Peanuts lawn decorations

Hey everyone,
I’ve noticed a common theme in many posts here: "What should I do to make my house have more curb appeal?" Usually, these photos show a plain house with a driveway, a generic lawn, and maybe a lonely shrub.
Here’s the thing: you can add all the decorative elements you want, but no shade of grey paint is going to make your house truly stand out. My advice? Plant a tree! Add some flowering bushes! Consider terracing a section of your yard for visual interest.
And before the "Well actually" crowd chimes in, remember to plant native plants. Don’t just roll into a big-box store and grab whatever annuals catch your eye. Instead, visit your local nursery to find plants that thrive in your region. They’ll not only look better and be easier to care for, but you’ll also be supporting local wildlife, like bees.
That’s all! Happy planting!

Hi All,
Looking for advice on determining the best type of shed based on my needs. I'm looking to get a shed that is 14' x 20' and having it placed on a concrete slab. This is to replace an older shed that has shifted while it was on gravel pad sitting on cinder blocks. The wood around the gravel pad and the shed itself started to rot and shift. Since it was installed by the previous owner, I don't know if it was a DIY or professionally done. Either way, I'm against going with with something that will be a problem for me years down the road.
The shed will be used to store lawn equipment, gas, oil and holiday decorations. The heaviest thing that will be in there is a 42" deck riding lawn mower. Everything that I see online are prebuilt with floors. Do people just drop prebuilt sheds on top of concrete slabs? Can I even ask for a prebuilt shed to have the floor removed and placed directly on the concrete slab? (My backyard has limited clearance and the "pre-built" shed will actually have to be built on site anyway)
Also, should I insulate the shed? I live in MD and it does snow/freeze here, but I'm worried that I could end up trapping moisture with the lawn equipment and creating mold.

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, MK, Ripper, Scott, Sky
Episode 6: The Aftermath I: Trent's Descent
A riff from an electric guitar opened the episode as a pair of purple concentric circles flew across and back in the screen towards the upper-left corner, a group of smaller, bluer circles flying through them in the same direction but at a higher speed. As it neared the top of the screen a large and blocky red 'T' flashed into existence and descended back down, and the background music continued into a theme fit for an evening talk show. A similarly-styled 'D' and 'A' appeared next as a few more purple or blue rings crossed the screen, then the three letters slid in from the left to spell out 'TDA'. The word 'AFTERMATH' popped up from the bottom of the screen, temporarily bumping up the first three letters before they slammed back down and centered the text in the middle of the screen.
A gleam swept across the text from upper-left to lower-right, and the 'D' briefly popped forwards with the faint sound of a camera, turning a little bit counterclockwise before reversing into its former position.
Clip 1
"Any final words?" Chris asked the eliminated contestants.
“Yeah. You guys actually voted me off. I respect that,” Eva nodded with a smirk.
“Good luck dudes. Wicked play,” Geoff smiled as he and Eva got off the bleachers and went to the red carpet.
The 'D' popped out briefly again and another bout of recap footage began.
Clip 2
"Here's the deal," Chef stated, pacing about slowly in front of the teen. "I'll help you man up and win this thing. You don't ask any stupid questions and you split the prize with me.” He leaned in closer towards Brick's face. “Like they say, it's an offer you can't refuse. I won't let you," he finished with a deadly scowl, much to Brick's discomfort.
The 'D' popped out a third time, signaling the start of another set of recap footage.
Clip 3
“Trent, it's time to go!” Chris informed the eliminated contestant.
Trent got off the stands. “Before I do, can I at least say goodbye to Sky?”
“You could, but it'd be pointless since Chef will just carry you to the limo,” Chris smiled.
“Alright,” Trent sighed and faced his former teammates. “I'm really sorry about my actions, guys. I'll see you later.” With nothing left to say, he turned and walked down the red carpet.
A fourth time the 'D' popped out, and the last set of recap footage played.
Clip 4
"Izzy!" Izzy was left gaping. "Time to go!" Chris announced.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Izzy objected. “That's not my name.”
“Can I get a pen over here?” Chris raised his hand in annoyance. A pen was given to him, and he started to write on the paper. “It says "E-Scope" now, okay?!” This made Izzy finally stand up.
"And remember," Chris told her as she started to walk past the stage, "you can never come back, ev-er!" The host pressed an orange button next to his microphone, and two identical guards came over and grabbed Izzy by her arms.
(Theme Song)
The same sequence used to open the recap was replayed, an unseen audience cheering wildly after the 'TDA AFTERMATH' logo shined. The camera faded into a shot of a stage from the shadowed audience; it was set up like a talk show with one couch and table in the middle, and two tiers of couches on either side. A variety of lights both stage and decorative were scattered around, and to the left was a passage backstage half-hidden by dividing walls and the dark red curtains that framed the set.
And most importantly, sitting on that central couch, were two figures. Damien on the left and Priya on the right.
The camera zoomed in on them as the applause died down, a pair of computer displays visible on the table turned towards the hosts as Priya waved. "Hey there everyone!" she greeted with a smile. "Welcome to the brand-new Total Drama Action Aftermath Show!"
She paused as the audience cheered and applauded again, and once they'd died down, Damien spoke up. "We're coming to you live," he said, "to dish everything Total Drama Action!"
"This is where the real action is!" Priya said to another bout of cheering. "I'm Priya!" she added in with a smile.
"And I'm Damien!" Damien beamed.
"You may remember us from the hit series Total Drama Island," Priya continued.
"And it's thrilling sequel, Total Drama Action," Damien said, “even if we're not on it.”
"I hate that we missed out on the season and a chance to get the money,” Priya grumbled but regained her positivity, “but we have our own show, so I think it compensates."
"Being in the sequel could've given me the possibility of being rich, but when I'm with you, money doesn't matter," Damien smiled happily at Priya, and the crowd awwed.
"Aww, that's so sweet!” Priya gushed and turned to the audience. “And with no competitions here, we get to talk to all of you."
“So about that new season. Pretty cool, right?" Damien asked, looking out at the camera.
