Prior LEO ptsd troubles
A short background because it’s honestly too many things to go into. I started as a deputy when I was 23. I started as a cadet for the sheriffs office at 18, my first call I witnessed a guy put a 30-06 in his mouth and paint the tree behind him. Within my first year full time was involved In a shooting. First year chased a burglary suspect that carjacked two people and stabbed both. Had to watch a teenage girl burn to death screaming in a car and there was nothing we could do, we couldn’t get her out, couldn’t get the fire out, and her screams are burned in my brain, a 16 year old kid, on the way to school, never made it, and all you can do is watch, hear her scream until there was silence and then the fire department was finally able to get there, minutes too late. Numerous suicide calls. Two of them are seared into my mind. First was on Easter one year I got a call from Sgt asking me and the senior shift deputy to respond to a suicide that was a friend of his. The wife wore ear plugs and outer ear muffs because her husband snored so loud, anyways, the husband shot himself in the bed at night with a 38 to the head and the brain matter was all in her hair, she didn’t know until the kids ran in to wake up the parents for Easter baskets, dad of course didn’t wake up. The second was a 14yr old foster kid whose foster parents went to a movie on a super cold night and came out to not be able to find him. I found him in the back yard, he had hung himself with a dog leash on the swingset to the point to where to do so he had to consciously hold his legs off the ground until he had asphyxiated. Who knows how many other shit calls. But one other that still haunts me was my first child sexual torture. Was a 6 year old little girl whose grandmother called. Her POS dad would put a butter knife to a propane torch and insert it into her, put cigarettes out on her, and slice her private areas. As I went outside to the car to call Sgt and do the report, she ran up to me and demanded that I take her teddy bear in thanks for helping her. This was a decade before I had my own children, and I remember going out to the car and bawling like a baby.
These are the gist. I spent 12 years in law enforcement, worked everything from patrol, investigations, warrants, and ended in the schools as a resource officer. I never had a problem with the violent calls, the shots fired. In fact, those calls I felt most calm, I felt like it was my place because I knew what to expect, I could flick off the emotions and handle whatever came. What ended up getting me was death. The breaking point I was attempting to serve a civil paper and the house looked abandoned. I said, hell I’ll do my due diligence and make sure. As I walked around the back I saw in the window out of the corner of my eye a rope hanging from a ceiling fan, clothes, and a chair kicked over. I’d seen so many hangings before, in my mind I knew that’s what it was. But I couldn’t bring myself to confirm, I couldn’t see it anymore. I had to call my best friend on shift to look. All I could do was go back to my unit and just feel this broken helplessness. It turned out some kids had “hanged” a mannequin and it wasn’t a real person.
I spent the next 3 years after that in the schools and loved it, but I still hated my profession, because it had warped my life, affected every aspect of it irregardless of what I did. I ended up on meds, and ended up taking a job within emergency management and currently love that job.
On to the struggle or rather the question. As many of you know, even with meds the ptsd is still there. I ended up developing issues with loud noises and other things that I never had a problem with when I wore a badge.
I found myself drinking more now than ever. Not so much as an escape, but because I need to feel what I remember, or what’s burned in my brain. Have you had issues where you “know” what you’ve been through, you know how that should affect you and what emotions it should produce, yet you’re not able to get those emotions out that you feel you need to? For example, you are having a bad day of all those memories coming back and their taking over. You want so bad to break down, bawl, and yet it’s like you’re reading a book that someone else experienced it. You question is it real? Why do I have these memories and this pit inside of me that wants to get these things out and break down but it just won’t come out. When I say this I don’t mean it in a positive way that you’ve healed and the trauma no longer bothers you, I mean it grips you but you can’t release or invoke the physical response of what is the turmoil inside of you. I try to tell my wife the video morgan wallen made to “cover me up” is the closest to how life feels a lot of the time. And I can understand how people want to go back, because as fucked up as the experience, watour, job was, it made sense when you were in the grind. When you’re out, you’re alien to yourself, things are different, you’re different, it’s impossible to be normal or what society expects out of you. You’re stuck in between hating it for what it stole from you and did to you and longing for it to be back because in its own fucked up realm, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m still in emergency services, so I have a radio that has the frequencies to my prior agency and surrounding. I hear calls come across (the high risk ones) and I find myself when driving going into that mode and wanting to head towards the call. I still if in the area will back up units if they’re solo. It’s like the dangerous calls part I can’t get away from. Not that I receive a “high” off of them, but I feel the most calm and most normal during those type of situations. For those that have gotten out do you feel the same?
I’m sorry for the long read, it’s just not something that’s easy to paraphrase.

“My road has been long and weary, friend”, my annoyance with the bartender was surely obvious. I snatched the whiskey coke from the bar and sucked it down greedily.
“All I’m sayin’ is that it’s noon on a monday there, bud”, his cigarette-charred throat made him sound rougher than his years. Bud… I never really cared for that word, bud. Especially considering I was at least a hundred and fifty years his senior.
“I got all the time in the world”, I sighed, motioning at the empty glass. Without hurry, he refilled the cup. I turned from the bar and scanned the rest of the room, studying the empty chairs waiting for their next patron to arrive. Aside from the old farmer nursing on a corn-themed Busch can, it was utterly empty. It was days like these I hated the most.
I’ve spent many monday afternoons in taverns like these. I’ve also spent them rebuilding our nation after a bloody war, taking part in two more bloody wars overseas and helping countless folk along the way. I watched the Red Scare pull at those old seams, starved with my brothers and sisters during the depression and everything between. Somehow, someway, days like these were even worse.
Lethargic gluttony.
In all my years, all one hundred and sixty eight, this is far and away the most prosperous. It just seems that nobody cares. No more comradery through the pain, or maybe pain brings comradery? I think so.
One hundred and forty six years since I drank the water from a nondescript stream in the backyard of our childhood home. Sweet Lips, what a fitting name for the town it all started in.
I started a family once, maybe a decade after I’d first drank that crick water. We, Mary and I, had two kids, one who survived. I wish that I could say it was a happy life we led but she grew… suspicious. As we approached our 60th cycle around the Sun she became suspicious that my 20s-something face hadn’t aged a day during all that time. She fled and I wandered on alone.
I wedded twice more. My second wife, Isabella, took my things and ran off with another man… another man who I will get to later. Finally, there was Elizabath. Oh, how I loved that little spitfire, her sweet, freckled face. We’d met at a pub in the Bronx a couple years after the end of the second world war. I went to great lengths to hide my past, to hide how long I had really been around for. If it wasn’t for the brain cancer, that little spot on her pituitary gland, then I’m sure she would’ve found out and left anyways. That’s what I try to tell myself.
I will never love again.
“Ya’ alright there?”, I jumped, turning from the window back toward the gravel voiced gentleman staring uneasily my way.
“Just fine, the sunshine feels good”, I relished the dim warmth radiating from the window for a moment longer before shuffling back into the dingy midst of the Green Bottle Blues Inn. I hadn’t been to this bar before, though it felt similar to the hundreds of others I’d visited along my journeys through the American midwest.
“Another?”, the gravel-voiced man was washing out a glass in the dirty sink behind the bar, a damp towel clung limply to his shoulder.
“Sure, but I oughta’ get goin’ afterward”, my smile felt even emptier than the glass I slid toward the man. He glanced at me quizzically before pulling the bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf. I suppose, with enough time, you can afford even the finer things.
“What’s your name, fella?”, he returned the smile though his brow remained furrowed. He was studying me. No surprises there, fella, I’m a couple steps ahead of you.
“Tom, just Tom, not short for nothin’”, I replied, bringing the amber liquid to my lips. I took a deep pull and met the mans gaze. His eyes widened as he took an obvious step backward. Slowly, however, that professional smile returned to his lips.
“What brings you back here, Tom?”, his hands had disappeared beneath the bar, though his eyes stayed level with mine.
To these folks, I was the antichrist. I suppose I can’t blame them for the aggression.
“I was thinkin’ about paying my old brother a visit, as I’m sure you know”, I shrugged, struggling to get the last drop of Drambuie from the glass.
Truthfully, I hadn’t been welcome in Sweet Lips ever since my brother and I fell out all those years ago. All those decades ago. He chose a different route with his immortality.
The gravel-voiced man stiffened, revealing the double-barrel shotgun he had fished from underneath the bar. He stuck the barrel directly in my face.
“Jesus, you treat all your customers like this?”, I replied coolly, still clutching that empty thing in my hands. The man seemed to buckle a bit and laugh, a nervous chuckle it was.
“No sir, nobody but you”, he straightened himself up, revealing his massive frame. Big man, big man.
I stood slowly, leaning in close to the mans face as the barrel of his gun drew further back. His eyes were hectic, seemingly shaking in their deep sockets.
“He’s lead you astray, y’know”, I bared my teeth, my teeth which would've been dust if not for the water in that little stream.
The only thing that hurt as much as Elizabath, maybe even more, was watching my dear brother grow so bitter through the years. The only other person who shared this curse with me had chosen to do harm to those around him. It makes me sick.
I gripped the glass more harshly, swinging my arm toward the man's face. Suddenly, something stopped. I turned right and noticed the thick, rough hands clutching at my arm. The old man. The fucking old man.
The gun butt swung, and the world went quiet.
The church spire stood tall and obscenely white against the cloudless sky, bending almost imperceptibly at its tip like it was a misplaced set piece of a Tim Burton stop-motion film. Curled, decrepit grass jutted from underneath its foundations like dying hands reaching for help. A well made of gray stone and mortar resided no more than ten yards in front of the vestibule.
Two men clung at each arm, though I doubted I could make a run for it in my current state. A circle of various people surrounded the well, all of them were adorned in either red dresses or red suits.
In the very center of the group, standing directly behind the well, was an all-too-familiar face. He smiled, a hideous grin.
“I knew you’d come”, he hiccupped, trying to stifle a laugh. I could only watch helplessly, my obliterated nose filling my mouth with the coppery taste of blood.
“Tom”, his smile fell flat, his eyes burning through me with all the horrors of a thousand lifetimes, “I wanted you to have a front row seat”.
My brother, Timothy, began pulling at the rope hanging deep down in the well. A bucket, like most wells, was at the other end. He produced a knife and sliced the buckets fraying rope, careful not to spill any of its contents while doing so.
Timothy fell to one knee, presenting the receptacle to the man standing to his left. He accepted, bringing the rim of the bucket to his lips and taking a deep, satisfying pull. The man smiled, a sinister, deviant smile before passing the bucket onward.
“Soon, Tom, this world will be ours”, Timothy declared, his face remaining flat and emotionless.
As soon as the last of the townsfolk, the last member of the Sweet Lips Congregation, took a swig from the well water, the men released me. I fell in a heap. I never thought he would share the water, I knew I should’ve come sooner.
“Let him go, he’s gonna need a head start”, the immortal man spat.

