Musing Interruptus

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, It Had To Be Done. Before I start, I need to warn you, if you don’t like my strange voices, if you are put off by poor imitations of accents, then please, tune-in next week. You’ve been warned. 

I'd like to welcome a special friend to the show. We've been friends for some time. Full disclosure, he just showed up and kind of let himself into the studio. Well, let me restate that, he was my lover, so this might get tricky. We're not really friends. It was actually a messy break-up. Before we get into this, you should know I am now great at breaking up, my track-record is pretty good. He is the toxic son of a bitch that complicated things. I mean, what the fuck Raúl, why are you just showing up here? I'm trying to do my show.

So, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Raúl, my former lover. 

You'll notice Raúl, there was no aplause, just sit down and let's get it over with.

Raúl-Yes, of course. That phrase brings back some memories, ehhh Renée!!! Ehh!! Good times. Real good times. You just couldn’t get enough of ol’ Raúl, could you lil darlin’?

Renée- Shut! Just! So, what brings you here, Raúl?

Raúl-We'll, I'd like you to tell your audience why you decided to take me as a lover in the first place. I mean, something about me must have been attractive to you, your face can’t lie, everybody knows it.

Renée- yeah, alright. Um, next question, please.

Raúl - ok, ok, don't get your panties in a twist. Here’s a doozy of a question for you. Why do you do this little talk show?

Renée- it is not a talk show. It is a me show. It is a monologue that longs to be a dialogue. Just, not with you… 

Raúl- oh come on, relax. I just needed to see you, and you did dedicate that great song. Your ex-lover is dead. You were always the funny one. I know you were just kidding. I just needed to see your face again.

Renee- you are so fucked up. I meant it. I did love you. But you were more in love with my feelings for you than me, you basic narcissistic fool. 

Raúl- Yeah, but we had fun. Come one, for old time's sake, why do you do this Musing Interruptus? 

Renée- it is actually kind of sweet. My parents read to me almost every night. My dad was especially great at telling us bedtime stories. The whole ritual was wonderful. We would pick a book, and a world would unlock. He would change the story, make funny things happen, make funny voices. It probably didn't  happen  every night, but I don't remember those. 

Raúl-  funny voices you say? What do you mean funny voices??? Hmmm ok, how did you get from bedtime to whatever the hell this is?

Renée- Really,  after all this time you can't just ask a question without insulting me? Can you see why it didn't work out???? 

Raúl- i'm sorry, if you weren't  so sensitive this would be a non issue. I'm funny and your sense of humor is so selective. Can you get over yourself and answer the question? Must everything be a drawn out story?? 

Renée- Wow. I mean…. You are the one who seemed to miss me so much.

Raúl- your face, I said your face. You're getting older and wanted to get one last glimpse before you crone out. 

Renée- fuck you me potato head.

Raúl- you did. And as I recall, you liked it.

Renee- Jesus. 

Raúl- call me Raúl, it is better for all of us. Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, Spells and Incantations.

Opportunities to connect with others in this life are never as plentiful as one would like. So you can understand I am an advocate for jumping at and creating them. Some occasions must be hunted. Hiding how eager you are to share life over coffee or whiskey is part of a strategy to foster interaction. You don’t want to scare off your desired interlocutor. Other occasions must be jumped into, much like a big pool on a hot summer day. And, I’m not talking about an artistic and athletic controlled jump, I mean, running off the diving board, arms and legs splayed starfish style... Erratic starfish plunging and splashing water all over the place. After a few years of these episodes, I bet you can identify which I am. I am the jumper. Seductive mystery and stealth are not my strong suit, as much as I would love to think so.

When Marisol proposed to meet in my town, slumber party style, I couldn’t resist. The slumber party is the cauldron and the guests doing everything but sleep are the magic. We discussed what the evening would bring. Should we do our nails? Watch a movie? I thought about appropriate pajamas and underwear for the next day. Toothbrush, toothpaste, basic toiletries, my Kindle, my laptop (in case I could get some work done on downtime), a bottle of water, and her playlist.  That was my present for her, a secret compilation of songs I had made for her over the past years. The songs that took my thoughts to her. 