"Of course," Priya nodded. "They get to be on a film lot and do different kinds of movie challenges. How spectacular is that?" The crowd cheered in agreement.
"Super spectacular," a voice said from off-camera, the shot zooming out to show that the couches on the right had been occupied by the other non-competing contestants. On the top row were Rodney, Sam, and Gwen, while the bottom row had Topher, Katie, and Sadie.
“We were being rhetorical," Damien pointed out, "but hey, thanks for reminding everyone that you're not invisible! Topher, everyone!" The camera focused on the dirty blonde, who took stride in the applause from the audience.
"We also brought along all the others from the first season," Priya said.
"They may be considered losers," Damien said, "but not to us."
“Aww,” Katie gushed.
“That is so sweet, you guys,” Sadie added.
"The pleasure's all ours," Damien replied. "Give it up for Topher!" he said, and the crowd cheered as the camera cut back to the fanboy. He shot a wink as the screen was split and a clip played of him smacking a fly onto his eye and getting it swollen.
"And Rodney!" Priya added, the camera cutting to the country boy waving at the camera. The screen also split to play a clip of him, showing him returning back to the game on boat.
"Katie and Sadie!" Damien introduced the two girls.
“Oh my gosh!” Katie cheered.
“We are so super excited to be here!” Sadie expressed her happiness.
"Next we have Sam!" Priya said as the camera moved to the gamer smiling at the camera as a clip played in the split screen showing him hanging from a tree by his knees before falling down.
"And how about a shout out to Gwen!" Damien said. Gwen smiled at the camera while the split screen showed a clip of the goth eating blueberries from a bush.
The camera cut over to Topher, who was engrossed in a phone call. "How long are the papers going to take?" he asked before noticing the audience. "Sorry mom, but I'll have to call you back later!"
Priya and Damien shared a glance before Damien smiled at the camera. "We've also got a lot of texts and emails from all of you!" he said excitedly.
"Plus," Priya said, "we'll have a couple of you on webcam!"
"Eva and Geoff will be here," Damien announced, and the crowd went wild.
"And let's not forget our favorite nutcase, Izzy!" Priya added with a smile, earning another roaring cheer from the crowd.
"Plus the guy with the soul of music, Trent!" Damien finished to another round of applause.
"You know what's strange? The four that you two mentioned were part of the final six in Island along with Scott and you, Priya," Topher said.
"That is pretty shocking," Priya added. "Eva and Geoff especially."
"Eva could have won the season again, but I guess no one wants a repeat," Sam laughed a bit.
"We've got a lot to talk about," Damien told the audience. "It's almost time to welcome our first guests," he announced, "but first, take a look at this!" The nervous wreck looked up to the wide and flat television hanging above the central couch.
The television's static cut to a clip of Geoff and Eva running together to escape the monster. "Geoff and Eva's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said.
"But it sure was packed with the action that we grew to love," Priya continued as Eva and Geoff stuck their heads out from behind a cardboard cutout of a small red car.
"Eva managed to recover from her broken ankle from last season," Damien continued as the muscle woman was shown running through the sidewalk.
"And Geoff proved that losing a tooth doesn't mean losing your positivity," Priya said as footage of Geoff showing off his golden tooth replacement was shown.
"And they both did well for themselves, even if they didn't win the second challenge!" Damien followed up as clips of Geoff and Eva being shown on the ground along with being shot with paintballs courtesy of Chef played.
"But unfortunately, they weren't able to play for another day!" Priya continued.
"I don't even blame the contestants since Eva and Geoff were last season's Final Two," Damien spoke as a clip played of the two going into the limousine. "At least they still have their friendship!"
"One has eaten dog food," Priya said, "and the other has taken control of a forest fire. Our first two guests are Geoff and Eva!"
The Aftermath theme tune played and the crowd went wild as Eva and Geoff pushed open the backstage doors and walked out, smiling at both the audience and the hosts as they took their seats on the lower couch on the left.
"Hey guys!" Priya greeted with a smile as Damien waved.
"Damien! Priya! Glad to see you two again!" Eva said happily.
"Yeah!" Geoff added. "You two getting the hosting gig is impressive!"
"Great to have you guys!" Damien told them. "Sorry you two got eliminated first."
"No need to apologize," Geoff said. "We didn't leave completely empty-handed!"
"Wait, how so?" Damien asked in confusion. "You didn't win the money."
"Not like that," Eva answered. "Geoff managed to take pictures of everybody and everything from the first two seasons to put onto his scrapbook."
"And Eva managed to use part of her money to get construction to build her dream gym," Geoff added. "It's still in construction by the way."
“So how did you two manage to become the Aftermath hosts?” Eva asked them.
"The producers took note of me and Damien's relationship and decided on us being the hosts," Priya answered. "I couldn't pass up this opportunity."
"And plus, the other non-competitors either refused or were turned down," Damien added.
“They especially turned me down,” Topher grumbled. “I would've made a great host.”
"That's pretty understandable," Eva said. "I sure as heck don't want to run my mouth longer than I need to."
"Yeah, hosting a show is something I won't be able to perform well in," Geoff added.
"Moving on," Damien said, "how does it feel being the first two voted off the show?"
"Honestly, I gotta say it was kinda like a punch to the gut," Eva admitted. "I know I'm strong, but I didn't think the contestants would team up to vote us out in just the first episodes."
"I didn't mind as much," Geoff interjected. "I mean, I did want to win the million dollars, but given how we competed in every episode of the first season, it seems fair for us to go home early this time around and give the others a shot. And besides, money isn't everything."
"Thanks for your inputs," Priya said as the camera cut over to her and Damien, "I think it's time for a game called 'Truth or Hammer'!" The crowd started to go wild.
A grand tune played as a shot of a golden statue of Lady Justice was shown. The camera slowly pulled back from it, and as the music ended a large wooden mallet swung down from the left and smashed it to pieces.
Damien stood up as the scene cut back to the hosts and guests. "Here's how this works: we ask you a question, and if you give the wrong answer, a huge hammer will swing down on you."
"Uh, what?" Geoff said as he and Eva looked at each other nervously.
