have much I can turn to in the forms of coping mechanisms what am I going to model for them when the world isn’t in a crisis that’s directly effecting our entire world.

My husband, children, family, friends and most importantly Father love me. Whenever I doubt myself or beat myself up, I’m telling him he got it wrong. That I’m a mistake. God don’t play that. He doesn’t make mistakes. He created me to be in this world. In this life. With these people and circumstances. I am learning everyday. I am because of grace. I need to show myself that grace and show it to others. I need to learn to love myself and my brothers/sisters. As told multiple times by my Creator.

As I’m typing this I’m listening to We Are Messengers. When I saw them in concert with my beautiful daughter, I cried my makeup off. “Just keep moving on. Pushing ahead. The new is come. The old is dead…Power Power, we’ll be alright”. With tomorrow being Palm Sunday and holy week coming up and the world being a crisis (still curious if this isn’t leading up to the second coming), I’ve been trying to submerge my senses, to find peace. I need my Creators love. “Its ok, if I’m not ok”. I can’t remember how the phrase goes.. he doesn’t call the qualified. He qualifies the called. God, thank you for loving me. Please help me learn how to love myself. You have blessed me in so many ways, Lord. Please help me honor all of those blessings and remember you don’t make mistakes. Please help me to remember to turn to you instead of other coping mechanisms or searching for a zipper.

I scratch and claw and fight to get up. I take a breath. Focus on the things I need to do with my next step so I can get some traction, some positive momentum to keep going. To be able to confidently say, “Yup, I feel good, this is right I’m doing the things” and before the last words came out of my mouth, I slip and do a face plant back into a shit/mud pile that easily slips into the depths of hell.

I’ve moved via long walks. I signed up for the gym to slowly move more so I don’t mess my crap up again. Water has been lacking. Praying and listening to praise music that usually wraps my heart and fills it. At the end of the day, all I want is a Xanax and my pillow. Maybe a handful of Oreo’s on the way.

I’ve gained so much weight ant that ain’t helping anything. I’m using food as a drug. I’m not listening not only the my God speaking to my heart, but my inner Rachel screaming at my brain. “Put down the sugar. Drink the Stupid Water. Eat the Stupid Salad. MOVE. Get the F*#! up.

Heaven help me!

Bear on Bear. Except one Bear is anxiety, and she is a mother that packs a wicked ass punch. I saw parts of a tv show last night (I don’t typically watch tv) and there was literally a Mama and Baby Bear. Mama, kicked ass and took names. While that Mama was ferocious and a powerful force, this Mama Bear was under attack, too. I started having chest pains that made me feel as the TV Mama Bear was ripping my heart out. Anxiety.

My husband hasn’t seen that side of me much. At least not to that extent. The fact that it came out of nowhere was stranger still. I was sitting in a somewhat calm state. Its a fairly new path in the land of bipolar wackadoodle. He was concerned. He put his heart rate monitor on me and it was over 120 bpm at one point. The truly terrifying part is that I couldn’t pin point the cause. Yes, life is stressful right now, but when isn’t it? Once more I’m only letting him see this side right now, knowing full well that won’t last. I’m fearful though, it will be seen as a weakness and somehow/someway, I will be judged. Why do I worry about that? The only opinion whom’s matter is my Creator. I’ve been trying to stop being a people-pleaser and have weird day dreams where I’m telling people that don’t like me that I don’t care, and yet here, in my 2nd home, I worry I will be thought of as weak, unreliable and dismiss-able. Even when the logical part of my brain says their opinions don’t matter, you are relied upon, you are a big part of the success of where you are, you are great at what you do. You are a hustler and your workplace has truly become a second home to you and your little bear family. You are loved. You are respected.

This type of chest pain is what lead me to my anxiety on the side diagnosis a year ago. Unfortunately I haven’t either used enough tools or taken care of myself any better to avoid this.

I work in the world of media. At times it is slow and all is well-ish. Then, there are times like now. Where we are truly a 24-7, on your toes, high alert at all times, perfect storm. Last year our little midwest town became an island. For over the last week, we’ve been fighting flooding again. Thank you, Lord Jesus, not to the point it was a year ago. We can all see that it could happen again, though. There are other times of year that are busier than others, naturally (of course its now), and my family is in the middle of a job shift/hour change with Papa Bear.

I’m so happy that he has found a new job and pray with my stabbing, painful heart that this is a key to help him unlock happiness and his own mental health. With those changes come family changes too. Life changes. Different vehicles. Now driving a distance and not 10 minutes away. Different work week schedules. Different daily schedules. I will go from my super early day and him 8-5 to flipping roles. Its all change. That’s a stress-or too, right?

I’m trying to troubleshoot my chest pain. I know what it is. That’s the first step. Last night when I got home I took a warm shower and prayed. I took a Xanax. I did breathing exercises. Woke up this morning to nausea from lack of sleep and by the time I walked into my office, my heart was racing and pangs were coursing through my chest.