When we entered the recent downtrend (only 5%), I sold off my LETFs in my rollover IRA since I can't average down. When we resumed the uptrend, I bought back in for the majority of the funds. But in between, now that we have a lot more leveraged tickers (though only 2x), I bought a bunch of them like AAPU, AMZU, TSLL, NVDL, and GGLL. Of these, AAPU and TSLL are the downtrodden stocks and fit my plan of going into something that had a deeper correction/pullback and had more room to run upward.
These have done very well (especially GGLL which went up 30% since I entered; TSLL is still in the red but still has an uptrend). Yet today they collectively went up about 4% whereas today TECL went up almost 7% and TQQQ almost 5%. So I'm thinking of selling off these individual names and then buying TECL/TQQQ instead: $IXT just went into the uptrend today whereas the other individual tickers have all been in an uptrend since I bought them.
Any thoughts on this plan? Maybe I should just sell the GGLL, NVDL, AMZU and keep AAPU and TSLL since the latter two have more room to run (or not, if TSLA goes back into a downtrend, I would just sell TSLL).
Or I could just leave it, not being greedy about the 3% difference but there are more LETFs to monitor here. I also believe, having done this for a brief while only, that the 2x leverage in these individual tickers aren't enough to make up for the 3x leverage you get from TECL/TQQQ (I'm talking about the specific tickers here, not any other combination or 2x vs. 3x in general).
As an aside, this downtrend/uptrend on a daily basis I've been doing has been working quite well. I had a position in UGL I sold off, didn't make much, but did make some green.
Overall, I still lost out a bit going out and coming back in TQQQ but this time it was only 1% (last summer it was 5%). Yet if our 5% correction had been much deeper, my moves would've been wiser. I have two accounts where I am able to do the parallel experiment (EDCA vs. swing trading). But in my taxable I'm going to do the same if I see the weekly downtrend take shape, tax hit or not*. Once you see a weekly downtrend, it's unlikely it's just a short correction. This prevents unnecessary lot of wash sales and short term tax hits but still largely preserve capital. For instance, based on weekly I wouldn't have gotten out at all in 2023 even though we had like a 10% correction.
*I just realised this year that if you pay 110% of your previous year's taxes, there's no estimated tax penalty and you can just wait till end of the year to pay your actual tax on gains.

I’ve got a 2017 TRD sport. Two things I absolutely despise in this world, cloth seats and carpet in a vehicle. Is there any options you guys have seen to replace those? weather mats aren’t cutting it, and all the leather seat covers I’ve seen just look cheap. Even the expensive ones.

I run an appliance repair business in Australia. Currently all my staff have their own vans.
So I have been living overseas for approx the last 2 years while the business has been running, and I'm due to be coming back in a couple of months. Before I left, I got rid of any extra vehicles that weren't being used.
Now that I am coming back, it's time to look for a vehicle for me to go in. Before moving overseas, I was on the tools pretty much full time and could justify having a full trade vehicle (I was driving a Hilux ute). Coming back, I will be on the tools half the time, and in the office the other half of the time. The idea is that by the end of the year, I'll be in the office/workshop full time.
I'm basically looking for something I can fit my regular toolbag, some spare parts and if need be, an oven for a customer replacement. I figure I can do that with a cheap hatchback (under $5k) with the seats folded down. The upside to this is that I won't have to get a loan for it, and it is cheap on fuel. The downside I think is that I will have to log km for FBT reasons.
I/We don't have kids, and my wife will be getting her own vehicle with a child seat for the niblings/friends kids.
I figure if I get 12 months out of it before upgrading to something bigger again, I'm doing well. I kind of feel that getting a loan for a $30k+ vehicle is a "deadhead expense" when I'm not going to use it to it's full potential, even if I swap out one of my older vans for it.
This post is kind of a sanity-check if others have gone through similar situations. If you have, did you regret it?

Howdy!
My name's Alex (30yo he/him) and I'm running an online game of Old School D&D based on the rules of the Basic/Expert set released in 1981 by Tom Moldvay.
You'll find all the info you need to get started in the campaign discord server, but essentially this iteration of D&D emphasizes exploration, treasure-hunting, massive dungeons, freedom of choice, and a no-holds-barred approach to combat: every encounter can be deadly, so careful planning and quick-thinking is a must!
In the old-school tradition, every session is for the most part a self-contained adventure: assail the dungeon, grab some loot, and scram before everyone dies; therefore players are welcome to join in on games and abstain as they please, NO LONG TERM COMMITMENTS ARE REQUIRED!
That said, weekly seating is on a first come, first served basis, with a max of 8 seats to be filled any given week. So far I've got a fairly consistent 4 to 5 players every week, but I'd really love to hit that cap every week with the help of a few more daring adventurers!
As this is a sandbox game, you as the players have complete agency to do whatever you want, so some sessions can be heavy in RP, while others tend toward exploration and combat. As the "referee", I merely build the world and arbitrate outcomes, the rest is up to you!
Right now my players are tackling the the horrors that lie within the cursed Castle Xyntallin, where riches and death dwell in equal measure. Join them, and make your mark upon an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable world!
DM me if you'd like to give my game a shot!

