NeuroFabulous Emojis & Text

Karen had always loved her husband Plankton. His mind was a bastion of order in a world that often seemed too noisy and chaotic for him. Plankton had a way of seeing patterns and connections that she never could. He'd spend hours meticulously categorizing his collections. It was his way of making sense of the world, a comforting rhythm she learned to appreciate. But today was one of those days where Plankton's brain seemed to betray him. It was a silent, unassuming morning until Plankton froze. His eye glazes over, and his body stiffened like a plank. Karen's heart skipped a beat, knowing all too well what was happening. Her mind raced as she quickly took action. She guided him to the safe spot they'd designated for these moments, a corner padded with cushions and devoid of sharp edges. His body began to convulse, a symphony of uncontrolled movements that didn't match the calmness of the surroundings. She felt her own heart race, her palms sweating, but she knew she had to be his rock, his anchor. Suddenly his friend Sponge Bob came in; he's never seen nor heard of Plankton like this before. "What's happening to him?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice quivering with concern. Karen took a deep breath. "He has autistic seizures," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed with stimuli, and it just... short-circuits." SpongeBob's eyes widened beyond belief, taking in the scene before him. Plankton's tiny frame jerked and tremored. It was a stark contrast to the precise, orderly Plankton he knew. "Is he okay?" Sponge Bob stammered, his hands waving in the air, unsure what to do. "Just stay calm," Karen instructed, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "These usually pass quickly. I need to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She moved swiftly, carefully placing pillows under his head. Sponge Bob nodded, his concern growing as he watched his friend suffer. He wished he could do something, anything to help. "Can I talk to him?" he asked tentatively, his thumbs tucked into his pants, fidgeting. "It's better to let him be," Karen advised gently. "He can't process much during this. But once it's over, you can." When Plankton's convulsions finally ceased, his body limp, and his eye flutters closed. Karen checked his pulse, sighing in relief when she found it steady and strong. She looked up at Sponge Bob, her expression a mix of worry and fatigue. "Just be there for him when he wakes up," Karen said. "He'll be disoriented. He might not understand what happened." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Plankton, trapped in his own mind during these episodes. As Karen tended to Plankton, Sponge Bob felt a surge of curiosity. With a newfound determination, Sponge Bob turned to Karen, his eyes brimming with hope. "Could he maybe like... can he understand me now?" Karen looked at Plankton, still twitching, but clearly drained. She nodded slowly. "He can hear you. Just keep it simple and soothing." Sponge Bob approached cautiously, his eyes fixed on his friend. He knelt down and took Plankton's hand in his spongy grip. "Plankton," he whispered, "It's me, Sponge Bob. You're safe now." Plankton's eyelid fluttered, a hint of recognition flickering across his face. Karen offered Sponge Bob a small, grateful smile. She knew how much Plankton valued his friendship. Sponge Bob cleared his throat, his words gentle and measured. "Remember when we played catch with jellyfish?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the best at catching them, Plankton. Your reflexes are so fast, it's like you're a jellyfish ninja." Karen smiles. Plankton's eye is open, but unfocused, as if looking through Sponge Bob instead of at him. His pupil is dilated, and his gaze is distant. Sponge Bob's heart swells with a mix of hope and concern. "Plankton?" he calls again, a little louder this time. No response, just the slightest twitch. He's there, but not really. Karen watches closely, a silent guardian making sure her husband doesn't slip back into the chaos that had consumed him. The room feels eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of sounds that filled their lives. Karen's eyes are filled with love and fear, a potent mix that's all too familiar. She's seen this before, Plankton's mind retreating into itself when the world becomes too much. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, trying to ground him in reality, but his friend's hand is cold and limp. "You know, Plankton," he starts again, his voice quivering slightly, "you're like a tiny superhero with a giant brain. Nothing gets past you." Then, as if a switch was flipped, Plankton's body starts to jerk again, but this time, the movements aren't the violent convulsions of a seizure. They're smaller, faster - tics. His head tilts quickly. Karen's eyes narrow slightly as she recognizes the signs. This was a common aftermath of his seizures, his brain's way of recalibrating itself. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle melody that pierced through the tension. "Just ride it out." Karen's eyes never leave his, her gaze a silent promise of protection and patience. She knew these tics were a part of his autism, a way for his body to cope with the overwhelming input. It was as if the world was too loud for him, and his body had found its own rhythm to try to drown out the noise. The tics grew more frequent, his head jerking in quick, spasmodic movements. Sponge Bob's grip tightens on his hand, his own heart racing. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew his friend needed him now more than ever. Karen's voice remained soothing, a constant in the storm of Plankton's neurological maelstrom. "It's okay," she said softly. "Let it happen." Sponge Bob watched, his eyes wide with concern. He'd never seen his friend like this before. The tics grew in intensity, Plankton's head snapping to a nod, his limbs twitching erratically. It was like watching a tiny, trapped bird, desperately trying to find its way out of a cage made of its own nervous system. "It's okay," Karen repeated, her voice a beacon of calm in the chaos. "These are just his tics. They're part of his autism. It's his brain's way of adjusting after a seizure." Sponge Bob nodded, trying to absorb the information. He'd known Plankton for years but had never known or seen him like this. Then Plankton's eye focused on Sponge Bob. A flicker of recognition sparked in the depths. "Sp...Sponge Bob?" he stuttered, his voice weak and tremulous. Sponge Bob's smile grew wider, relieved to hear his friend's voice. "Hey, buddy," he said. Plankton's head continued to twitch in a nodding motion, his eye blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on Sponge Bob's face. The tics were less intense now, but they were still present, a subtle reminder of the storm that had raged within him moments ago. Karen knew that this was the part where he'd start to come back to them. Karen explained, "The tics can last for a bit, but he'll be back to normal soon." Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand steadying as he watched his friend's eye refocus. He didn't understand it, but he knew Plankton needed time. As the tics began to subside, Plankton's hand squeezed Sponge Bob's in weak acknowledgment. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief crash over him. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice quiet and reassuring. Plankton's breathing grew more even, his body finally relaxing. The twitches gradually slowed until they were barely noticeable. It was like watching a tightly wound clockwork toy slowly unwinding. Karen reached over to stroke Plankton's arm, her touch feather-light. "You're going to be okay," she said. (my search NeuroFabulous)

