The picture is part of Saan's didgeridoo. The only part not a boring ocher yellow, really. It got sort of hard to see if you took a picture of the whole thing.
Saan didn't post last night because she was sick. She's still not completely better, but getting there.
Thanks to Menck, Saan discovered the statistics of her blog. Scary stuff, really. 846 unique visitors in 176 days, 4 visitors yesterday (when Saan was not there) and five pageviews. She has almost one visitor per hour, who does a tad more than two pageviews. What really had Saan confused was that there are people outside Belgium (and outside the *bleep*ing EU, even) reading this. After Belgians (okay, so Belgium has 93% of all visitors), people in the USA are the main group of readers, followed by Canada, and only then the Netherlands. More mind-boggling news is that the last place of known OS languages is shared by Belgian French and Russian. No offence meant whatsoever, but how the heck does someone with their operating system set on 'Russian' get here? Saan herself can hardly get here!
More completely unintersting Saan-news is that the doctor who will now officially remove part of her toenail forever will do so next Friday. Until then, Saan has to take antibiotics to kill the infection, and disinfect her toe into oblivion. The doctor has already promised Saan that she'll only hurt for two WHOLE minutes of the thing. Then the local anesthtic should kick in and they'll start cutting and scraping. Unless something majorly goes wrong, Saan should be back the same day. Her dad (who's already had the thing done) has promised her she'll be in agony for the following week. But, so far, the only known, real risk is that they'll remove the whole nerve, but not the whole root. Which would give Saan a tiny second toenail, to be yanked out painlessly every six months.
Saan didn't post today because her brother, after having agreed with her dad for it being the quickest and easiest way to deal with it, made Saan back-up and format her pc, and then had her re-install Windows. Still missing several bits of software, but at least Saan's back in control of the pc. Boo-yeah!
...Or so Saan's dad says. So, Saan, knowing herself, apologises for the lack of picture (she'll try again tomorrow). Things got wonky, Saan misplanned her homework, discovered a last bit of tricky homework in the end which she had overlooked and she did not take a picture of her plastic didgeridoo. Her sister says it's pretty, but Saan thinks her li'll sis has made hers prettier. Saan has one band with a mutated sun-like thingy. Her sister has two small bands and a very pretty-looking person-thingy. All in dot paint. Saan can't get the proper sound out (too much force, too much tension, according to Mr. Joeri from THIS PLACE) and her sis can play the basic drone that rattles your skull in a vibro-massage kind of way for two minutes before she bursts out laughing. The only gross part is that your breath condenses against the tube (which gets warm on the inside) and drips out. And the warmth of your skin causes the beewax (sharp edges are NASTY) to melt around your mouth. She got all the paint out, but her hands still smell like the wax. Now all that's left to do is remove the mouthpiece, spray 3 layers of varnish on, let dry, put mouthpiece back on (or ask Saan's grandpa for new wax from his beehives and mould a whole new mouthpiece) and play until Saan gets it right. Or until she can take her poi back out.
Her laptop is still not back in action, but the brother is starting to vocally solve the problem. Give it a day or two and he'll actually start on it. Or announce a formatting or new hard disk is in order.
They've announced more snow for tomorrow morning. Yesterday's snow's gone all melty on Saan.
And phisics is HARD. Someone keep their fingers crossed.
Okay, so Saan's rescanning her hard disk into oblivion (already one virus that survived the previous scans) and then transferring all files she does not want to lose to the external hard disk. Partly because the internet-provider said her pc was apparently sending spam and doing other less-than-pleasant stuff and that the internet will be cut off if she doesn't make it stop (so something's to be done and quick) and partly because, quite simply, she'll need to do it anyway. She knows what formatting means, she knows how her brother's 'foolproof' solutions usually take place (one click too much, a misplaced command and suddenly nothing works anymore) and even if her current budget would wholeheartedly agree with a new hard disk, her files would have to be ready for shipment. So she's transferring her files tomorrow, probably.
Happy news: the first snow of the blog has arrived! Okay, so it's half an inch and it'll turn every surface into a life-threatening death trap by morning (Saan lives on a 15% hill), but at least there still is some snow to enjoy this winter. If Saan has her way, the physics test for Thursday gets cancelled, she gets a few more inches of snow and she'll be allowed to build some snowwomen for once. Which won't happen, but happy thoughts are good thoughts. Saan could do with some as an EVIL, EVIL something puts her on the noisiest pc in the house while she's got a major headache.