This is the first time I have written something of this length, and is more of an exercise in self-therapy than anything else. Disclaimer: This story contains conversations about child abuse. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
Nathan’s number appeared on my phone screen. I debated whether or not to answer it. We hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while, and while we did keep in touch sporadically, it was usually because of important family issues. I didn’t know of anything happening with mom or dad, nor with Talia or Rio, so I let it go to voicemail. I could always call him back later. I placed the phone back in my pocket, and returned to cleaning my camera. The phone buzzed again. A text message came through. I read the preview line from the home screen. “The city declared eminent domain on the house” I unlocked my phone, read the full text message, and dialed my brother.
I wasn't able to get any closer to the house than a few blocks. Most of the area was blocked off with chain link fencing and construction equipment in preparation for the demolition that was supposed to take place within the coming days. The barriers didn’t prevent people from walking in to the neighborhood, but it hindered scrappers from coming in and stripping the houses of copper wiring and plumbing.
I grabbed my camera bag out of the trunk of my car along with my tripod. I shouldered it and hooked the tripod to my bag. I pulled my water bottle out of the center console and shut the door. I stood next to my car surveying the neighborhood. 12 city blocks of old single family homes comprised the neighborhood where I grew up. Some of the houses had been empty for months, others for years. There was an eerie silence that permeated the still air. I could not hear the familiar sounds of people, pets, or cars. I locked the car and put my keys in my pocket. I patted my jacket down to ensure I had what I needed. After a quick check, I started my walk.
The sidewalk of the old neighborhood streets still bore the familiar cracks and grind marks from years of buckling and remedy. Leaves dropped by the trees still lay scattered all along the pathways and sidewalk. Korina’s house was the first house I encountered as I made my way through a gap in the fence. The yard was overgrown with tall grass and thistle. I could see the faded blue paint of the old house contrasting the green and browns of the lawn. The chain link fence that marked off the corner property was nearly invisible through the thick brush. As I continued walking west towards 110th, I started to feel something was off. The streets seemed wider than I remembered. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but eventually I realized what was different. There were no cars.
The streets here typically had cars lined bumper to bumper in any spot available, and were visible from block to block. The absence of all these vehicles made me realize just how deserted the neighborhood really was. House after house, yard after yard, the telltale signs of desertion reinforced what I could see from the moment I passed the construction fence: This was no longer my neighborhood. There were no signs of life, and no one I could expect to find still here. Abandonment was the new normal here. I continued on, glancing at houses and recalling memories of summer bike rides, and daily walks with dogs I used to have. I remembered walks home from school, and chasing after ice cream trucks when they passed our houses. I smiled a bit as I remembered more and more of my years spent here. I don’t quite know just why I was smiling. There were plenty of bad memories here too. Fights, yelling, being beat up, being robbed. I could remember failed friendships, lost loves, and bitter feelings of failures too.
Still, I felt a certain amount of nostalgia despite the weight of these negative feelings. I almost wanted to experience everything again, although I wasn't sure why I was feeling this way. Concrete, asphalt, billboards and liquor stores were the normal vistas of everyday life. Occasionally, after a good rainstorm, the grey haze of smog would lift, and the mountains would be visible to the north. At least, they would be visible until mid-morning when the exhaust from a million cars covered them behind a veil of pollution.
It wasn’t until the first time I travelled out of the city that I realized there was more to see. Traveling up the coast north along the Pacific Coast Highway introduced me to scenes of deep blue ocean water spanning the width of my vision. Driving up Highway 3 introduced me to the permeating scent of Pine and Fir trees. The two-lane stretch of highway from Portland to Tillamook introduced me to lush green forests that I had only ever read about. When I came home to the same old dirty, dusty concrete and boiling summer asphalt, I had made up my mind. I would do everything it took to leave this place. I would not spend another day longer than was necessary living in cramped quarters and fighting for parking space.
I arrived to the house, and paused at the gate. The house sat in contrast of what the rest of the neighborhood looked like. Instead of overgrown grass and tall weeds all over the place, the landscaping showed signs of relatively recent work. The guava tree in the front lawn still had some fruit ready to be picked, and the avocado tree on the other side of the pathway was still weighed down by its own fruit. Flowers still bloomed in the raised bed in front of the house. My brother had clearly tried to keep up on things until the last possible moment. The house, too, looked better than what I expected after walking up 4 blocks and seeing nothing but dilapidated houses and unkempt yards. I opened the gate and walked up to the small porch. The metal gate that enclosed it was gone having been removed by my brother when he took over the property. It looked nice to see it open instead of the cage it once felt like.
I turned the knob on the door, but it didn't give. Ever a creature of habit, my brother had locked the door when he left. Of course, he did. I sighed and prepared to find another way in when I remembered my parents hiding a spare key. I wasn’t sure if it would still be there, but after running my hands along the back side of the gutter downspout, I was rewarded for my efforts. I unlocked the front door and stepped into the front living room, the sounds of my footsteps and the closing door echoing in the empty space. The room felt both larger and smaller than I remembered it. I suppose it was lack of furniture that made it feel larger, but it still felt smaller than I remember. The result of growing taller throughout the years I suppose. I slowly walked along the slate tile floor towards the central hallway that connected the front of the house to the back bedrooms. I wasn't entirely sure that just because the front door was locked, that there wasn't some squatter looking for a little temporary shelter within the back rooms. I carefully and silently crept step by step towards what used to be the bedroom shared by my sister and me. I stuck my head in and gave the room a cursory glance. It was empty, thankfully. I moved back into the hallway and peered into the bedroom across the hall. This is where both of my brothers had shared a room. It too, was empty save for a few boxes holding hardware and doorknobs from the closet doors of the bedroom. I walked back towards the back of the house where my parent's bedroom was. The walls in the hallway bore the dusty signs where picture once hung. The bedroom door was open. I stepped inside, and looked around. The old avocado paint that my mom had picked out years ago still adorned the walls. Walking further towards the addition that was the small room my grandma and grandpa lived in showed that there was no one here. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set my bag down and set up my tripod. I reached into my bag a pulled out an envelope of old photos. These were old snapshots that we had all taken at some point in time in the house. There were pictures of all of us sitting at the dining room table playing a game of Monopoly. There was a picture of my brother and sister sitting on a couch in the front living room. There was a picture of me hanging on the bars of the front porch. I looked through them all and held them in place in front of me as if I were holding a window to the past.
Each picture made the lump in my throat grow as I started to struggle to control my emotions. There was history here, and soon it would all be gone. This is the place where my parents had raised four kids. They had taken care of my grandparents in their twilight years here. My Aunt and my grandmother had both died in this house. Birthdays, graduation parties, and anniversaries had been celebrated here. The echoes of life had reverberated within the walls of this place. Now, the house sat silent. It would never again know happy screams of kids having a water-balloon war out in the front yard, nor would it hear the cries of anguish as the matriarch of the family passed away surrounded by her family. What once was a home full of life was now just an empty house made of drywall and paint. I sat there for a moment contemplating just how much family history was actually made here. As I thought hard about my siblings and my parents, I felt pained at the thought of our strained relationships. We had all scattered once we had the opportunity to be free of each other. My oldest brother had married and moved away as soon as possible. My sister now lived in northern California. My parents too had moved away. I was now living in Utah. Only my older brother had remained behind. The lump grew larger in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes. I held back sobs of anger and pain. Why was I hurting? Hadn’t I dealt with these issues already? I walked back to my old bedroom and sat down under the window. I pulled my head down into my knees and cried. I could hear yelling and screaming in my head. Shouting matches between siblings and parents, brothers and sister, rattled inside my brain, making the pain grow. I sat there and cried. I hadn’t cried like this in a long time. Eventually I ran out of tears and tired gasps of sorrow and regret washed over me as a blanket of drowsiness enveloped me. I leaned my head back and fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing and hurriedly stood up. Had someone followed me? I knew the police were patrolling the area sporadically. Had they seen me enter the house? I knew there would be a possibility of getting a trespassing citation, but I figured I could either talk my way out of it seeing as to how I was a former resident, or I could probably fight the citation in court if the judge knew why I was there in the first place. Ultimately, passing through the gate had been a calculated risk that I was willing to take for the sake of my art. I got up from my corner of the room and moved towards the door. If there was someone in the house, I needed to know. I didn’t want my gear to stolen, and if there was a cop in the house, I wanted to ensure I didn’t get shot.
I was greeted by the sight of a startled chubby boy standing on the other side of the door. His round cherubic face was crowned by a head of short curly hair. His hazel green eyes stared widely back at me. He clearly didn’t expect someone to be here in the house. His body recoiled in fear as he cowered back towards the hallway. “Wait, what are you doing here?” I asked as non-threateningly as I could. The boy muttered something that I couldn’t quite make out. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you” I replied. “Are you here to rob us?” he timidly responded. “Rob you? What are you talking about?” I asked as confusion set in. “What are you doing here?” It was his turn to be confused. “Uh…I….live here?” he replied. “What do you mean you live here? No one lives-“I stopped midsentence. I hadn’t noticed in my initial shock but the room wasn’t the same. A familiar blue couch caught the corner of my eye. In front of that was an old console TV with a partially broken antenna hanging on the wall behind it. I walked further in to the living room to notice wood paneling on the walls. A large mirror hung on the wall to my left. Familiar yellow lamps sat on round drop-leaf tables on either side of the couch. A large hutch sat in one corner, a collection of letters and bills, mail advertisements, and a phone book covered scattered over it. “What just happened?” I asked out loud to no one in particular. I was thoroughly mystified by what my eyes were seeing. I had walked into the house from the front door and had stepped into an empty white room with slate floor tiles, but somehow now found myself in a furnished room with brown carpet that was all so familiar to me, yet was nothing but a distant faded memory. I turned to look at the boy still startled by the intrusion of a strange man looking wildly around the room in total shock.
“You can take what you want, just please let me go. I don’t want problems.” He stated his voice still shrill with anxiety. I blinked a few times as I tried to process just what the heck was going on. I gathered my thoughts as best I could and tried to reassure him. “Kid, I’m not here to rob anyone. I was just-“I shook my head “Where the hell am I? Am I having a dream?” I asked myself. “I must be dreaming. I’m just tired and still sleeping. This is all a dream. Yeah, that’s it.” I needed to sit down. Being back in the old house must have overtaxed my senses, I told myself. I’d having a dream about an old memory. I walked over to the chair next to the couch and sat down. I sunk into it and rested my head back towards the wall.
The boy kept his distance, but sensed I wasn’t there to hurt him. He looked me over with anxious curiosity. He stood at the far end of the couch, examining me while he played out scenarios in his head in preparation for a quick exit. “Why are you in my house?” he asked me. “Dude, this is all just a dream I’m having. I’m not really here.” He reached over to the couch and picked up a pillow. He reared his arm and threw it at me. It landed in my lap. “I don’t know, man. You sure seem to be here.” He said to me. I opened my eyes, startled. I looked down at the pillow he tossed and examined it. I ran my hand over the fabric and felt its texture. I remember this pillow. This was the pillow I would roll under my head as I lay on the couch and watched TV as a kid. A sudden realization hit me as I looked around the room with fresh eyes. No longer was I blinded by the fog of confusion. I knew exactly where I was.
I was home.
I looked at the boy still standing at the edge of the couch. I looked him over and realized who he actually was. I stared in disbelief as I smiled and tried to put him at ease. “It’s ok Johnny. I’m not here to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Please, sit down” I told him. I motioned to his end of the couch. “Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked me.
“This will be hard to believe, but I’m you” I said with an incredulous tone, “I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’m here.” He looked at me as I had grown a second head. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? Did we invent time travel? Oh! Are we secret government agents with the CIA?”
I chuckled. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s start at the beginning. I’m you at 38 years old. You’re…what, 11… 12 years old? It makes sense. I fell asleep under the window in my- our old bedroom. I didn’t come here on purpose or in a machine. And no, I’m not a government agent.” His face contorted to display understanding, disappointment and finally suspicion. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in towards me. “How do I know you’re really me?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. How could I prove to him that I was who I said I was? A few seconds of silence settled between us. I stroked my chin, thinking of a solution.
