Tell a secret

I've never been diagnosed or treated for it, but I believe I have a mild form of epilepsy. I've only ever had one grand mal seiziure, I remember it clear as day. I remember the way the morning light came in the windows, and I was eating my cereal, probably fruit loops, reading Gary Larson and laughing my butt off. Then my funny bone hit the edge of the kitchen table and I was in massive pain, yelling owie. Then blackness. The next thing I knew I woke up on the livingroom carpet, soft face smooshed into the weave. My first thought was "It must be Monday. Time to go to school."

There's nothing else particularily remarkable, no further grand mal seizures, but I have petit mals. I get them quite frequently. I'll just stare at a small spot and suddenly no information gets into my head. People could be having meaningful conversations with me and quite often I'll "space out." I've learned how to cover for it reasonably well, just nod your head in agreement once you can move again. There actually have been a couple of times I agreed to something that wasn't . . . agreeable. People sometimes also assume I'm not listening to them, which is true but for a medical reason, and then they get all tetchy.

***************Bonus Secret!**********************

I commonly have auditory hallucinations. Ironically, these didn't begin until I started taking pharmaceuticals to combat depression, then manic depression. There's nothing particularily remarkable about these either, quite often I hear my name being called, during withdrawal from Paxil I kept hearing the sound of a huge truck passing by, sometimes just a pounding frequency. When I went really crazy I had very distinct voices telling me things, and church bells. But my hallucinations are pretty benign, and I cover for them pretty well so I can pass as normal. I've just learned not to react every time I hear something similar to my hallucinations. Unfortunately this sometimes makes me look a bit stupid or standoffish if it's not a hallucination.

Montreal psych ward horror story bonding

Last night I did the something for the first time. I actually met a couple of folks who I knew only through the internet. It was a gas, and this girl had been in a Montreal psych ward too. When I tell people I was in a psych ward, they truly don't grasp the traumatic horrors that occur there.

First off, you are not treated as someone with an illness, you're treated like a criminal. For another thing, I think they take some kind of course in destroying the last traces of humanity, empathy, and compassion. Personally, I think a lot of the psych ward workers I met, particularily in Emergency, were probably the Gestapo in their past lives. You look into their eyes and it's completely cold and soulless.

Then there's the restraints. It doesn't sound as violent as it really is. I'm all for consensual bondage, but when you're put in restraints it's really fucking scary. Usually it's used as punishment for minor infractions, in my case I wanted to use the phone during nap time, and instead of having a rational discussion about why they had some rule against using the phone, I was drugged and tied down for three and a half hours.

Then there's this absurd idea of medical care. They do not care about their patients. Drug em, feed em, let them watch television, that's your life and it won't get better until they decide to let you out. When I got first degree burns on my hands they didn't give me proper medical attention until two days later, even after I went to them saying my hands were burned. My hands were in agony. Finally one of the few nice staff brought a doc to see me. So they gave me this special cream to put on my hands to heal them. Later, when I went in again, I still needed the cream, but of course I didn't have a chance to get it before going to the bin a second time. I kept asking friends and family to go get me this cream, but they thought I was a delusional nut, so instead they brought me hand lotion which didn't do shit for my poor burns.

That's not the only instance I saw of poor medical care. A homeless man who came to the hospital had gone walking in snow and ice in bare feet in montreal. His feet were pretty cut up, and looked frostbitten too. No one did anything for him until I got mad at my shrink and pointed it out.

They don't care about protecting patients from other patients. There was this gross old man who wanted to gang rape me and even though I protested, they put me in a small ward with him and a handful of other male patients. As a rape survivor, this totally triggered off a whole host of things, none of which helped calm me down and bring me to this mythical state they call normal.

Finally, they have a fucked up attitude towards anglos. If you're an anglo and you end up in a montreal bin, they will not provide you with interpreters and they are adamant about not transferring you to an English speaking hospital, of which there are a few. Actually, not just anglos, I take that back, anyone who doesn't speak French is left to try and make sense of arbitrary rules. There were a few people who obviously spoke very little French OR English, and I have no idea how awful that must have been for them.

Anyway, now I have a friend who actually understands how truly soul destroying a stay in a Montreal psych ward is. And that makes me feel a lot more relieved, less alone about the whole experience. I sometimes get so furious about how casual certain people are about my experience in the bin. I have no obvious scars from the stay. But I am a psychiatric survivor.