More happy (okay, so more like 'laughable') news: Saan has a didgeridoo workshop tomorrow afternoon. She'll probably come home with a piece of plastic piping, dot-painted in lego-basic colors and the ability to imitate a soul in torment on the monster she'll have created. If she figures out how to plug in the camera or her cell phone, she might post a picture.
Okay, so all viruses have been shipped off to the Evil Virus Vault, where they can no longer multiply to their wee little, vile, black, malevolent hearts' content. The Ultra Much Work-stick has come through it all unscathed, so Saan's writings (About five years work, however bad, is a painful thing to lose to stuff like this) are luckily safe. Saan's WiFi is still turned off, because her whole system still refuses to believe she is the only administrator and thinks constantly rebooting if it has net access will make her agree on this. Two solutions are possible. A) The Juvenile Know-It-Alls' Approach: Letting her bro do some reasearch when he feels like it, in hopes of finding a solution that does not include hours of frustrating waiting and possibly loss of files. B) The Faster, Father-Advised Approach: Ship off all precious files to another pc and format hard disk. Re-install the operating system, the anti-spyware, the anti-virus, Winamp, Winrar, Winzip, all 'make the videos and sounds readable'-files, WiFi operator and Windows Live Messenger. Check if problem still persists. If not, cheer and ship back all precious files. If so, get rid (recycle) of entire hard disk and buy a new one, probably. And even though the front of Saan's mind is clamoring that B makes the most sense, the back of it is telling her to go for A. Tricky. ... When in doubt, follow the opinion of the crowd: insert poll and see what happens.
Infected! Part 2! + The POI adventure!!! Part six!!!
Okay, having discovered that the random reboot-thingy apparently works best with internet on, Saan checked if it had also taken over her WiFi station. It hadn't. Turning off the WiFi meant no internet. It did reboot while Saan was asleep, and then it got stuck before it had even finished starting up. So far, no reboot, 44 threats and 4 heals. Over 450,000 files scanned ( Where did all that junk come from?), more than ten hours of scanning.
But Saan didn't have internet today (and unless a miracle happens, won't have it for the next few days. That's bad karma for you and an apology to Philou for making fun of his internet-problems.) and it was a lovely spring-like day today, so she got out her tail poi and went spinning in the garden. No shocking new moves, but some control over the behind-the-back-past-the-ear move with the poi, and amazing overall control for someone who hasn't touched her toys for over two months. Only one hit, on the collar bone. Did knock the wind out of Saan for a bit.
So now she's banished the clattery-keyboarded pc in the kitchen (going crazy from the noise and typos as she types) and instead of pc-ing doing homework and re-reading books.
Another possible reason for the slowness of Saan's pc, apart from an overloaded hard disk, and (up until last week) never defragmenting the monster, (Denial is not just a river in Egypt and Saan's laptop is not an old piece of junk) was the fact that Saan's brother, now more than two years ago, did put anti-spyware software on it... but no anti-virus. After discovering she had something apparently controlling most important things of the pc and invisibly using IE, Saan's brother pretty much freaked. An anti-virus was installed and is still (now more than six hours later) scanning. So far, three files have been healed, 24 threats have been detected, most of them starting with 'Troian Horse'.
Saan has to keep it running by making sure the pc thinks she's still on it, otherwise it shuts down (together with the anti-virus) and restarts. It took her an hour, forty-five minutes, a full bladder and four victories of solitaire before her brother came up to see how it was going and realised that Saan didn't *have* to be behind the pc. Turning on media player and selecting a video of choice worked, too. Turn down the volume and, voila, no instant reboot, no japanese chattering on the background. If the virus scan doesn't solve the pc-domination, Saan's brother is going to look for a solution. Having their dad shout at him (for being an awful 'network manager' [Which the Saananian household needs, with its load of pcs] and not thinking of it after installing the other vital parts, like anti-spyware and an operating system) is apparently a wonderful motivator.
So, anyone reading this who has ever received a file from Saan after April 2005 might want to do a thorough scan with a decent anti-virus program. Just to be on the safe side.
This post was written on one of the anti-virus and -spyware-protected pcs, with its clatteringly loud, non-laptop keyboard, while Saan's pc was humming away in her room.