Marisol, the careful listener she is, considered the options on the table and then proposed we go another way when it came to the activities; a list of questions made famous on a sitcom showcasing very talented and neurodiverse characters. This proposal did not come without a warning. There is one risk in answering the questions, she explained, people fall in love with each other. So, I echoed Marisol’s words, once we know the answers to the questions, there will be no turning back. We were both in. A week, two weeks passed and finally, it was time to have our slumber party, bags were packed and expectations were high! That night, we talked about love, and life, broken hearts, bravery, the loves of our lives, the plurality, and beauty, our life’s work, our mothers, our fathers, our sisters, her babies. Movies that touched our souls and shifted our imagination. We fell to sleep and awoke several times, never skipping a beat. And then, with a nod, and knowing looks, I said the words that neither of us needed to hear out loud because we both felt and knew the answer. I asked anyway, as a way to mark the beginning. Like a spell. Are you ready for the questions? It was the perfect time, rain was pouring and the moon was out. We were surrounded by crisp air and hazy windows. Night had fallen and the elements were all there. She nodded and spoke the final phrase of the incantation, we both answer each question. We nodded and proceeded. I had the list in my hands and started asking. Over the next hours, we asked and answered only 11 questions. Actually, we never finished question 11, so I guess that is where we will pick up next time. I listened to her voice and her words. I was a little girl, holding her hand in some of the stories, being brave next to her and her next to me. Our souls were there, pure, fearless, and trusting. We played our memories for each other, describing feelings, remembering words, and recreating dialogues. [...] Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, It Was Bigger in My Head.

Oh, how expectations rise, and hearts accelerate. The moment of truth, the materialization of desire and all those dreams, sweaty brows, butterfly stomach and jackhammer heart attack. It feels like it is all too much. Four sleepless nights, strung together by incredulity and anticipation. What joy awaits! What adventures are in store? This is no question, but an affirmation, a certainty as serious as that dagger in your pocket.

What do you mean that isn’t a dagger… you are happy to see me then? How embarrassing, I didn’t bring you anything. Ahh yes, the letdown. The moment of realization that the other side has not met your level of expectation. This is why before international summits people talk, a lot, they ask questions, there are phone calls. Interests are laid out; floors and ceilings are at least insinuated. Sentences and phrases are crafted, there is a constant flow of suggestions, editing, and rewrites. Original texts altered, scandalously accommodating the interlocutor, to a point. Whoever has the reigns will not let the spirit of it die. A word here, a phrase, there, in the end, we all know who the theatrics are for. 

That is just one part of international relations. The projection of all which is national onto the international stage. The good, the bad, the naive, the nitty-gritty of human existence under all lights of morality. What it all boils down to are individuals representing interests; their own, adopted, or biological.

 Expectations run high when you meet someone for the first time. It can be devastating when you realize that you were not on the same page. A reflection of sloppy preparation and letting your head get the best of you. Sometimes we have to stop and ask the serious questions and be prepared for serious answers, like, who is that I just heard, was that your heart, or was it your penis? Tricky tricky little dicky. I think you all know what I mean. Being honest with oneself and true to one’s interests can be more confusing than you think, -because you think-. Because you are influenced by a set of standards, expectations and threatened by a strait jacket in case your thinking gets too free and true. Our sense of survival, as a species, is founded on the very prevalence of power of certain groups who are no more virtuous than you or I. Not asking, not telling can sometimes be a result of feeling intimidated, the person doing the intimidation is definitely getting something from your complicity, fake complacency, and silence. Other times it is just putting off a truth, resisting what your intuition tells you, because if you don’t face the truth, maybe it will go away on its own. I’m sure that works out very well, every time. But back to that dagger…
There are so many subjects we avoid uttering until the last possible moment, the moment when Veritas shines all over our faces, like projectile vomiting in a b movie and most likely proves that it was much, so much bigger in my head. Thank you for listening.

It can be mortifying, to say the least, being so sure of an outcome, and see everything fall in the opposite direction. What do you call that? Was it bad luck or did you spur yourself into a head-on collision with a truth you did not want to consciously face? I guess saying it was bad luck or just not in the stars is easier. Then again, the truth can sometimes be less jarring than the stories we tell ourselves. Tell me, I really want to know, what was bigger in your head than in reality? I’m listening. 

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, Who Cares About The Big Bad Wolf?

Just one thing before we begin, is the Big Bad Wolf the same in all stories? Is there a crossover between Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs? Tell me you’ve worried about this. Tell me you wonder if there is anything to it.  I’ve been thinking about the bad rep this canine, would-be foe, has amassed throughout the years and generations. I’m not sure I’m ok with the Big Bad Wolf’s marginalization from society. Furthermore, I wonder if we aren’t to blame, just a little. 