One day I hope to transcend from being a psychiatric survivor. I think that day is coming. It's taken a lot of really hard honest soul searching, writing, crying, and most notably, coming back to life. I feel I died in the psych ward. But my own personal ressurection and living has made me a stronger person.

Lesbians

God bless 'em. I've spent nearly half my life proudly being lesbian. Then some questioning years, related to gender. Now it's an identity I feel oddly at ease with all over again. Like a well worn leather jacket. Yeeeah! Women rock my world. They really do. Nothing makes me feel more electrified than feminine flirtatious energy. I love butch/femme identities and sexual frission. I love that my town is filled with brazen leatherdykes who love sticking needles all over their bodies. I love belonging to a sub culture. I love being a lesbian.

I want to write something in honour of all the lesbians I have known who have supported me and paved the way for me to be. And yet, thinking of all the wildly talented and hot women I know across Canada, I find it hard to express how truly blessed I have been to have them in my lives.

Instead, I present to you a montage of my top ten favorite lesbian moments in my life.

1. Riding the back of a butch dyke's motorcycle through the streets of San Francisco one hot summer night.
2. The first time a woman's breasts pressed against mine and I realized I loved female flesh.
3. Losing my virginity to the most gorgeous bisexual in grade 11.
4. Getting shy and flustered when Kate Bornstien liked my hair.
5. Getting shy and flustered when I first saw Annie Sprinkle in real life.
6. Butches bonding over fatty fried foods.
7. The time my vegan lover asked me in the middle of the night if I ate bacon.
8. Kissing a reluctant older butch in a courtyard in Germany.
9. Having romantic baths with my femme girlfriend who actually didn't like baths and would always end up laying naked on the floor talking to me. Actually now that I think about it that was kind of weird.
10. Having meaningless sex with an ex for the purposes of art. Actually it was really fun but I was never allowed to tell her that.

Lesbians. God bless 'em.

The mice are back

God bless 'em. At least now I'm not so pitifully alone.

Pride weekend is around the corner and my dance card is empty.

Someone told me there is no sex in the afterlife. For shame!!

Can Pride 20055555555555 be the year I break my celibacy? I actually just meant to write 2005, but my five key sticks. I fear it may be a much more accurate assessment of my singleness.

More funny

News from Iraq.

Secrets and Rants

Hi, my Netscape is being a big jerk and won't let me sign in, so I am on Safari. Anyway, I found a blog you all might be interested in. It's called Post Secret and it's a collection of mail art made by anonymous folks who tell a secret about themselves. Some are funny, some are sad, it's updated every Sunday with new secrets.

I made a secret card to mail in this week.

And now for a rant.

So I spent a few hours cruising around Livejournal looking -seeking- for another community I would actually want to be a part of. But all the bipolar communities are full of whingers and all the lesbian communities seem composed of newly out lesbians still raging about how their families just don't understand. I'm twenty-seven and I've been openly a homo for thirteen years, so this is all quite redundant to me. God, I've been through being an out homo in high school IN SASKATCHEWAN no less, and I hate listening to twenty-somethings who have just come out whine about oh, my mum's an ass, and wah wah wah, and I just wanna say yeah, thanks a lot.

Thanks for being the homophobic twat who slammed me in high school to protect your reputation and then later when your hankering for pussy gets the best of you, now you want in the community. Well fuck you. I have nothing but contempt for homos who are too shit scared to be who they are when they're a teenager. Thanks a bunch for leaving me and many other queer kids in the lurch, looking for allies and finding nothing. Sorry, that's just my mood today. I know it's scary to be a queer teen, but fucking christ, I did it in the Canadian equivalent of the Midwest so fuck you. And when you're in your twenties you have way more options opened up for being in the queer community, so quit your whinging and go to a support group or a rally or a bar or something.

Down Town East Side Eagle Feather

It has been a long time since an eagle feather came to me. The last time, and first time, I was walking along the beach with my mother when she found a golden eagle feather. It was truly majestic, and she gave it to me. I was probably thirteen or fourteen.

As you know, it's illegal to kill eagles, so getting a real eagle feather is a pretty special thing.