Yesterday evening, Saan's toe (she's really considering the remove-a-chunk-of-toenail-forever operation thingy. Anything to make the recurring agony stop) was nearly purple and hurt like a bitch. Now, it's slightly less purple and hurts like a bitch when you put even mild pressure on it. This morning, it felt like her body was deciding to explode the entire toe and be done with it. Saan put some ointment on it, didn't walk on it for a whole day and now it's slightly better. On the other hand, her ankle's decided to take revenge for the abuse the non-toe walk put it through and now hurts, too.
Continuing down that line of thought. Saan wanted some privacy (read: loud music without earphones) when using her pc, so she moved it to her room (god bless laptops, the devil take small hard disks). Discovery: wireless internet reaches up to about Saan's bean bag. Beyond that, there's her desk. Forcing herself herself and the pc in all kinds of kama-sutra-like positions didn't help: the internet stayed dead. Saan's solution was taking the chair, putting it at bean-bag height, against her bed, putting the laptop on, and using the pc from her bed. Now, her ribs, neck and back ache.unless she lies flat on her face, a bit of an impractical position. The more upright position feels like she's burning calories along with uninmportant things like ribs and vertebrae, though. She has to remember to put the pc away from the bed, since she tends to kick in her sleep.
Going on in the painful department, Saan has a didgeridoo workshop Wednesday afternoon. Which she's known for a few weeks already. It just got through to her this afternoon. And she's got a test on Thursday.
Next up is Saan's sudden desire for a Novello (or something laptop), since IBM gave up on the thinkpad technoglogy, which has become the only thing Saan can operate a cursor with. Apart from that, it's great minor pc-security: it takes some practice before getting the hang of the little red dot. But Saan knows next to nothing about pcs. She knows she should have a) more speed, b) 2.0 USB ports, c) preferably more USB ports than just one and d) quite a bit more than 27GB of hard disk space. Size of the screen doesn't matter all that much, as long as you can still read on it. And then there's finding a balance between it all that agrees with the balance of your average jobless teenager's savings. Which is another thing that's going to hurt.
Saan's schooldiary is one of the most deceiving objects anyone will ever come across. Apart from the cheerful holiday-pictures, cross-dressing twins, mini-game-screenshot and semi-witty sayings on the front, which give it a wholesome and non-threatening appearance, it's also stylishly understated in the proclaiming of homework, unless Saan has noticed she should really get started on it.
For example, today (well, tomorrow) it said: Geography: group project in (lay-out) Maths: Finish excercise Latin: the Usual
This is what it really said: Geography: Oi! That thing you didn't do shit for except laugh like a drowning chicken for an entire afternoon? Yeah, tomorrow D-day! Go to your pc and finish it! Maths: You don't get it and you still gotta do it. Life sucks, deal with it. Latin: Wow, lookee here, a whole twenty-or-so verses you should translate. Really, fifteen minutes work, twenty at the most. Go on, put it at the end. No pc-time until ten, I promise. Estethics: Print.
This is what happened: Geography: Saan spent an hour waiting for the file, then spent an hour fiddling with the lay-out until all links were un-underlined and black, all tab-spaces were even, all bullets were the same boring dash and the whole was a pleasantly readable font. Then there was half an hour of fiddling with the color of the WordArt of the front page until it worked. By then, someone else had gotten frustrated enough to type what had to go below it. Then she spent ten minutes wrestling the Satanic Printer-Scanner-Fax of DOOM into printing out the whole thing. Maths: Stare in confusion at the exercise for a few minutes. Press some hopeful-looking buttons on calculator. Find out the answer was 1 all along. Solve the entire excercise. Suddenly remember you only had to figure out the one. Latin: Wrestle down the heaps and heaps of papers. Translate the whole. Find out it's seven past ten.
Then she went to fill in the blog and discovered it was nearly half past ten, she had to get up real early in the morning, and she hadn't showered yet. So now she's going to get up eaven earlier in the morning to shower.
...Which is Saan's probably botched comtemporary Latin explanation as to why she will probably not be going to the Menck-Meeting (ooh, look, it's gotten capitals.) 'Et' can mean 'even if' and 'and'. Leaving the participium praesens to be either a noun or a form of a verb. She even looked up words which should bring over the meaning. The subject of 'timet' is not Saan. A digital cookie to anyone who can translate.