"𝖮𝗁 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍.." 𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍? 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 '𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅' 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY v (By NeuroFabulous) Karen held Plankton tightly, his sobs shaking both of them. "It's okay," she murmured, stroking his back. "You're still my husband. You're still Chip's dad." Her voice was a salve to his soul, but the wound was deep. In Chip's room, the silence was deafening. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He had never meant to hurt Plankton like that. He had just wanted his dad to be like everyone else's. He didn't understand why it had to be so hard. Outside, the sound of Karen trying to comfort Plankton's sobs drifted under the door, each one a knife in Chip's heart. He had never heard his dad cry before, and it made him feel like the biggest jerk in the sea. What had he done? He didn't want Plankton to go anywhere. He just wanted all to be okay. He sat on his bed, his eyes blurring with tears as he tried to piece together what had just happened. His mind raced with thoughts of his dad, his hero, his rock, now a crumbling mess in his mother's arms. He couldn't bear to think of the pain he had caused. He stood up, his legs shaking slightly as he approached the door. Karen looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and tired, but filled with a fierce love that never wavered. Plankton was still sobbing into her shoulder, his body trembling with the force of his pain. Chip felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest tight with regret. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice small and shaky. "I didn't mean it. I just..." But the words trailed off, his throat thick with unshed tears. Karen looked up at him, her eyes brimming with a mix of love and disappointment. "Chip," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "you need to understand. Your dad can't just turn his autism off." She took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving Chip's. "And we love him just the way he is." Plankton's body convulsed with each sob, his fear palpable in the tiny room. He had always known his condition set him apart, but to hear his son say such things... It was more than he could bear. Karen looked at Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. "Chip, what you said was hurtful," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "But you need to know that your dad's autism is just part of who he is." Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his body slowly calming down as he heard Karen's words. He knew she was right, but the fear remained, a cold knot in his stomach. Fear of rejection, fear of being seen as a burden, fear of losing the ones he loved most. Chip's eyes were glued to the floor, the weight of his words pressing down on him like a heavy stone. He felt like a monster, a creature that had lashed out without thought for the consequences. He took a tentative step forward. "Dad," he whispered, his voice choking with tears. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's convulsions slowly subsided, his body still tense against Karen's embrace. His eye was closed tightly, as if trying to block out the painful reality. Plankton's convulsions grew less intense, his body slowly relaxing into Karen's embrace. His breathing was ragged, his antennas quivering slightly with each exhale. The look in his eye spoke volumes, a swirl of emotions that seemed to mirror the turmoil in Chip's own heart. The room was a stark contrast to the chaotic underwater world outside, the silence interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Plankton. Karen's gaze never left Chip's face, her expression a mix of love and disappointment. "Your father's autism is a part of him, Chip," she continued, her voice measured. "It's like his brain has its own language, and sometimes it's hard for him to translate it to ours. But that doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a dad." Chip felt a knot in his stomach, his regret growing with every word Karen said. He had never thought about it like that before—his dad wasn't broken or weird, just different. And he had hurt him so badly. "But I just want him to be normal," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why ca--" "Normal?" Plankton's voice was harsher than Chip had ever heard it. He pulled away from Karen, his eye blazing with a fierce intensity. "Chip, maybe you're the one who needs to leave.." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a plea. "This isn't helping." But Plankton's face was a mask of pain and anger. Chip's heart raced, his dad's words cutting deeper than any insult he had ever heard. "Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it." But Plankton was beyond reason, his emotions a swirling maelstrom of anger and hurt. "Get out," he said, his voice cold and final. Karen's eyes widened with shock, but she knew better than to argue with him when he was like this. She stood, carefully setting Plankton aside. He didn't move, just sat there, his body rigid with pain. "Come on, Chip," she said gently, her hand on his shoulder. "Let's give your dad some space." Chip's eyes were filled with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his father's pain. He didn't know what to do, his mind racing with fear and regret. He allowed Karen to lead him out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY i (By NeuroFabulous) Chip and his friend Alex go to the Chum Bucket, where Chip lives with his parents Karen and Plankton. Chip had been looking forward to this moment all week. His friend Alex, the new kid in school, was finally coming over to his place. Chip's thought about the endless possibilities of what they could do together. Would they play video games? Maybe build a fort? Or, if they were lucky, his mom Karen might let them have ice cream before dinner.. The door swung open. "Welcome to the Chum Bucket," Chip said with a proud smile, leading Alex inside. Karen looked up from her book. "Hi," Alex said nervously. Karen's eyes widened. "Oh, hello!" She hadn't been expecting company. But she put down her book. "You must be Alex!" Alex nodded. "Hi, Chip's mom," they mumbled. "Just call me Karen, sweetie," she replied, her voice as warm as a freshly baked pie. "You two have fun!" She turned back to her book, her screen dancing with curiosity as they climbed the stairs. Chip's room was at the end of the hall, but they weren't going there yet. "C'mon," he whispered to Alex, his screen sparkling with excitement. "I want to show you my Dad!" He led him to the bed room door. They tiptoed closer. Plankton's on the bed. Alex peered around the doorframe, their curiosity piqued. "Surprise!" Chip shouted, jumping forward. Plankton's antennas shot straight up, a mix of shock and annoyance. But Plankton didn't move. He remained frozen in place, his eye vacant and unblinking. Alex took a step back, concerned. Chip's excitement faded into puzzlement. "Dad?" he called out, nudging Plankton's arm. No response, not even a twitch. They both stared at him, the room silent except for the faint buzz of a neon sign outside. Plankton's body was rigid. Chip felt a twinge of fear. This wasn't like his dad, who was always bursting with ideas and energy. Alex's grip on the doorknob tightened. They approached the bed slowly. Plankton remained unblinking. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip asked, his voice cracking. He reached out to shake him gently. Plankton's arm was cold and stiff, like a mannequin. Chip's heart raced. He'd never seen his dad like this before. Alex's eyes widened in alarm, their grip on the doorknob turning white. They stepped back, exchanging glances. "Chip, what's going on?" Alex whispered, fear seeping into their voice. Chip's eyes searched the room, his heart racing. "I don't know," he replied, "but we have to do something!" He rushed to the bedside, his hands trembling as he touched his dad's face. "Dad! Dad!" Alex hovered near the door, unsure of what to do. "Should we get your mom?" Chip nodded, his voice shaking. "Yeah, we need to tell." They both bolted out of the room and sprinted down the stairs. "Mom!" Chip yelled, "Something's wrong with Dad!" Karen looked up from her book, her face puzzled. "What do you mean, Chip?" But when she saw the look on his face, she set the book aside and followed them upstairs. In Plankton's room, she paused. The silence was heavy, and the tension was almost palpable. She could see the fear in Chip's eyes, mirrored in Alex's wide gaze. They pointed to the bed, where Plankton still sat, unmoving. Karen took a deep breath. She had known about Plankton's secret for years—his autism. But moments like these were always difficult to navigate. "It's okay," she assured them, her tone calm and steady. "Sometimes Daddy has these moments where he goes into his own world. It's part of who he is." She approached the bed slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. Plankton's chest rose and fell with his breath, but he didn't acknowledge their presence. Karen placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and understanding. "Plankton?" she called softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. No response. Her heart ached for her husband, trapped in his own thoughts. She had learned over the years to recognize the signs of his episodes, but seeing him like this never got easier. Carefully, Karen sat down beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmured, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Slowly, she began to rub his back in small, comforting circles. Chip and Alex watched, silent and worried, from the doorway. Minutes ticked by like hours. Karen's gentle persistence never wavered. Then, almost imperceptibly, Plankton's shoulders relaxed, his eye blinking back into focus. He looked around the room, bewildered. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. Chip and Alex breathed out in relief. Karen smiled warmly, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's okay, honey," she said, her voice a lullaby. "You're back with us." Plankton's gaze found hers, his mind slowly returning from its solitary adventure. He looked from her to the two in the doorway, confusion etched on his face. Alex took a tentative step forward, their heart still racing. "Are you okay?" Plankton blinked. "What happened?" Plankton managed to ask, his voice scratchy from his silent reverie. Karen stood, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "You had one of your episodes, sweetheart," she explained gently. "But it's okay. You're back now." Chip stepped into the room, his eyes brimming with relief. "What's an episode?" Alex asked softly, their curiosity overcoming their fear. Karen turned to them, her expression gentle. "It's like his brain goes on a little trip," she said, trying to simplify it. "It's part of him. Sometimes he needs time to come back." Alex nodded, their eyes still glued to Plankton. "Does he know he does it?" they asked, their curiosity genuine. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand. "He knows, honey," she explained. "But sometimes it's like he can't stop it." Chip felt a pang of sadness, his earlier excitement now replaced with a deep concern for his father. He knew that his dad was different from other parents, but he had never seen him like this. It was as if Plankton had been taken from them for a brief moment, leaving a shell in his place.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY x (By NeuroFabulous) They stepped out of the car, the sand crunching beneath their feet. Chip looked over at Plankton, his heart racing with hope. "Ready?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennas lifting slightly. "Let's go," he said, his voice still tight. But there was a hint of excitement in his eye, and Chip felt a glimmer of hope. The beach was relatively empty, the waves rolling gently onto the shore. Karen gave them a beach ball and sat down, watching her family with a mix of hope and trepidation. Chip tossed the ball to Plankton, his eyes searching his dad's antennas for any signs of discomfort. They were slightly elevated, but not as tight as they had been earlier. Plankton caught the ball with unexpected grace, his antennas twitching with concentration. He threw it back with a soft chuckle, his arm moving in a fluid arc. The ball sailed through the air, catching the sun's glint before landing in Chip's outstretched hands. Karen watched from their picnic blanket, her heart swelling with pride. It was a simple game, but it was a bridge between them, a way to connect without words. She saw the tension in Plankton's shoulders ease slightly with every catch and throw, his antennas swaying gently with the rhythm of their play. Chip's laughter was like music, his movements uncoordinated but earnest as he tried to keep the ball in the air. Plankton's eye followed the ball, his antennas twitching in time with the breeze. The beach ball arced through the sky, a bright spot of color against the azure backdrop of the ocean. Plankton's gaze never left it, his focus unwavering. When it reached its peak, he lunged, his arm snapping up to meet it. The crack of the ball against his hand echoed in the salty air as it soared back towards Chip. Sand flew up around his feet as he took a step back, bracing for the impact. The ball hit his hands with surprising force, but he managed to keep it in play. Plankton's antennas waved slightly as he watched, his eye flicking from the ball to Chip and back again. His movements were precise, almost robotic, but there was something undeniably graceful about the way he played. It was as if the beach, the waves, and the wind were all part of a grand symphony, and he was the maestro conducting it with the flicker of a smile. Chip, on the other hand, was a flurry of awkward limbs and enthusiasm. He stumbled and tripped, but never lost his determination. With each catch, his smile grew wider, and his laughter grew louder. He was discovering a new side to his father, one that didn't need words to express joy. Their volleys grew longer, their movements more in sync. Plankton's antennas swayed with the rhythm of their game, a silent testament to his enjoyment. Karen watched from the picnic blanket, her heart full. For the first time in a long while, she saw a genuine smile on Plankton's face, one that wasn't forced or fleeting. But then, Chip's laughter grew too loud, too abrupt, and Plankton's antennas snapped back, his body tensing. Karen's smile faltered, knowing what was coming. "Oh wow!" Chip exclaimed as he made an impressive catch, his voice booming across the beach. Plankton's body jerked at the sudden noise, his eye widening in surprise. For a moment, Chip didn't notice, his excitement clouding his judgment. But then he saw Plankton's antennas flatten against his head, a clear sign of distress. His heart sank as he realized his mistake. "Sorry, Dad," he said quickly, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's eye blinked rapidly, his antennas quivering as he tried to regain his composure. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice strained. "Just... just don't do that again." Chip nodded, his own smile fading as he saw his dad's distress. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the excitement bubbling inside. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton had already turned away, his antennas drooping as he stared out at the sea. Karen's eyes met Chip's over his shoulder, a silent message of understanding and reassurance. She knew her son had meant well, but the sudden loudness had triggered discomfort, risking sensory overload. Chip felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He knew he had to be more careful, more mindful of his father's needs. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the urge to apologize again. Instead, he opted for a gentler approach, his voice low. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer. "Let's sit for a bit?" Plankton's antennas twitched, his body still tense from the sudden sound. He nodded, his eye not leaving the hypnotic dance of the waves. Chip followed his dad's gaze, the apology still lingering on his tongue. He swallowed it down, knowing it wouldn't help now. Instead, he sat down next to him, leaving a respectful distance between them. He watched as Plankton's antennas slowly began to rise, his breathing evening out. The waves continued their rhythmic dance on the shore, and Chip focused on their soothing sound, hoping it would calm his father as well. He knew Plankton was sensitive to noise, and he had forgotten in his excitement. He vowed to do better next time, to remember his dad's boundaries.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ii (By NeuroFabulous) "Let's go downstairs," Karen suggested, her voice still calm but with an underlying urgency. They followed her, leaving Plankton to gather his thoughts. Once they were in the living room, Karen turned to face them. "I know this might be scary, but you guys need to remember that Dad is okay," she began, her eyes full of reassurance. "It's just his way of processing things." Chip nodded, trying to understand. Alex leaned against the wall, their mind racing with questions. "It's like when you get lost in a good book," Karen continued, looking at Alex, "you're not really gone, you're just somewhere else for a little bit." Alex nodded, their eyes reflecting their attempt to grasp the concept. "But why does he do that?" Chip asked, his voice filled with a childlike innocence that masked his worry. Karen sighed, looking from Chip to Alex. She knew it was important for Chip to understand, but she wasn't sure how much Alex needed to know. "It's complicated, Chip. But what's important is that we're here for him." Alex nodded, still not fully comprehending but willing to accept the explanation for now. They could see the love and concern in Karen's eyes and knew it was something serious. "Okay," they said quietly. But before they could leave, Karen spoke again. "Alex, can I have a word?" Alex turned, their eyes meeting Karen's steady gaze. Chip hovered in the background, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Of course," Alex replied, their voice cautious. Karen's expression grew serious, her eyes locking onto Alex's. "You know, what happens here, stays here," she said firmly. "Your friendship with Chip is important to him. And his dad's condition...it's something Chip doesn't even know about yet I will tell him, but it's a bit personal. You did nothing wrong." Alex nodded, understanding the weight of what she was asking. "I won't tell anyone," they promised, their eyes sincere. Karen took a deep breath, appreciating Alex's maturity. "Thank you," she said, giving their hand a squeeze. "But for now, I think it's best if you head on home." Alex looked at Chip, who was still trying to process everything. "But... what about our plans?" Chip's voice was small, his excitement of earlier replaced by confusion and worry. "We'll have to save them for another day, buddy," Karen said, her voice soft. "But I promise, we'll make it up to you." She gave Alex a gentle smile. "Thank you for understanding." Alex nodded solemnly, their eyes darting from Karen to Chip and back. They knew they had stumbled into a situation that was bigger than themself, and they didn't want to cause any more stress. "Okay," they murmured, "I'll go." Chip looked up at Alex, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Do you have to?" he asked, his voice trembling. Alex forced a smile. "Yeah, I should get going. But I'll see you." They gave Chip's shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning to leave. Karen walked Alex to the door, her mind racing with thoughts of how to explain this to Chip. She knew he wasn't ready to understand Plankton's condition fully, but she also knew that keeping it a secret wasn't fair to him. As they reached the front door, Alex paused. "Is your dad going to be okay?" They asked, their voice filled with genuine concern. Chip hovered behind them, listening intently. Karen nodded, her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, he'll be fine," she assured them. "This happens from time to time. It's just part of him." Alex nodded again, their gaze lingering on Chip. "Okay," they said, trying to sound braver than they felt. "See ya, Chip." Chip managed a weak smile, his eyes still glossy. "See ya," he echoed. The door closed gently, and the house was once again filled with a tense silence.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iii ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs Karen turned to Chip, her face a mask of calmness. She knew she had to explain, but she also knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Let's go talk to Dad," she said, her voice steady. Chip nodded, his hand in hers as they walked back up the stairs. Plankton was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as they approached. "Daddy?" Chip's voice was small and trembling. Plankton's expression shifted from confusion to realization. He knew he had been somewhere else, lost in his thoughts again. Karen sat down next to Plankton, her eyes meeting Chip's. "Chip, sweetie, there's something we need to tell you about Daddy," she began, her voice a gentle whisper. Chip looked at her, his eyes full of questions. "What is it, Mom?" Karen took a deep breath. "Your Dad has something called autism," she began, her voice soft. "It's like a special way his brain works that makes him see the world differently than we do." Chip's eyes widened. "Is that why he did those weird things?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity rather than judgment, but that's not how Plankton took it. His expression grew defensive. "Weird things?" Plankton's voice was sharp. "What do you mean, Chip?" Karen's gaze softened as she saw the look of hurt in Plankton's eye. She placed a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Sweetie, it's not that he does weird things. It's just that sometimes his brain needs a break. It's like he goes on a little vacation without telling us. It's called an episode." Plankton flinched at the word, his antennas drooping. "But why does it happen?" Chip asked, his voice still filled with innocence. "Well, autism is like a different operating system for the brain," Karen explained, choosing her words carefully. "Some people with autism have moments where their brains need to recharge or process information in a way that's unique to them. It's not weird or wrong, just different." Chip looked from Karen to Plankton, his mind racing with questions. "So my dad's just being... special?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation. Plankton's gaze fell to the floor, feeling patronized and belittled by Chip's curiosity. "In a way, yes," Karen said, her voice soothing. "But it's not something to be ashamed of. It's part of who Daddy is, and it makes him special in a lot of wonderful ways." She took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But it can also make things difficult for him, like today." Chip nodded slowly, trying to digest the information. "Does that mean he won't ever be able to play with us like other dads?" His question, though unintentionally, was laced with a hint of disappointment. Plankton's eye narrowed, and he felt the sting of microaggression in his son's words. "Chip, I can play with you. It's just sometimes I need to be by myself, okay?" His voice was tight, the frustration of years of misunderstanding bubbling to the surface. Karen intervened, sensing the tension. "Chip, Dad's episodes are just part of who he is. He loves you very much, and he'll always be here for you." But Chip's mind was racing. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with his dad. He looked at Plankton, his confusion and fear evident. "But why does he have to be like this?" Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Chip," she said gently, "it's not a choice. It's just how Daddy's brain is wired. It's not something bad, just different." Chip frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought. "But why can't he just turn it off?" He didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but the concept of his father being 'different' was still difficult to grasp. "Why's he gotta have this...this thing? I mean, if it makes him sick, why do we have to keep hanging out with him?" The words were out before Chip could even realize the impact they would have. Plankton's eye snapped up. A wave of fury washed over his face, his small form seemingly growing in size as his autistic mind processed the unintended slight. "You think I'm sick?" he roared, his voice echoing through the room, the walls seemingly trembling with his rage. The sudden outburst startled Chip, his eyes going wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before—his usually quiet and introspective father now a whirlwind of raw emotion. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent warning to tread carefully. "No, Chip," she began, her voice firm but calm. "Autism isn't an illness. It's not something Daddy can just turn off or ignore." But Plankton's fury was unyielding. He stood up, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his anger. "You think I'm a burden?" he shouted, his voice shaking the very air around them. Karen's eyes flashed with a protective flame, her grip on Chip's shoulder becoming almost painful. "Chip, you need to apologize to your father," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. Chip looked up at her, his own anger building. "Why? I just want a dad who's normal!" His voice was laced with frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be like everyone else's dads or else leave?" The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud, heavy with ableism and pain. Karen's face fell, her heart breaking for Plankton. "Chip, that's not fair," she said, her voice a mix of disappointment and sadness. "Your dad can't just change who he is because you don't understand." Plankton's face was a storm of emotion. He looked from Karen to Chip, his anger fading to something deeper, something more profound. It was the look of a man whose entire world had just been questioned by the person he loved most. "You think I'm not good enough?" he whispered, his voice shaking with barely contained hurt. Karen's eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking for her husband. "Chip, that's not what you meant," she began, but Plankton cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Let him speak," he said, his voice deflated. "Let him say what he really thinks." His gaze was unblinking, a challenge in his eye that Chip didn't quite understand. Karen took a deep breath, her heart breaking for the both of them. "Chip," she started, her voice steady despite her tears. "You know we love your dad just the way he is, right?" But Chip's anger and confusion were like a dam that had burst. "Yeah, but why does he have to be like this?" he demanded. "Why don't you just get me a better dad?" The words were like a slap in the face, and Plankton's eye widened in shock. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened, but she didn't say a word. She knew this was something Chip had to work through on his own. "Better?" Plankton's voice was hollow, echoing the emptiness in Chip's heart. "What makes a 'better' dad, Chip?" Chip's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "One who can play with me without getting stuck like a broken toy!" he shot back. "Even Mom doesn't want you around when you're like that!" The accusation hung in the air like a sword, slicing through the tension. Plankton's antennas drooped, his eye reflecting a deep hurt that Chip couldn't comprehend. "Is that what you think, Karen?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Karen's eyes snapped to Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. "That's not what anyone thinks, Chip," she said firmly. "Your dad is a wonderful person. And he's the only dad you've got." But Chip's frustration had taken over. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've picked a dad who actually deserves to be here," he spat, his words dripping with accusation. "May be we'd be happier if we could just start over without the 'autistic' baggage and get someone who doesn't need to be babysat all the time. Or better yet, maybe we should just get rid of him." His voice was harsh, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of pain and confusion. The room fell silent, the air thick with the tension of unspoken truths and misunderstood pain. Karen's hands were trembling, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "Chip, you can't say things like that," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's expression was unreadable, his body rigid with the weight of his son's accusations. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "Do you wish I was gone?" Karen's grip tightened on Chip's shoulder, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "Chip, that's enough!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean that!" But Chip's rage was like a wildfire, spreading uncontrollably. "Maybe we would!" Chip shouted, his voice echoing through the room. He didn't know where these words were coming from, but they felt like a release from the pressure cooker of his thoughts. "Maybe if you weren't around, we could be a real family! Even Mom wouldn't have to pretend everything's okay all the time, because she's too nice to go out and get a husband instead of being a burden she has to take care of like a parasite!" The moment the words left his mouth, Chip felt a deep pang of regret. But the damage was done. Karen's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Plankton's antennas quivered, his face white as a sheet.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, full of pain and anger. "How could you say such a thing?" Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears, his body trembling as he stared at his son, his mind racing to process the hurtful words. "Maybe I am a burden," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost in the heavy silence. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened. "That's enough," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't mean that, Chip." But the look on Plankton's face told her that the damage was done. Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to say those things, but the anger and confusion had just spilled out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye, the same eyes that had looked at him with love and pride so many times before. He felt a lump form in his throat, his cheeks burning with guilt. "Dad, I'm, I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Plankton's gaze was unflinching, his hurt palpable. Chip looked at his dad, his heart racing. He could see the pain etched on Plankton's face, the way his antennas drooped. "I didn't mean it," Chip stammered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry." The silence was deafening. Plankton's eye searched his son's, looking for any hint of sincerity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You've never seen me as a burden before." The words were like a knife twisting in Karen's heart. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched the exchange between her husband and son. She had always tried to shield Chip from the harsh realities of Plankton's condition, but now it seemed those efforts had only created a chasm of misunderstanding. "Chip," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "you know that's not true. Your father is not a burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a loving husband, and the best dad we could ever ask for." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. "But sometimes it feels like it," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, trying to understand his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has their own challenges. Daddy's just have to do with the way his brain works. It doesn't make him any less of a person or a dad." But Chip's frustration remained, his voice cracking. "But why can't he just get better?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a desperation that neither Karen nor Plankton had ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then why do we have to keep him around?" Karen's heart sank as she watched the conversation spiral out of control. She knew that Chip didn't mean what he was saying, but the hurt on Plankton's face was real. But Chip wasn't listening. His thoughts had turned to a darker place, one fueled by his desperation for normalcy. In a moment of cruel manipulation, born out of fear and frustration, he looked up at Plankton. "Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but gentle, "autism isn't something that can be fixed. It's part of who your dad is. And we..." But Chip cut her off, his voice driven by a desperate anger that surprised even him. "If you can't play with me, if you can't be a real dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here at all," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Maybe we should just... "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip, that's enough!" she snapped. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions—his frustration, confusion, and fear of the unknown had led him to a dark and dangerous place. Plankton looked at his son, his eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip," he began, his voice shaking, "you don't mean that. I'm your father. I love you." But Chip's anger had turned to a cold resolve. "It's for the best," he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you can't be a real dad, then maybe it's time for you to go." The words hit Plankton like a freight train. He felt the air leave his lungs, his antennas drooping further than ever before. "Chip," he choked out, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?" Chip's eyes were cold, his face a mask of determination. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't be here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just weren't around anymo-" He was cut off by a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Chum Bucket—a wail so deep and mournful that it seemed to echo through the very fabric of their lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body wracked with sobs that seemed too large for his frame. Chip had never seen his dad cry before, and the sight of it made him feel small, his words weighing on him like an anchor. Karen's grip on his shoulder loosened, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and despair. She moved to comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping around him as he collapsed into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's okay." Chip stood there, watching his parents, the gravity of his words finally sinking in. He had never seen his dad like this before—so weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt shot through him, and he felt the weight of his own cruelty. Plankton continued to sob, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen looked up at Chip. "Your dad needs us right now," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Please, go to your room and think about what you've said." Her eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but mostly, she looked disappointed. Chip nodded, feeling the full weight of his own words crash down on him. He turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last as he went to his own room.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vi (By NeuroFabulous) Outside, the corridor was cold and empty, the neon lights of the Chum Bucket flickering above them. Karen's eyes were filled with a sadness that Chip had never seen before. "Why did I say those things?" Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Karen took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Your dad's autism is life-long," she said, her voice shaky. "It's not something that you can just ignore or wish away." Her hand rested on his shoulder, warm and comforting. "But it doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a father. He loves you so much, Chip. More than you'll ever know." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the floor. "But I hurt him," he said, his voice a whisper. "I don't know how to take it back." Karen's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You will," she assured him, her voice steady despite her own emotions. "You'll learn to understand, and you'll tell him you're sorry. But right now, let's just give him some space." They walked down the corridor, each step echoing in the silence. "But why does Dad get so upset?" Chip asked, his voice still shaky. "Is it becau…" "His emotions can be intense," Karen explained, her voice gentle. "It's part of his autism, Chip. Sometimes, things that seem small to us can feel really big to him." She paused, her gaze distant as she searched for the right words. "Imagine if someone kept turning the lights on and off while you were trying to read a book. It's like that for him, but with sounds, and feelings." Chip frowned, trying to comprehend. "But why does he get so mad at me?" His voice was small, filled with a sadness that tugged at Karen's heart. Karen sighed, her eyes full of empathy. "Your dad's brain works differently, honey," she said, her tone soft. "Sometimes things can be overwhelming for him. And when he's overwhelmed, his feelings can get really big, like a wave that crashes down and covers everything." She paused, considering her words carefully. "It's not because he doesn't love you. It's just how he deals with things." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes still red and swollen from crying. "But why does he freeze up?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like he's not even there." Karen's gaze softened, her hand still on his shoulder. "Sometimes, his brain gets too full, and he ends up having an absence seizure, where he just sort of... goes away for a bit. It's like his brain is taking a quick vacation," she said, trying to make it relatable for Chip. "But he's always right here." Chip looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "But why does he do that?" he whispered. "Is he okay?" Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, her eyes full of warmth. "It's a part of his autism, sweetie," she said, her voice soft. "When things get too much, his brain automatically just... takes a break. It's not something he does on purpose, it's just his body's way of coping." "But it scares me," Chip admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "It feels like he's gone." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with understanding. "I know it's scary, honey," she said, her voice soothing. "But it's important to remember that it's just his brain taking a little break. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you or isn't there for you." "But how do I know when it's going to happen?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need to understand, to control the chaos his father's condition had brought into his life. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes full of compassion. "You can't always know, Chip," she said gently. "But you can learn to recognize the signs." Her hand slid down to his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "When he starts getting upset, or if you see him getting overwhelmed, that's when you know he might need some space or a quiet moment to regroup." "But why does he hate hugs?" Chip's question hung in the air, filled with the innocence of a child seeking understanding. Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not that he hates hugs, Chip," she said, her voice gentle. "It's just that sometimes, certain textures or pressures can be really overwhelming for him. It's like if someone was tickling you non-stop, even when you asked them to stop—it would drive you crazy, right?" Chip thought about it, nodding slowly. "But I don't get it," he said. "Why can't he just get used to it? I've seen you hug..." "It's not that simple," Karen interrupted gently. "I know you don't understand, but hugs can be really difficult for your dad. His body can't always make sense of the sensation, and it can feel like too much all at once." Chip frowned, his eyes searching hers for answers. "But both of you hug each other," he pointed out. "Why.." "It's different for me," Karen said, her voice soft. "Your dad's senses are like a radio that's always tuned in too loud. Sometimes, when we hug, it's like turning the volume down just enough for him to handle it." Her smile was sad but patient. "It's taken us years to figure out what works for us, Chip. Everyone's different, even with autism." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But what do I do when he doesn't want to hug?" he asked, his voice tentative. "What if I just want to show him I love him?" Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the raw emotion beneath the surface. "You can show him in other ways," she said, smiling gently. "Words, or just sitting near him, or even just being patient with him when he's having a tough time." Chip considered this, his brow furrowed in thought. "But I want to make him happy," he said, his voice earnest. "How do I do that?" Karen's smile was sad, but understood. "You do that by loving him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "By accepting him for who he is and not trying to change him. By being patient when he needs space, and by being there when he's ready for company. He does enjoy helping you with your experiments, doesn't he?" Chip nodded, remembering the times his dad had been most engaged and happy. "Yeah," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He's the best at science." Karen's smile grew a little wider at this. "That's because his brain works differently," she said. "Sometimes, the way he processes information can make certain things easier for him to understand and enjoy." "But what if I don't know what to do?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need for guidance. "What if I make him upset?" Karen looked into her son's worried eyes and took a deep breath. "You'll learn, Chip. We all do. Your dad has his own ways of communicating, even if they're not always verbal. Sometimes, it's just about paying attention." "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes searched hers. Karen took a moment before answering, her gaze drifting to a spot over his head. "Look for the little things, Chip," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Like how his antennas move, or the way his eye looks. Sometimes, his body will tell you more than his words can. I know when he's happy because his antennas perk up and his eye twinkles." Chip watched her intently, his mind racing with questions. "What about when he's sad?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's gaze softened, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. "When he's sad, his antennas drop down," she said. Chip nodded, his eyes studying her intently. "And when he's mad?" Karen's expression grew more serious. "When he's angry, his antennas might go stiff and his brow can get really rigid," she explained. "It's his way of saying 'I'm overwhelmed, and I need you to back off.'" Chip nodded slowly, taking it all in. "And when do you know how he'd like to accept a hug?" Karen looked thoughtful. "Well, his body language will give you clues," she said. "If his antennas are relaxed and pointing slightly towards you, it might mean he's open to one. But always ask, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. "How do I tell if he's uncomfortable with touch?" he asked, his eyes wide with concern. Karen squeezed his hand. "Look for the signs," she said. "If his body stiffens or his antennas pull back, it's usually a clue that he's not enjoying it." She smiled softly. "But remember, everyone's different, even within the spectrum. What works for one person with autism might not work for your dad." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "But what different types of touch..." "It's all about sensory input," Karen said, cutting him off gently. "Some textures and sensations might feel like sandpaper to him, while others might be soothing. It's a delicate balance, and it's different for everyone. But for your dad, he often prefers gentle, predictable touches. Like a soft touch on the arm. But he tends to dislike sudden hugs or pats on the back, or a squeeze of the shoulder." Her eyes searched Chip's, looking for any signs of doubt or confusion. "But always ask before you touch him," she added. "It's important to respect his boundaries." Chip nodded, his mind racing. "But what if he doesn't say anything?" he asked. "How will I know?" Karen sighed, her eyes reflecting the years of experience. "That's the tough part, Chip," she admitted. "Sometimes, your dad can't find the words. But if you pay close attention, you'll see the signs." "Signs?" Chip's voice was filled with uncertainty. Karen nodded solemnly. "When he starts to get overwhelmed, his body will show it," she said. "His antennas might jerk, or his eye might dart around the room. Sometimes, he'll repeat words or phrases over and over, like he's trying to find the right one to express how he feels."