“I have a better idea. Ask me questions that only you know the answers to.” “Okay” he responded. He glanced around the room trying to come up with something. His eyes fixated on the Nintendo sitting under the TV cabinet. “What game do me and Nathan have a map of?” I looked over at the NES. I hadn’t thought about this for years, but I knew instantly what he was asking. “YOU don’t have anything. Nathan is the one that made the map for Section Z” His jaw dropped. He tried to trick me, but his plan failed. He knew well and good that Nathan never let him play. It was always ‘I’ll let you play when I die’ or, ‘you can play when I’m done’. The problem was that he never followed through. Usually by the time Nathan was done, the NES was overheated, and the game would no longer load until it cooled down. By that point, it was time for bed.
“How do you know that?” he asked in astonishment. “I know these things because I’m you. Just like I know that you wear t-shirts to the pool because you’re embarrassed by what others will think of your body. I know that you used to think that people that die off in movies were prisoners that were set to be executed from death row, so they used them for making movies. I know all about you because I’m you”
Johnny sat on the end of the couch in bewilderment, his mouth slightly agape. He had never told anyone any of this. He didn’t have any close friends to talk to about such things, and those friends he did have were more acquaintances than friends. There was only one way he could possibly know these things. He was talking to his future self.
I could see Johnny’s mind completely explode. There lay endless possibility and the answers to a million questions he could ask about his own future. He started to ask a question, only to stop, close his mouth, and try asking another. I knew if he kept this up he would have a stroke or something. “Dude, calm yourself. Let’s talk this out rationally, otherwise you’ll end up stroking out or something.” I told him. He took a deep breath and I could hear him muttering quietly. I knew he was trying to form a coherent sentence before he actually spoke it. I did it all the time. “Ok, first of all, are we rich?” he asked with tempered expectation. I chuckled and grinned back at him. “No, not at all. If I was rich, would I be dressed like this?” I replied as I motioned to my beat up brown Vans and worn out jeans and T-shirt. “We-, I – make enough to get by. I’m not poor, but I earn enough to pay the bills.” His face grew a smirk as he commented “Yeah, I figured. What do I do for work? I mean, what do you do for work?” I thought about it for a second. I wondered how much information I should divulge to a younger me. I still didn’t think this whole situation was really happening, but if it was, I probably should proceed with caution. “Well, it’s complicated. I do a little bit of everything. You know how you’re constantly taking things apart? Let’s just say that it’s good to put them back together in order to keep them working. Take good notes on paper if you need to, and make sure you have a clean work area so you can keep track of all the parts.” He gave me a sheepish look. He knew exactly what I was talking about. I had spent countless hours sneaking dad’s tools to my room so I could figure out how something was built and try to figure out how it worked. I had gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble with dad over a drill, his timing light, and other stuff I had taken from his room. His belt had become quite familiar with my butt cheeks.
I gave him a knowing smile. “What else do you want to know?” He thought about it for a second. “Do we have a girlfriend?” I laughed, probably a little more than I should have because his face contorted into a sour frown. “You don’t need to be a jerk about it” he scowled. I continued to chuckle. “Yeah we have a girlfriend. We have more than a girlfriend” I could tell he was irritated with my vague indirect answers. I knew what he was asking. I remember the crush I had on my neighbor across the street. We had been friends since kindergarten, and had been classmates for 1st, 2nd, and 4th grades. We got along really well, and I knew from around 12 or 13 that I wanted to be her boyfriend. Unfortunately, things never progressed beyond the ‘just friends’ stage of things. It wasn’t from lack of effort on my part. We had just grown up together most of our lives that she didn’t see me as anything more than a brother and friend. “Dude, look. You just started to go through changes and you are starting to notice girls, but that doesn’t mean that you need to love every girl that shows you a little kindness or subtle interest. You need to slow down and let things happen naturally. You can’t force a relationship with someone.” Johnny pondered these words for a moment. I sat back and put my feet up on the coffee table. I looked around the room some more while I waited for another question. There was so much I had forgotten, but being back here had unlocked more and more memories that continued to wash over me. I was trying to hold on to my cool as not all those churned up recollections were pleasant. I stood up and walked over to the front door to peer outside the small central window embedded into the center of it. I could see the old neighborhood as I remembered it all those years ago. The lot across the street that served as a parking area for those that worked at the wheel works at the end of the block was empty of cars. I furrowed my brow as I thought for a moment. An empty lot meant it was afterhours or the weekend.
The gears in my own head started turning. “Wait, where is everyone?” I asked Johnny. Johnny turned to look at me still processing my last response. “Uh..oh, Mom and dad are out of town. They took a trip east this time. I think Rio said they are in Arizona right now. Rio and Nathan went out to get some food and to rent some movies from Video Showcase. Knowing them they’ll eat out first. Talia is staying over at Tia Rosie’s place today with her friends.” I grunted at his response. My mind was wandering as he mentioned Talia and Tia Rosie.
A sudden sharp pain pieced my heart. The pain of a thousand memories now unsealed spilled out from the box I had locked them away in. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I turned back to look at Johnny. He felt it too. He stared at the floor with an intensity that made me think it would burst into flames at any moment. I walked back over to him and sat next to him. He didn’t move. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he threw himself into me. I could feel the tears dripping onto me as he sobbed intensely. “Hey man, its ok. It’s going to be ok.” I said as my own tears started to flow uncontrollably. I pulled him close and draped my other arm around him.
I knew the pain he was feeling. It was such a heavy burden, and I knew there was no one he felt he could talk to. I remembered it all so vividly. We sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. When we finally stopped sobbing, and our noses ran dry, we tried to breathe our way through to calmness. I got up and knelt in front of him. “Johnny, listen to me and remember what it is that I’m about to say to you. You are stronger than you think. You are stronger than you believe. NO ONE should ever have to go through this. Just because it happened to Talia, doesn’t mean you have to put up with it any longer. I know you didn’t think it was wrong, but I’m telling you that what she is doing to you is wrong. Talking to mom and dad isn’t going to make them hate you. You are not doing this to her, she is doing it to you. I’m not making excuses for her, but she is also more damaged than anyone realizes, and she is also dealing with the same level of pain you are. Remember that we do unto others what has been done to us. That doesn’t mean we need to continue the cycle of abuse” The lump in my throat grew immense at my own statement. I swallowed it as best I could and continued “You are going to deal with this pain a little bit at a time, and you’ll slowly get over this. It’s like a broken bone. When it happens, you don’t realize how bad the pain is until the adrenaline wears off, but then the immense pain is there. Just remember that this will pass. Just like a broken bone, you will heal over time, and one day, you will realize that the pain is gone and the bone is no longer broken. You’ll remember the pain, but it won’t hurt anymore.”
Johnny sat there in stunned silence. I knew he didn’t have anyone to help him through this. He couldn’t talk to Rio or Nathan about what was going on. Mom and Dad were constantly working to keep the family fed and sheltered and while they provided materially for their kids, emotional help was less available. Perhaps it was due to their energies being divided into 4 kids, a mortgage and multiple jobs, or perhaps it was also the culture of not talking about problems. Either way, they needed to know what was happening. They wouldn’t be able to fix it otherwise. “They’re going to be mad at me” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “No they won’t be. They love us all. I know you’re not used to hearing it, but they do love you. Everything they do is because of their love for us. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Telling them isn’t going to cause them to be angry.” I thought for a moment to find a good analogy. “You love Odie and Lady, right?” He nodded in agreement. “Ok, how would you feel if you knew someone you trusted was coming to the house and beating up our dogs when we weren’t around?” He thought about it for a second before his face changed to anger. “I’d want to kill them!” “Yes, but would you also feel sad that you weren’t there to try to protect them?” I reasoned. His face changed again. He understood what I was saying. Mom and Dad would be angry, but not necessarily at him. They would also feel a great sadness knowing that someone was hurting their child.
I smiled at him. He understood. I nodded. “Dude…You’re going to come to understand that life is not what you think it will be. Life is messy and can change in an instant. The plans you make today may not make it to next week. A lifelong goal can be derailed because of something out of your control. Mom and dad have spent their life protecting us with the goal of keeping us safe, but circumstances out of their control have affected their kids, and now we- you all have to deal with the fallout. Just remember that you are not the culprit. Yes, mom and dad will be hurt and angry, but not at you. Trust them. They don’t do things to hurt us” Johnny hugged me. I- He didn’t have many people he could trust and open up to. He liked to talk a lot about everything going on in his life, no matter how trivial. Everything, except this. This was a shameful topic, and he didn’t feel like anyone would understand why he didn’t go to an adult sooner. The problem was simple. He simply didn’t understand that it was wrong. Now that he had an adult that he could talk to, himself no less, he wanted to lift this burden off his shoulders. He was happy to have found someone and he hugged me tightly. I hugged him back just at tightly. It wasn’t every day that I could meet my younger self and help to comfort them. “Thank you” he said to me.
The world darkened, and everything faded to black.
I lifted my head out of my knees and looked around. I was sitting under the window in my old bedroom again. Had I fallen asleep? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. I was emotionally drained and incredibly tired. I hadn’t had sleep like that in years. I got to my feet and looked around the room briefly before walking out to mom and dad’s old room. I grabbed my camera and slowly walked the house, snapping picture after picture. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the camera shutter and my soft footsteps. I thought about my dream as I took pictures.
Upon entering my room, a random memory hit me.
The stash.
I was pretty sure I had taken the hidden box when I moved out all those years ago, but since I was here, I should double check. Heading into the closet, I pushed the panel that led to the attic space out of the way and peered in. I couldn’t see anything, so I reached up there to feel around. The box was indeed gone. I felt around for a few more seconds and was surprised to feel what felt like a thick envelope. I didn’t remember leaving anything up there, but after pulling it down and giving it a cursory glance, I figured it was an old envelope of lost love letters. It wasn’t until I blew off the thick layer of dust that I realized what I was holding. It was a letter. Not just any letter. It was addressed to me.
Under the now semi-cleared layer of dust were the words “To be opened by future me”. I looked at it for a few moments before opening it. I couldn’t remember making this at all, much less storing it up in my secret hiding spot. If ever I hid something, it was in the stash box. My hands shook a bit as I started to open the envelope and pulled out the yellowed pages inside. I started reading.
"Dear Future John. I have spent the last few years remembering a dream I had when I was younger. Life was…difficult at that time, and I spent a lot of time escaping my reality by reading a lot of books and watching a lot of TV. On the off-chance that what I think is a dream really happened. I wanted to write some things down in an effort to give you my thanks. I merely consider myself a conveyer of thanks, although I will pile on my own thanks to you for your words of encouragement. I remember finding a stranger in the house one day while I was home alone. I was afraid he was there to hurt me at first, but after a few moments, I came to realize I was meeting myself. Well, I was meeting me, but from the future. I think he said he was in his 40’s, but I couldn’t tell you with any certainty. Either way, we talked. We talked about life, and what the future held in store for us…
Mostly though, we talked about the abuse. Well, Talked is being generous. We cried, and then we talked. I don’t remember exactly what he told me, but I remember how he made me feel. He made me feel safe. I felt like I could trust him. Trust myself. In the end, he gave me the courage to stand up for myself both at home and at school. He also gave me the courage to talk to mom and dad about what was going on between me and Talia. I do remember being afraid that I would be punished, but he reassured me that they wouldn’t, and that they loved me.
It was a difficult and awkward conversation, but in the end, arrangements were made for me to share a room with Rio and Nathan. I didn’t have much of a relationship with Talia for a long while, but after some years, we managed to patch things up. She apologized to me, and I came to understand the abuse she herself was subjected to by so-called family friends. She didn’t tell me this in an effort to excuse it, but to merely help give me closure to a difficult time from my own childhood. Mom and dad promised to be more attentive to us and we sort of established what I guess you would call an open door policy. We talk more about stuff that’s happening in our lives. Mom is much easier to talk to now. Dad is a little more patient with us too. I apologized to them for not coming to them sooner, and dad gave me a “nugget of wisdom” that I think I’ll live by: We can’t fix what we don’t know is broken. I’ve tried to make sure I talk to them when something is wrong, and I’ve tried to implement that in my life so I don’t have problems with other people.
I’m trying to grow up to be a good guy. I want to have good relationships with people. Nathan says I’m turning into a people pleaser, but I don’t necessarily see that as a terrible thing. I know when to say no to someone. Well, either way, I wanted to make sure I thank you for the help you gave us. I probably won’t remember writing this, but I hope I do find it again someday. Here’s hoping I turn into the man I feel you are. -John Age 16."
I stared at the letter, the words blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly brushed them away as I quietly spoke to no one in particular. “Thanks guys. I hope I live up to your expectations” I folded the letter, placed it in my pocket, and walked out of the room. After picking up my backpack and tripod, I silently walked towards the front door, my footsteps echoing in the empty house. I turned to look back at the empty living room one last time, and after a moment, I walked out.