The only reason Saan used that particular verse of Virgil's Aeneid for her random rapage is because she saw it today in class, and remembered the translation before it got to the end. Might have shocked her teacher a little. Saan needs to take more initiative during Latin. Two verses in a mere fifty minutes were apparently unusual.Or maybe she was pissed that Saan told the end before they'd started that particular story. For those wondering: the priest gets eaten for spoiling the surprise. People get it wrong and instead of torching the great wooden horse, put there by people who have been trying to slaughter them for the past decade, they drag it in and throw it a party. But Saan was never one to comment on the intelligence of semi-important characters thrown into the storyline of myths.
Saan managed to play soccer, even with one of her toes bleeding and both of the big ones hurting like a preferably domesticated, canine creature of the female persuasion. She didn't feel sick at all in the morning, in her warm bed and not so very brightly lit room, but by the time she came home, her throat felt raw, her head was pounding, her ears were doing their funny ache-itch-tickle thing again and she would really have liked to sleep for a few hours. She didn't because her sleeping the day before had kept her from doing so during the night. Sleeping and hovering just above the edge of blissful unconsciousness just isn't the same when your sinuses have decided to slowly come slithering down your nostrils and turn your snot the color of earwax. She downed some fruit juice, ate three meals and discovered once more why she loves Latin: apart from being four hours of it, full of debate on political correctness and how prehistoric special effects took place, the translations are a rewarding and relaxing, if not hypnotic thing to do. One of the few things that gets Saan calm and ready to go to sleep, without going sleepy above her books. And they make her feel like she did this morning: not sick at all.
And Saan has to stop reading poetic translations from Latin to English. They make her sound wonky. Anything not sounding like Saan is the fault of translations like 'O tyrant love, to what do you not drive the hearts of men!'.
Saan is feeling sick. Infected ear- and throat-ways sick. Blocked nose sick. Headache sick. Five sneezes in thirty seconds sick. Four-hours of sleep right after coming home sick. Near-illiterate-sick, which proves to Saan that she's in the need of a visit to the doctor. Her parents think it's nothing serious, mainly because Saan didn't act too sick when Yif was here. And her lips look psoriatic. And she still has to go to school (soccer, first thing) tomorrow.
On the bright side, Yif dropped by, and she and Saan talked. Did some silly things. Giggled. Discussed didgeridoos. Made Saan's homework. It was fun.
And now she's going to make her schoolbag and try to sleep it off again.
Saan normally loves being proven right, but today it's sort of inconvenient. Yesterday she posts she thinks there should be more homework, today her diary gets messed up, she gets a few things to finish (and she could do the French bit. Half of the words in the translation exercise stopped having even a remote French counterpart, but Saan wrote down enough to prove she tried.) and Philou returns from the land of the dead. Also, her workbook for Frenchbook, presumed Eaten By The Evil Class Cupboard since early September turned up. Saan owes the cupboard an apology. One of her classmates had accidentally taken it and dumped it in her locker. So now Saan has two workbooks.
Now, on to Philou. First of all, it's probably neccesary to state that Saan appreciates everything he posts in the comments, but that means she'll have to A) go back and check for comments B) fix any broken links, images C) start paying attentiont to things like consistency and length of her posts. Meaning less sleep. Less time to mess around on the net. Less time to read. More time to spout nonsense, though, and her sole commentator's back, so there's two bright spots there.
Next, Menck (friend of Philou's) is proposing a get-together of all bloggen.be readers and writers HERE. (A link. Really. Don't miss it.)
Okay, continuing down the report-everything-that-she-didn't-already, Saan is glad to announce to Yif (if she still is reading this thing) that Saan is using her birthday gift usefully: the spinning cow-y bank has been dubbed Local Puppy Fund. All small change bothering people in their wallet may be dropped in. So far, according to the last counts, it contains something between 7,50-10,00. The number kept changing. All money collected by the time Saan gets a puppy will be used to sponsor it, instead of being taken from Saan & Sis' bank accounts. Big bro has announced he's willing to overlook the dog in exchange for an Apple laptop. He's jealous because Saan's sis is getting (a large part of the money for) one for her confirmation from her godfather.
Still not stopping that train of thought, because it's vague enough to hold up, Saan is happy to announce that her pc has been defragmented. She has eighteen percent of free disk space, but at least her pc has gotten a tiny bit faster.