Present day life in Strathcona, I go on a very long voyage on foot to buy pot for a friend, I wind all the way through the hinterlands of East Van, down Commercial Drive, up to a street corner where I meet the dealer who has been developing a rather amusing infatuation. Then I hop on the Freetrain back to my neck of the woods, risking a fine just because my feet are tired. I arrive back at the apartment building, when what do I see, but an eagle feather. Not majestic, but noble nonetheless.

We have a pair of bald eagles in the neighborhood, so it could have come from them.

Or, as my friend pointed out, fallen off of some Indian.

Either way, a sacreligious reward for walking so far, mighty halfbreed, to score drugs.

I choose today to blame it all on my Saturn Return

I only clean when people visit me. How strange. Like, I can live in a sty, but visiting folk cannot. Anyway, there's not really much to tell about my life. Or maybe, there is stuff to tell and I just don't wanna. I think it's my Saturn return. It's kind of interesting anyway, to me, not necessarily other folk. I feel poised to make massive changes in my life. I don't know that they would be changes anyone would notice though, except for me.

Since going a little loco at the end of last semester, I've been on an anti-depressant and my mood stabilizer and my anti-psychotic, and I haven't been terribly depressed since. I've felt way more hopeful about life. This whole unemployed thing is a freakin' nightmare, but I know somehow I'll end up in the right job.

******************living kitchens*******************************
My fridge breathes. It's true, ask Lynn. Every few hours it lets out a great sigh.

Lynn (my neighbor) has dirty dishes. Once I was visiting her and I heard moans and creaking bed noises and it was coming from her kitchen sink! We just call them the dirty dirty dishes.
*****************end***************************************************

I haven't cried in a very long time though, and that unsettles me. It's like, crying is a focused expression of emotion, it's kind of a religious experience really. And it's healing. And I just haven't cried about anything in a long time, whereas before I could cry at the drop of a hat. I don't know which is worse. I miss crying.

That all being said, please don't go out of your way to make me cry. That would annoy me.

I finally have a happy dream to tell you about. My mentally handicapped sister had her 30th birthday party and I missed it, which was sad. But I dreamt that I was there, and the whole family was there, all dressed up. And somehow my sister had connections with the millitary, so they flew in fighter jets across the sky and dropped all these little toys, like swimming noodles and those punch balloons. And my job was to go gather up all these little toys for her.

So I think when I have some money, I'm going to go down to the toy store and buy her a bunch of goofy toys she would like. And marshmallows, because she loves marshmallows. All kinds. There's this really yummy kind she likes that has toasted coconut on it.

Job Hunting and Gathering

"A BFA, what kind of a job can you get with that?" my cousin scoffed.

It is true, BFA's, or as they are affectionately known, "Bachelor of Fuck All"'s, are a whole lot of work with dubious credentials at the end. But surely a major in Film/Video must add up to something. Dear god, all that learning how to use equipment I could not afford.

Anyway, there's a job opening as a technician at ECI. Which is a bit ridiculous, going back and working for the school I graduated from. On the other hand, I was taught how to use all their gear, and I was a technician intern.

My protein sources are sad. I need to buy some groceries. My potatoes are all rotten. And I need to take out the garbage.

I had a long nap today.

Recently I had a nightmare I was trying to move into a new place and everytime I was moving in I would find dead murdered bodies everywhere, I was screaming and running away, eee. Finally I told my friend who was helping me find a new house NO MORE MURDERED PEOPLE. Strange dream.

Boy - Part 3 TMI

************Do not read if you don't want to hear about testosterone's effects on clits********************
The two weeks is up, I do not have a mustache, I am beyond the hot flashes and higher body temperature. I am still not planning to transition into a man. However the one thing I was hoping for has happened. My clit got bigger. I am probably exaggerating, but it feels twice as big as it was before. For a masculine little dude girl, this is an exciting development. My sensation even feels slightly different, which is awfully cool.

Did my sex drive go up? Nah, not a whole lot, I'm fairly concupiscent as it is. That's a fancy word for horny, yes it is.

Either way, the whole experience has left me feeling more comfortable in my body as it is. I consider it another form of body modification that I've chosen. Apparently it will stay the same size, unless I opt for further hormone treatments, in which case it will get bigger, but that whole body hair lowered voice thing scares me.

I like being a lesbian boy the best. All these parts of mine are nice, and I want to keep them as they are.

High Femme Haiku

High femmes, I love you so,
yet you are scary, how can this be?
Is it the pointy shoes?