When we entered the recent downtrend (only 5%), I sold off my LETFs in my rollover IRA since I can't average down. When we resumed the uptrend, I bought back in for the majority of the funds. But in between, now that we have a lot more leveraged tickers (though only 2x), I bought a bunch of them like AAPU, AMZU, TSLL, NVDL, and GGLL. Of these, AAPU and TSLL are the downtrodden stocks and fit my plan of going into something that had a deeper correction/pullback and had more room to run upward.
These have done very well (especially GGLL which went up 30% since I entered; TSLL is still in the red but still has an uptrend). Yet today they collectively went up about 4% whereas today TECL went up almost 7%. So I'm thinking of selling off these individual names and then buying TECL instead: $IXT just went into the uptrend today whereas the other individual tickers have all been in an uptrend since I bought.
Any thoughts on this plan? Maybe I should just sell the GGLL, NVDL, AMZU and keep AAPU and TSLL since the latter two have more room to run (or not, if TSLA goes back into a downtrend, I would just sell TSLL).
Or I could just leave it, not being greedy about the 3% difference but there are more LETFs to monitor here. I also believe, having done this for a brief while only, that the 2x leverage in these individual tickers aren't enough to make up for the 3x leverage you get from TECL.
As an aside, this downtrend/uptrend on a daily basis I've been doing has been working quite well. I had a position in UGL I sold off, didn't make much, but did make some green.
Overall, I still lost out a bit going out and coming back in TQQQ but this time it was only 1% (last summer it was 5%). Yet if our 5% correction had been much deeper, my moves would've been wiser. I have two accounts where I am able to do the parallel experiment (EDCA vs. swing trading). But in my taxable I'm going to do the same if I see the weekly downtrend take shape, tax hit or not. I just realised this year that if you pay 110% of your previous year's taxes, there's no estimated tax penalty and you can just wait till end of the year to pay your actual tax on gains. Once you see a weekly downtrend, it's unlikely it's just a short correction. This prevents unnecessary lot of wash sales and short term tax hits but still largely preserve capital. For instance, based on weekly I wouldn't have gotten out at all in 2023 even though we had like a 10% correction.