We’re all familiar with the story of the hermit turned beloved town friend, after just one person opens their heart and herd mentality ensues. FOMO you know. Fear of missing out. Although, FOMO sounds like it should stand for something else. I guess it is because it sounds like MOFO. Anyway, the hermit has a relatable backstory we can all get behind. So many questions pop into my head, what happened? Didn’t the hermit have any friends to comfort him or her? Why not? Did the hermit push them away? What about the public health system? I know the answer to all of those questions. People seldom think about what is going on in the other, their pains, and insecurities, nor do they think about the effect their actions, pains, and insecurities on others. We all have our limits and being pushed beyond them happens every day. In some cases, for sport. The trouble with the hermit is not living alone, it is society shrugging off the effects of their own doing. It is expecting anyone to be strong enough to withstand the worst humanity has to offer, starting with indifference. The thing is, that takes a toll on everyone, on their families, work, friends, inner circles, outer circles, public health systems, and economic development. One of our most terrible sins is to believe we are replaceable. I assure you, getting someone to push a button does not mean a person was replaced. This is what people say so you endure hardships, longer. 

How can we be so unkind?  Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, I Just Can’t Shake It!

When learning to meditate you get a lot of information that you aren’t supposed to think about when you are doing the deed of not doing anything at all. Did you hear me thoughts?! I’m talking about you! I don’t know if I’ll ever become a master meditator. Even if I did, I couldn’t prove it. I suppose if I did, I wouldn’t need to prove it. That is part of the point. Not having to prove anything to anyone. That is a work in progress.

Bottom line, I think I cheat when it comes to meditation. What the hell does that say about me? I’m going to tell you why. You see, I do a guided meditation. That means there is music and a soft, mellifluous voice telling me how to breathe and what to visualize. I love it. I don’t care if it is wrong. By the way, nobody has told me it is wrong. I just assume it is because I’m not under a tree completely and utterly achieving nirvana, all by myself. 

That isn’t the worst of it. Notwithstanding the abusive standards. There are double-agent thoughts and feelings that start off harmless enough. They might be sweet, exciting, addictive. Like a plant, you water it, visit with them, let your guard down, and that’s when it happens. Pow! Pum! Splat! Obsession. Thoughts are retraced, over and over again. Like playing a record. Except every time you play it, the grooves get deeper. Replaying the record becomes addictive. Like picking a scab. Don’t pick the scab. Everyone knows this, let it heal. No. pick the scab. It is so satisfying, if only, for the briefest moment. This is when you know the thought has turned on you, or was it actually you turning on yourself? Someone here is the double agent. Once you’ve realized this, you can make a resolution. You will stop the thought, in its tracks. You will practice mindfulness, I’m breathing, I’m breathing I’m breathing. I’m in my present. I’m not thinking about it! NO, I’m NOT! Until it is true. 

You’ve passed the hurdle. That was a hard one. That was a long one. There you are, just walking around life, doing things like a normal person. Whatever the fuck that is. But you are doing it and it is like vacation. Focus on life is back. It’s like it never even happened. Ohhhh, no, that is repression! A week, two weeks go by, and then, surprise, like a gunshot in the dead of night, someone says a word, unlocking the seductive double agent. Unlocking the door it was hiding behind. And like a tidal way, it just rushes over you, over me. The daydreams, the repetitive thoughts, the old conversations. The struggle begins at dawn. Like a duel, with the purpose of fending off the repetitive thoughts. Die thought! I pierce it through the heart, I cut off its head! Thought blood spewing everywhere, Tarantino-style. A tight close-up of the thought-brains dripping off my sword! And zoom out, it’s just me. Exhausted all over again. Too exhausted to cry, but I still do. Though blood all over my face and hands. For everyone to see. Like an ugly hat, like a really bad haircut. Shake it off, just shake it off. Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, Trash Can Diplomacy.

First quarter of 2017 was closing and I was ready to change my life, again. I was nervous and worried I wouldn’t be up to the task. I had been hired, phase one was accomplished. I remember pulling up to the offices and wondering about all the experiences I was about to have. That was the year of the 7.1 magnitude earthquake that lasted 20 seconds, and the devastation lasted a lot longer. Many of us still have aftershocks run through our nervous systems when we hear the early alert. I bet we can say that about a lot of situations in our lives. My time, especially at the end of my tenure in that position, is characterized by that. It is a wonder how our brains can heal and adapt. We never get back to where we started, but we do come back. 