"Eva, Geoff, move out of the way as we do a test run!" Priya announced, and a giant wooden hammer immediately swung down at Eva and Geoff, the two barely avoiding the hit.
"Looks like the hammer is working well. How about we get to the questions?" Damien turned his head to the reality TV fan.
"Absolutely," Priya agreed. "So Eva, after winning last season, why do you think things didn't go well for you this time?"
"Like we both said, we were big time threats. If we didn't get voted off in the second episode, one of us likely would've been in the final two again," Eva answered and looked above her, the hammer still remaining in its position.
"I'm a strategic player, and if I wasn't the first season's winner, I obviously would've voted out the strongest player just so I could get closer to winning," Eva continued.
"Good answer!" Damien said. "So Geoff, are you even remotely mad at not winning the first season and getting kicked off in the second?"
Geoff looked up. "I'm not going to lie at all, especially when there's a hammer that can crush me," the party guy said. "I'm kind of upset."
Everyone was silent for a moment before it became clear the hammer wasn't going to swing down. "I mean... it's like you got dreams for this money and to see them flushed down the drain is disappointing," Geoff explained. "But it is what it is. I had a good time competing, and I got news from one of my brothers that my golden tooth can be sold for money, so at least I got some compensation."
"I'd suggest cleaning the tooth before you sell it," Damien advised before looking at the camera and smiling. "So how about we hear from one of the viewers!"
"Let's see," Priya said, looking down at the computer display on the table in front of her. "CunningLinguist316 asks: Who are you rooting for now that you've been eliminated?"
"Well, I'm rooting for Sky," Eva answered. "I can see some parts of myself in her, and she's one of the more worthy players in the game."
"I'm hoping my man Chase wins," Geoff answered. "He's super athletic and fast, and we're sorta like each other in many ways."
"Good to hear your thoughts," Damien told them.
"Exactly!" Priya added. "But I think it's time we bring out our next guest."
The camera panned up to the wide-screen television as footage of the wild child began to play. "Izzy's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said over a clip of Izzy pushing Ripper out of the way and getting captured by the animatronic monster.
"But it was a thrill ride," Priya added.
“Seriously, Izzy can make a bowl of paste tasty by adding herself to it,” Damien quipped over Izzy getting dropped into the bouncy castle.
"Later on, she suffered a serious blow at the hands of Chef," Priya added over the footage of Izzy falling onto the ground after getting shot in the chest with a paintball and Chef looking over her in worry.
“Chef thinks he's killed her. Look how scared he is!” Damien chimed in as the recap footage paused on Chef; a red circle was drawn around Chef's face.
“Never thought he'd have a sense of humanity. Check this part out! Super hilarious!” Priya giggled over Izzy standing up and laughing about her fake death. “Unfortunately, it was Justin that ruined Izzy's chances when the two took to the stage.” The clips of Justin performing his role and Izzy grumbling over her loss played.
"Dramatic and devious, Izzy will be back for more," Damien continued as the footage showed Izzy getting up from her seat and blowing kisses as the limousine took her away.
The scene returned to the hosts. "Our first guest has impersonated a grizzly and was caught peeing in a pool. Currently number eight on the RCMP's most wanted... Izzy, A.K.A Kaleidoscope!!"
The crowd went wild as the Aftermath theme played, but it suddenly stopped as the hosts looked up at the television. It was now showing footage of a room backstage where Izzy was currently sitting on a couch and eating crackers. The crazy girl had a snack tray-laden table in front of her, and to the left was a television showing the same feed as the one on-stage.
Izzy took notice of the television set. "I'm on TV!" she exclaimed before accidentally spitting out her chewed-up crackers, making the audience laugh quietly. “Oh, oops. Cracker crumbs, you get back here!” She grabbed the crumbs, along with a few grapes and a cracker sandwich with cheese in the middle, and put them all in her cleavage, prompting more laughter.
Izzy stood up and walked out to the stage, the Aftermath theme playing again as she opened the backstage doors and walked out. The audience cheered, and Damien and Priya, along with Eva and Geoff - who were now on the top row of the couches - waved at her, causing her to return the gesture.
“Hello E-Scope!” Priya eagerly greeted her friend.
"Hi, Priya. Hi, Damien," Izzy greeted back as she sat on the couch. "So glad to be here."
“Awesome to have you, but it must be hard losing out on a million bucks,” Damien talked to her.
“Yeah, well... you would know,” Izzy responded, unamusing Damien and Priya while the audience gasped. “Hi, you guys!” she focused on the Peanut Gallery.”
“Hi, Izzy!” Rodney waved.
“Hi, everyone out there in TV land!” Izzy turned to the camera and noticed someone in the audience. “Graham Cracker! That's my old boyfriend Graham! He got a restraining order against me last year. Remember that, Graham?” The audience started mumbling. “So funny. Okay. We were in the courtroom and the judge was all like, "You cannot come within two hundred meters of the plaintiff or you shall suffer the consequences of this courtroom."
After taking a moment to laugh, Izzy continued her story. “The long distance was hard, but we made it work. By the way, Graham, you should get new blinds for your room. What are they made of, lead? I couldn't see a thing with my binoculars! Miss you, Graham Cracker!” She took a cracker out of her cleavage. “I am totally into crackers right now. They're just so flaky!” She giggled and put the cracker into her mouth.
“Kind of like someone we already know,” Damien muttered quietly.
“So Izzy, how did it feel to be the third one voted off the show?” Priya asked.
“My life is an open book. Well, not yet, but it will be once I write it. And you open the book!” Izzy guffawed.
“What was going through your head after being voted off?” Damien questioned.
The music turned sad. “When you realize you're not getting a Gilded Chris Award, well, I can't lie to you,” Izzy sniffed in a rare moment of sadness.
“Oh, it was that painful?” Priya expressed her sympathy.
“No, I just can't lie to you,” Izzy returned to her normal state. “I was outfitted with a lie deterrent microchip that sends shock waves at the first hint of dishonesty. Those are really nice pants, Damien.”
Izzy then got shocked in her neck, demonstrating the microchip inside the body part, but the wild child laughed it off.