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip listened intently, his heart heavy with the realization that his father's world was so much more complex than he had ever imagined. "What do I do..." "When you see those signs," Karen said, her voice filled with patience and love, "you need to give him space. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there for him, without expecting anything in return." Chip nodded, his eyes still swollen with tears. "But what if he needs help?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's expression was a mix of love and concern. "If he's having a seizure, it's important to keep him safe," she said, her tone serious. "Make sure there's nothing around that he could hurt himself on, and don't try to move him unless he's in danger." She paused, taking a deep breath. "And never put anything in his mouth. It can be really scary to watch, but he'll come out of it, I promise." "How will I know if it's a seizure?" Chip's voice was shaky, fear gripping him. Karen took a deep breath, her expression turning serious. "If he just stops talking or moving suddenly, and his eye glazes over, it's probably a seizure," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Sometimes he'll stare off into space, or his body might get really stiff for a moment." She paused, squeezing his hand. "But remember, his brain is just taking a little vacation, okay? And if he convulses or starts to fall, you have to catch him and guide him to the floor safely. It's really important that he doesn't get hurt." Chip's eyes were wide with fear, but he nodded, determined to be there for his dad. "What if..." "If it's a bigger seizure," Karen said, her tone gentle but firm, "you'll know. His whole body might shake, and he could fall to the floor." Her grip on his hand tightened. "If that happens, you need to stay calm. Alert me, and make sure he's in a safe place where he won't hurt himself." With a nod, Chip tried to absorb the information, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and determination. He didn't want his dad to go through that alone. "Okay," he murmured. Karen gave his hand a final squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't we check on him?" she suggested, her voice tentative. "Let's see if he's ready to talk." They approached the bedroom. "Remember, sweetie," she whispered. "Let him set the pace." The door was ajar, letting a sliver of light spill into the hallway. Through it, Chip could see his father, still sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennas slumped in defeat. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of his father's shallow breaths. Karen knocked gently, her voice soft. "Plankton?" There was a moment of silence before they heard a sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's voice was barely audible. Karen pushed the door open, letting Chip step in first. Plankton's single eye was red and swollen from crying, and he was clutching a worn pillow to his chest while rocking in place. Karen's heart ached at the sight of her husband's distress, but she knew better than to rush in. Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod, encouraging him to go first. Chip took a tentative step forward, his eyes on Plankton's small frame. He had never seen his dad so vulnerable before, his usual bravado and strength nowhere to be found. Plankton looked up at him, his eye searching, his antennas drooping. For a moment, the room was so quiet that Chip could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. With a deep breath, he moved closer, his heart racing. He knew he had to fix this, to somehow make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's gaze was unreadable, his antennas lying flat against his head. "You don't get it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You'll never get it." The words stung Chip, but he knew his dad wasn't mad at him. It was frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled to express without it coming out as anger. He took another step closer, his eyes locking with Plankton's. "I want to," he said, his voice earnest. "I want to understand you, Dad." Plankton's antennas twitched, a small sign that he had heard, that he was processing the words.

FIVE Senses to ground yourself 5 things you See (eyesight) 4 things you Hear (listening) 3 things you Feel (touch) 2 things you Smell (scent) 1 thing you can Taste

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ 🍓 ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ 🍓 ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ ꔛ ۫ ✿ (๑`^´๑)🎀⭐️もっと♥ ＧＯ！ＧＯ！🎀⭐️ ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ 🍓 ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ 🍓 ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

🌟 Understanding Retinoblastoma 🌟 Did you know? Retinoblastoma is a rare (but can be treatable) eye cancer that affects people usually under age 5. Early detection is key! Here’s what you need to know: 👁 Symptoms to Watch For: 👉A white glow in the pupil 👉Eye redness or swelling 👉 Vision problems 🏥 Treatment Options: 👉Chemotherapy 👉Laser or cryotherapy 👉Surgery /enucleation: removal of eye (usually in severe cases) 👶 Importance of Early Detection: With prompt treatment, many can recover fully and even preserve their vision. If you notice any unusual signs in your child’s eyes, consult a doctor immediately!

TIPS For CHECKs Feel the instruments and get comfortable with them. Ex: at the dentist, you’re weary of the suction straw. If no plastic cups for rinsing, ask them for some or, have them turn the suction on a low setting and feel it with your finger before they use it in your mouth. Perhaps they can put something on if you don’t like the sucking noise. See how you feel with the specific doctor. Ex: Dr. A seems hurried and strict, but Dr. B seems more empathetic. Or perhaps ask if a nurse can be in the room with you to. Try having the doctor teach you how much you can do. Ex: for a strep throat test, ask if you can swab your own throat, even have them hold your hand whilst you do it in a mirror. Or tell them the way your throat’s structure may find it easier to tilt, etc. (my search NeuroFabulous)

『🧠🔥𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓 🧠🔥』 (my search NeuroFabulous)

♡ ⋆ ° .˚ 𖧷 · ° .♡ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ° .˚ 𖧷 · ♡ wishing you less pain wishing you less stress wishing you less depression sending you love sending you positive vibes sending you healing energy ͏ ͏please accept ♡ ⋆ ° .˚ 𖧷 · ° .♡ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ° .˚ 𖧷 · ♡

✨️ ᴮᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˢʰ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ✨️.

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Best Practices for Encouraging Special Interests in Children with Autism What Helps • Encouraging conversation about interest • Paying attention to non-verbal cues • Engaging in activity about interest • Allowing children to keep objects related to interest • Taking note of circumstances that promote calmness • Using interest as motivation for desired behaviors What Hurts • Treating the interest like it's boring • Ignoring non-verbal cues or gestures • Disengaging from the conversation • Forcing a discussion unrelated to the interest • Demanding that children think about other subjects • Leveraging interest as punishment

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ㅤ🔐 ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘⡣🧠ㅤ𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖨𝖲 𝖬𝖸 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖣?ㅤ║▌│█ ║▌

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FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2012 To those of you newly embarking on surgery these are my MUST HAVES for surgery: SURGERY SUPPLIES: Whiteboard Notebook and pen baby toothbrushes alcohol free mouthwash q-tips wet wipes travel neck pillow lots of pillows humidifier mirrors baby spoons syringes of different shapes and sizes pill crusher wrap around hot and cold packs lots of liquids (juices, ensure, water) chapstick a lot of tissues HAND BLENDER (I wouldn't have survived without this) towels power flosser Posted by Incognita at 10:49 PM

Exercise List: 1. 2-Way Stretch 2. Forward Folds 3. Extended Lift & Hold 4. Cobra Pose 5. Side Bends 6. Skipping/Jogging In Place 7. Inverting/Hanging

“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list

Sometimes, stomach acid goes up into your esophagus, the tube that connects your mouth and stomach. That’s called heartburn. If it’s also an issue, sleep with your head slightly raised. It may also help to avoid or limit: Peppermint, chocolate, garlic, and tomatoes Tight clothes Meals within 2 or 3 hours of bedtime Lying down right after a meal Instead: Sleep on your left side. This position seems to help reduce nighttime heartburn symptoms Wear loose-fitting clothes. Tight clothes, especially near your waist, can put pressure on your stomach, leading to heartburn symptoms. Chew gum. Chewing gum encourages the production of saliva, which can soothe your esophagus and wash acid down into your stomach. Choose a flavor other than peppermint, which may worsen heartburn in some people. While the main symptom of GERD is reflux, a number of symptoms may accompany this condition. Heartburn: A painful burning sensation in the chest is the most common symptom Trusted Source Merck Manual First published in 1899 as a small reference book for physicians and pharmacists, the Manual grew in size and scope to become one of the most widely used comprehensive medical resources for professionals and consumers. View Source of GERD, but not all cases of GERD involve heartburn. Regurgitation: Another common symptom of GERD is regurgitation, which means a small amount of stomach acid and sometimes bits of food come up into the mouth or back of the throat. Sore throat: When stomach acid rises to the mouth and throat, it can cause coughing and a feeling of choking. This often leads to a sore throat and, for some people, difficulty swallowing, known as dysphagia. Chest pain: On top of the discomfort from heartburn, GERD can cause radiating chest pain

Sleep When You're in Pain (Chronic or Acute) Sleep on your back if you have lower back pain. Some individuals may benefit from placing a pillow under their knees while in this position. Elevating the knees can take pressure off the lower back. Sleep on your side if you have neck pain. Sleep on your left side to improve your digestion. People who find side sleeping helpful during their period may benefit from placing a pillow between their knees. Experimenting with different pillow positions can help. If you have stomach cramps, try drawing your knees up to your chest in the foetal position, which may help. This position involves lying on the side and tucking the legs toward the chest. You can also sleep on your back propped up with pillows to relieve heartburn. If you have pain due to gas, try laying on your back to relieve some of the pressure off of your stomach. https://www.wikihow.health/Sleep-when-You%27re-in-Pain

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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 — 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡. -𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝐾𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

Please don't touch me or stand too close. I have an Autistic Spectrum Condition. I process sensations differently. Sometimes I Can't cope with touch or physical contact. 4 ways to manage autism, anxiety and sensory overload Choose sensory-friendly events and places Choose sensory- friendly features • Fewer lights • Less background music • Noise blocking headphones • Calming rooms • Weighted blanket Make sensory experience shorter Reduce sensory experience • Take breaks from busy, noisy and bright places • Noise blocking headphones • Sunglasses For example, a child who has difficulty with the feeling of clothing and thus has difficulty getting dressed shows hypersensitivity. As a result, that child can experience sensory overload from clothing. It is also important to know that a toddler refusing to get dressed because they are exerting their independence or would rather play or do something else is not a child experiencing sensory overload. That is not hypersensitivity. That is normal for toddlers. So choose sensory-friendly providers or products. In particular, that helps people whose anxiety is made worse by what they experience from their senses. Hollander, E., & Burchi, E. (2018). Anxiety in Autism Spectrum Disorder. Anxiety & Depression Association of America

Emotional Distress Scale 0 - I feel great! This is the best I’ve felt in a long time! 1 - I’m feeling really good! There’s no distress to address. 2 - I’m feeling good. If I start feeling bothered, I can be easily distracted or cheered up. 3 - I’m okay, but there are some things bothering me. I can easily cope with them, though. 4 - I could be better. There are a few things distressing me right now. It’s not exactly easy to deal with, but I still have the skills to get through it. 5 - I’m not okay. It’s getting harder to do the things I want to do, but I can do them. My coping skills aren’t working as well anymore, but enough of them work to get me through the day. I need some support. 6 - I’m feeling bad, and it’s very hard to do the things I need or want to do. Most of my coping skills aren’t effective right now, and it’s taking a lot of energy to stay stable. I need help. 7 - I’m feeling awful. It’s hard to focus on anything but my emotions, and/or I’m avoiding things that distress me. I can’t do much but try to take care of myself, which is already hard in itself. I’m running low on, or have run out of, effective coping skills. I need a lot of help right now. 8 - I’m feeling awful, and I can’t escape it anymore. How I feel is affecting every part of my day, and I’m reaching the point where I can’t function. It’s hard to sleep, eat, socialize, etc. I need help before I can’t handle anything. 9 - This is approaching the worst I could feel. I can’t function anymore. My emotions have totally consumed me. I may be a danger to myself or others, or I may be neglecting myself. I need urgent help. 10 - This is the worst I’ve felt ever/since [last time]. I can’t care for myself at all. My emotions are so intense, I’m at imminent risk of dangerously acting on them. I need crisis support immediately. 11 - I have acted on my emotions and hurt myself or someone else. Everything else in my life is impossible to comprehend. I need medicinal and/or crisis support immediately.

Sensory inputs can be any stimuli entering through one of the sensory modalities: sight, sound, gustation, olfaction, and tactile sensations. Tactile sensations include responses to pressure and temperature. Over stimulation is the product of sensory overload. Overstimulation (OS) occurs when there is “to much” of some external stimulus or stimuli for a person's brain to process and integrate effectively. Sensory overload can be triggered by a singular event or a build up thereof. When the brain has to put all of its resources into sensory processing, it can shut off other functions, like speech, decision making and information processing. Using noise-cancelling headphones to vastly reduce external sound, which can help to stop sensory over load. Weighted sensory products, such as blankets or vests, to provide pressure and soothing proprioceptive input. Avoiding open questions – if you need their input on something, aim to use closed yes/no questions. It causes feelings of discomfort and being overwhelmed. Moving away from sources of sensory input, such as loud sounds or strong smells, can reduce these feelings. However, it is a core characteristic of autism, where individuals often experience heightened sensitivity to stimuli. It's important to note that not all autistic individuals experience overstimulation in the same way or to the same degree. Some may have a higher threshold for sensory input and be less easily overwhelmed, while others may become overstimulated even in relatively calm environments. Stimming, short for self-stimulating behaviors, is a repetitive movement or action that can include body movements, vocal noises, or sensory stimulation. It can be a way to manage excess energy, self-soothe, or cope with emotions. Stimming can also help regulate sensory input, either increasing stimulation or decreasing sensory overload. Stimming behaviors can consist of tactile, visual, auditory, vocal, proprioceptive (which pertains to limb sensing), olfactory, and vestibular stimming (which pertains to balance).

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 - 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡. — 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝐾𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

sirenomelia sympodia (one fused foot) In sympus dipus (symmelia), both the feet are seen separately. In sympus monopus (uromelia), a single foot is present. In sympus apus (sirenomelia,) the foot is absent Discussion "Symelia" is the fusion of the lower extremities,2 and it has been classified into three types: 1) Apus- no feet, only one tibia and one femur, 2) Unipus- one foot, two femora, two tibiae, two fibulae, and 3) Dipus- two feet and two fused legs (giving the appearance of a flipper). Symmelia is basically classified according to the number of feet present. Tripodial symmelia contains three feet, dipodal symmelia have two feet, monopodal symmelia consist of one foot and apodal symmelia or sirenomelia which contain no feet and more severe form and closely related to a mermaid.

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https://nonutsmomsgroup.weebly.com/blog/remembering-those-we-have-lost-to-food-allergies

. ✧ 　 ˚　 . i will face whatever comes today with a positive attitude ♡ 　　˚ 　 . ✧　　 .

Why autistic people are like cats: - We are highly sensitive. - We don't like loud or sudden noises. - We are easily spooked and startled. - Especially because we are zoning out, like, all the time. - We love to be held and touched and petted and cuddled bUT ONLY IF IT WAS OUR IDEA! - We're picky eaters. - Easily distracted. - Solitary creatures. - Takes us a while to warm up to people and be comfortable around them. - Our idea of being "social" is just hanging around the vicinity or in the same room as other people but not necessarily interacting with them. - We are finicky, particular, meticulous creatures of habit and we have a comfort zone we will defend with our lives. - If we deem you worthy, you will be allowed into our comfort zone. - Gaining our love and trust is super rewarding because it is not easily done. Be flattered. - If you touch us unexpectedly we will flinch or jump. - We are awesome predators and get super intense about stuff one nickname for the ADHD gene is "the hunter gene") - We are cute and lovable and have a lot of personality. - Many autistic children love to feel enclosed and secure and so love secret hiding places and cubby holes (i.e., "if I fits, I sits") - We sometimes appear to freak out at nothing and scamper away for no reason but really it's because we can hear things you can't and some sounds bother us. - Because we have such hyper-sensitive senses, any snuggles you give us will be a million times more rewarding for you because you'll know and appreciate just how intensely we're enjoying them. - Please give us food or we will boop your nose in your sleep.