The great experiences I had include writing letters, reports, and position papers.  I would start with a petition, nay, instruction, and a little backstory, then I would develop it, research and the collaboration would begin, my boss acted as my editor. She pointed me in the desired direction, polished my work, and built up the feeling that I was doing well. 

I can still recall my first assignment, I was asked to write a letter in which the chairwoman expressed her support for the Chilean candidate’s leadership in an international group. I researched the candidate, crafted the lines, and conveyed the compelling reasons he was the right horse to bet on. A day's work went into that letter.  By the time it was signed and sent all I could think was: that letter will never see the light of day. It would be read and the scoreboard would reflect the vote. I couldn’t tell you if that letter was really as special as I remeber it. I just knew that it would line the wastepaper basket, sooner rather than later. There are so many things we write, as hired hands, mercenaries, that have that very destiny. Who wrote it and what is behind it is of no consequence, whatsoever. Of course, the consequences come if it is not done correctly. A mishap in communication can break a deal and strain a relationship. I had always wondered if I would participate in diplomatic efforts, and here I was, baptizing a type of diplomacy nobody cares about, but it meant the world to me. My Trash Can Diplomacy.

Trash Can Diplomacy makes me smile and reminds me how rich the world can be with the right words, and oh the right delivery. Thank you for listening. 
What do you most enjoy about your work? What secrets does it hold for you? What truths have been revealed? Do you have a special name for scutwork? What phrases have you made up? Do you also think about trash pandas, I mean raccoons, of course, when you hear the phrase trash can diplomacy? I’m listening.

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, It Was Stolen.

Disclaimer: I, Renée Valentina, know stealing is wrong, don’t steal from people, it is not only morally reprehensible it is illegal. My stories are fiction. That said… 

I stole it for you. I stole this story for you, today. This happened, and it's not mine, but I’d like to think that since I partially inspired the deed, I can tell the story, so, it is partially stolen. 

She made gazpacho for the first time. She’s like that. She isn’t afraid to try recipes out when having people over. Some might say, stick to your best work when you host, others, the brave, like herself, will try out something new. 

I like people who take the time to design their lives, surroundings, and have hobbies and passions. You feel that when you meet people. All you have to do is start with a corner in your life and keep going. Before you know it, you’ve carved and designed a life for yourself on your own terms. It takes me a while to get things the way I like them. The balance between colors, smells, textures, sounds. We’ve discussed this before. Back to her, what I like about her is that she creates experiences for herself, her family and her guests. I was one such guest in her home. I was commissioned with dessert. As soon as I bought the cake I regretted it,  I would have loved to make her my tarte tatin. Especially after all the wonders that night had in store for us. Next time. 

I loved everything, the way she painted just one wall with lines and curves, like a plant reaching out from her atrium, just outside of the dining room. The light fixtures were awesome pet-like creatures coming out of the ceiling and her kitchen was designed to perfectly accommodate her culinary whims and fancies. Like clockwork, everything was ready. Her husband had paired each dish with wine, cheese, nuts, and music. The music was also perfect. I’m big on music, so I noticed. We sat down and ambrosia fell from the heavens, and as if that weren’t wonderful enough, story time began. This is also one of my favorite activities, scratch that, it is a way of life. So when the story began, I just let my head tilt to the left and locked in. 

It all started with a diagnosis and a list of foods she was no longer allowed to eat. Imagine a person passionate about foods, smells, tastes and having them limited. Well, garlic is on the list of forbidden elements. Forbidden fruits are delicious, stolen Allium sativum, hmmm… What is it? Is it a fruit? Is it a vegetable? An herb? Medicine? Does a stolen clove of garlic alter the taste of the gazpacho? It surely altered something. She told us how she secretly took just one clove from an undisclosed location. Had it been perfectly selected or did she have to blindly pick through the heads of garlic and snap-off a clove? Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, Let’s Have A Second Round.

What would you do differently the second time around? 

If you had a chance to live it all again, would you change anything? Let’s say you needed to erase a memory; just one. What if that were possible? What if you accidentally found a way to erase a memory that was attached to a cell of memories? You’ve gone and done it now, the memories of a certain person are gone but your reality still calls for knowing them. You don’t know it yet, but this has become an opportunity. An opportunity to meet one of your favorite people all over again. A relationship reset, but only on one side. 

Yes, I know, this has been done to death, amnesia, the amnesiac’s family goes through the motions of reintroducing the person into their life. The underlying care with which it is done, the safety net becomes a narrative of love and beauty. So, however done to death the storyline is, I don’t get tired of listening to the different ways and voices that tell it. Furthermore, how lovely to see a mind rediscovering a part of what makes our humanness worth all of the difficulties we have to face. 