“Carrying on,” Damien said uncomfortably. “So what exactly did losing out on the Gilded Chris mean to you?”
“It means I missed out on that buttery chocolate statuette. Ooh, I once took an art class sculpting chocolate nudes, my instructor said I had a real flair for cocoa,” Izzy brought up and earned another electrocution. “Okay, okay, okay. He said I was totally loco. That's what he's actually said.”
"Let's see if you can be honest while answering our questions,” Priya said sneakily, “and the giant hammer will come down if you don't tell the truth!"
“If my implant doesn't get me, the hammer will!” Izzy said, earning laughs from the audience.
Priya and Damien shared a look of bewilderment before facing the camera happily. “Want to know which questions we'll be asking Izzy?" Priya asked the camera.
"Be sure to stay tuned," Damien said. "Right now, we have to take a quick break! We'll be right back!"
The show's logo was shown again, and the 'D' popped out and transitioned the scene to a close-up of a plate of brown mush sitting on a tan-and-goldenrod striped table. Flies were buzzing around it, and part of a familiar torso could be seen standing behind it.
"This episode of the TDA Aftershow," Chef Hatchet said to a catchy elevator music-like jingle as one of the flies buzzing around died and the camera began to zoom out, "was brought to you by Chef's Roadkill Cafe, where Sundays are Bring Your Own Meat!" The camera stopped moving to show the hulking man in full, standing between the table with the plate of mush and a large stone fireplace in the background. In his left hand he held a skewer of a reddish and steaming hunk of meat resting on a plate-like guard piece. The tail of a skunk extended from the top of the meat hunk.
"You hit it, we spit it," Chef said with a motion to the steaming dish in his hand.
(Commercial Break)

Pilot Reeda: “Human Dave, why is there a film series named ‘Alien?’”
Human Dave, Captain, Doctor, Quartermaster, and Pilot Reeda are seated on the comfortable couches in the cargo hold, with the Aflarrians milling around in front of the group, and Hope seated on Captain’s lap.
Doctor has a large bowl of popcorn in her lap, and occasionally tosses a piece towards the Aflarrians, who all patiently wait their turn to leap up and catch the offered snack.
Human Dave turns to face Pilot Reeda, who decided to show up at the last moment before the movie selection process could begin, and ponders her question for a moment.
Human Dave: “Well, that particular film series was made a very long time ago. Back when we thought that life on other worlds was a myth.”
PR: “The title seems offensive.”
HD: “I assure you that it’s not. The creatures in that film series were so different; so completely alien to us that it ended up traumatising every generation of human that ever saw it.”
PR: “That hardly changes things, Human Dave. How can a species be trusted when they name things with such carelessness?”
HD: “Was there no time in the entirety of Watrin history where your people didn’t believe there was anyone else out there in the universe?”
PR: “... that is beside the point.”
Alien Captain: “It would seem as though Pilot Reeda simply wishes to argue with you, Human Dave.”
Quartermaster: “I concur. I believe she is attempting to hide her nervousness at joining us by engaging in a verbal argument with Human Dave. The argument has little to no merit, and I believe that Pilot Reeda also knows this, but refuses to back down.”
PR: “Would the peanut gallery please shut up?”
AC: “What is a ‘peanut gallery?’”
HD: “She means the audience to any event. It’s an old reference to when humans used to attend theatre plays, and the people who sat in the cheap seats basically ate peanuts while the play was going on.”
QM: “What is a peanut?”
Alien Doctor: “Another Terran-based snack, but it would not be safe for Cradelians to eat them, due to the presence of certain chemicals contained within. They would wreak havoc on our digestive systems, and possibly cause death if ingested in excess.”
HD: “Well, the same could be said for anything grown on Terra. Or, anything in general. You eat too much of anything, and it’ll eventually be bad for you.”
AD: “This is true.”
PR: “Doesn’t change the fact that you have put such a title onto one of your forms of media.”
HD: “Does that mean you want to watch it?”
PR: “...”
HD: “Does anyone have any issues with Reeda’s choice? It is a horror genre movie, and it’s not even a technicality like with Jaws. Lots of people die in this one, and quite graphically, if I recall correctly.”
AD: “More graphically than Jaws?”
HD: “Actually, in some ways, yes. Xenomorphs have a very interesting life cycle, and they’re very aggressive, even for a fictional species.”
AD: “Xeno... morph?”
HD: “Yeah. Actually, Doctor, I think you’d really like the movies, from a medical practitioner’s perspective. They reproduce by... actually, I think it’d be better if you watch it yourself. Don’t want to spoil any of it. Plus, I’d like to see your unfiltered and unadulterated reaction to the film itself.”
AD: “You are not filling me with confidence after hearing that, Human Dave.”
HD: “Aw, come on. You liked Jaws, so you should be good with gore.”
QM: “THERE IS GORE?!”
HD: “Well, no more than expected, I think. It’s a bit graphic, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
PR: “How many humans die in this film?”
HD: “... only you would ask that. A lot of them. There aren’t many in the movie, mind you, but a lot of them die.”
AC: “Why do you insist on showing us the worst imagery of your species, Human Dave?”
HD: “Hey, I didn’t choose this one. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Reeda. And she just wants to see people die.”
PR: “Humans. I wish to see humans die.”
HD: “... imagining them all with my face, are you?”
PR: “Yes.”
HD: “... that’s very hurtful, Reeda’Tila-Lasoran.”
PR: “Fuck you, human!”
HD: “There we go. That passive-aggressive crap you were just using really doesn’t suit you.”
Pilot Reeda glares at the human sitting on the other side of the cargo bay.
PR: “If I want your opinion, human, I’ll fucking well ask for it!”
HD: “... okay, that’s taking the banter a little too far now.”
Human Dave stands up, and makes his way over to Pilot Reeda, who is clearly trying to ignore the approaching human.
HD: “Are you okay? You’re not usually this angry.”
PR: “I’m fine. Just put the damn movie on.”
HD: “... one thing I have learned in my life is that when someone says they’re fine, it actually means they’re not fine. Reeda, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
PR: “Nothing is wrong! I came here because you requested it of me. But I can very easily leave, Human Dave!”