Credit where it’s due and to take this with a grain of salt, given the source is in French and a user provided a bullet point format with translation context from Resetera, here’s why BEG2 is pretty much stuck being developed way too long (and reminder that this report was back in 2023, so take this with a grain of salt):
About the game production/staff: - The game is still in preproduction.

• In March 2022, he was told most of the content was just one planet, mostly empty, without a real city and places to visit, except for the assets of gameplay seen in 2018.
  
• In 2022, he was told people on the game were still working on "woah effects" disconnected from each others. Prototypes of places, weather effects, the technical platform, etc.
  
• Each year the game had a review with the Ubisoft directors, and each year it failed at obtaining a go to production, which would have helped to hire more staff.
  
• In 2022, he was told one person was leaving the project every 10 days, for a year and half.
  
• In 2022, he was told around 70% of the team that was initially building the engine around 2017 had left the project (split between Ubi Montpellier and other antennas)
  
• In 2021, most lead positions (authors, lead game dev, lead engine, lead art, animation director, etc) had already seen two or more change of staff, with Ubi directors asking people still there to replace them in addition to their existing work.
  
• He does not know how is the staffing on the game right now, and if the game is protected by the recent announcement of Ubisoft freezing hiring.
  

About the investigation of local French government: - The work inspection agency asked a third party to investigate.

• The third party will not interview the people that left the project in the last two years.
  
• Current BGE2 team he talked to feels betrayed because of this, feeling the conclusions of the investigations will be flawed.
  
• He was told some staff feel the new leads won't be able to change anything, some feel that it might finally be moving forward.
  

On why it's not cancelled: - He reminds that the project was created at a time when Ubisoft was facing an OPA from the Bolloré Group and needed to show its muscles, "it's a vanity project".

• He feels the situation has not changed, even if Tencent acquired stock in the group and would be forced, by contract, to sell it back to the Guillemot Family if an OPA happens, cancelling the game (or even Skull and Bones) would be a display of weakness.
  
• If you cancel the game, you have hundreds of staff to put on other projects, and Ubi cancelled a lot of unannounced projects.
  

About Guillaume Carmona being fired: - He started at Ubisoft in 2006, came from marketing, and became director of Ubisoft Montpellier in late 2019.

• Once the internal anonymous reporting platform was launched in 2020 following the crisis about Hascoet, several reports were done about his misconduct for things that happened before, between 2015 and 2019 while he worked in Ubisoft Paris.
  
• So Ubisoft knew but did nothing until the work inspection agency came in.
  
• Ubisoft covered his exit to preserve his future career, and people in Ubisoft did not get any information on why he left.
  
• He apparently had a very "bro" mindset, and valorised the collaborators for their capacity to handle alcohol. Drinking parties were integral part of working with him.
  

Other stuff: - Apparently the studio Build a Rocket Boy (founded by ex-Rockstar producer Leslie Benzies) has taken a liking in Ubi staff and hired at least 25 of them and counting, including the former BGE2 director. Pay for some of the new hires was doubled from what they had at Ubi (low pay is a well known issue at the company).

• Around 70% of staff at Ubi Montpellier is on BGE2, the rest is split between 3 projects (Prince of Persia: The Lost Crown, Sparks of Hope DLC Lineup, etc) that take staff exhausted by BGE2.

TL;DR:
Beyond Good and Evil 2 is having development troubles as 70% of the devs are currently struggling working on the game as the game’s fate is unknown to progress, Guillaume Carmona’s firing was mainly due to misconduct allegations during the Ubisoft’s work culture misconduct investigation reports, and they can’t cancel the game due to circumstances along the fact that cancelling BGE2 results shafting devs to other projects as Ubisoft has cancelled unannounced games on the corner due to their struggles and future downward spiral that is still showing in the games industry.

Hey everyone. As the title suggests, I am finally in a position where I can go back to school to finish my degree. Okay, technically it's starting my degree over again in a new major of study, as my first attempt was at age 18 through Laurentian University at Georgian College in Barrie, with a major in political science. That was in 2012. This time around, I am studying something that I wanted to all along, but couldn't for various reasons, that being English with an intended specialization in creative writing. I've always loved to write, and have wanted to pursue this avenue for close to 20 years, but was never afforded an opportunity like I have been now.
That being said, I haven't been in school for close to 10 years, now. I dropped out of my poli sci degree after a year of study due to my own admissions of not being interested in the material of study compared to what I learned in secondary school. So, I took a year off to learn about myself, then transferred to a generic business program directly through Georgian. I ultimately claimed a diploma in that, and then life sort of got in the way of me being able to go back to finish what I had started, or rather pursuing my true passions. I ultimately ended up the caregiver for my Grandmother, who passed away in 2022, and I've since spent the last two years as one of the estate trustees. Life certainly has been different, to say the least.
To make a rambling man's long story short, what can I expect to find at Lakehead University's Orillia campus? Will students who are presumably younger than myself be accepting of the fact I am now one of their peers? What sort of things should I be looking into purchasing before going to school? Is virtual learning more of a thing than it was 12 years ago? What are the average driving conditions like from Orillia to say Barrie, or even Collingwood, where I currently reside? Gas prices aren't an issue for me, as I drive an EV, but what sort of things should I be wary of?

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

I technically only need a one seater car but I was told the Chevy trax which is kind of like an suv was the cheapest model they sold.
I just need something reliable to get me from a-b. I’m tired of doing major repairs. Yes I can handle them on my own, engine/ transmission replacements or rebuilds but like I don’t have the time. I need to finish my degree and the cars just keep taking up my time and slowing me down.
I’m spending between 600 and 800 a month and I do all of my own work myself. I don’t buy food or pay rent. That’s gas and car repairs. I have ZERO mods or upgrades on my car.
Right now now my car is in need of an oil pan gasket (bigish at home job because subframe has to be undone then lowered) , needs torque converter, another big job because transmission has to come off, also electrical work. Ground for the heater element on one o2 sensor is either wire broken or ECU bad.
All of that stuff I can’t just do in one minute. It’s all going to get time and I can’t because once I get that stuff done then comes the front tires then the rear brakes need rotors and pads. Differential fluid is also way overdue. I need new motor and transmission mounts (car has almost 300k miles). Needs cosmetic work too, new headliner and repaint. Driver seat not looking good but I got a good cover over it. Needs new headlight covers too. The covers are like 60, headlights are like 400 but the covers take some time to install.bump oer has to come off blah blah blah.
So yeah it’s an endless list of shit and like I said I have a job and I’m studying full time too. I want to get something that’s going to last me a lotta time without giving me much of a headache. A repair here and there doesn’t bother me you know oil change 5 min, plugs 30 min,coils 10 min but like I don’t wanna stay in this cycle we’re in like wrenching on my car on the daily and the neighbors see me working on my car every day.
Also I don’t have a garage and it’s super hot right now where I live, I don’t wanna be. Out there. Under the Florida sun working on a car constantly.
Keep in mind I in charge of all the cars on my close family so multiply my problems 3x. It’s a lotta shit.
Let me know what y’all think of the Chevy trax. That’s what I’m most interested in . The mirage looks like it’d be a very unsafe car to drive around in Miami.
Another option is buying a 1-4 year old car . I was at the hood dealer and they got 20k miles ‘22 civics for like 23k certified ore owned so they come with some sort of warranty I believe…
Because I was told Chevy only offers 36k 3 year warranty and I think that’s stupid low….