Someone buy me this . . .

. . . hot transfag porno.

I Heart Too Much

"You love too much."

It is true, I have fallen in love a fair number of times in my life. We'd taken some kind of online test, and I had been fussing with dirty dishes as I casually called out my answers.

Me, a woman who loves too much.

How many times are you allowed to fall in love in your life without looking like a ridiculous teenager?

When I was younger, with my first sweetie that I was with for a year, there was this friend who kept falling in love with a different person every month. I think I saw her go through like, four or five girlfriends. A woman who loved too much.

But who is to say that just because you fall in love with a number of people, that it is a bad thing. What's wrong with loving more people?

It's a bit ridiculous to think I love too much, since I'm twenty-seven and have only had three girlfriends, and can fall hopelessly in love with people for years without anything ever actually happening. I just don't see the point of only having one big love in your lifetime. Plus I just like that in love feeling. I guess I'm a pretty intense little dude when I'm in love. It's been many years since I wrote a poem to a girl though.

Anyway, this summer is looking like much fun because for the first time in years I have a nice set of multiple crushes, on various cute smart ladies. Assorted flavours. Even if nothing happens with anyone, it's entertaining as all hell. My close friends are now used to listening to me spin grand fantasies involving people they don't know. I honestly don't know how they can stand it.

$101.00

I won $101 dollars playing pull tabs at the Sufferin' Dufferin last night. It was enough to buy mysef and two friends two rounds of import beers, and some extra to fiddle with. I'm really tempted to buy a DVD I have wanted for a long time, since this is extra Surprise money. Hmm. What to do. . .

*******UPDATE***************
I bought the DVD for cheap on eBay.

:D

I have kandy korn!

Without a care in the world

This morning a terroist attack rocked London. And I la di da'd around all afternoon on public transit, not a care in the world, shopping. I bought pricey honey-carmel scented soap and candy bath melts. One Roman Dirge baby T (fat girl in skintight T alert!), three panties, and two cute t shirts from Old Navy. And that was about it. Then I split a 6 pack with a friend because I promised I would buy her beers. And that was my day, it was lovely. If I got major artist fees I would shop every day.

I'm not feeling the hot flashes as much, maybe that part of T is over. People ask me if I am going to keep taking it. I would have to say, no, not unless something really happens to change how I think of myself in the world. I'm pretty comfortable in this wacky gender called Butch Dyke. I think it's a place I want to keep living in for a while.

In fact, I almost feel more girly after having tried T. It's hard to explain. I will mine my daily thoughts for a way to explain it. I do know that the other day I was shaving my legs (I haven't done that in about six or seven years) and I thought "This is not a manly thing to be doing." Same with wearing the Dorothy's-Ruby-Slippers nail polish. And buying a T shirt that says "I am a little fairy princess."

I'm just a 21st century gender terrorist.

Manic Panic

Yesterday was a weird day. I found out I had gotten my money from my reserve for graduating, so I did a happy dance and smoked a joint. Then this morning I checked my mailbox and ta da! A nice little artist fee. It's like getting paid to be me.

But last night the weirdest thing happened, a friend told me she thought I sounded manic, and for some reason it made me really angry. I think because the last time she said that, next thing I knew cops were at the door. But I was manic then. And then I got really confused, and had to run over a checklist in my head of manic symptoms. Not talking too fast, not getting involved in big plans, I did feel happy, but that was probably mostly due to having some cash in my pocket. Either way, I did not feel like I was manic at all, actually yesterday I felt pretty sluggish and tired. And depressed. Until I got money.

Because in a capitalist society money = survival.

Another online friend said she gets pissed when her bf or mum tell her she seems manic because it feels like a form of control. I think that's what made me mad, just that pointing out someone is manic is a lot like saying "Go to the Hospital you Subhuman fuckup!" I don't know, no one ever tells you you seem crazy in a calm way. It's never a normal event.

Man, I don't even know what I am trying to say.

So I did do a thorough check in of me, and I can pretty much confirm that I'm not crazy. In fact, I feel pretty even, and I'm still faithfully taking all my medications, including a pretty heavy duty anti-psychotic that can knock a manic episode on it's ass. I know there's always the possibility of breakthrough episodes, but I just don't think I'm having one of those. I think I'm pretty stable. Hmm . . .