Types Deltacism (from the Greek letter Δ) is a difficulty in producing /d/ sound. Etacism is a difficulty in producing e sound Gamacism is a difficulty in producing /ɡ/ sound Hitism is a difficulty in producing /h/ sound. Iotacism is a difficulty in producing /j/ sound. Kapacism is a difficulty in producing /k/ sound. Lambdacism (from the Greek letter λ) is the difficulty in pronouncing lateral consonants. Rhotacism is a difficulty producing rhotic consonants sounds in the respective language's standard pronunciation. In Czech there is a specific type of rhotacism called rotacismus bohemicus which is an inability to pronounce the specific sound ⟨ř⟩ /r̝/. Sigmatism is a difficulty of producing /s/, /z/ and similar sounds. Tetacism is a difficulty of producing /t/ sound. Tetism is replacement of /s/, /k/ and similar sounds with /t/ and of /z/ and similar sounds with /d/.

Common Experiences How has the semester been going for you? Do you understand the assignment that Professor gave us in class? .. . .. What did you do over break? What sort of plans do you have for break? What did you do over the weekend? Anything interesting happen this week? How has work been? What did you think about the school team's last game? Do you know who's going to s party on day? Interests • What sort of movies have you seen lately? Have any goad boak recommendations? Have you been to any great concerts lately? Have you seen any good plays? What did you think about the ball game on day? Non-Question Topics Your surroundings: the weather, an interesting painting or decoration, a peculiar scenic detail Interesting or humorous Current events or news • officials, shared neighbors, new attractions that have recently opened Compliments on appearance changes: hairstyle, clothing, shoes, accessories Recent experiences with friends or family • Humorous story about something that happened earlier in the day or week CONVO.. Common Experiences How has the semester been going for you? Do you understand the assignment that Professor gave us in class? .. . .. What did you do over break? What sort of plans do you have for break? What did you do over the weekend? Anything interesting happen this week? How has work been? What did you think about the school team's last game? Do you know who's going to s party on day? Interests • What sort of movies have you seen lately? Have any goad book recommendations? Have you been to any great concerts lately? Have you seen any good plays? What did you think about the ball game on day? Non-Question Topics Your surroundings: the weather, an interesting painting or decoration, a peculiar scenic detail Interesting or humorous Current events or news • officials, shared neighbors, new attractions that have recently opened Compliments on appearance changes: hairstyle, clothing, shoes, accessories Recent experiences with friends or family • Humor about something that happened earier in the day or week

"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

DOCTORs APPOINTMENTs Before a procedure, get to meet the physician and acknowledge their authority before you mention your sensitivities. Find a way to make a compromise. Even request more time for an appointment if you want to have topical numbing agents wait to work, to discuss alternatives, etc. Before a procedure, look up the physician and/or the clinic website. Find pictures of the inner building and search for FAQ, policies, procedures, reviews, etc. Before a procedure, bring a fully charged phone and any sensory necessities such as plastic cups for water, ice pack, self testing kits, written notes and copies, etc.

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Anonymous asked: autism culture is trying to isolate yourself because you're getting overstimulated but people keep coming in to talk to you and then get mad when you lash out. like omg im TRYING to "calm down" just give me a minute

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SOCIAL NETWORK PROFILE NAME Facebook specialolympicstx Twitter @SOTexas Instagram @specialolympicstx YouTube www.youtube.com/specialolympicstexas

💟 WHAT MIGHT BE EASIER FOR YOU MIGHT NOT BE SO EASY FOR ME 💟

Project Shocking I am the mother of a 20 year old girl that died in June from Toxic Shock Syndrome. My daughter was using a Playtex tampon. I've been doing an inordinate amount of research since her death in June, and have been sending out information daily via a pamphlet I authored with help from a PhD. known nationally for his research of Toxic Shock Syndrome. I also have been utilizing social networking and visiting high schools to point out the symptoms and prevention of tampon induced TSS. Many of these young women do not yet have the antibodies they need to use tampons containing viscose rayon. Ladies have been contacting me daily to tell their personal experiences of TSS or share the story of their child who died of TSS. It's unfathomable how the numbers are rising. The sad part is, every single instance of TSS I have personally heard about was using Playtex. I'm sure it isn't only Playtex brand, but these are the instances I've heard about. My daughter was only using "regular" absorbency. Regular absorbency isn't absorbency that is focused on. Amy was a hygiene freak, and changed her tampon like clockwork in fear she would get TSS. It still killed her. Another friend of mine almost lost her 15 year old daughter; not because she was using a tampon, but because of a fiber left inside her a week later. Her daughter is now recovering from reconstruction of her toes due to TSS. TSS is killing young women everywhere. I believe it's every bit as bad as in the 1980's; however, no one knows it. Even Playtex says on their warning label that 1 to 17 of every 100,000 menstruating women PER YEAR will get TSS. If you figure that out, how many menstruating women are there; maybe 15% of the population? That takes the number up to 1 to 17 in 15,000 PER YEAR. Pardon my math skills; I'm aging fast! It's staggering if you get to the real numbers! Up to 25% of these young women will die. People aren't reporting to the FDA; the FDA isn't policing the factories responsibly. They are under the grandfather clause with the FDA, so their new products aren't going through appropriate testing. They don't have to report what is in them. TSS isn't reportable to the CDC; yet the CDC gives out numbers of cases. This isn't right. People are led to believe these CDC reported numbers which gives them a false security. On to the Robin Danielson Act; 2001 H.R. 360, presented by Representative Carolyn Maloney D NY; the bill would amend the Public Health Service Act requiring TSS to be reported to the CDC and would also force the industry to list the content of tampons on the box. The bill has been thrown out continually for the last 13 years. I looked into the tampon industry CEO's political contributions to Congressmen. You can guess the outcome. In my mind this isn't adding up. I believe the fate of my daughter was sealed because of this corporate conduct. I'm currently starting a non-profit organization called, You ARE Loved, (the letters ARE represent my daughter’s initials, Amy Rae Elifritz) to educate girls in high schools across America of the symptoms of TSS, what to watch for and how to prevent it. They need to know! TSS symptoms resemble the flu! It isn't just super absorbent tampons, it's regular tampons too; anything with viscose rayon in it. Warnings say to watch for a rash or peeling. The rash isn't likely to be presented until TSS is beyond recovery. The peeling of skin isn't until at least 7 days to 2 weeks after it begins (provided you aren't dead yet). Playtex' annual report in 2007 reads, “Our Feminine Care marketing strategies have leveraged the strength of the Playtex brand that caters to the active, young female. Our Feminine Care marketing strategy centers on attracting first-time users, converting users of competitive products to our products and converting full-time feminine protection pad users to tampon users by communicating the advantages of tampons. In addition, we have developed the website, www.playtextampons.com, to provide information to adults and adolescents in choosing the right products“. These adolescents are the exact age group that hasn’t developed the immunity to the S. aureus bacteria. They are the most vulnerable people in the world to TSS. How can we get the warning out to these young women that TSS is real and happening when the industry is pushing so hard to reel them in? TSS of the 1980's is history. 2011 is NOW and TSS is happening! Lately I’ve seen medical professionals on TV talking about TSS. They keep repeating that TSS happens only with use of super tampons and to change frequently. My daughter changed every 4-6 hours! I know; I bought them! Actually the toxin begins to develop 2 hours after inserting a tampon and continues to multiply even while changing tampons. This toxin continues to increase as long as you are wearing tampons. The only way to dissipate the toxin in the vaginal canal is to use a pad for at least 8 hours between tampons. I’ve never heard anyone publically explain why alternating with a pad is so important! It’s a very understandable explanation. The only way to prevent TSS is with 100% cotton tampons or pads alone. The reason you can’t find cotton tampons in big stores is the companies that produce 100% cotton tampon are small. Cotton is expensive! These companies cannot afford the advertising to meet the requirements for shelf space at Walmart, CVS, or Walgreen. You have to order them online or go to a specific health food store. What 15 year old will wait 3 days for mail order delivery of a tampon when she needs it now? It's like a 3 day waiting period to buy a gun. I need help getting the word out. I can point you to the research, the professional journals, and the microbiologists that can back me up on everything I mentioned. The medical community is in the dark and it’s not their fault. I want TSS symptom posters on every ER wall in this country - symptoms and first actions. If a woman comes into the ER with a fever and flu, CHECK FOR A TAMPON! If she has one in, REMOVE IT!! Conscious or unconscious, remove the tampon or she will die. The medical profession needs to be educated in tampon related TSS; they are led to believe it no longer exists. Shortly after my daughter’s death I received a thank you message from a mother for saving her daughter's life. Last night I was told that because of my information a second life was saved. The feeling I get from these messages is beyond words. I take no credit for this because everyone needs to be educated. Saving lives is the result of the education. There is now a test; the TSST-1 antibody test that will identify if a person has the antibodies which make it safe to use tampons containing viscose rayon. My local hospital doesn't offer it … Yet. We need to test these young girls or provide symptom education for them and for medical staff along with funding for research to develop a vaccination that boosts antibodies to the toxin produced by Staphylococcus aureus. What more can I do as a citizen without help? It's time to recreate awareness for the new century of TSS. This is an important public service for this story to be told/this warning to be given. Grieving Mother, Lisa Elifritz Special thanks to Maxim Organic for supplying samples of 100% cotton tampons for the young women I speak to. The above is my interpretation of the research I have done since the death of my daughter to Toxic Shock Syndrome. It is not my intention to imply fault to any company, organization or individual. It has been approved by a nationally known microbiologist/toxic shock expert.

🍑 ‘Pap smears’ can be replaced by do-it-yourself cervical cancer tests From today, women who need to get a cervical screening test will be able to choose to self-collect a sample themselves. The self-collect option is a game changer in cervical screening – with Australia is one of the first countries in the world to offer it as a choice for all screening participants. Being able to do the test yourself is also expected to increase the rates of cervical cancer screening for women from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, who may have experienced cultural barriers and taboos around traditional ‘pap smears’. It will also make a world of difference for the gender diverse community who also face access barriers. Today’s change to the National Cervical Screening Program means that anyone aged 25-74 with a cervix, who has ever been sexuallly active will be able to choose to have a Cervical Screening Test either by: taking their own sample from, using a simple swab, or having a health care provider collect the sample using a speculum. Some test options are free under Medicare – so if your healthcare provider bulk bills for consultations, the whole thing is free. They are accessed through a healthcare provider and are accurate and safe ways to collect a sample for a Cervical Screening Test. Self-collection is also available as an option for follow-up HPV testing after an intermediate risk result and cervical screening during pregnancy. More information on self-collection and the National Cervical Screening Program can be found at www.health.gov.au/ncsp. 🍑

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If feasible, other tests the patient fears might be performed while the patient is sedated. For example, before or after dental work, vaccines could be administered, blood could be drawn, and gynaecology or other physical exams could be done. This practise requires coordination and communication among providers. 💙 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3708482/