LONG ONE but this is 15 years in the making.
So my brother and his wife have been married for about 15 years. Ever since the beginning, I've always felt a little skeptical of her. She's a southern gal that likes to romanticize everything. Think a Facebook junky that loves posting inspiring messages that are totally over the top. "From the depths of my soul, I wish you all to find happiness in your life. I truly do. Never give up! #MiraclesAreReal #HeHasAPlan" Etc. That sort of shit.
She's a sweetheart though and doesn't have a malicious bone in her body, but she's the type of person who wishes she lived in a hallmark movie. And she LOVES attention.
Over the last 15 years, she's had one thing happen to her after another. First it was shoulder issues from a car accident. Obviously this was all a real thing, but it just seemed like she kept having setback after setback, to the point where her shoulder was replaced. She had issues with opioid addiction, went to rehab. About 10 years ago she also started "feeling chronic pain" and was more and more reclusive, opting to spend most of the time we visited them in bed. Now she wasn't ignoring us, because we always made it a point to come up and even would spend time in their room watching movies and just talking, but for the most part, she stayed in bed.
Eventually it was determined that she had something called POTS, and then later Ehlers Danlos. These were both pretty much self-diagnosed, and then "confirmed" by doctors. But since then both of these afflictions have completely taken over her life. She started using a wheelchair, her body has deteriorated, she basically has zero leg muscles, with a much larger upper body from eating terribly. She's had highly invasive procedures like spinal fusions, ports, and all sorts of other shit over the years.
Everything is a "miracle cure" on Facebook and she talks about how she's a girl boss. "Guys!! I DID SOMETHING TODAY! I walked down the stairs to get a drink without my caregiver!" is a typical post on Facebook. Of course next week when I ask my brother how she's doing, she's had setbacks and is feeling worse than she was before. It's always one step forward and three steps back.
What gets me is that these posts are OBVIOUSLY pity parties, but of course she would never ask people to cry for her and talk about how terrible things are. No. that's not what the protagonist does in a hallmark movie. They have stiff upper lips, they are courageous! They never complain and live life to the fullest, despite how terrible things are.
So she makes a post with her sitting in her wheelchair or wearing a neck brace, and will say things like "Guys, I just had the best day EVER. I sat up! Normally when I sit up I get lightheaded and pass out, but today, thanks to my 3 Physical therapists, i've been able to sit up! These are the little things people sometimes take for granted, but I just had to share :) #EDScantStopMe! #GurlBoss #NotToday".
So she gets a million likes and comments saying how "Proud they are" of her and how she's an inspiration. We're all supposed to be so thrilled and excited, but all it really is is a reminder that she's basically bedridden and should be pitied and lavished with attention. Thankfully, she hasn't tried to move into influencer status, and I honestly don't feel like she has financial incentives at heart. She simply craves the attention, the pity, and the "status" as being an inspiring role model for other people a and being the main character of her own hallmark movie.
And I fucking can't stand it. I think this is all bullshit. I'm sure she's in pain, but that's what happens when you're body deteriorates from not doing shit for 10 years. She tries to solve all her issues with pills and procedures, but doesn't do fuck all when it comes to actually working hard at rehabilitating her body.
I know EDS is a real thing, but I've also read how commonly it's faked. Certain types can be genetically tested for. Of course hers hasn't.
Throughout all of this shit, my brother has been a fucking saint. He's never complained. Luckily he owns a business that does well enough that nothing has led to financial issues, but it easily could have since nothing is covered by insurance. He's a very active and outgoing guy, so it kills me seeing him spend his entire young adult life basically being her caregiver.
In the past year however, he has reached a breaking point. He had a short-lived affair, realized life was slipping by, and immediately told her about it. She's forgiven him, and basically will say things like "you can win me back. Lets renew vows, get me another ring" (All the bullshit you would see in a movie of course). He knows deep down that he doesn't WANT to win her back, and has essentially been letting the relationship die over the past 9 months. He wants to take care of her financially, but wants out. He needs a life.
Well, this past weekend, she finally sends a text saying that they are done, and the separation is moving forward. Oh and what do you know? She has started making posts on Facebook about how she hasn't used her wheelchair in days! She can now walk a mile in a day when she couldn't walk 20 steps. Where the FUCK was this 4 years ago when you maybe could have rehabilitated and lived an actual life? Where the fuck was this when my brother was wasting away his life, not traveling, not creating memories for his girls, having memories that he had growing up as a kid going on hikes and going to the beach.
On top of all of this, they have two daughters. The older one is 12 and is having all sorts of other issues, including anorexia and self-harm. I love her, but I see this as a response to the bullshit that her mom has put her through her entire life. She has always been an attention seeking kid. She is also very sweet, but unfortunately I believe that all of these cries for help wouldn't be happening if her own mother wasn't the way she is. I know this last part makes me an asshole, and I honestly have no ill will towards the daughter. I think what she is doing to herself is very serious and I don't want to take it lightly. But she is also a very sheltered girl and it's hard not to believe that the mother isn't the root cause.
I'm so happy that my brother is finally going to be rid of this soon. Obviously he plans to take care of her financially in perpetuity, and isn't planning to have any toxic fights over money or custody. He will do what's right. The only thing now is that I'm terrified that one of her stupid "followers' is going to share what happened and he somehow becomes some viral villain that gets crucified by assholes who have no idea what the actual situation is.

Hello everyone, So for the past couple of seasons I have been dealing with a poorly running system in my house. for example if its 85 Degrees outside i can only get the house down to about 74 with the thermostat set to about 64. The system is old from like 2004 and I am aware that I am due for a replacement and have gotten 2 quotes so far between $12k-$16k (which I think is high btw, what do you think? I am in the northeast.
This wasnt always an issue, the system worked great for the first couple of years after purchasing the house in 2020. Then in 2022 the capacitor went bad in the beginning of the season. I have strong DIY skills and do many jobs on my own that most wouldn't so I was more then comfortable with replacing it. I went to a local HVAC supply and the guy gave me what he had in stock and said it would work. So i replaced it and everything worked ok but I noticed some performance issues as in temperatures. About a month later I get home one night and it was almost 80 in the house I knew something was wrong, I checked the compressor unit and heard it humming but the fan wasnt spinning, so after some troubleshooting and getting the fan to kick on when giving it a spin by hand I knew the fan motor was toast. I ordered a direct replacement from Supply House and swapped it out. the replacement went smooth and I gave both units a nice cleaning at the same time. Ever since then the system has been unable to get the house 10 degrees cooler than outside temp anytime its 85 or higher outside. I have had 2 different Techs come out and look at it and one literally came out and looked at the units and listened to them and said "yea they are just old" and then charged me $150 lol the next guy was late last season, he actually hooked up a gauge set atleast and said the refrigerant level was good and everything appeared to be running fine and said the compressor is just old and I need a new system and proceeded to quote me $12k for the replacement. So the question is 1. Can something I replaced cause this to happen, and what are your guys thoughts on the issue? and 2. Is there anything that can be done to somehow increase the performance and maybe get me another season or two out of this thing.
I know this was a lot to read and I apologize for that but any info and help is appreciated. Thanks Everyone in advance. BTW the unit is a Weatherking Model 10aja3601 Manufacture date 2004 with a matching air handler.

So here I am stuck in the middle of two annoying situations that are dumping loads of stress on to me. I recently (by recently within the last 9 months) bought a car from Car Max and paid a pretty penny for a used car with low miles (around 6k miles and 1 owner). I'm loving the car and driving it as my daily, about 7-8 months go by and I've now put on about 9k miles and have taken it to a Subaru Dealership to have oil changed and look over the car. All appears well and in working order. I then begin noticing an issue with idle and cold starts where the engine seems to be struggling and shaking more than usual and then the dash lit up like a christmas tree. Take it to the Subaru dealer to run code and its VVT solenoid or cam shaft sprocket. They also find some debris in the oil. Change the oil and parts and its still having issues and is said to need a new engine per Master Tech at Subaru. MaxCare says they won't cover anything while there is still a manufacturer warranty in place. Subaru believes there may have been an issue or modified by the previous owner and when something started to arise they parted it back to stock and sold it. Now I'm stuck with the issue and dealing with Subaru and MaxCare (which doesn't seem to care to the max). subaru WRX
Second stress inducing issue is dealing with my Home Insurance, made a claim with Nationwide about storm damage to my roof causing water damage to the interior of my house. I had 3 independent contractors come out and inspect my roof as well as the interior damage to the room/attic. All three took photos and reported that there was storm damage from winds and an active leak due to said damage. So I file a claim with Nationwide and they send out an independent inspector to assess the damages for the claim. SeekNow is sent out and he comes into the house to photograph the interior damage and then go up on the roof to finish up the inspection. The inspector for SeekNow finishes and then leaves without saying a word. I wait a week and call Nationwide again to follow up as I have heard nothing from Nationwide or from SeekNow. I am told via phone call with my claims adjustor that the SeekNow inspector found no damage to my roof and no signs of storm damage. I was shocked and a bit peeved if I must be honest. I've had 3 different contractors inspect beforehand and all saw damage and shared with me photos of said damage to my home. So how could this inspector from SeekNow be so blind.
Sorry for the dump but I am in need of some advice. I'm a single income adult attempting to navigate these waters but I do not have the resources to pay for an engine to a new car with only 16k total miles nor do I have the money to pay for a new roof and the drywall/painting repair for the house. Nationwide does not seem to be on your side despite the jingle and CarMax/MaxCare does not seem to want to own up to not fully inspecting cars they purchase before off loading it onto the new customer.

