I feel like everybody gets a mixed bag. You have this bag and you have to sort through it. And there’s great stuff and there’s horrible stuff. It’s just that a lot of people know a lot of what’s in my bag. And I can’t say that I’m not sad, I can’t say that those things aren’t true and that people making those correlations to events and actuality, but I try – because I have no choice, bacause I have a child – to make something out of it. To make something out of us. To literally remake it. Yes, I am sad. I’m sad as often as I’m happy. And so is everybody I know.