Of course now that someone outside of me has mentioned it, now I have to do check ins on myself for the next week, which is a pain because people hate when you seem self absorbed and pre-occupied. At the same time, I probably was going to check in on myself just because of the T anyway, so it's no big deal.

If it's not one thing, it's another

I trotted off to the post office and picked up my new phone, spent the next hour changing some phone numbers so they were stored to my sim card. Replaced the sim, and fiddled around with all the new things on my new phone. It has polyphonic ringtones. Get this: when my phone rings, it sounds like an actual old phone! It is so cute! I was terribly excited and thought oh yay, my life is turning around.

But then I went on friendster and got an admonishment from a friend for mentioning accidentally touching his cock, AND found out someone I like is currently taken, which they never bothered to let me know. I mean, it's not like I demanded that she keep me up to date or anything, so I can't really complain, and besides that she does live VERY far away. As for the cock thing, I dunno, maybe I have really bad boundaries. Growing up native, people just routinely made lewd crude jokes all over the place. I mean, some of my elders have thoroughly embarrassed me by teasing me about my sexuality, not in a mean way mind you, just, I dunno, that's what they do. It's an Indian thing. If you've never experienced it, you wouldn't understand it.

Anyway, I felt cruddy for a while, and didn't even have the chance to call mum to vent because she's up in Northern Saskatchewan at a cabin on a lake, lucky woman. Then the worst thing happened: Internet Explorer decided to be fucked up. I click on it at the little icon bounces up and down like it's yelling "I'm ready, I'm ready!" and then it just stops, and doesn't open. All "Fuck you!" Sigh.

It's overcast and I am still on the job hunt. Bleh.

But at least I have my phone again, an even better phone, a cuter, lighter, smaller phone.

The T isn't doing anything to me besides giving me the occassional hot flash. Not a Menopausal Woman hot flash (those look way way more intense), but hot flashes nonetheless.

I'm grumpy. I'm going for a walk before it rains.

Boy - Pain in the Ass (Part 2)

We were prepped, we were ready. The needle was fearsome. My friend let me hold it for a while before he wielded against my bare bum. 50mg of depo-testosterone, all that kaffufle and it just came down to this ridiculously benign looking amber fluid.

We went to his bedroom, where I bared my butt and got into position.

Deep breaths. He had a very nice bedside manner.

"Aaaah! I"m nervous!" It reminded me of my trips to the piercer, that nervous energy that crawls into the palms of your hands and tickles like you gotta pee right now.

"Have you ever done play piercing?"

"Yeah, just surface stuff on my arms."

"Well this won't even hurt as much as that because it's only breaking the skin once and it's coming out the same way."

We did some more deep breathing.

Then I was ready.

It was a sharp pinch, and then it was over. I thought an intramuscular injection would hurt a lot more, but it didn't really. I'm sure if I had to do it every two weeks I would think it stinks though. I felt a bit giddy, general euphoria. I had done it, there it was, it was in my system. Who knew what the next two weeks would hold for me?

One of the first effects I noticed was a tingling in my crotch, not a I have To Pee tingle, more, I dunno, a This Turns Me On tingle. Not quite, but that's the closest I can describe it. And I felt my body temperature rise. My hands seemed warmer.

And yet, the sky didn't fall. Later on when my friend's boyfriend kept wanting to watch boxing on tv, I didn't connect with it because of boy-hormones. I mean, essentially I feel pretty much the same as I did before.

Another friend got a shot, she called me up today and asked if my clit was throbbing, which it isn't really, but I have only been awake for a short amount of time.

I'm excited to see how this works for the next couple of weeks it's in my system.

********I have a phone again! A friend is lending me her ancient cell phone so now the temp agency can get in touch with me, and people can ask me out on dates. Ask me out on a date while the T makes me horny!********

Boy - Part 1

I think I went through the biggest part of my gender confusion when I was about nineteen years old. I remember this one time I was telling an older butch friend about a dream I had where I was a boy, and how it really made me wonder where my gender stood. There was this other woman hanging around, non-butch, totally didn't get it, while my friend just kind of nodded and agreed that any masculine woman these days has a moment where ya wonder, am I male or female?

There is this opening story in Stone Butch Blues about how the protagonist, Jess, is constantly asked if she is a boy or a girl. This was the constant question of my childhood too. Are you a boy or a girl? To think that even adults think they have the right to interrogate a child on their gender, that is sick.