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⡀⠄⡒⠈⠭⠭⠥⠈⠐⣚⣛⠛⠛⠛⡲⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠔⡨⡢⠑⠈⠉⠁⠉⠄⠀⠀⠀⡲⠀⠀⠐⢄⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀ ⠠⣤⣿⣛⡛⠛⣻⢿⣛⣟⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣛⢿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢦⡀ ⡴⠛⢡⡶⠒⡖⠦⢭⣿⣮⣱⣎⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠙⡿⠷⠿⣾⢿⣿⢭⡞⡐⣷ ⡇⠀⢺⠠⢾⡟⠲⢤⣀⡀⠠⠤⠄⡖⢂⣀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣄⠉⠉⢰⡄⠠⢃⣿ ⠹⣎⡪⠀⠀⢷⡦⣄⣯⡉⠓⠲⣤⣵⣉⣀⡀⠶⠞⠁⣀⣨⣴⢿⣷⠈⣰⠃ ⠀⠈⢳⡀⠀⠀⠻⣌⡟⠛⠷⣶⣧⣄⣀⣹⣏⣉⣻⣉⣉⣧⣸⣷⣿⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⡀⣸⠉⠉⠛⡿⠻⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⡿⣿⡟⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣅⡪⢔⡠⢉⡛⠲⠦⠤⠧⣤⣤⣧⡴⠧⠾⠖⠛⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣅⡒⠡⠶⠀⣠⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠐⢁⠠⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣠⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠓⠒⠒⠒⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠴⠒⣉⣁⠠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⣈⢉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣛⠻⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⢀⡤⠚⣡⠔⣊⠭⠔⠒⠒⠒⠒⠲⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡠⠤⠤⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠐⢁⡴⢊⡔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢢⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣤⣴⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⣹⣿⡿⠛⢛⣓⣀⣀⣀⠙⠩⣿⣶⣞⣹⣶⣏⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠙⢿⣿⣷⣾⣉⣶⣏⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢛⠣⣍⠻⣦⠀ ⢀⣾⠋⡎⠀⣴⠟⠋⠉⣍⠛⠻⠶⣦⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣧⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣟⠛⣻⣿⡷⢶⣦⡙⡌⢣⣿⡆ ⢸⡇⠀⡇⢸⡏⢀⣀⣼⡿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡭⣉⣭⣭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣦⣄⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠁⣶⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⠇ ⠸⣷⡀⣇⠸⣧⠉⠉⢻⣧⠀⠈⠛⢿⣶⣦⣄⣈⠉⠉⠉⠀⣿⡁⢠⣶⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠷⠤⣀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣧⠀⢊⡠⢾⡿⠀ ⠀⠙⣷⣌⠲⠬⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣶⣤⣀⣿⡄⠉⠙⠛⠿⢶⣦⣬⣇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣀⣥⣾⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡉⠻⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⢰⡿⠉⠉⠉⠛⢻⣿⠿⠿⠶⣶⡶⠿⠟⢿⣟⠁⢹⡇⣻⣿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡿⠀⠉⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣴⣿⣤⣤⣤⣿⣦⣤⣤⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣦⣀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠉⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢷⣄⠀⣀⠀⠠⣀⠈⠙⠷⣶⣿⣃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⢉⣿⠋⢸⡟⢱⣿⣾⠃⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣦⣉⠒⠤⣙⠲⠤⣀⡉⠙⠛⠿⠶⠶⠾⢿⣤⣤⣤⣾⣧⣤⣾⠿⠶⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣶⣤⣉⠒⠦⢍⣑⡲⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠞⠁⠀⡆⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢷⣤⣄⡈⠉⠉⠓⠒⠭⠭⠌⣉⣉⡉⣉⣉⣉⡉⠉⠁⢀⣀⠴⠊⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢷⣦⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠻⠶⢶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣦⠤⢤⣤⣴⣿⣯⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣧⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶ ⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠹⢷⣎⡷⣏⠿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠉⢿⣞⡱⢎⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠈⠹⠷⠿⠶⠛⠛⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠗⠛⠳⢿⡿⠟⠁⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⣀⣀⣤⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣹⣷⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠀⠀⠉⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠈⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣀⡁⠀⠀⠃⠀⣀⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⡄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢹⠰⡋⣿⣶⢤⠈⡷⠚⠒⢦⡯⣥⣾⠀⢸⣇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⣈⡉⠉⠁⣀⡇⠀⠀⢸⡍⠙⠛⠀⢘⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⠐⠄⣼⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢇⠉⠉⠉⠉⢍⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⡽⠀⠀⠰⣽⠏ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣯⣤⠀⠀⠀⢠⠔⠀⣁⢤⢍⣈⡒⢁⠀⠸⣱⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠹⢿⡄⠀⠀⢰⠀⣾⣿⣾⣾⣾⣾⡇⠇⣴⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠃⠘⢿⣇⣀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⣀⠄⠀⠈⠋⢯⡦⡄⠀⠻⣿⠿⠛⢁⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⡔⠁⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⠾⡾⢬⠯⠷⣏⣋⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠐⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢀⠀⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠒⠶⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠓⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⡈⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣶⣤⣀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⢻⡇⢲⡶⢶⣾⣶⣤⣀⠀⠈⢻⣦⣶⠶⣶⣤⣐⣿⣛⣉⣩⣭⡉⠉⢹⣿⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⠈⠻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠘⢦⣜⣿⣿⣿⣯⡟⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣏⣉⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⢸⣗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⡀⢸⡏⠉⠉⠛⠋⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⢠⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣷⠘⠿⠶⠶⠶⣶⠶⢿⠿⢻⣟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠈⠓⠶⣿⣏⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⣸⣗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⢹⣾⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡗⠀⠀⠀⠰⣾⣹⣿⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠙⣽⣿⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⣀⢀⣤⡤⣀⣀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣸⣿⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣧⣴⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠞⠀⠀⢈⣩⣤⢤⣄⣀⣙⠙⢁⡀⠀⠀⢹⣈⣿⡃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠁⠘⣿⣷⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⣠⣾⣻⣤⣿⣤⣿⣹⣏⣿⣦⡙⡗⠀⢨⡟⠙⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠫⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠⠇⣲⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⠁⠸⠟⡿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⢴⣾⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⣠⣽⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠿⣾⡷⢶⡤⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⠛⠉⠀⣠⡿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢻⣿⣿⣅⣦⣾⠊⢻⣖⠶⣦⣴⠻⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠶⠿⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠹⢽⠟⠉⠿⠙⠙⠛⠛⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢤⣄⣀⣀ ⠶⠶⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠱⠤⢴⠏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣾⠿⠿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡆⠀ ⢰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀ ⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄ ⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⢋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠈⠉⠻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣀⡉⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⢀⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿ ⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣶⣶⣿⠿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣤⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠟⠟⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣄⡀⠸⠿⠿⢇⣀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⣿⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⢿⣶⣶⣶⣶⡿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠖⠛⠋⠙⠛⠒⠴⣟⣠⣄⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠉⠉⠀⠉⠙⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⣠⣄⡀⣄⣠⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⡟⢧⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⣭⣭⣥⠾⠋⠀⠀⢈⣷⣤⣤⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣅⠸⣄⠘⠁⣬⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣧⣈⢡⡞⠀⠀⣤⠇⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠩⣍⠀⠀⣠⠧⣀⣠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⠀⠙⠒⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠰⣤⣀⣀⡤⢿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡉⠀⠈⠉⡉⠉⠉⠉⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣼⠀⣆⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠈⣷⣀⣸⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢷⠴⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡤⢄⣠⣤⣤⡄⢠⣄⠀⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⢤⢴⡦⡤⠤⣤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⡤⠀⠀⠠⢤⠤⣤⣤⣤ ⢰⡇⣨⡇⣟⢛⣇⣸⠿⣧⢈⡇⢰⡄⠀⢘⣾⣷⠇⢀⣇⠀⢀⣧⠀⣿⠚⣇⠀⠀⢀⣸⡀⢠⣿⡀ ⠈⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠈⠀⠈⠉⠁⠈⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢦⡀⢠⡶⠦⠀⣰⡄⠠⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⣿⢸⣧⣤⣠⡟⣧⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⢠⣿⣸⡇⠀⣸⠗⢻⡔⣿⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⢛⠛⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⠉⢉⠀⢉⡉⡉⣋⣀⣈⣋⠉⢉⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⡾⠘⣦⡀⠉⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⣼⡄⣸⠋⡏⠉⣯⠉⢹⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⠙⣆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⡇⣀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠺⡦⡀⠀⠘⣷⡇⣷⡇⠀⡇⠀⣿⠀⢸⠋⢻⡃⠀⢀⡴⣎⡁⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⢹⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⢻⣽⣄⡀⠿⢃⡹⠇⢀⠇⡀⢿⠀⠸⠇⠸⢆⡴⢋⣶⠏⠤⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⢿⠹⣿⣽⣗⡂⠀⠀⢻⣞⣿⠒⠋⢀⣴⣿⠛⢻⣿⠗⠀⠀⣠⠏⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⣻⣿⣀⡏⠀⡾⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠘⡆⢸⣿⣿⠿⣄⠀⠀⡿⡝⡦⡜⣿⠆⢸⠶⢹⡏⠳⣀⡼⠋⣸⡟⠀⠀⠠⠬⢽⣿⡽⠀⢰⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢻⠀⠸⣿⠂⠈⠂⠀⠠⣿⡇⠙⠀⠀⢸⠗⢻⡇⣄⠉⢰⢡⡏⠀⠀⠀⢐⣿⣯⠘⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣌⠳⣄⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠶⠿⠃⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⢸⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣭⣿⠇⠀⠐⢹⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡘⣷⣤⣿⣆⠀⠳⣽⣿⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⣝⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣠⣾⣾⡿⠇⠀⠀⠰⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣻⣽⣯⣙⣟⣓⣲⣽⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣢⣌⣿⣶⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣀⣄⣯⣽⣹⣿⣤⣀⣀⣠⣆⣀⣀⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⣶⣿⡏⢉⣉⣙⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⢹⣿⣟⣹⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣉⢹⣿⣙⣿⣉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠤⣤⠒⢋⣡⣿⣷⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⢻⣷⣬⢛⣴⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⢀⣹⠿⢿⣤⣛⣦⣟⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣦⣮⣷⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⠇⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠛⠛⢻⠓⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠛⠀⣹⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣦⣤⣀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠹⣿⡀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⡀⠀⢤⣬⣿⡏⠲⠤⢀⣆⣴⠿⠛⠉⢀⣀⠬⠍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠰⢄⣽⡄⠀⠄⣿⡇⠀⠈⡳⣤⠀⠀ ⢠⡾⣛⢀⡴⢋⣛⣴⣤⠆⠉⠁⠂⠴⡿⠏⠁⠀⡠⣶⢽⣋⡠⠖⠋⠀⠀⣠⣶⠶⠿⢿⣛⠻⢷⢀⣿⣱⡄⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀ ⠘⢿⡿⡋⠀⠈⢿⣾⡏⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢋⣴⡯⢋⡠⠤⠤⠴⠚⠉⠀⣠⣴⣿⢿⠀⣼⡾⠁⠈⢞⠂⡞⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠞⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣾⣥⡄⣀⣠⠄⢀⡞⢠⠟⠋⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⠁⣠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠞⠋⠈⠉⠓⠀⠀⠉⠙⠿⣷⣿⣭⡏⠀⠈⠀⡎⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣷⣾⣿⠁⣀⣀⣀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⡷⣤⣀⣀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠖⠛⠋⠉⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣄⣀⣠⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣠⣀⣀⣀⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣤⣠⣤⣶⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣶⣤⣤⣤⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⡛⠛⢛⠛⡛⠛⠛⠛⢛⠛⡛⡟⠋⠉⢙⠛⡛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⠛⢛⠛⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠢⡠⠒⠀⠀⣶⠀⣿⠀⢸⡷⣄⡿⣾⡖⠓⣆⠀⢹⡗⠲⣾⣿⡚⠻⣾⣒⣶⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⠀⣿⢹⡟⠓⢶⠒⣿⣀⣸⡏⠀⠛⣶⠚⢿⣇⣸⡇⢷⡶⣖⣒⠢⠒⢢⠠⠒⠂ ⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡿⠀⢸⡇⠈⣷⣿⣦⣄⠷⠀⢸⣆⣠⢿⣯⣁⣀⣿⠉⢹⣿⣀⣠⠀⢘⡿⠿⣿⣼⡇⠀⣿⠀⣿⠉⢹⡅⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⡏⢹⡇⣾⣧⣸⣽⠇⣒⠁⠀⡂⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣠⣤⣬⣥⣭⣭⣤⣀⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣶⠾⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⡀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠳⢦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠾⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣦⡀⢠⣏⠓⢶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠹⣄⠀⠈⠙⠳⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢆⠀⢸⡇⠀⣯⠿⡆⠀⣠⠌⠙⢳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⢧⠀⠁⣠⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠓⢦⣌⢳⣄⠀⠀⠘⢯⡧⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⣿⣿⡁⠀⠘⢮⠻⣷⣦⣤⣤⢿⣅⠀⠀⣀⣴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⢰⣦⣤⡞⠻⠿⠿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣀⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⡛⠛⠀⠬⢹⣿⡋⣉⣭⣽⣗⢤⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣦⣘⣷⣏⡁⢰⣶⣌⢳⡁⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣸⣇⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠻⣿⣿⡻⡿⣄⣀⡀⠀⠙⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣻⣄⣀⠈⠛⠙⠳⠰⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⠉⠙⢳⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣏⣀⣤⣤⣴⣋⣿⠶⣶⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⡙⢉⣉⣻⡶⠿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡟⢁⣭⣷⣿⡏⣿⣓⣶⣺⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣽⣻⠷⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠛⠻⣽⣿⢭⣭⣙⣿⠻⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⢺⣷⣤⢤⡀⠁⠀⠀⠩⠽⠀⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠋⠙⠻⢦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⢠⢟⡿⠛⠛⠚⠳⢤⣤⣄⣠⡤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡼⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠃⢢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⢷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠁⠀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣧⣠⡴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠳⢦⣴⣿⣅⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⢠⡀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣤⣼⣧⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣤⣸⣇⣨⡇⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠋⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣦⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣼⣋⣀⣤⠤⠴⠶⠚⠉⠙⢯⡉⠻⠯⠴⠆⣀⠴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⠾⠛⠋⢹⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣤⠶⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⣠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠤⠖⡠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡔⠉⠀⢀⣤⣀⣼⣿⣿⡍⠉⠉⠑⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⡏⠛⠛⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⢃⣦⣴⣔⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣟⣿⣾⣿⢿⣀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠓⠭⠷⠋⠀⢨⢦⠴⡷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⣂⠇⢀⠍⢲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠢⠤⠜⠒⢺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠈⢅⣀⣠⡖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢀⠈⢣⠀⠉⠄⢩⡑⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠬⠼⠒⠒⠚⠒⠓⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡒⢢⣶⡆⣰⡄⠖⢂⠀⢶⣷⠐⠒⢲⠒⡶⡆⠀⢲⠒⣒⠂ ⠉⠁⠉⠉⠁⠉⠉⠈⠀⠉⠁⠈⠉⠉⠁⠁⠁⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⠶⠿⠻⠛⠺⠷⢦⣠⡶⠖⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠷⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣦⣀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠉⠛⠉⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢠⣆⣷⣶⣬⣳⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣾⣿⣿⣮⣻⣷⣝⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⢿⡏⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⣿⡟⣿⣇⢹⣿⣾⣿⢺⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⡝⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠈⠻⣌⡛⢿⣿⣽⡿⠟⣱⡿⠛⠒⠲⢶⣤⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⣴⡶⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣶⣴⠶⣿⣿⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣀⠀⣷⡀⠘⠋⣀⣹⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠙⠃⣨⡿⠀⠀⣀⣹⠎⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡟⠿⠵⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠈⠷⣄⣀⣠⡴⠋⠓⠶⠶⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠉⠻⢦⣤⣤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡶⢤⣶⠶⠋⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⡀⠈⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣆⣸⠆⣦⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢧⣄⣿⡀⣠⡿⠷⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠷⠶⠾⢷⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢶⠶⢦⣄⣶⡶⣶⣦⠀⢶⣶⠀⠰⣶⣶⠶⠀⠀⠀⢶⡶⣛⢶⡖⠲⢶⠶⢶⡶⢶⠶⡶⣶⠖⢶⡶⠀⠀⠐⠶⣶⠶⢶⣶⣶⣶⠆ ⠀⣺⡀⢀⡽⢸⡟⠿⣿⢀⣿⠽⣷⠀⢻⡇⠒⣦⠀⠀⠈⣧⡿⣾⠃⠀⣸⠀⠀⠃⣺⡄⠀⣿⠓⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠈⣲⣧⠀⠀ ⠘⠛⠓⠛⠃⠚⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠘⠛⠓⠛⠛⠚⠋⠀⠀⠈⠛⠁⠛⠀⠘⠛⠓⠃⠙⠛⠛⠀⠛⠓⠛⠛⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀

⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⣄⣤⠤⡀⡤⣤⡤⣤⣤⠀⢠⢠⠠⢤⢤⣠⠀⡤⣄⣠⡤⣤⠠ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠁⠉⠈⠁⠁⠉⠀⣁⣩⡴⢼⣍⣃⠈⠈⠈⠀⠁⠉⠈⠁⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⠋⠉⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠐⠌⢵⠠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡘⠀⢒⡤⠉⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢨⡐⠊⢦⣈⣷⠁⢀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠒⠊⠉⠛⠓⠲⣾⣾⣧⣤⣿⣯⣄⣸⣇⣺⣳⠀⠘⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣷⡶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠯⣉⠒⠼⡏⠉⠉⠙⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⡤⠾⣶⣖⠁⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⣷⣯⣷⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣙⠋⠻⢟⠋⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠴⠪⡀⠙⠢⢄⣀⠀⡠⠊⠘⠉⠈⠉⠒⠊⡆⠤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠉⢦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠒⣶⠒⠒⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⡄⠀⠀ ⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⢠⠎⣀⣑⠼⠬⣰⡀⣀⠔⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⡹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠴⠖⠒⠒⠒⠦⠤⢄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠊⠁⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⠖⠒⠤⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⣴⡋⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⠤⠤⠤⠵⣆⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣉⣉⠉⠙⠚⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⡤⠤⡠⠤⠤⢿⡿⠧⠄⠠⢤⡟⠀⠀⠸⡧⠤⢄⣈⣹⣿⣇⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⣻⣆⠀ ⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⠒⠒⠒⠉⠀⠸⡄ ⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠛⠀⢀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣀⠀⠀⣇ ⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡈⢀⣽⣷⠀⢹ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣸ ⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁ ⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠒⢒⡾⢿⡛⠿⠤⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⢤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣷⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⢃⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⡤⢿⠖⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⢸⡎⠇⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⣿⢿⣟⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠘⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠀⠒⠒⠒⠦⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠒⠚⠙⠓⠒⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣈⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⣴⠿⠖⠒⠒⢲⣶⡒⠒⠒⠚⡇⠀⠀⢠⡾⠭⠤⢤⣀⣈⣙⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠓⠒⠒⣺⠃⠀⠀⠘⣗⠒⠦⠤⠾⣿⣌⣉⣻⡄⠀ ⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡸⠻⡀ ⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣧ ⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⢸ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠴⠖⠒⠚⠉⣹⠇⠀⠀⠗⠀⠀⢸ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠠⠶⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼ ⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃ ⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠦⠤⠄⠀⣀⣀⣸⣦⣠⡤⠖⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠹⣎⠉⠉⠓⠲⠤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣧⣀⣤⡶⠶⠿⠛⣿⣿⠻⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣥⣶⣶⣶⠶⠿⠛⠋⢻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⢻⡋⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢠⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⡀⣀⣀⢀⡀⠀⡀ ⠀⢰⠉⠀⢸⣇⣿⠀⣿⠳⣿⣟⢋⣗⠀⣏⢹⣿⡟⠉⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠰⣿⣼⣇⡏⢉⡏⢹⠶⣿⠀⠈⣿⢹⣷⢾⣿⣟⢻⣿⢉⠝⠈⠉ ⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣈⣉⣭⣵⣴⣷⣌⣙⠉⠈⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠉⠈⠁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠀⠈⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡶⠞⠛⠉⠉⣉⡀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢛⠳⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡀⢾⡍⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠈⣷⠀⣷⣦⠀⣈⠙⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⣄⠀⠈⠳⣸⡄⢁⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣭⡍⠓⢎⢷⣄⡀⠈⣷⡏⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⣤⣤⡶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣸⣃⣿⣷⠀⠀⢳⣿⣽⠿⠋⡗⢶⡾⢛⣲⣦⢄⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠽⢿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣦⣿⣾⣉⣴⣮⣹⡁⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣧⣤⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣄⡈⠛⠛⠆⢿⡆⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠈⣹⣦⣀⣀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⠿⠲⣿⣽⣿⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⢋⣿⣾⣟⣿⣳⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣏⣈⠙⠟⠙⢲⣻⢹⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠛⠷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢋⣿⠿⠛⠿⠦⣤⣄⣠⠼⡆⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⢦⣄⠀⠀⠙⠳⢦⣤⣀⡀⢠⡴⠋⠀⠼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠳⠶⠶⠶⢶⣶⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠻⣄⡀⠀⣄⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣤⣷⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⠁⠀⠀⣙⣦⣿⣤⣇⡼⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣦⣤⡴⢶⣶⠟⠒⠚⠛⠋⠉⠀⠈⠢⣉⣛⣩⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣀⢀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣉⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡦⣄⢠⠶⠄⣰⡄⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⣸⠲⢤⣟⣇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠴⠦⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠋⠛⠒⢺⠁⠹⠛⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢰⠐⣄⠉⢢⡀⠀⠀⢳⢠⡇⡸⢸⠉⣿⠉⡇⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⡠⠖⠋⠉⢣⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⢡⣠⣿⣄⠀⢹⣆⠀⠸⣿⢱⡇⢸⠀⣿⠀⡏⢹⠁⢀⣴⣯⠄⢀⣠⠀⢸⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⢻⣿⣥⠀⠀⢻⣷⣤⣥⠌⢁⡮⢤⣽⡄⠁⠈⡷⣡⠞⠁⠰⣿⠁⡄⢸⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠘⡄⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⢿⣷⣄⣺⠏⡧⢔⡟⢆⣠⠞⣰⠏⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠀⡘⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢡⠀⢿⡂⠙⠀⠠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠿⠚⠇⡀⢁⣹⠏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠍⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⣤⡑⢈⣿⣦⠄⠙⠋⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⢀⣄⣾⠏⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣾⣿⢛⣷⣤⣽⠉⠃⠀⢀⣀⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⣘⣟⣿⣧⣀⠀⢀⣀⠀⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠶⢿⢛⣛⣻⡿⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣟⣻⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣟⣿⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠒⣖⢉⣴⣿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠹⢷⣽⣾⣽⣿⣿⡿⠉⣠⣽⣿⣷⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠏⢻⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣆⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⡀⢬⣹⣿⠡⠄⢀⣠⡾⠛⠉⣉⠩⢛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢌⣯⠁⠀⣿⠀⠐⠢⠀⠀ ⢰⣟⣥⠔⢹⣧⣶⠂⠉⠀⠒⠟⠁⠀⣴⢾⣯⠔⠊⠁⢀⡴⠖⠛⣻⡏⢻⣠⠿⣦⠀⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⡧⠀⠈⢻⣏⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⣵⠟⠁⠒⠊⠉⢉⣠⣴⣾⠟⢃⡼⠋⠀⠘⢰⠃⠀⠀ ⠴⠛⠐⠂⠀⠘⠛⠿⣿⣾⡟⠀⠃⡘⠁⠀⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣶⡟⠁⢀⣀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⣳⣤⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠚⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡿⠿⠻⠿⡿⠿⠟⠿⢿⠟⠻⠿⢿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⣿⠻⠿⠿⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠃

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➖➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜🔲⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🔲⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜ ➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ➖➖⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢢⣎⣠⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠤⡀⠀⠀⡒⡊⣓⣊⣑⠓⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢈⣱⡈⢢⡀⢣⢣⢹⢸⠠⠲⠀⣠⡊⢁⡀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⢿⣇⠀⢷⡮⢊⢜⢲⡆⢀⢫⠎⠀⣏⠄⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡌⢏⠁⠨⡟⠊⠸⠺⡐⣑⠏⠀⣸⠋⢰⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⣎⣺⠧⠈⠁⣆⠀⠀⠀⠁⢤⣶⡋⠀⠂⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⢟⣛⣿⠛⠓⢲⣞⣿⣷⣶⣶⡟⣻⡿⡿⣶⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠈⣧⢾⣏⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠏⣴⣿⣿⣟⠛⠋⠀ ⠀⣠⢊⢠⠨⠿⠂⣠⠔⢋⡭⢪⠀⢀⣀⣼⣁⢸⡀⠂⠀ ⠀⣻⠏⠘⣏⡀⠀⠀⡀⡿⠫⠀⠒⣉⣴⠟⡼⠋⠓⠎⠀ ⠐⠁⠈⠀⠙⠻⢿⡀⠘⢀⣤⣶⣿⣟⡿⠾⠤⠤⠎⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠰⡶⠴⢦⠴⠶⠴⠦⢶⡴⠤⠴⠶⠶⠶⡶⠶⠆