So much news, I'm struggling to find a place to start. Half of that struggle might be due to exhaustion. Again.
Well, lets start with my writing. Praise me, praise me, I finally finished writing the fourth chapter last night. Eventually, I'll go back to add a few things and edit, but for now, I can put it behind me and move on with the story. Thank goodness. I didn't write anything today, not yet, because today was another gardening day.
Good news is that even though most of the plants outside are looking a little worse for wear, they'll probably all survive. We planted everything but the herbs. I don't think I mentioned it, but Mother bough a cantaloupe plant and some acrd squash two day ago. It was warm and mostly sunny, a lovely day to be outside. I'm quite glad I trimmed my hair a few days ago because by midday, I was actually sweating. The large planter is full of bak choy, zucchini, leeks, and the cherry tomato bush. We alternated between shovelling dirt into the wheelbarrows to bring to the backyard and planting. The wheelbarrows are actually the neighbours. Years ago, not long after he first moved in, we gave him our old wheelbarrow and he's payed that favour back twice over. He's a lovely man. Anyway, we planted the peppers in the planters Mother got me for my birthday and they look great, aside from the occasional hail-hole. Mother planted most of the flowers. It's beginning to look lovely out there - though things like the garlic and currant bushes are still suffering from that storm - and we planted everything we had except for the herbs. Tomorrow is going to be even nicer. If I can get the last of the planting done quickly, I might even have the time and energy to write outside.
As you may expect, I am again exhausted. I went to sleep early, for me, last night and it certainly helped me this morning but again, my energy levels are drying up. Still, I need to write tonight. I've thought a lot about how the beginning of chapter five is going to go. I half-dreamed about it as I was falling asleep. When I actually was asleep, I had a strange dream about being at the airport with a childhood friend of mine. The plane was absurdly tall and the pilot had it out for us. We ended up missing the flight. For some reason, the most vivid part of that dream was the redness of the plan seats. It was like they were freshly painted; dripping wet as the roses in the red queen's garden. It was strange.
But, back to the point, I'm looking forward to writing. I don't think I've ever been so ready to start a chapter, at least mentally. For now, though, I need to let myself rest. I'll perk back up and pick up where the story left off tonight.
Yours & Mine,
S.O. Skinner

I am a teacher aid at a pre-school. This would be my third year working there. My previous classes have been manageable and nothing out of the ordinary. So my new class has been a real challenge.
I have 3 kids with diagnosed autism. One has a personal teacher that stays with him at all times. The other two don´t. I also have to mention that my school is a "rich-ish people school" they accept any student and it has the reputation to accept kids that have been kicked from other schools (they just care about the money pretty much). The school has never offered training on dealing with special needs children or anything of the sort. Only two girls in the pre school have a degree in psychology the other don't. I personally graduated in Language education. We have 1 child psychologist who is never there. It´s frustating that te school does nothing to help these kids and doesn't do anything on pushing the parents on taking action. I have learned from videos and blogs on education for kids with learning disabilities but I just feel like it´s not enough. Besides my three students that have a hard time at school already the other 17 are all hyperactive, not well behaved and with a pretty much non existant attention span. I know that with kids you have to go overboard, use music, dance, interactive activities. But I swear nothings seems helpful for this group.
The head teacher has bad classroom management and it is chaos everyday. My throat hurts from screaming their names 20 times whether its to call them to get in line or call their attention. Circle time is absolute madness, they start running around, teasing each other, yelling, shouting, standing up, circling on their seats. I have talked to the teacher on what can we do for this to get better. When she is explaining the class I have to constantly tell everybody to sit proper, stop hitting your friend, put that toy in the backpack. Please just help me with advice on this. Anything is helpful. I swear I have never been this stressed.

My boss is a diamond for several years and already a diamond for next year. We have a flight coming up and she called if she could add me to her reservation and use a GUC. We both purchased premium select.
The diamond medallion support line told her the GUC isn’t available to upgrade her right away but she can be placed on an upgrade list and I’ll be her companion and connected to the upgrade.
She made this call about 2 months ago and has checked in with delta a couple times, including today to inquire on the status. They keep telling her she’s first on the flight for the upgrade to D1 and at this point they’ll probably upgrade her at the gate when boarding.
When she originally added me to her reservation, my upgrade options greyed out and I couldn’t even pay for an upgrade.
I got upgraded earlier this week on my originating flight to first class and now I can see the upgrade purchase options for the long flight. ($4500, laughable).
The long flight in question leaves in 2 days and it’s ATL to AMS. there are 8x d1 seats remaining.

1. Is the diamond medallion rep just giving my boss some lip service and she’s not going to be upgraded?
   
2. Is she just saying i might be upgraded but I really 100% won’t be upgraded?
   

I appreciate yall. Thanks for reading my rambling story and questions. :)

Noticed a new *thing* this evening. Might just be my game but I tried it on a couple of old saves and the same thing happens. If I board my ship and sit in pilot's seat, then takeoff; the takeoff animation works aok but when the loading screen appears, a second or two later it'll crash to desktop.
Only seems to happen when leaving Neon and not the other planets/systems I've been to this evening. I can safely Fast Travel off world but this is definitely a new thing as I've been to Neon hundreds of times (I'm an arms dealer for the various gangs that operate there)...
Be curious to hear if anyone else is having similasame issue? 👊🏻

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds.
I can't blame him. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an untreated infection. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.". The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.
blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.
Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.
"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.
The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrificed" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.
One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.
It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.
Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."
One by one, each member traced a symbol on my skin.
" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."
"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.
" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom."
"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.
She kneeled right near me, and whispered " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.
" HAIL THE PRINCE".
A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."
Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.
"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.
And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who fled my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe.
I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't speak of what I saw at the hospital. I knew better now. I've tried to explain to my uncle why I had to move out to the big city. That I had a mission now. That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid.
I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode and I should go back to the clinic, but I know better now. I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in. He'll honour us all, all at once.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »

Hi :)
My fiancé and I will be going to Paris for the first time this July. We are super excited. We are aware of the Olympics and don’t mind, we will make the best of our trip. I would really appreciate any input we can get on our itinerary.
Day 1 Saturday July 13 - Arrive in Paris 6 am, check into Pullman Eiffel hotel.
We have nothing planned for this day as of yet. Want to take it easy. Any suggestions?
I originally had planned to use this day to explore trocadero but I believe it will be closed off due to Olympics. Can also use it to explore some other neighborhoods that are good for walking/shopping/cute restaurants with outdoor seating?
any recommendations? I’ve heard of Latin quarter and montmarte and montparasse. Which would be better?
Day 2 Sunday July 14 - Versailles 9 am entry (already booked) looking for vegeterian dinner suggestion in the 15th or 7th arrondissement Be back in hotel for July 14 fireworks, can anyone confirm if these are happening this year with the Olympics?
Day 3 Monday July 15 - nothing booked as of yet!
Day 4 Tuesday July 16- switching hotel to hotel du louvre , lunch reservation at Arpege (already booked)
Day 5 Wednesday July 17- louvre museum (already booked 9 am)
Thinking of booking arc de triumphe for sunset- tickets not yet released.
Day 6- check out and train at 2
Things that I want to do but not booked/ don’t know where to put it exactly:
Catacombs (tickets available one week in advanced. Closed on Mondays. Maybe can try to do this on the Saturday we arrive?)
Palais Garnier (is it necessary when I am already doing a whole day in versaille?)
Seine river cruise - dinner or not / day or night? We are flexible with what fits in our schedule.
Dior museum - Dior shopping
Macaroon class! - found one online if time allows will do this
Paris photoshoot - 1 hour with an Airbnb photographer (although don’t think we would get the classic trocadero shots, but I’ve seen some of these photographers already added this adjustment into the listings with alternate photo spots)
Explore a nice neighborhood - eat outdoors on the sidewalk
Visit boulangeries - eat croissants
Visit macaroon stores (lauderee /pierre herme) Eat crepes
Would appreciate any help I can get with my itinerary! Please let me know if it seems feasible so far.
Would love to get some recommendations on vegetarian restaurants as well!
Sorry for the horrible formatting. I am not the best at formatting on my phone.
Thank you so much