AC: “That is not necessary, Pilot Reeda. Human Dave, please put the movie on. I am intrigued by what you have described, but would appreciate some more information regarding the premise.”
Human Dave eyes Pilot Reeda curiously for a moment, before returning to his seat, and taking a breath.
HD: “Well, it’s about a crew of humans in stasis investigating a distress signal, and having to contend with not only political plots, but an actual living organism in what was previously a cold, dead universe.”
AC: “I do not understand. Surely there would be life in some form or another in this fictional universe? Are we to believe that there is no native flora or fauna on any planet that humans visit?”
HD: “I think it was heavily implied that the planets they visited were barren for some reason or another. To be fair, back when the movies were made, the space program was still in its infancy, and the idea of trying to find a planet that would be suitable for humans was appealing, but we had to face the inevitable reality that finding a Goldilock’s world suitable for us was quite a tall ask.”
QM: “Goldilock’s world? I am unfamiliar with this term.”
HD: “It’s a reference to an old bedtime story that human tell their children. Basically, it refers to the need to find a world that is neither too hot, nor too cold to support human life. A similar life lesson is taught in the bedtime story, which is where we get the name.”
QM: “Curious. We do not have such a custom amongst Cradelians. At least, I am unaware of such customs among Cradelians, as I only have experience with my own family. Captain, is this the same for your own family?”
AC: “I am unaware of such a custom as well, Quartermaster. Doctor?”
AD: “As far as I am aware, it is not a part of Cradelian culture, as Cradelians do not require much sleep, nor have any issues achieving sleep. So, I am in agreement with Captain and Quartermaster. May I ask what the purpose of a bedtime story is, Human Dave?”
HD: “Sure. Humans, especially children, have way too much energy when they’re young. That sort of flags as they get older, but they’re always full of energy when they’re little. A bedtime story is sometimes necessary for them to receive some sort of stimulation while winding down in preparation for sleep.”
Human Dave looks thoughtful for a moment, before continuing his train of thought.
HD: “I think I touched on this a while back, but kids need routines sometimes, and sleep happens to be something different for everyone. Some kids need quiet to sleep, and some kids need something to amuse themselves while winding down. Stories seem to work for a lot of kids, since sometimes, the sounds of their parents’ voices is soothing to them, and gets them ready for sleep. The story itself doesn’t really matter, aside from personal preference; it’s more listening to something monotonous is calming enough to make them sleep.”
AD: “Most strange. Cradelians can simply close their eyes, and rest for the allotted time necessary for recovery.”
HD: “... I think every human would be very envious of you Cradelians if they found out about that. Sleep doesn’t come easy as humans get older. And quality of sleep declines as well. Not to mention dreams and stuff.”
AC: “Dreams? What are dreams?”
Human Dave’s eyes widen dramatically, as he stares at Captain, then turns his head to look at Doctor and Quartermaster, who have similar incomprehensible expressions on their faces.
HD: “... you guys don’t dream?”
AD: “We do not, Human Dave. I am aware of your nightmares where you relive your fears and traumas, but it is not something Cradelians experience.”
AC: “Humans relive frightening experiences when they sleep?”
Captain looks at Human Dave with a mixture of pity and understanding, to which Human Dave stands up and begins pacing.
HD: “Please don’t look at me like that, Captain. The very reason I don’t talk about it is because I don’t want people looking at me like that. But I’m fine. I hardly dream about anything that I’ve gone through, anyway.”
QM: “Human Dave, did you not just say that when people say that they are fine, that they are, in fact, not fine?”
HD: “Oh, nice. Using my own words against me.”
QM: “Is there unresolved trauma for you, Human Dave? I have seen it debilitate most every person I have treated in my previous role as Medic, but I have not had the pleasure of seeing how it affects the human mind, so I am uncertain if your current defensiveness is a result of us attempting to be understanding, but unable to, since we do not understand humans as well as another would, or if it is a reflection on your current mental state.”
HD: “How did this turn around onto me? I’m alright. I’m seeing a therapist for my own issues, so I’d appreciate it if you guys would just drop it.”
AD: “... very well. However, if you do need someone to speak with, the doors to Medbay are open to all.”
Doctor noticeably turns her head to look at Pilot Reeda, who nods imperceptibly before looking away.
HD: “Okay, hopefully, now that we’re done discussing my many, many issues, can we watch the horror movie?”
...
Silence rings throughout the cargo hold as the end credits roll.
Three Cradelians, and one Klofi-Watrin, sit in mute horror at the movie they just watched.
PR: “... I take it back. I take it all back. The title is fitting. Very fitting. I apologise for ever doubting you, Human Dave.”
HD: “I don’t blame you, Reeda. I had the exact same expression on my face the first time I saw it, too.”
AC: “What exactly did you just make us watch, Human Dave?”
HD: “Arguably, one of the best science fiction horror movies ever made by humans.”
AD: “I am both very disturbed and confused, Human Dave. Why is the life cycle of this species so superfluous? Why is there a need to have those things attach themselves to the faces of humans? Other than implantation of the embryo into a host species? Would it not be easier for the fully developed creature to simply implant the embryo on its own?”
HD: “Well,--”
AD: “In addition, why did it take so long for humans to detect the distress/warning signal from the ship on the planet, and why did they not deactivate it when they were on board? Would this not cause an repeat of this exact scenario if another ship were to pick up the signal?”
HD: “That’s actually—”
AD: “And, probably the biggest question I have is, how did the alien creature grow to such a size in only a matter of hours? It did not show the creature consuming any biological matter, and I have concerns as to how such a creature would eat to make up for its lack of food to fuel such a rapid growth in mere hours from the form from which it emerged from the chest of that particular human. Does it eat through the smaller jaw inside its mouth? Or is the purpose of that jaw merely as a weapon?”
HD: “So, it’s—”
AD: “In fact, is the creature itself some form of sentient bioweapon? It does not appear capable of communication, and if it were capable of such, how would it communicate? I observed no evidence of a tongue, nor any higher thought processes other than to kill its prey, but the hunting process itself was flawed. It did not hunt for food, as far as I observed; it killed for the sake of killing.”