And Cass has been revived for the moment. He's so far out of control that all he needs is Saan's fingers on the keyboard.
Saan bought a cacao butter stick after her dry lips were being stingy at school (okay, so pulling at the dead skin wasn't Saan's brightest brain wave of the day, but it was early), and it works, and it cost her less than the most basic labello would have. And it smells chocolate-y.
Saan is starting to feel a bit apprehensive. She hasn't had much days with loads of homework, like she used to have, lately. She managed to finish her entire weekend's homework in less than six hours. So either tomorrow she finds out she forgot about something major, or she'll keep on waiting for the other shoe to drop (for example, on her grades).
Saan has a phobia for insects and instect-like things like spiders. Except tarantulas. They don't hog the toilet and they go splat if they fall from the table. Anyway, it's bad enough to merit hysteria in the Belgian butterfly gardens and a few months of therapy. Which paid off! Sort of, anyway. Saan's still not fully appreciative of the good things the creepy buggers do for our world, but she can be in the same room as one under the general rule of it leaving Saan alone. Then she either runs screaming, or gets her choice of extermination.
And then H. asked if she wanted to come to the National Museum for Middle-Africa with her, to go see an exposition on exotic butterflies. Saan went, despite visions of big hairy bodies with too large wings trying to sit on her. Lucky for her, they were all dead, and she didn't have to touch them.
She's glad to inform the still ignorant part of the readers that Belgium has--since a few months--a very rare kind of female moth (The girls play hard to get high up in the trees and the guys live down low, so the boy-moth is much easier to get a hold of), bought right of the net. Price not mentioned, but since they had to ask permission of the Museum-Bossman, it probably wasn't cheap. There also were butterflies the size of mosquitos, caught, determined and prepared on site, because they were too something to ship to Belgium. And the Belgian collection of hollotypes (of butterflies, anyway) has been put on line, so they don't get destroyed in the process of mailing them somewhere. Pictures with a higher resolution can be requested and will be happily sent for scientific purposes.
The day started off with looking at the rows upon rows of butterflies stocked there (They had about 6 million insects, if Saan didn't mishear, and about half a million were butterflies) in high cupboards. Then you could prepare your own butterfly (age: 18 in May), which Saan didn't. The guy giving the workshop on it was the only one not ribbing Saan about that, so big thanks to the guy who spoke French, understood Dutch, didn't make fun of Saan and who had a name she forgot. Lunch took place in a cozy but hidden restaurant across the street ('T Spoorloos Station), and then they were off to the main museum for the exposition. There was some 'scientific' research: shoving insects and butterflies under microscopes. Saan's general inability to handle the things disfunctioned and she actually got to see some facet-eyes up close, and the scales of the butterflies. Woohoo. If there's no post tomorrow, Saan is still hiding under her sheets with the flashlight. The exposition and museum were fun, if the nearly 100 photos taken with Saan's cell phone are any judge. Some were taken with an effect on it, some weren't. The 'Ik Heb Een Boot' song were really came to mind at the sight of the great big cano in the room next to the exit.
Okay, so today got Saan: -An enlightening experience -Some insight (Like: two-gendered butterflies exist and melanism is rare in moths, while albinoism is more common in them than in daytime butterflies, who have more melanists among their ranks) -A free meal and drink (No Fristi and spagetthi, but nice nonetheless) -Some social contact with a nice person -A few laughs (As in "Whee, a laughing warhtog!" and "How do you pronounce that one? Janetkat?") -A free bracelet. It's one of those gummy rubber affairs, and is now hanging onto her Miffy bag. -A VIP pass for today. Would-be importance is a very good way to draw teens to normally dull museums -A free lanyard to hang the pass on. It's so soft... -A real fake ivory-and-ebony giraffe with blue, real fake glass paste beads on a string for five euros. No rare trees or animals were taken down to make it and it's cute. Score! -The realisation that the therapy really helped. She wouldn't have done this even if you paid her in diamonds eighteen months ago.
Edit: forgot to spread the fun around with a picture. This monster was launched on the net at half past eleven in the evening.