So, it is you, you aren’t a passive observer, like in the movies (Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, 50 First Dates, Amensiac, The Butterfly Effect, Finding Nemo), no, you are living this, you are the protagonist. Like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you decided to erase something, mind you, you wanted to erase just one thing. From one moment to the next, it is gone. You don’t even know that you did it. Unknowingly, missing the past three years of experiences with someone. By your own hand, you erased a piece of your experiences that were tied to the others, you unwillingly unraveled the threads that held together your knowledge, understanding, love, and admiration of the other. You meant to erase just one memory, the most recent. If you were truly honest, you might admit that you in fact had considered wiping the whole experience clean. It would make everything easier. A hard reset was never in question. However, here you are. You accidentally wiped your mind clean of her or him. It wouldn't be a problem if the other side of the equation weren’t also invested in those memories. And that my friends, is the heart of the story of all our hearts. A complicitous soul.

You forgot this. You don’t know of the complicity and softness behind the actions of whomever realizes you have lost them, and they you. It isn’t a tragedy. It doesn’t have to be. It is a chance for one of you to rediscover everything, all over again. To be on the other side of the magic the other is unaware of, knowing what the outcome could be, the treasures and secrets encapsulated by the chemical reaction waiting to happen. The elements are there. The question of the tree that falls in the forest, having no one to listen to it, did it make a sound? Did it actually fall or was it placed there? By giants, of course. If you forgot everything that happened to make you feel a certain way, is the feeling gone? Can it happen all over again? Would you want to? You see, the bittersweetness of the love, the deepness of the roots entangled in personality, the way we see life, the new voice in your head and endless discussions and conversations, the narration and laughter that accompanies you, the thought that wakes in the mornings… Beautiful and exhausting. The chemical elements are there. It is all in the other’s hands. Accidental or not, instigating that chemical reaction is up to just one person. Continue reading

Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, The Tribe.

The voice on the other side of the telephone was tense. Her brother was calling, with only one certainty, she was being mistreated by her doctor and she needed protection. This was not a drill, it was happening and so many things were on the line, her right to breastfeed for one. She is his person, his haven, his friend from childhood, from home. He called me because he knew I would stir things up to help push the energy in her favor. He was sounding all the alarms he knew of. The doctor had told her the night before, right before her emergency surgery, that she would have to stop breastfeeding, and anyway, he said, two months was enough. As I listened to her brother repeat this, my teeth clenched up, my jaw tightened and my sight narrowed. —What do you mean, I said. The WHO advocates for at least six months, that is common knowledge. Her brother proceeded to explain that the doctor didn’t want her malnourished on account of breastfeeding, and his sister would not let anyone or situation come between her and feeding her baby. That was out of the question. As soon as we hung up I messaged the only two women I knew who would educate me on the matter and point me in the right direction. I was instructed on her rights, and without a shadow of a doubt, the word violence was pronounced. Who is the doctor? What is his specialty? The network was activated. Meanwhile, her mother activated her tribe. They came together like clockwork, women coming and going, caring for the baby, holding him through the hours of separation and waiting, finding out everything they could on baby formulas, breast pumps, bottles, sterilization pots, and visitation timetables to get the baby to his mother and breastfeed at the hospital, and they let their arms’ memory guide them and soothe the baby as best they could- Her mother was focused on soothing her own child, who was wounded and rallying as fast as she could from a hospital bed. 

A continent away, her doula called and coached her on expressing milk, on her rights, accompanying her from afar. Her friends and cousins relentlessly called and messaged, not at all surprised at how strong she was. Her brother, friends, and cousins gathering around her, spending the night by her side and her hospital surroundings, standing next to her as nurses and doctors came and went. Allies in the nurses made themselves known. The doctor said he would prescribe something to make her stop producing milk if she didn’t stop. The tribe pulled closer together. — No, you can’t do that, there is no medical reason to do that. And the pièce de résistance was sharply thrusted, slicing whatever his reign of terror was mounted on. Her aunt was informed, she immediately called her niece, got the information, and called her colleague. She called him out and informed him of her areas of specialization, pediatrics, and neonatal care, and that he should focus on his area of expertise. She put him in his place, she informed him, she was not alone and eyes in the know were watching very closely. After that, his behavior changed. He no longer threatened to strap her breasts or block her milk production. Ah, there was a way to bolster her nutrients and improve her diet. Continue reading.