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⡴⠶⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣶⣟⣛⣛⠛⠛⡻⢶⣦⣤⣤⣄⠈⣙⣻⣶⣤⠴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣛⡿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣝⣻⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⠙⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠿⣦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠏⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠈⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢙⠻⠷⢶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣤⣴⠿⠛⠁⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠷⣶⣾⣬⣭⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣶⣤⣴⣾⠛⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡾⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠖⠛⠛⠛⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⡿⠒⠶⠶⠶⠾⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡌⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣴⣟⣀⣀⠀⣀⣠⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⢀⣀⣸⣧⣈⣷⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⠛⣿⣿⣟⣻⣛⣶⣟⣛⣷⣾⡏⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⢸⡇⣿⣿⠛⣿⠻⣇⣿⣀⣀⣿⠀⠀⣿⠘⠛⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⣼⣿⢿⣟⣛⡛⣿⠛⠛⣿⣿⣇⣀⣀⠘⢳⡞⢳⡞⠛⣿⢻⡄⣿⠀⠘⣿⣟⠛⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⠟⠁⠘⠛⠛⠋⠛⠁⠀⠛⠙⠛⠛⠋⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠛⠘⣧⠛⠀⠀⠛⠙⠳⣿⡀⠀⠛⠀⠈⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣴⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⡿⢹⣇⠀⠙⢷⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣶⣀ ⣸⠛⣷⡀⠻⣧⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢿⣿⣷ ⠙⠀⠈⠃⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠃⢻ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠂⠁⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠔⠁⢀⠴⠬⠥⣤⠬⠵⠄⠀⣠⢔⣒⣚⠳⡄⠀⠀ ⢀⠊⠀⠀⠘⠆⣀⠀⠉⣁⠭⠃⠀⠙⢄⠒⠛⠂⠩⡄⠀ ⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠁⠸⠀ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠄⢠⠀⠸⠄⠀⡇ ⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃ ⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀ ⠀⠡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠒⠠⠤⠀⢈⣦⣤⣐⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠈⡆⠀⠈⠑⢢⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣁⣀⣠⡤⢴⠔⠒⠛⠹⠯⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠏⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⠶⠶⠶⠚⠛⠛⠳⠶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄ ⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢶⣿⣿⣿⡻⠶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡶⠶⢶⣄⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠹⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠶⠦⣤⣤⡤⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⣉⣁⣤⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠃⣠⡀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠆⠉⠑⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿ ⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇ ⠀⠀⢹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⠶⠦⣤⣤⣤⡤⠶⠞⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii (Autistic author) "It's okay, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his voice soothing. "We're just going for a walk. Nothing to worry about." The three of them walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the lapping of the waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull. Karen could feel the tension, and she wondered what was going on inside his head. As they neared the jellyfish fields Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, Plankton, you remember jellyfishing right?" He asked, his tone hopeful. Plankton's antennae stopped the nervous twitching for a moment. "Jellyfishing," he murmured, the memory sparking a glimmer of interest. "Jellyfish sting." Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. "Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said trying to keep the conversation light. Karen could see the effort in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt for ever thinking poorly of him. "Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his voice still flat. Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all the good times we had?" Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good times," he echoed. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Karen took and squeezed Plankton's hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. "Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty sparkly rock." Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before going in the familiar jellyfish fields. Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok Karen?" he asked. "He's just... different now," Karen said, voice tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and the doctor says he has acquired autism." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think I have that, too! But what does that mean for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. "It means he's going to need some help," Karen said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be the same Plankton we know, but his brain works differently now." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying to understand. "Different like how?" Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat what we say," she began, watching Plankton as he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's called echolalia. It's a way for him to process language now." Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding. Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. "Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating words. It's how he processes information now." Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a particularly shiny rock and was now examining it with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more time to understand what people are saying to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton. "How might he act?" Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.." Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know." Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen. Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an encouraging thumbs-up. The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, his eye wide with distress. "Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained. Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking back and forth. "It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. "Just breathe, darling." Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his antennae quivering. "What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice filled with concern. Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as he hummed a tune to himself. Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up, gaze still slightly unfocused. "Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle. Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. "Sounds can be really intense for him now." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down then," he said, his voice a whisper. Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "It means a lot." They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon. Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice gentle. "SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with. Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. "We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can all help each other understand." Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology book that's been lying on the coffee table, half open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new found interest. "Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish." Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a jellyfish." Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty." Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus. Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now." Sponge Bob nods. Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely focused on something to the point where it's almost all he can think about." Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton I see you like the book of jellyfish?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye never leaving the page. Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I can see you really love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

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🅃🄾🅄🅁🄴🅃🅃🄴 🅂🅈🄽🄳🅁🄾🄼🄴 𝚃𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙰 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜.

Dysgenesis in the brain can be a factor in autism spectrum disorders (ASD): Dendritic spine dysgenesis Atypical numbers and structures of dendritic spines in the central neurons of people with autism. This cellular pathology is also found in experimental mouse models of ASD. Cerebral cortical dysgenesis A malformation of the cerebral cortex that can occur when neural migration is defective during gestation. Symptoms include a thickened cortex, high neuronal density, and poor boundaries between the grey and white matter. Olfactory bulb dysgenesis A dysgenesis or agenesis of the olfactory bulbs and projection zones in the brain may contribute to ASD. Other neuroanatomical abnormalities in autism include: Agenesis of the superior olive, Dysgenesis of the facial nucleus, Reduced numbers of Purkinje neurons, and Hypoplasia of the brainstem and posterior cerebellum. ASD is a chronic condition with a wide range of symptoms, including difficulty with communication and social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and obsessive interests.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii (Autistic author) Karen picked him up, and carried his limp form to his bed. She stood there for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. The snores grew quieter as sleep consumed him. The weight of what had just happened settled on her shoulders. Karen lay him down gently. She tucked him in, his antennae resting against the pillow. The room was quiet except for his soft snores, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled it moments before. Karen sat by his side, her hand on his arm. After a few moments, she stood up and walked to the door, closing it gently behind her. She found Hanna in the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and worried. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen said, her voice firm but not accusing. Hanna looked up, her expression hopeful for guidance. Karen sat beside her, her eyes on her own hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's been through a lot," she began, her voice measured. "He's different now." Hanna nodded, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. "Still coming to terms with it but you're just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine." "I guess I'll head out. I never meant to cause Plankton distress." Karen nodded, her eyes still on her fidgeting hands. "Thank you for understanding. I'm pretty sure he knows you didn't mean to, but I can still tell him when he wakes up." Hanna left, and Karen went back to the bedroom. Plankton was still asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful. Karen sat by the bed. Plankton's snores were the only sound in the room, a gentle reminder of the peace that sleep brought him from his tumultuous world of heightened senses. Karen took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This was their new normal, a dance of understanding and patience they would have to learn. When Plankton next woke up, his eye searched the room, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked over to find Karen sitting in a chair beside the bed, her gaze on him. "Hi," she said, her voice gentle. He sat up slowly, the fabric of the bed rustling beneath his weight. "How are you feeling?" Karen's concern was palpable, her eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. Plankton took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Karen's presence was a balm to his soul, her understanding a lifeline in the storm of sensory input. "Where's Hanna?" Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving his face. "She left, sweetie. You were a bit...overwhelmed." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with the memory of the sensory assault. "It's okay," Karen assured him, her voice a soft whisper. "She just didn't understand, and felt bad for the way she treated you." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos from before. He took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Karen reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said, her tone soothing. "This is all new to us. Would you like to eat?" Plankton nodded. "I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen said, standing up. She knew that too much stimulation could send him spiraling. In the kitchen, she prepared a snack of plain crackers. She placed the plate on the table carefully, not wanting to startle his heightened senses again. Plankton entered the room, his movements deliberate and slow. He sat down across from her, his eye darting around the room. "It's ok," Karen reassured him, handing him the plate of crackers. "Just food." "Just food. It's ok; just food." He repeats back to himself, focusing on the plate. Each cracker was a tiny square of safety, a familiar comfort in a sea of sensory uncertainty. He took a deep breath and selected one. The taste was comforting, a reminder of a simpler time. Karen watched him, her screen filled with love. Plankton took a sip of water, his eye never leaving hers. "It's ok just food," he said again, his voice still low. "Karen good and good food. It's ok." Karen nodded, her smile a mix of relief and sadness. She knew his echolalic tendencies was the autism, but she's glad he likes the food as well. They sat in silence, the only sound the crunch of crackers and the occasional sip of water. Plankton's eye focused on the cracker in his hand, the patterns on the surface a comfort. His autistic brain craved the predictability, the sameness that calmed his nerves. This was the man she knew, yet he was different. The Plankton who was always plotting and scheming was now one who found comfort in the mundane. His mind felt clearer now, the overwhelming chaos of the earlier encounter with Hanna beginning to fade. Karen watched him, her heart breaking for the silent struggle she knew he faced every moment. "I'll talk to Hanna," she said gently. "I'll explain. What do you want me to tell her? What'd you like for her to know?" Plankton's gaze remained on the cracker, his thumb tracing the edge. "Tell her sorry," he mumbled. "What else? I mean, is it ok if I tell her you're autistic now? Or what about the accident that lead to the autism?" Plankton's antennae twitched at the word 'accident', his mind reeling with memories of the stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs, the pain. But he nodded slowly. "Ok," he murmured. Karen's heart ached at the simplicity of his response. The complexity of his thoughts was now a tightly guarded secret, hidden behind a wall of sensory overload. "Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice soft. "But remember, it's ok to be different." Plankton nodded, his eye still on his food. But as he took another cracker, he paused. He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I, I l-love you." Karen's eyes widened at the sudden declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too." Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Karen making everything okay," he murmured. He took another cracker, his hands shaking slightly. "You make Plankton feel safe," he continues with sincerity. "In a world that's too much, Karen not too much." Karen's eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt words. She reached across the table and took his hand. "Plankton, I'm here for you. Always." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. He looked into her screen, his own filled with a depth of emotion that hadn't seen before. "You good, Karen," he said, his voice steady. "Helping Plankton." Plankton was finding his way to express himself, to connect with her in a way that was meaningful. She squeezed his hand. "I'll always help you," she promised. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice tentative. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "I love you, Karen," he said finally, his eye intense with feeling. Karen swelled with love and pride. Despite his struggles, Plankton was learning to express his emotions in a way that made sense to him. It was a victory, small but significant. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, squeezing his hand. "Your love makes me happy." His antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his awkwardness with the emotional exchange. The room was quiet, the only noise the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional crunch of a cracker. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for reassurance. "Plankton need...space," he managed, his voice shaky. "Too...much emotional interaction. Still love." Karen nodded, understanding dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said, releasing his hand. "I'll be right here. Take all the time you need."

CHIP AND FAIL iii (Autistic author) "Ok Dad," he said. "Let's go to your workshop." Maybe there, he would be able to come back to himself. But Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's efforts to get him up. "Come on," he said, his voice gentle, trying to mask his own fear. "Let's go." But he sees it's not gonna work. He hadn't realized that his excited touches and loud laughter were only making things worse. Plankton's condition meant that even the smallest disruption could send him spiraling, and here Chip was, bombarding him with sensations. With a tremble in his voice, Chip tried one more time to reach his father. "Dad, can you just come with me?" He asked, his voice small and hopeful. "We'll talk in the workshop." But Plankton still didn't move, his eye fixed on some unseen horizon. Chip stood up, wiping the tears from his screen, trying to listen for his dad's breathing. Chip doesn't like this. Chip's face crumpled, realizing that his dad isn't okay. This was chilling. The more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton's mind spun into a vortex of overstimulation. "Dad, you're not talking," Chip whispered, his voice cracking with concern. He had never seen his father like this, so silent and still. He didn't know that the affectionate gestures and loud stories were only adding to Plankton's distress. "Dad, please," Chip said, his voice small. This wasn't right. This is wrong. Something is very wrong with his dad. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his mind racing with fear and confusion. Something's wrong with his dad. "Dad, you're not okay," Chip said, his voice filled with a new urgency. But now, he knew it was something more, something he didn't know how to fix. But he needs to try. "Can you tell me about your week too?" Absolutely no sign of life from him. This is bad. He's getting worse... Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of response was due to his autism, that his sensory system was in overdrive. All he knew was that he needed to help, to do something. With a tremble in his hands, Chip gently touched Plankton's shoulder. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice soft and soothing, hoping to cut through the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's expression remained unchanged, his eye unfocused. Chip felt like he was shouting into a void, his words disappearing without a trace. The room was spinning, the air thinning with each shallow breath Plankton took. Chip's mind raced with scenarios, trying to piece together what could've caused this sudden change. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, his voice quavering. "Did something happen?" But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's excitement echoing through his overstimulated brain like a never- ending nightmare. Chip's touches grew gentler, his laughter fading into a soft concern. "I don't get it," he said, his voice thick with confusion. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." Plankton felt the pressure but his mind was a maelstrom of sensation. "Dad," Chip said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what's going on." He nudged him, and he remained still and unblinking as the prod toppled him onto his side, with no reaction. The room felt colder, the air heavier with each passing second. He had never seen his father so unresponsive, so utterly lost to the world around him. "Dad," he tried again, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." Plankton's eye remained fixed. The gentle touches from Chip were now a maelstrom of sensation, each one a wave crashing against the shore of his overwhelmed mind. Chip's smile faded as he watched his father. "Dad, you're not okay," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. He didn't know about Plankton's condition, how his brain processed stimuli differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. All he knew was that his dad, the man he looked up to, was trapped in a silent prison of his own making.