First of all, there was chrisostemos today to look forward to. Eggs, flour, confetti, fireworks on a small scale, hair spraypaint, pranks that weren't really all that funny, but energy all round in general. Saan has just gotten rid of the last of the confetti by changing clothes. There's probably still some in her hair, though. People were talking, laughing, life going on. She also woke up at about half past two, when it started to snow.
And then she went home, and everything was wet, and the confetti got soggy and there wasn't anything to do. Even blog-land's dead. Her cell phone's nearly out of credit. On the other hand, the site works once more. Yay!
Saan's pc is acting up, again. She should probably have her brother take a good and long look at it, which won't happen for a few weeks yet. In the mean while, IE isn't feeling charitable enough to let Saan see her blog and is sniggering behind Saan's back as several web pages stop responding. One of them is the ready-part of the blog, so apologies if someone actually took the difficulty to read and leave a comment. Saan isn't ignoring you, her pc is just being its spiteful self.
Saan sort of wiled her afternoon away waiting for a classmate to come on line and share the results of the practicum with her. Someone showed up, but rather late, so now it's nearly eleven and Saan still has to clean up her room.
Okay, so the title was totally nicked from today's CYS. Saan doesn't claim any ownership of it, it just made her smirk.
Okay, today Saan happened to come across and use in everyday conversation: -The human hippothalamus... If that's the word for it. -An apparent pro-homosexual sex movement in her school (Saan would also like to state that she has nothing against gay people. Saan respects anyone who also respects other people. Gender, sexuality and color have nothing to do with that.) -Radioactivity. (She went to NIRAS. Pretty obvious, then) -Hair dryers and how much Saan hates them. Though the portable, travel one at home is tolerable. -The grandchildren of the lady who lives behind Saan. -Handwriting -Yif's birthday (which is today! Go and send her lots of happy birthday e-cards before midnight!) -Chinese (the language) -Justice between teenagers at home (okay, so it was more like Saan acknowledging that what she did wasn't fair. She didn't stop doing it, but she at least was aware of the fact that it was a nasty thing to do)
Strange things flying through her mind were: -'Why the fuck am I using so many brackets these days? It's annoying' -'Whoo, look! Guillemets!' -'Gonna use a backpack, gonna use a backpack' -'Nope, two pigtails suck on her... Ah, shit, now there's two!' -'Stop talking nonsense!' -'Super-Saan today: mail girl!' -'I wanna buy Do a nice gift for her birthday... but more than 300+ euros is too much, probably'
Saan is munching on some cent wafers as she types, and enjoying that particular treat lots, hence the title.
She finished what Death Note fansubs were available on youtube.com and is now torturing herself with watching the live-action movie. Saan knows she isn't perfect, and she too makes errors but this is getting downright cruel. Crucial words, needed to form a cohorent sentence, get left out. Words change function, shape and amount to the writer's whim. True, there is always a desire for freedom to write chatever the hell you want, but there's also a desire for an understandable translation.
He was dying when the guy is still spasming away on screen is one of the minor errors. The question marks at the end of a normal sentence are also just minor annoyances. Three adverbs without a verb isn't minor any more. Saan knows translation can be a bitch at times, but screwing up or leaving it out doesn't help. Minor mistakes eat away at your grades (or, in this case, reputation) slowly and steadily, and don't really get held against you, but the bigger mistakes usually just make you look dumb. To twist around Do's words (and give an example of a common minor mistake poking Saan's eyeballs out): English isn't hard. The only conjugation most verbs have is the present, where you add an 's' to the end in the third person, singular. Missing that one is about as dumb as it gets.
More things bothering Saan (with comparisons to her favorite dead language inbetween the brackets): the fact that verbs do not have a particular time, and the past and present are apparently randomly interchangable (which you can do at certain times in Latin, but there's rules for that. Family dinners do not include blood-chilling suspense), the random adding and subtracting of auxiliary verbs (which you can do freely in Latin, by the way) even if there already is one in the sentence, freely messing up the complete structure of a fairly simple sentence (which you can do in Latin, providing it's to fit a metrum or to make your text 'prettier'), skipping of articles (once again, not a problem if you'd be talking Latin: it doesn't have any) and messing up the number (And it ain't dead poetry, so it's not allowed).
Thanks for reading Saan's moaning, see y'all next time.
Where did all that junk come from?), more than ten hours of scanning.
Anyway, it's bad enough to merit hysteria in the Belgian butterfly gardens and a few months of therapy. 