HD: “...”
AD: “It would serve no purpose as a bioweapon, as it appears to be completely uncontrollable, and acts solely on instinct. And if more of those... egg things... were dropped onto a planet, it would be overrun by those creatures, and become a nest of sorts for the creatures, which have proven to be immensely difficult to kill. How would anyone take control of a planet covered in these creatures?”
HD: “If you would let me answer, Doctor?
Doctor pauses for a moment, before a faint dusting of blue appears on her face.
AD: “I apologise, Human Dave. It appears that I have allowed myself to become far too invested in the narrative of the movie.”
HD: “That’s alright. In regards to the life cycle, I don’t actually know why it’s like that. I always guessed it was just to keep the embryos safe, in case the fully grown one got hurt or something.”
AC: “What could hurt something like that? It seemed even more an apex predator than humans do.”
HD: “Well, most living organisms are weak to fire, and in the sequels, that gets touched on, but, just as an aside, fire seems to be the best method for most predators. So, if you get cornered, that’s what you should use to get away.”
QM: “Did the creature survive being blasted by the engines?”
HD: “... I mean, maybe? It’s left ambiguous, I think, because not much can survive the vacuum of space, and if it free-falls into the atmosphere of the planet they just left, it’d probably burn up on re-entry.”
AD: “They did not touch upon the large, dead creature that had appeared on the other ship, either.”
HD: “The Space Jockeys weren’t the focus of the film. Actually, until the expanded media, they weren’t even acknowledged as a major part of the narrative; I think they were just there to serve as evidence of an advanced civilisation that had the eggs in stasis, rather than actually giving them an active role in the story.”
AC: “’Space Jockeys?’”
HD: “The term ‘Space Jockeys’ cropped up during production of the film, but where they got it, I’m not sure. They have a species name, but it was a weird one that I don’t quite remember. This movie was actually one of the reasons that humans were sceptical about the Galactic Community in the beginning, because if this was something that we could think up, then how bad could it actually be out here?”
AD: “I can wholeheartedly assure you, Human Dave, that there is nothing like this in the galaxy. If there were, there would be no Galactic Community, since it would not survive against such a lifeform.”
HD: “Thank God for that, at least. What else did you ask again?”
AC: “The distress signal, and whether they are bioweapons, Human Dave.”
HD: “Couldn’t tell you about the distress signal, since I don’t think it was deactivated either, but you sort of hit the nail on the head with the bioweapon theory.”
AD: “... nail on the head?”
QM: “A crude form of building by driving pieces of metal into other materials to bind them together, Doctor.”
AD: “I am aware of what a nail is Quartermaster. I am confused by the turn of phrase Human Dave used.”
HD: “I meant to say that you managed to guess correctly the first time around. The Xenomorphs were released as a bioweapon, but quickly got out of control once they establish a foothold on any planet.”
AD: “Is there any hope of reclaiming the planet once a foothold is established?”
HD: “Short of glassing the planet, no. Once a Xenomorph infestation starts, it’s almost impossible to reclaim the planet without it.”
AC: “I was originally of the impression that such a method would be too much, but after having seen this movie, and imagining a planet of them, I am in agreement.”
PR: “Me too. I don’t think even an army of Stana-Watrin would be able to stand against just one, let alone a planet of them.”
AD: “At least the movie ended on a somewhat happy note. And with the death of the creature. I do not condone violence, but in this case, I believe it was warranted.”
HD: “Well, buckle up, because there are three more movies in the franchise after this one.”
AC: “... what?”
...
News Announcer: “And, in other news, the unexplained communications breakdown in the Taurus Sector has been the focus of many.
There have been many calls for investigation, and a petition for Terran High Command to send a warship to investigate has accumulated several hundred-thousand signatures.
In addition to this, many have expressed a desire to volunteer to be part of the investigative team, stating concerns that their family members are among those no longer communicating.
Terran High Command has released a statement; proclaiming that they are sending their flagship, the TSF Trailblazer, to head the investigation, as the lack of communication has reached the week-long mark.
All ships are advised not to enter the Taurus Sector until investigations have concluded, as per the statement released by Terran High Command.
“We do not wish for civilian interference, as such a thing may interfere with the investigation that has yet to commence. We ask for patience and understanding in this trying time, as we intend not to abandon our distant brethren, and discover exactly why a breakdown in communications has occurred,” a spokesperson for Terran High Command stated earlier today.
The TSF Trailblazer, humanity’s flagship, helmed by one Commander Nathaniel Beckett, a decorated war hero, and Designated Voice for Humanity, will be sent within the next few days to perform the investigation, alongside members of the UECA, that will assist in the investigation.
(What the Hell is the UECA?)
More on this story as it unfolds.”
First
Previous

The desire to add something valuable to life is a deeply human aspiration. We all want to make a positive impact on the world and leave behind a legacy that will be remembered long after we're gone. It's a natural and noble desire, and it's something that can give our lives meaning and purpose.
But there's also a flip side to this desire. When we feel that we haven't lived up to our potential or that we haven't made a significant contribution to the world, it can be a source of deep desperation and regret. This is especially true when we near the end of our lives and realize that time is running out.
Chris Johnson was exactly in the same situation and he was desperate to do something about it.
***
The man was sitting in the doctor's office, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He had been experiencing unexplainable fatigue and pain for weeks, and he finally decided to see a doctor. However, the news he received was not what he expected.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson," the doctor said, his voice somber. "We found that you have cancer, and it's in its late stages. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do."
Chris felt his heart drop to his stomach. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was only in his early forties, and the thought of his life being cut short was too much to bear.
"How long do I have?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The doctor hesitated before answering. "I'm sorry to say this, but you only have about six months."
Chris felt like the room was spinning. He couldn't believe that he had only six months left to live.
He stood up, feeling a sense of numbness wash over him, and left the doctor's office without saying another word.