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii (Autistic author) Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as he takes a step closer to Plankton. "What don't I know?" he asks, his voice sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..." But his words are cut off by the sight of Plankton, his antennae drooping, his eye brimming with tears. The tiny creature's body trembles as Kevin's to loud words settle upon him, and suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain come rushing out in a torrent as a single tear forms and slides down his face. Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and he squeaks out a sob, his tiny body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words. SpongeBob is shocked. Kevin's words hang in the water, his laughter fading into an awkward silence as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea cucumber's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his own expression morphing from smug to surprise, then to something akin to fear. "Plankton?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, trying to compose himself, his monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... brainless," he murmurs, his one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he adds, his voice cracking, "Plankton... not like jellyfish." Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's hurtful words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye glistening with tears. "Plankton... brainless. Like jellyfish." Kevin's expression morphs from smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... you know, a joke." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... brainless." Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in horror as he sees the pain etched on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, his voice cracking. "It was just a... I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no purpose in life," he murmurs, his one eye filled with a sadness so profound it seems to suck the color out of the surrounding waters. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton," he says gently, "you have friends. You have a purpose." But Plankton's antennae droop even lower, his monotone voice a sad echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.." Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced with a flicker of concern as he watches the usually unflappable Plankton crumple under the weight of his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching out to touch him. But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering with pain. "Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of surprise and regret, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just messing around." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye fixed. "Brainless." Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness Plankton rarely hears from anyone. "You're not brainless." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," he murmurs, his one eye unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish." SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession with jellyfish is more than just a hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of who he is after the traumatic brain injury. And now, Kevin's careless words have struck a nerve, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, "you're not like that. You're smart. You're... you're you." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye still avoiding contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish." SpongeBob understood that the brain trauma has affected him, making him more vulnerable to words that question his intelligence and identity due to his autism. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern, "you know that's not true. You're not like jellyfish in that way." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he murmurs. "Mindless, brainless." Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, reaching out to offer comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," he says, his voice gentle and assuring. "You're brilliant. You know more about jellyfish than anyone." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," he murmurs, eye downcast. "Plankton... brainless." Sponge Bob tries to find the right words to say. "Plankton," he says gently, "you're not like that. You're so much more than what Kevin said." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's gaze. "Plankton... no purpose." Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. "You guys are acting weird." Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed on Plankton, "you don't know what happened to Plankton." Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" Kevin's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton had a bad accident. He hit his head, and now he's... different." Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his smugness evaporating. "What do you mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a brain injury," he says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. "He's... autistic now." Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "What? No way," he stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... you're joking, right?" But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, gently stroking Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's had a tough time, and he's different now." "Plankton, joke." Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... but why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice trembling. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "We didn't think it was anyone's business," he says tightening around Plankton's shaking antennae. "But now you know Kevin. And we need you to be cool about it."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii (Autistic author) Inside, she sets him down on their favorite couch, the one with the frayed edges and the squeaky spring that always reminded them of their first date. The room is cluttered with half-finished inventions and plans for Krabby Patty heists. She sits beside him. The silence stretches on, heavier than a net full of anchovies. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting around the room, taking in the chaos. Karen's mind is racing, wondering if he recognizes any of it, if it brings back any memories of their life together. "Home," he murmurs, his voice filled with uncertainty. The room feels smaller, more cramped than she remembered, as if the walls are closing in on them. "Do you like it here?" she asks, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks around, his antennas moving slightly as he processes his surroundings. "Home," he says again, his voice a mix of curiosity and confusion. The room is a jumble of wires, gadgets, and half-eaten chum sticks. Karen's with tears as she realizes how much she's taken for granted their life together. She had always loved Plankton's quirks and his boundless energy, but now his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, unable to move beyond the basic functions of acknowledgment. "Home," Plankton says again, his antennas drooping. "Home with Karen." The repetition of the words stirs something within Karen. Echolalia, the doctor had called it, a common trait in those with autism. It was Plankton's way of trying to understand the world around him, to find comfort in familiar words and phrases. "Yes," she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. "This is our home." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's echolalic chant of "home with Karen" repeats in a soothing loop. Each time he says it, Karen feels a pang of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was finding comfort in the simplicity of their life together. "Home with Karen," he says again, his antennas slightly more animated. Karen nods, brimming with tears. "Yes, Plankton, we're home." But she sees a flicker of distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his antennas quivering with urgency. "Where's Sponge Bob?" Karen's heart squeezes at the mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not here right now," she says, choosing her words carefully. "But he'll come to visit." Plankton's antennas shoot up, his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob." The desperation in his tone is heart-wrenching, and Karen knows she needs to act fast to soothe his anxiety. "Ok, ok," she says, her voice calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob." Karen picks up the phone, her hands shaking slightly as she dials the familiar number. The phone rings once, twice, before it's answered by a cheerful voice. "Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice sounds surprised but concerned. "Is everything ok?" Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's Plankton," she says. "He's asking for you to come over." There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Plankton? But we're... I mean?" Sponge Bob's voice is filled with confusion. Karen's with desperation as she watches Plankton rock back and forth on the couch, his chant growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need Sponge Bob." "Please, Sponge Bob," she pleads, her voice cracking. Sponge Bob's voice on the other end of the line softens. "Of course, Karen. I'll be right over." The line goes dead, and Karen hangs up the phone, feeling a tiny spark of hope. Plankton's cries for Sponge Bob have become more insistent, his rocking more pronounced. She gently places a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "He'll be here soon." Plankton's rocking slows, his antennas drooping slightly. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his eye searching hers. "Safe." The word hangs in the air, and Karen realizes that despite his confusion, he feels comfort in Sponge Bob's presence. A few moments later, they hear the telltale sound of bubbles popping against the glass, and a knock on the door. With a tremble, Karen stands and opens it to reveal Sponge Bob, looking slightly nervous but determined. "Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. Plankton's antennas shoot up at the sound of his name, and he whips his head around to face the door. "Sponge Bob!" he shouts, his eye lighting up with an unmistakable joy. Sponge Bob steps into the room. "Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. He lunges forward, wrapping his tiny arms around the larger sponge in an embrace. Sponge Bob looks surprised but quickly returns the hug, his spongy form enveloping Plankton completely. "Plankton, what's going on?" he asks, his eyes wide with concern. He's never seen Plankton like this. Plankton pulls back, his expression a jumble of emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says again, his voice filled with affection. He grabs Sponge Bob's hand and tugs him closer. "Home with Karen. Need you." Sponge Bob looks to Karen, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nods encouragingly. "It's ok," she says. "He's just happy you're here." The sight of Plankton's excited state brings a smile to Sponge Bob's face, despite his confusion. He sits down next to him on the couch, his own excitement growing. "What do you want to do?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. Plankton's antennas twitch as he thinks, his eye darting around the room. "Let's play a game," he suddenly exclaims, his voice filled with a child-like excitement that hadn't been there before. "What kind of game, Plankton?" Karen asks, eager to encourage his newfound energy. "Chess!" he exclaims, pointing to a dusty board in the corner of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He leaps up from the couch and wipes the dust from the board with his spongy hand, setting up the pieces with surprising efficiency. Karen watches from the sidelines, her heart swelling with love and hope as Plankton's enthusiasm grows. He moves the pieces with a frenetic energy, his eye alight with a joy she hadn't seen since before the accident. Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, matches his excitement, even though he's clearly outmatched by Plankton's strategic mind. "Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, his antennas waving with each word. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of surprise and admiration. "Wow, Plankton, you're really good at this!" The room echoes with Plankton's laughter, a sound that's both familiar and foreign to Karen's ears. The old Plankton would have gloated. "Checkmate," he says again, his antennas bobbing in excitement. "Checkmate, checkmate." Sponge Bob laughs, a wonderful, genuine laugh that fills the room. "You win, Plankton," he says, his hands clapping together. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, and he looks at Sponge Bob, his eye studying the sponge's reaction. "Win," he repeats, a hint of understanding in his voice. "Win at chess." He claps like SpongeBob. Sponge Bob's eyes light up, seeing the connection. "Yes, Plankton, you won the chess game," he says, his voice soothing. "You're really good at it." Plankton's antennas start to twitch again, his eye darting between the board and Sponge Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his voice filled with a newfound sense of pride. "Win with Sponge Bob." The phrase becomes a chant, his brain finding solace in the repetition. "Win with Sponge Bob, win with Sponge Bob." Sponge Bob smiles warmly, picking up the rhythm of Plankton's words. "Yes, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You won the game. You're a great chess player." Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye locking onto Sponge Bob's. "Great chess player," he echoes, his voice a mix of pride and amazement. "Win with Sponge Bob." Karen watches from the sidelines with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the breakthrough they needed. Sponge Bob's presence was calming him, bringing out a side of Plankton she hadn't seen since the accident.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii (Autistic author) "Now let's go to the living room and I'll go pick up a smoothie for you. Can you stay here by yourself?" He nodded, his expression slightly less tense. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the Chum Bucket. Just moments later, Karen's friend Hanna came for a surprise visit. She knew Karen had a husband named Plankton, but she never met him. Plankton was now back on the living room couch. "Oh, you must be Plankton!" Hanna exclaimed. Plankton's eye flitted to her, his expression unreadable. Hanna walked over to the couch, her smile wide and genuine. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, embracing him in a hug. Plankton stiffened, his eye wide with surprise. His body tensed, his mind racing to process this new sensory input. "You ok?" Hanna asked, pulling back slightly. She had noticed his reaction but didn't know the reason behind it. Plankton nodded, his eye darting around the room again. He wasn't used to such spontaneous affection, and the unexpected sensation of Hanna's arms around him had thrown him off balance. "Yes, I am Plankton," he murmured, his voice monotone. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Hanna's smile didn't waver, unaware of the turmoil within his mind. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's gaze flicked to the ceiling, his mind racing to find the right words. "Today, feeling," he echoed, his voice still a whisper. The repetition was a comfort, a way to process the flood of sensory information that assaulted him continuously. Hanna looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know, your wife Karen tells me you're an inventor," she said, her tone innocently curious. Plankton's eye locked onto hers, his mind racing to understand the context of her words. "Inventor," he repeated, his voice flat. It was a word he knew, but it felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yes, inventor," Hanna said, nodding enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about your gadgets and contraptions. What are you working on these days?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room again, his mind struggling to grasp the concept of 'working'. "Gadgets, contraptions," he murmured, his voice a broken record. Hanna's expression was one of confusion, her smile beginning to fade. "Well, what do you do all day?" she prodded gently, trying to coax him out of his silence. Plankton's reply was immediate and robotic, "Do, all day, all day." Hanna's brow furrowed, uncertain how to interpret his repetitive response. She had known Karen for years, but Plankton's behavior was unlike anything she had ever heard of her friend's husband. "Do you like the beach?" she asked, hoping to engage him in conversation. Plankton's eye blinked slowly, his mind processing the question. "Beach," he echoed, his voice hollow. Hanna nodded, encouraged by his response. "Yes, the beach! It's such a beautiful place. Do you ever go there?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the memory of sand and surf a distant whisper. "Go, beach, beautiful place," he said, his words a stuttered echo of hers. Hanna's smile dimmed slightly. This wasn't the witty banter she was expecting from Karen's husband. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, uncertain. Plankton's eye moved to hers, his gaze intense. "Talk," he repeated, his voice a whisper. Hanna felt a twinge of discomfort. Something was off about his responses, but she couldn't quite put her tentacle on what it was. "Well, what do you like to do for fun?" she tried again, her tone tentative. Plankton's eye wandered back to his own hand, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do, fun," he murmured, the words a reflexive response to the question. Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you do for fun?" she clarified, wondering if he had simply misunderstood. Plankton's gaze remained on his fidgeting hand, his mind racing to connect the concept of 'fun' with his new reality. "Do, fun," he repeated, his voice devoid of the mirth he once expressed so freely. Hanna's smile was now forced, her confusion growing with each interaction. "Plankton, can you tell me what you enjoy doing?" she asked, hoping for a clearer response. He looked up at her, his gaze slightly less focused than before. "Enjoy doing," he repeated, his voice a faint echo. Hanna's twitched with concern. "You know, like hobbies or interests," she prompted gently, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's eye moved back to his fidgeting hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensory overload. "Hobbies, interests," he murmured, his voice a hollow echo. Hanna's concern was now clear on her screen. "You know, like things you like to do in your free time," she tried again, her voice a little less bright. Plankton's eye latched onto hers. "Free time," he repeated, his voice a monotone. "Like to do." Hanna's eyes widened slightly, her confusion growing with each word he said. "Yes, exactly," she nodded, her voice a little more cautious now. "What do you like to do in your free time? Well, other than repetition.." She awkwardly laughs as she elbows him multiple times, not knowing how her touch is irritating Plankton. Plankton's getting more frustrated/angry now, as Hanna goes to pat his shoulder. He can't take much more now. Hanna's touch was like a brand, searing his already overwhelmed senses. He flinched away, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton, are you ok?" Hanna asked, her voice filled with concern. She noticed his discomfort but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, his voice still a monotone. Hanna looked at him with concern, her smile slipping. "Karen said you used to be quite the conversationalist. What happened?" She says, grabbing his elbow; but that's the last straw for Plankton. Plankton's eye snapped up to hers, his voice sharp. "What happened? You happened!" He snapped, his words sharp as a knife. The sudden aggression in his tone was like a slap in the face, catching Hanna off guard. She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began, but Plankton was on a roll now. "You don't know what happened!" his voice grew louder, his words quickening with each syllable. "You don't know anything!" Hanna's eyes went wide with shock. This was not the Plankton Karen had described. Her arms flailed in the air as she tried to placate his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I just didn't know..."

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a few moments, Chip's screen glued to his dad's still form. The only sound is the steady rhythm of Plankton's shallow breathing. As the minutes tick by, Chip's thoughts swirl with confusion and guilt. He had no idea that his dad's quirks and sensitivities were part of something so complex. He'd just thought Plankton was easily annoyed or tired. Karen notices his son's distress and decides it's time to explain more. "You know how sometimes you get really excited about something, and you just can't keep it in?" she asks. Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I see a new toy or when I've got a great idea for a sandcastle." "Well, for Dad, it's like that all the time," Karen continues. "Every little thing can be a big deal, and sometimes it's just too much." She pauses, looking at Plankton with a mix of love and concern. "But he's also the smartest person I know, and he loves you so much. That's what's important." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he watches his mom care for his dad. He'd always felt a bit left out, not understanding why Plankton would sometimes retreat from the world. But now he gets it. It's not that his dad didn't want to share in his excitement, it's just that sometimes, the world was too much for him. "Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his throat tight with emotion. "I didn't mean to make him... like this." Karen pulls him into a warm embrace. "You didn't do anything wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault. Dad's brain just works differently. And now that we know, we can help each other understand." Chip sniffles against her, his thoughts racing. "Does he know what's happening or can he understand us?" "Sometimes he can," Karen says, her voice low and soothing. "But right now, I don't think he realizes anything's happening around him." "What if he doesn't wake up?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "He will, honey," Karen says, her tone reassuring. "It just takes a little time. It's like when you're really tired and you need a nap. His brain needs to rest." The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in, a stark contrast to the excitement that had filled it just moments ago. Chip watches his dad, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. He wants to laugh and share more stories, but he knows now that his dad's brain needs a break. As they wait, Karen starts to clean up the mess Chip made. The sand and papers scattered across the floor seem so trivial now, a stark reminder of the chaos his enthusiasm can create for his dad. He helps her, carefully picking up each piece, placing them back into their rightful spots. His mind is racing with thoughts of how to be a better son, how to make sure his dad doesn't feel like this again. They work in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional clank of a metal item being set back on the desk. The room slowly transforms back to its usual state of order, a stark contrast to the turmoil Plankton was experiencing. Chip's eyes never leave his dad, hoping to see any sign of improvement. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension in the room shifts. His breathing becomes deeper and more regular. Karen's shoulders relax as she sees the first signs of Plankton coming back to himself. She gives Chip's hand a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's starting to come out of it." Chip stares, hope filling his chest. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. He blinks a few more times, as if trying to bring the room into focus. "What... what happened?" His voice is weak, almost a whisper. Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand. "You just needed a little break, sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

JUST A TOUCH iii (Autistic author) ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ Once home, she helped him settle into his favorite chair, his eye scanning the room. Everything was in its place, exactly as he liked it. Karen noticed his breathing slow as the familiarity washed over him. She knew that routine and order could be vital to his comfort now to avoid triggering his anxiety. Then suddenly, Plankton began to rock back and forth. Karen recognized the motion. It was a new behavior, one she hadn't seen before. His body swayed with a rhythm that matched the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We're home now." The rocking grew more intense, his eye darting around the room, his antennae vibrating with each back-and-forth movement. Karen's mind raced, trying to remember the doctor's words. Sensory overload. He needed calm. Swiftly, she dimmed the lights, the neon signs from the Krabby Patty franchise across the street casting soothing shadows through the windows. The glow was just enough to illuminate the space without causing further distress, and she watched as Plankton's rocking subsided. She sat by him. She grasped and squeezed his shoulder. But this time, he flinched. "Plankton?" she asked, concern etching her voice. He pulled away from her, his antennae dropping to his side. The doctor had mentioned that some with autism might have heightened sensitivity to touch. Karen felt a knot in her stomach. "What if he doesn't like me touching him anymore?" she thought. "What if I can't comfort him when he's upset?" She decided to test the waters gently. Reaching out, she lightly trailed her finger over his hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged, she placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time more softly. He tensed, then relaxed. It was progress. "Let's start with simple touch," she said, her voice soothing. The doctor had mentioned that Plankton might be hypersensitive to certain types of touch, and Karen was determined to navigate this new aspect of their relationship with care. She placed a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen." Her hand hovered over his, unsure of the best way to provide comfort. Karen took a deep breath, deciding to try again. This time, she approached with care, her touch feather-light, gliding over his hand like the softest of sea breezes. Plankton's antennae twitched, and his gaze remained on her hand, watching the movement as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his hand lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative touch, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters. Karen felt a rush of relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand was cold, his grip firm but not painful. His eye locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. Slowly, she began to stroke his hand with her thumb, applying the slightest pressure. His breathing evened out, his antennae rising slightly. Encouraged, she tried a different type of touch—a gentle squeeze. This time, he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand returned the gesture, his own grip matching hers in strength. Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Maybe we can find a way through this," she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, their hands entwined, as Karen tried to think of the next step. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: find what works for him. Gently, she began to rub his hand, her thumb moving in small, soothing circles. Plankton seemed to find comfort in the predictable pattern, his body unwinding a fraction more. Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer, her other hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. But as soon as her hand made contact with his skin, he jerked away, his eye flashing with fear and pain. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart racing. "I didn't mean to scare you." Plankton stared at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just, sometimes touch feels..." His words trailed off, and Karen felt her own fear rising. "Painful?" she guessed, her voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Some touches are okay, others..." He paused, his eye darting to his hand, which was still wrapped around hers. "It's confusing." Karen nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew she had to be more mindful of his sensory needs. Carefully, she pats his cheek with the back of her hand, the lightest of touches. Plankton's antennae flinched, but he didn't pull away until she put both of her hands on his shoulders. The sudden pressure was too much, like an electric shock. "Karen," he said, his voice tight with discomfort, "too much." Karen nodded, her hands retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching hers. "It's okay, Karen," he said, his voice measured. "But some touches are too much." Karen nodded, her heart heavy. She had so much to learn about this new Plankton, this person she knew so well yet barely knew at all. "I'll be more careful," she promised, squeezing his hand gently. Plankton's gaze remained steady on hers, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Karen," he said, giving her a side hug. This was a Plankton she had never seen before, one who spoke in a staccato rhythm, his movements precise and calculated. Yet, in the safety of their home, Karen saw glimpses of the man she knew. Her eyes fell upon a pamphlet the doctor had given her, titled 'Understanding Neurodivergence'. She picked it up and began to read. The first few pages were dedicated to explaining what it meant to be neurodivergent, how it wasn't an illness but a natural variation in the brain. Plankton's new condition, Acquired Autism, was one of the many spectrums that fell under this umbrella. Karen read through the descriptions of different behaviors, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the changes in Plankton— his need for order, his heightened sensitivity to stimuli, and his newfound obsessions. The pamphlet explained that these were common in individuals with his condition and offered optional suggestions for supporting them. Her gaze fell upon a section titled 'Seizure Protocols'. Karen's eyes widened as she read about the different types of seizures that could occur due to neurodivergence. Some were minor, like staring spells, while others could be more severe. Her heart raced as she thought of Plankton, his body stiffening and shaking. The pamphlet recommended to keep any sharp or harmful objects away from him. It was important not to restrain him, but instead, to gently guide him to the floor if necessary. The next section discussed how to communicate with someone on the spectrum. It suggested using clear, direct language, avoiding sarcasm and idioms. Karen realized that she would have to learn a new way of speaking with Plankton. Her screen skimmed over the pages, absorbing the information like a sponge. The pamphlet highlighted the importance of individuality and diversity, emphasizing that Plankton's brain was not broken, but simply wired differently. This was a concept she had heard of before, but it had never hit so close to home. The causes of neurodisability varied widely, from genetics to congenital to trauma. One paragraph caught her attention—brain injuries could lead to conditions like Acquired Autism. The words swirled in her mind, a stark reminder of the wrench that had changed everything. As Karen read on, she learned about the complex interplay of biological factors and life experiences that can shape a person's neurodivergence. It was both overwhelming and fascinating, a glimpse into a world she had never truly understood.