In the last few weeks when I’ve thought that overwhelming stress was leading to an anxiety/stress ultimate smackdown, I started implementing a “brain dump”. Its worked for that symptom. I’ve carried a notebook or some writeable surface with me everywhere I’ve gone and if its crossed my brain its gone down on paper. I’m exhausted by I know I need to try to avoid caffeine as much as possible. I’m listening to ambient music. I have my Xanax in my bag if it gets too bad. I’m just afraid that will knock me out, and that’s not an option right now. 8pm tonight, bring on sleepy time like a Mack Truck.

I pray for your help Lord, I always need you, but right now I really really do!

I counted down weeks, days and hours until Papa Bear and I could disappear for a few days and breathe from all of the stress piling on top of us. What happened was 36 hours and most of it being a nightmare. Physical pain, terrible hotel, just giving up. I had to sit in the back seat most of the way home to have my foot up and just bawled.

Another physical injury. Another weight caused problem. More pictures that made me sick. More frustration that made me want to do nothing but eat. All of the exact opposite this weekend was supposed to hold in store. Now I’m back to my desk full of problems with little to no fight. I know, I know, we fall we stand back up. Right now, F#&* that! I gotta lay off the pills that help me sleep because I know they are going to mess my bipolar, more specifically my depression up.

Now, I need to shake all that shit off. I need to turn back into all go, no slow, take on the local radio by storm. My community is being hit by another wave of flooding. Not historic, and I’m not freaking out because this feels like a normal part of life where we live. But peoples are a freaking. Our job as the media is to slow that shit down and give accurate information and slow the masses. Both bossman and I took a step away this weekend and this went down. Our new news fetus, did nothing on all of our media. He’s from a bigger community and commutes. My guess, he doesn’t give a shit. I don’t know for sure. Maybe he truly doesn’t know how to put his big boy pants on and be a “news” person.

I needed to come back to the circus that is my life with a renewed sense of self and ready to kick ass and take names. Right now, I’ve been here approximately an hour. My ankle is starting to throb and I want to run-ish out the door as fast as I freaking can.

Lord, Jesus, please help me. I need you today. Please, I beg of you, help a Mama Bear out!

I’ve said before, I know, and will remind myself as well as anyone who will listen that messed up sleep cycles and severe stress is a perfect storm for anyone with bipolar. I’ve tried to figure out if I was depressed or not for a few weeks, then Saturday, I snapped. I grabbed information from work that I’m going to “work” from home all weekend and teach myself all the things and nothing is going to stop me. Then when I thought the adrenaline had worn off, because I felt a wave of exhaustion, I closed me eyes for approximately 5 minutes and my heart was about to explode. I was struggling to breathe. My brain had so many random thoughts attacking at once that I had no idea what to do. Some how the idea of a “brain dump” popped in. I thank my Heavenly Father Almighty, it did. I grabbed a notebook and proceeded to scribble 12 pages of shaky randomness. I showed this to my husband and he said, “I’m worried, your going manic.” F-bomb with a million explanation points.

Mixed episodes are a thing. I can’t remember off the top of my head or having one specifically standing out as an example of one. Is this that? My family dynamic is definitely being challenged. I’m currently in the middle of my biggest professional challenge right now. My husband is battling a toxic employment situation that I think we finally have corrected. We are struggling with what feels like basic parenting principles. Finances suck! Now is not the time for me to visit Mars (my idea of a manic high) nor the depths of hell (depression). An anxiety diagnosis I received last year, was the first in my mental health journey. It was kinda a DUH moment, but still, I’m learning the ins and outs of its piggyback to my bipolar. I am a high functioning bipolar person. What happens when I don’t function though.

I also, didn’t want the changes that I’ve felt in my personality be reduced to a simple chemical change in my brain and that its gonna just go away once levels return to my version of normal. I’ve felt more like me, at times, in the last six months, than I think I ever have. I don’t want that to be a figment of my mental illness. I can’t to my core believe that.

One of my best friends admitted to me last week, they are struggling with some mental health issues, truly to this level for the first time in their life. Not bipolar, but something they thought they were always strong enough to not challenge them. My heart broke. I’ve always been frustrated when they hinted to dismissing the reality of mental/emotional challenges. They have now been faced with their own demons. All I could think was how much I wanted to hug them. No one should feel any of this. Bipolar, depression, anxiety, ocd, schizophrenia, etc are all decedents of the devil and born straight from hell. Satan’s squad incarnate.

When my husband said the word manic, it shook me to my shoes. I started going through notes I’ve stored in the corners of my mind, looking for ideas on how to come down if this is/was a thing. I did a few more brain dumps. I went to my “self-care” list. Sunday I started to feel a little more level. I continued my “self-care” list. Yesterday I was back to battle mode for sanity because of my work climate right now, BUT, just like how proud I was of forcing myself to shut off a few weeks ago, I am roughly 40 hours away from leaving for a few days with my husband. To recharge our marriage, to recharge ourselves, to dream of the future, to plan accordingly and be ready for those challenges we feel we’re currently drowning in.

Today I feel like I’ve made traction. I feel more level than even a few days ago. I fear its more of a mix blah, but we’ll see. As we say in the media…stay tuned.