As he walked outside, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. He couldn't help but think about everything he still wanted to do with his life. He had dreams of traveling the world, starting a family, and making a difference in the world. But now, all of that seemed impossible.
He got into his car and drove home, feeling lost and alone. When he finally arrived, he sat on the couch, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"I have cancer," he whispered to himself, tears streaming down his face. "I have cancer."
Chris had always been ambitious and hardworking. He had started his own business when he was only twenty-five, and over the years, he had worked tirelessly to make it successful. He had amassed a great deal of wealth, but despite all of his accomplishments, he still felt like something was missing.
He just couldn't shake off the feeling that he hadn't contributed anything of real value to the world. He had spent his life chasing success and wealth, but he didn't feel like he had made a meaningful impact on anyone's life.
As he was sitting in his luxurious home, surrounded by all the trappings of wealth and success, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He realized that all of his material possessions couldn't fill the void that he felt in his heart.
"I have everything," he said to himself, looking around the room. "But what have I really accomplished? What have I done that is truly valuable?"
He knew that he had to do something to change the way he felt. He had to find a way to make a real difference in the world, to contribute something of value that would outlast him.
The following day, a heavy burden weighed on Chris's heart. He knew he had only six months left to live, and he was desperate to make the most of the time he had left. He decided to go for a walk in the nearby park to clear his head and to seek solace in the beauty of nature. The morning sun cast warm, golden rays on the city, and the scent of fresh dew on the grass greeted him as he stepped out of his home.
As Chris walked, he took in the vivid details of the world around him. The vibrant petals of the flowers danced gently in the breeze, and the leaves of the towering oak trees rustled softly above. He listened to the melodic chirping of the birds and the distant laughter of children playing in the park. Every sensation seemed more intense, as if he was experiencing them for the first time.
Lost in his thoughts, Chris approached the edge of the park. He hesitated for a moment, savoring the anticipation of stepping into the serene haven that awaited him. Suddenly, a powerful engine roared in the distance, and a car came careening around the bend at an alarming speed.
The world seemed to move in slow motion as the car hurtled towards Chris. The horrified expressions of the pedestrians etched into his mind as they shouted in warning. In an instant, the car slammed into him, throwing him onto the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud.
Gasps of shock and fear filled the air as the pedestrians rushed to Chris's side. The driver, with wide eyes and trembling hands, stumbled out of the car, mumbling apologies and pleading for forgiveness. But for Chris, everything faded to black as the pain enveloped him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he could feel pain but it was mild. He slowly stood up, and carefully examined himself, expecting to find injuries, but to his surprise, his body was unscathed. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized he had somehow escaped the terrible accident.
The driver, unable to make sense of the situation, stammered out an apology.
"Oh, my God! Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" the driver exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.
Chris, still in disbelief, replied, "I... I think I'm fine. I don't know how, but I'm not hurt."
The driver, relieved but still puzzled, agreed. "I'm just glad you're alright." With that, the driver returned to his car, and the crowd dispersed, still murmuring about the event they had just witnessed.
As Chris resumed his walk, something was odd. The street around him somehow had changed.
The city was full of colour and energy. Bright posters and graffiti decorated the walls, while gleaming convertibles cruised down the roads. Bicyclists zipped through traffic, while pedestrians were walking around with enthusiasm and purpose.
The streets were lined with colorful, graffiti-covered walls, brick buildings, and bustling shops. There was a variety of vehicles ranging from old classic cars to the newest models. Strains of all genres of music echoed in the air from passing cars and speakers mounted on corners.
The streets were alive with people of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds. The men and women were wearing brightly-colored clothes and hairstyles. On the sidewalks, old-fashioned metal boomboxes played a variety of music from rap to disco. The buildings were a mix of classic brick and modern glass, with neon signs highlighting the night sky.
Strains of laughter and conversations could be heard from storefronts, while street vendors peddled their wares in an enthusiastic chorus. The quiet hum of traffic blended with the sounds of sirens and honking horns. Faint music permeated the atmosphere, reverberating off the walls and buildings in a steady rhythm.
It wasn’t his city. He was somewhere else.
As he looked around, he noticed a quaint newsstand nestled between two towering oak trees. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, drawing him closer. An old-fashioned bell chimed as he approached, announcing his presence to the vendor.
The newspaper displayed on the counter caught his eye, and Chris felt a shiver run down his spine. The date on the paper read May 25, 1983. He picked up the paper and scanned the headlines, finding that they all aligned with events from that era.
PRESIDENT REAGAN PROPOSES 'STAR WARS' MISSILE DEFENSE SYSTEM
BREAKTHROUGH IN TECHNOLOGY: THE FIRST MOBILE PHONE CALL MADE
LEBANON'S CIVIL WAR CONTINUES TO ESCALATE"
RECORD UNEMPLOYMENT RATE: US ECONOMY FACES STAGNATION"
SALLY RIDE PREPARES FOR HISTORIC SPACE FLIGHT AS FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN ASTRONAUT"
ATARI UNLEASHES 'STAR WARS' ARCADE GAME, BECOMES INSTANT HIT"
FLASHDANCE FEVER: THE BOX OFFICE HIT TAKES AMERICA BY STORM"
Confused and alarmed, Chris wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time.
The vendor, a gruff middle-aged man with a bushy mustache, eyed Chris with suspicion. "You gonna buy that paper or just stand there gawking at it?" he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.
Chris hesitated, still trying to process the situation. "Uh, sure," he replied, reaching into his pocket to pull out the appropriate amount of money. He handed the bills to the vendor, who immediately scoffed.
"What kind of joke is this?" the vendor barked, holding up the money with disdain. "This ain't real money! The date says 2020! You trying to scam me, kid?"
Chris stammered his confusion mounting. "No, I promise, I don't know what's going on. This is the money I have."
The vendor glared at him, clearly not convinced. "Well, you can't buy anything with this whatever fake shit you gave me. Now, either pay up with the real stuff or get out of here!"
Feeling defeated and disoriented, Chris decided it was best to leave the newsstand. "Sorry for the confusion," he mumbled, placing the newspaper back on the counter and walking away.