GREAT CHIP iii (Autistic author) Karen followed, her screen on her husband's tentative steps. "Chip," she called out softly, knocking gently. "Can we come in?" There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sniffling. "It's ok, sweetie," she said. "Your dad and I want to talk to you." Slowly, the door cracked open, and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out. His eyes searched theirs, looking for answers, for reassurance. Plankton's heart twisted at the sight. He had never wanted to cause his son any pain, especially not like this. He felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he stepped into the room, his every move feeling clumsy and exposed. "Chip," he began, his voice strained, "It's just..." Plankton's words trailed off, his gaze flitting around the room as if searching for the right ones. The air felt thick with tension. Chip looked up at him, his eyes swollen with unshed tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. But Plankton's anger hadn't subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have touched me," he snapped, his voice sharp, his frustration still palpable. "You now know better than that!" Chip flinched at his father's tone, his own eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested. Plankton's gaze was unyielding. "You should know better!" he insisted, his voice echoing with accusation. "You're not a baby anymore!" Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. "But I didn't know!" he choked out, his voice small and defensive. "Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly, his eye still avoiding Chip's. "You have to respect my space!" The room felt too small, his emotions too big. Chip's face crumpled, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to..." But Plankton's anger was like a storm, unyielding. "I don't care what you wanted!" he shouted. "You can't just touch me like that!" The room felt like it was closing in, his heart racing faster with each word. He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but his own emotions were a tornado whipping through his thoughts. He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize. "It's your fault for not knowing!" Plankton's voice was like thunder, filling the room with accusation. Karen's eyes grew wide with shock, but she didn't dare to interrupt. Chip's sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his father's wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad," he pleaded, his voice thick with pain. Plankton's eye was like a stone, his words cutting through the air. "That's no excuse!" he bellowed. "You should've learned by now! Or are you just to busy with your silly games and neurotypical friends to care about your own father?" Chip's shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his sobs. He didn't know what to say, his mind a jumble of emotions. All he knew was that he had hurt his dad, and now his dad was hurt and mad at him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "It was an accident, I didn't know!" But Plankton's anger didn't abate. "Accident or not, you should've known better!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his words piercing the air like knives. "You're not a baby anymore, so don't act like one!" Chip felt his world crumbling. He didn't mean to upset Dad, but he didn't know what to do. He just wanted to help, to show his love, but it all went wrong. "But Dad," he tried again, his voice barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..." "I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared, his anger a living, breathing entity that filled the room. His words were sharp, like shards of glass in the air. Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart breaking with each accusation. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..." Plankton's anger didn't waver. "You never know!" he spat. "You never pay attention!" His words were like a whip, each one stinging Chip's already bruised heart. "You think the world revolves around you!" Chip's eyes were a pool of tears, his body trembling as he tried to find the right words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger grew with each of Chip's stumbling attempts. "You just what?" he snarled, his senses overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil. He felt the urge to break something, anything to release the pressure building in his chest. With a roar, he swiped his hand across Chip's desk, sending papers flying and toys clattering to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?" he yelled, his voice shaking the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL?" Chip cowered, his eyes locked on the chaos, his mind whirling. He hadn't meant to make his dad feel like this. He didn't understand why his curiosity was so wrong. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice tiny and lost in the maelstrom of Plankton's rage. Plankton's eye was wild, his movements erratic. He knew his anger was a storm, but he couldn't stop it. The room spun around him, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He felt a hand on his arm, Karen's voice cutting through the noise in his head. "Plankton, please," she begged. But he shrugged her off, his rage now a living, breathing monster inside of him. He picked up a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations, and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound piercing the silence that followed. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his body trembling with fear. "This," Plankton said, his voice low and dangerous, "is what you do to me." He picked up another toy, his hand shaking with anger. "This is what your curiosity does!" Chip's eyes widened with fear as Plankton's hand arced back, ready to hurl it. But as the toy could leave his grip, his body seized up again, his legs buckling. Another absence seizure had struck. Karen's heart raced as she watched her husband's uncontrolled movements. She knew she had to intervene before things escalated. She rushed to Plankton's side, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Stop," she whispered urgently. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his eyes wide with fear. He had never seen his dad so out of control before. Plankton's seizure was taking over, his body betraying him once again. Karen's voice pierced the chaos, a beacon of calm. "Chip, let me handle this." Her son nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's shaky form. Karen turned to Plankton's form, supporting. "Come on," she said firmly, guiding his trembling form to their own bedroom. "Let's sit down, okay?" As they do, Plankton's still caught in the throes of the seizure. Chip felt like he was watching a stranger, his dad's body twitching uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii (Autistic author) As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's trembling subsided. He looked up at her, his antennae still twitching slightly. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Plankton sorry Karen." This wasn't like him. Plankton had his quirks, sure, but this was something else entirely. It was as if the fall had shaken something loose in his mind, revealing a part of him she had never seen before. Her arms tightened around his slight frame, and she pressed her screen to his forehead. "Don't be sorry," she whispered. "You're scared, and that's okay." Plankton nodded, his single eye squeezing shut as if to hold in his fear. He leaned into her embrace, his body finally going limp. Karen felt his wetness on her neck, and realized he was crying. "It's okay," she whispered again, her voice the only sound in the silent room. "You're safe with me." Plankton's antennae stilled against her, and she felt his breathing grow calmer. The quiet was unusual for their home, but in this moment, it was a welcome balm. Her mind raced, trying to recall any signs she might have missed, any indication that Plankton was suffering from something deeper than the physical trauma of the fall. Was this a sudden onset of a condition? Or had it been there all along, masked by his quirks and his usual bravado? "Karen," Plankton murmured again, his eye squeezed shut. "Karen Plankton." "It's okay," she soothed. "You're okay." But the silence grew louder, and she knew it was more than just the quiet of their usual bickering. This was a new Plankton, one she wasn't sure how to reach. His repetition of her name was like a mantra, a lifeline to the world he knew. Karen held him closer, her own eyes now brimming with tears. They had been through so much together, and she had always been his anchor, the one constant in his life. But now, she felt adrift, uncertain of how to navigate these uncharted waters. Plankton's grip around her tightened, his breath hitching in sobs. His muttered repeating of her name grew louder, almost frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen..." It was like he was stuck in a loop, his mind unable to comprehend the sudden change around him. "Shh," she soothed, stroking his back. "It's okay, we're here, together." Plankton's repetition of her name grew more frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen," he chanted, his voice rising in pitch. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice steady despite her internal turmoil. "Everything's going to be okay." But his chanting continued, growing louder and more desperate. She knew she couldn't just sit here forever, she had to do something. But what? Her mind raced, thinking of all the times Plankton had fixed her when she was broken. Now it was her turn. She had to find a way to reach him. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Look at me." She gently lifted his chin so he was forced to meet her screen. "You're okay, we're together." His eye searched hers, desperation clear in its depths. The chanting of her name grew softer, but didn't cease. Karen's mind raced, trying to think of anything that could help him snap out of this state. "Remember the chum?" she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The time we had a picnic and the seagulls came?" Plankton's chanting paused for a moment, and his eye flickered with recognition. It was a memory from their early days, a moment of shared joy amidst their usual bickering. "Chum," he murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. "Seagulls." Karen's screen lit up with hope. It was a start, a crack in the facade of his fear. "Yes, the seagulls," she said, smiling through her tears. "Remember how we laughed when they stole our sandwiches?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, and a tiny smile graced his lips. "Seagulls," he repeated, his voice a little less shaky. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And remember how we chased them together?" Plankton's smile grew slightly, and his antennae moved a bit more naturally. "Chased," he agreed, his voice still wobbly but with a hint of his usual spirit. Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. He was remembering, engaging with her. "Yes, we chased them, and we got the chum back," she said, trying to keep the conversation going. Plankton's antennae moved slightly, and he nodded, his eye focusing more clearly on her. "Chum," he murmured, his voice stronger now. "Good chum." Karen took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She had to keep him grounded, keep him with her. "Yes," she said, her voice determined, "good chum." Plankton's antennae stilled, and he took a deep, ragged breath. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Chum." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the flicker of the man she knew. "Yes, Plankton, chum." The room remained silent, except for the sound of Plankton's deepening breaths. The word "chum" seemed to have a calming effect on his agitated state. He repeated it to himself, his antennae finally stilling. Karen watched him, relief and sadness mingling within her. This was a side of Plankton she had never seen before, a raw vulnerability that made her ache. He was like a lost child, seeking comfort in familiar words. "Chum," he murmured once more, his eye shutting. Karen nodded. "Yes, chum," she said, her voice soothing. Plankton's body relaxed in her arms, his breathing evening out. For a moment, the room remained still, save for the steady rhythm of his breath. But then, his antennae began to move again, not with fear this time, but with something else. It was almost as if his mind was racing, trying to process the world around him. Karen felt his grip on her loosen, his body shifting slightly in the couch cushions. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice tentative. He didn't respond, but his eye fluttered open, his gaze focused on a spot on the wall. "Looks like he's in a trance," Karen thought aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, as if trying to capture invisible signals. His face was a mask of concentration, his body tense and poised like he was ready to flee. Karen felt a cold wave of understanding wash over her. This wasn't just fear or confusion, it was something deeper. She scanned his brain, and then she saw the results. "Oh, Plankton," she breathed. He had developed autism. The fall had triggered something within his brain, irreversible damage to. She felt a mix of shock and sorrow, but also a fierce determination to support him. "Autism. You're autistic now." He looked at her, his eye blinking in understanding. "Autism," he echoed. "Different." Karen nodded. "Yes, but you're still my Plankton." Plankton's expression was a jumble of emotions. Recognition, fear, confusion, and a tiny spark of hope. "Different," he repeated. "But... same?" Karen nodded, squeezing his hand. "Different, but still my Plankton." She swiped at her tears, determined to be strong for him. "We'll get through this, I promise." Plankton looked at her with a mix of relief and fear. "Karen... love." Karen felt love and pain. "I love you, Plankton," she whispered, her voice shaking. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching for a moment, and he squeezed her hand. "Together," he repeated, his voice small but firm. Karen nodded, swiping at her tears. "We'll face this together, I promise. Now, it's late; let's get to sleep.." She cleaned up the remnants of the shelf.

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii He took another sip of water, his cheeks puffing out as he swished it around his mouth. "Mmph, tath's betta," he said, handing the cup back to the nurse. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. "Okay, let's get you up," she said, her voice still filled with laughter. Plankton nodded, his antennae bobbing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements slow and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm under his and helped him stand. His balance was wobbly, like a newborn foal taking its first steps. She had to stifle her giggles as he tried to navigate the unseen world with his numbed mouth. "Mmph... Kahen," he began, his voice a series of muffled sounds. "How long wi’ this lafs?" Karen chuckled at his question. "It'll wear off in a few hours. But until then, you're going to have to be careful." Plankton's antennae wiggled with determination. "Mmph, I'm a bih boy," he slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh at his bravado. "Yes, you are," she said, her voice warm and supportive. "Let's get you to the car." With Plankton leaning heavily on her, they shuffled down the hallway." "Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred, his words still thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. "You know, I've alwaths wanthed to know... how youw wove me wath." Karen raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden sentimental turn. "Mmph, wike, how... how youw... feww in wove?" he managed, his tongue thick and clumsy. Karen's smile grew tender at his earnest question. "Well, it's complicated," she began, her voice soft. "But I guess it started when we met. Now, let's get in the car." Plankton nodded, his antennae waving with understanding. "Mmph, okay." Karen helped him shuffle his way out of the hospital, his feet dragging slightly. He was still groggy from the anesthesia, but his curiosity was in overdrive. "Mmph, Kahen," Plankton slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?" Karen glanced down at him, his expression earnest. "It's like when two people really, really like each other," she replied, her voice gentle. "Wike... I wove youw tho mush." He says. Karen couldn't help but laugh again. "Plankton, you're not making any sense," she said, her voice filled with affectionate exasperation. His antennae drooped slightly, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled, his mouth still a mess of numbness. "It's just... I wove youw Kahen." Karen's heart skipped a beat, his words a sweet jumble of slurs. "I know, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. They reached the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?" Plankton asked pointing to the dashboard. Karen chuckled. "It's the car's dashboard, Plankton. You're just seeing things differently because of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt, his movements exaggerated. "Mmph, oh," he murmured, his interest shifting to the windshield wipers. "Mow, theath things, they'we like... like... arms," he said, his speech still a slurry mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "They're wipers, Plankton. For the rain," she corrected, starting the engine. He nodded, his antennae still waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's theath wound?" he asked, pointing at the steering wheel. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "That's the steering wheel, buddy. It's what I use to drive the car," she said, her voice still filled with humor. Plankton stared at it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Mmph, and theath wound?" he asked, his finger tracing the path of the windshield wipers. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "It's to keep the windshield clear, so we can see while driving." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Mmph, so many tings in this big wowld." Karen couldn't help but laugh, his innocent wonder bringing a smile to her face. "Yes, Plankton, there are so many things to discover," she said, backing out of the parking spot. "Mmph, and wath's wath?" Plankton asked, pointing out the window at a passing scallop. "That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies in the sky," she explained, her voice still filled with amusement. He nodded, his antennae bobbing as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o beautiful," he slurred, his eye gazing out the window like a child seeing the world for the first time. Karen couldn't help but be captivated by his innocent wonder. "You know, Plankton, sometimes you say the sweetest things without even realizing it." His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?" he asked, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen nodded, her smile tender. "You do." "Mmph, gweat," he says with a slow nod of his head. Karen steers the car onto the road, the sun casting a warm glow over Plankton's sleepy face. His antennae wilt slightly as his eye struggles to stay open. "Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so bright," he complains, his voice still slurred from the anesthesia. Karen chuckles, reaching over to adjust the visor. "Better?" He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He said, as drool began to form again in the corner of his mouth. Karen reached over with a tissue, carefully dabbing it away. Plankton flinched slightly, his mouth still too numb to feel the touch. "Mmph, I wathn't expehcting this," he mumbles, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The world outside the car was a blur of colors and shapes, his mind still trying to make sense of it all. Karen navigated the road, her eyes flipping between the road and Plankton's amusing expressions. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?" he asks, his eye half-closed. Karen looks over at the traffic light, its red light a stark contrast to the bright sun. "It's a stoplight, Plankton. It tells me when to stop and go." Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a twail." His eye closes, and Karen can feel his weight shift slightly toward her as sleep begins to claim him again. "Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice interrupts the quiet hum of the engine, his words a soft whisper. "Ith wike I'm swimmin' in molasses," he says, his mouth still not cooperating. Karen laughs, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his peaceful face. "You're just tired from the surgery," she assures him. "You'll be fine once you get some rest." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "But, Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep," he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience this wowld with you." His words were earnest, his gaze firm despite his grogginess. She watched him fight the tide of sleep, his eyelid drooping again. "Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?" he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his confusion. "It's a mirror, sweetheart," she said, her voice soothing. "So we can see what's behind us." Plankton nodded, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just tired." His eyes grew heavier, his lid drooping. "Mmph, I am," he admitted, his voice a faint whisper. The car's gentle rocking and the hum of the engine began to lull him into a doze. Karen watched him, his snores growing louder as he succumbed to sleep. His hand still held hers, the connection warm and comforting. She felt his grip loosen slightly, his body relaxing into the seat. His breathing grew deep and even, his antennae quietly bobbing with each exhalation. Karen couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for this vulnerable side of Plankton she'd never seen before. The car ride home was quiet, punctuated only by Plankton's gentle snores and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Karen smiled to herself, her grip on his hand never loosening.

✍︎ 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 ✯ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 |✯| 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ✯𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅/𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅/𝑬𝑻𝑪 𝑇𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝑎 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝑳𝑮𝑩𝑻𝑸+ 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ✯𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝑑𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 ✯𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐞.𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐷𝑟𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑦, 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑦 '𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬' ✯𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 ✯𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐴𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐬 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡 ✯𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝙲𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘, 𝙫𝙖𝙭𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲/𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 ✯𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐼𝑓 𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑖𝑓 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦

⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯⣯ ⣯⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣯⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⣏⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇ ⣏⣧⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣇⣧⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣯ ⣧⣏⣇⣇⣇⣧⣧⣯⣯⡀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣿⣧⣏⣏⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇ ⣯⣯⣇⣧⣯⠛⠉⣿⣇⣇⠀⠀⣯⣏⣇⣇⣧⣧⣇⣧⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣏ ⣯⣯⠟⠁⠀⠀⣤⣿⣧⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇ ⣯⠋⠀⠀⣴⣿⣇⣧⣯⣯⠀⠀⢰⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣇⣏⣏⣧⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇⣇ ⡏⠀⠀⣾⣯⣯⣏⣧⣏⣯⠀⠀⠈⠋⠋⠋⠋⠋⠋⠋⠋⠋⣯⣧⣧⣇⣇⣇⣧⣇ ⡂⠀⠀⣇⣧⣯⣧⣇⣇⣯⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⢫⣧⣏⣇⣇⣧⣇ ⣧⠀⠀⣿⣇⣯⣏⣯⣇⣇⣧⣏⣏⣇⣧⣧⣏⡏⠙⣧⣏⣦⠀⠀⠻⣧⣇⣇⣏⣇ ⣏⣄⠀⠈⢿⣧⣇⣇⣇⣇⣧⣏⣏⣏⣏⣯⠋⠀⠀⣼⣧⣯⣷⠀⠀⠙⣯⠏⢻⣏ ⣯⣏⣦⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣇⣧⣇⣧⣇⠟⠋⠀⠀⢀⣾⣇⣧⣇⣯⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿ ⣇⣇⣇⣏⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣯⣯⣯⣧⣧⣧⣇⣏⣦⣮⣮⣮⣮

When my sister was younger she came home from school one day and demanded I take her to the library so she could get books on sign language. I asked why? She told me there was a new kid at school who was deaf and she wanted to befriend him. Today I stood beside her at their wedding watching her sign “I DO”. GMH Feb 1st, 2010

autistic-reptile love languages of autistics: • sending them posts/pictures related to their special interest them • talking to them while you're both looking in another direction so there's no pressure to make eye contact • making/buying them their same food • determining their happy stims and anxious stims so you know how they're feeling • specifying when you're being sarcastic/joking • sitting in the same room together in silence while you both do your own thing • prompting them to info dump (and listening) • • having extra earplugs/sunglasses/other sensory aids for them when they forget

🏹 🧠 🏹

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠐⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⢀⣔⡂⠉⡉⠁⠂⠄⠀⢀⣤⠐⠊⠶⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠁⠀⠀⠱⡂⠒⠚⠛⠒⡰⠂⠀⠸⡒⠀⠾⠯⠍⣆⠀ ⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡉⠀⠉⣁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠐⠂⠀⠒⠉⡄ ⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣥⣥⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠐⢳⡄⠂ ⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⡀ ⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠃ ⠀⠘⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠂⠄⢀⡀⠀⠘⣄⣀⠠⠄⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠙⡍⠉⠒⠢⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠀⠀⢀⣱⣠⠤⠴⠞⣿⠢⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡷⠿⡛⠋⠉⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