At this point in my life, eight years of really doing major soul searching on whether or not I wanted to transition into a man, I have accepted that my gender is a question more than any answer. More than any allegiance to a binary, I have come to terms with living on the border of boy and girl. I know I wouldn't be happier with a more masculine body. Hair, deep voice, no, that's not really me. I don't feel completely comfortable inside a girl body either, but it's something I can work with until the day I shed this body and go to the other side, where something tells me I won't be a boy or a girl.

At the same time, ever since I was nineteen, hearing the fabulous stories of what a shot of testosterone can do, I knew I wanted to have that experience. Only once, a needle sinking into my butt, a couple of weeks of male hormones, possibly one or two minor physical changes. My dalliance inside maleness. And eight years after making the decision to temporarily modify my hormones, to possibly put a couple of gendered questions to rest, some trans friends of mine are giving me a shot.

It's the most exciting thing to happen to me all summer so far, and so of course with summer night drinks with friends I've excitedly told them about this new development in my life.

Okay, so I've had trans friends for ages, I mean, ever since I was in youth groups. I knew shit came at you for being trans, transphobia, yes, I thought I was really prepared for it. I also somehow thought that because I have educated and informed myself about transgender politics, I dunno, everyone else would have done the same thing.

Anyway, people have really freaked out about me getting this shot. They've challenged me on my gender, some people even said I wasn't butch. They've tried to talk me out of it. Some people have said they don't want to hear about how it goes. They've demanded to know what my body is going to look like after having one shot (this is a strange one, because my body is my own business). I'm just being an open honest dude about it and realizing that my openly transgendered butch status is turning me into an Other on a daily basis, with weird taunts about why in the world a nice girl like me would have a shot of T.

We decided we would do it this weekend, and I'm seeing them tonight. I'm a little intimidated by the needle, more so than what's going to take place in my body. The last time I got a needle in the butt was just before they strapped me down in four point restraints for three and a half hours. Soooo, being a leathergirl, of course I have to re-enact the scene to reclaim that moment in my life. My friends aren't tying me up, but we'll probably have a nice chat about boy hormones and ladies and things of that nature. It's an inch and a half long intramuscular injection, and apparently it can really hurt. I can take it, but that doesn't make me like it any.

This is an experience I just have to have in my life, a chance to see what difference, if any, having testosterone in my body makes. It comes from a deep desire to understand and know the human condition. And even though people have been really vocal about not wanting me to do it, it is my own journey that I'm on, and this is just one of those destinations I have been planning for a long time.

I doubt I will decide to continue taking hormones, but then again, no one can say with certainty what the future holds.

Filthy Lady

I was plodding to the bath to wash away the day. My landlord was making the Canada Day rent rounds. I gave him rent money, then he said "The Fire and Health Inspectors came to the building last month."
"Oh," I say very innocently. Shit shit shit, that was just before the Big Clean of 2005. That was when I could barely make it from my bed to the door. It was awful, and the mice were having some kind of carnival in my boxes.
"Your apartment was filthy."
"I know, I've cleaned since then."
"I have to inspect it again next month."
Sigh. What I hate is that these "inspections" so far haven't come with any warning. I know bc tenants rights have changed with the Campbell government, but I don't know if the old rule that you had to give 24 hours notice still stands. For all I know he could drop in any time he feels like it. Like a Santa Claus with no presents.
But I'm embarrassed that he saw my apartment when it was at it's all-time worst.
At the same time, I am glad a lot of other tenants in the building have mental illnesses, so he doesn't turf you out right away or scream or anything. He's pretty decent overall.

Result Report

Candidate Name: Cuthand, Thirza
Candidate ID: cuthandt
Candidate Email: f-------@excite.com
 
Evaluation Name: Administrative Support Skills
Evaluation Date: 6/26/2005 7:30:25 PM Pacific Time (US & Canada)
Questions Completed: 43 of 43      
Elapsed Time: 14 Minutes 34 Seconds
Questions Correct: 35
 
Overall Score 81%
   
Scores by Level
Basic 88%
   
Intermediate 94%
   
Advanced 55%
   
Scores by Category
Administration 73%
   
Filing 100%
 
Math 70%
   
Spelling 83%
   
End of Report

(Thirza can change the world through proper filing!)