As Chris wandered the streets, now he was more confident that he had been transported back in time. The people around him wore clothing styles from the 1980s, and the cars that drove past were all models from that era. He felt as if he had stepped into a different world, one that was simultaneously familiar and alien.
Desperate for answers, Chris approached a passerby, a friendly-looking woman in her 30s. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I know this might sound strange, but could you tell me today's date?"
The woman looked at him quizzically but answered with a warm smile. "Of course, dear. It's May 25, 1983. Is everything alright?"
Chris felt his heart sink, realizing that he had indeed traveled back in time. "Yes, thank you," he replied, his voice shaky. "I'm just a bit disoriented, that's all."
As Chris continued his journey through the past, he couldn't help but wonder how and why he had been transported to this time. He was determined to uncover the truth and find a way back to his own time, all while grappling with the reality that he had been given an extraordinary opportunity to experience a different era firsthand.
"Are you looking for something, Mister?" a curious child asked, sitting on his bicycle with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Chris, still lost in his thoughts about the miraculous incident, turned to the child and offered him a gentle smile. "Well, not exactly," Chris replied, still trying to process the events that had just unfolded. "I just experienced something incredible, and I'm trying to make sense of it all."
The child's curiosity grew, and he propped his bicycle against a nearby tree before sitting down beside Chris on the park bench. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes filled with wonder.
Chris hesitated for a moment before deciding to share his story. "I was walking to the park when a car came speeding towards me. It hit me, but somehow, I wasn't hurt at all. I don't understand how, but it feels like a miracle."
The child's eyes widened with amazement. "Wow, that sounds incredible! Maybe you have a guardian angel watching over you, or maybe you're just really lucky!"
Chris chuckled at the child's enthusiasm. "Maybe so. Either way, it's made me realize how important it is to cherish every moment of our lives. You know kid, life is a gift, and we should make the most of it."
The boy smiled, touched by the Chris’s wisdom. "You are right. When I grew up, I want to be a lawyer and protect the innocent. I think that will be a good way to make the most out of my time."
The child stood up and retrieved his bicycle. "I'm going to remember what you have said Mister, and try to live my life to the fullest too! I am Alex by the way," he said and with a determined expression and a wave, the young boy pedaled away, leaving Chris with a newfound sense of gratitude.
As Chris treaded further into the park, a sense of serenity engulfed him. He had no clue how he arrived at this place, yet it didn't faze him. All that mattered was that peaceful energy surrounding him. He plopped down on a nearby bench. Across from him, four boys were playing football near a wide lawn, throwing short passes under the watchful eyes of their parents and siblings who cheered them on. The grass rippled like a lush carpet being blown by a summer breeze, running from one goal to another. Overhead, clouds drifted through an endless blue sky as birds flapped their wings above them. Chris leaned back and soaked in all the sights around him.
But as he was sitting there quietly, his face was suddenly met with an airborne ball that connected with his skull. Then, everything faded to black.
Chris' eyes blinked open to find himself lying in a hospital bed. He glanced around the room, taking in the medical equipment surrounding him. He was in bad shape, and he wondered how he had got there. He wished he could go back to where he had been before waking up, then remembered his accident and realized travelling back in time must have been just a hallucination.
As Chris woke up, he tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating. Then, as he attempted to move his legs, he realized with horror that he couldn't feel them. Panic set in as he tried to move them again, but nothing happened. Just then, the door opened with a loud creak, and a doctor walked in.
"Ah, Mr. Johnson, I'm glad to see you're awake," the doctor said, glancing at Chris's chart.
"You were in a car accident and suffered a spinal injury, but we were able to perform surgery and stabilize your spine. The bad news is however…"
“That I can't move my legs," Chris finished the sentence, his voice shaky with fear.
“This is what I was afraid of,” the doctor said as he touched Chris's legs.
"Can you feel it?" Chris tried to move them again, but there was nothing.
"No, nothing. Is it permanent?" he asked, his heart racing with dread.
"I am sorry to tell you, but the nerve damage is so serious that I'm not sure you will ever be able to move your legs again," the doctor replied gravely.
Chris's heart sank as he heard the news. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. "What am I going to do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I have cancer, and I only have six months to live. How am I supposed to contribute to the world without working legs?"
The doctor looked at him with sympathy.
"I understand and I have seen your medical history. I am really sorry that you are in this situation, but it's important that you follow our instructions and allow your body to heal. Even moving around too much in bed could cause further injury or delay your recovery."
Chris felt frustrated and helpless.
"If I were healthy, I would probably kill the driver," he said, his voice full of anger.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "I understand that. We'll help you as much as we can, Mr. Johnson. For now, you will need to stay in bed for a while longer to allow your body to heal. Moving forward, we will make sure you have everything you need to be comfortable, including a wheelchair if necessary." Chris sighed, realizing that he had no choice but to listen to the doctor's advice.
“Oh and there is a man here who would like to talk to you,” the doctor said and left the room leaving Chris there in bed with his thoughts and his uncertain future.
A man wearing a sharp suit walked through the door. His sharp suit was pressed. The fancy clothes and haughty stare almost made Chris laugh—this guy didn't look like the kind of person who could help him out. He must have been some politician.
The man introduced himself as Alex Davis.
"I heard about your accident and I wanted to offer my legal services," Alex said, sitting down in a chair next to Chris's bed.
Chris was surprised but intrigued. "Legal services? What do you mean?"
"If you choose to sue, you could potentially receive financial compensation for your medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. The driver was under the influence of drugs. As for his ability to pay, there are legal options we can explore to make sure you receive the compensation you deserve."
"But as you see, I only have limited time here. There’s no point in suing the driver. With a wheelchair or without it, my life ends soon. Even with your kindness, we can hardly make my life any better.”
“Mr Johnson, I understand that but I became a lawyer because I want to make a positive impact on people’s lives. Someone once told me how important it to cherish every moment of our lives. Life is a gift and we should make the most out of it. Don’t just let it go. Not yet.”
Chris was taken aback when he realized that the words coming out of the boy's mouth were the same as he had said earlier.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing, boy. I am all right. It seems I have done something valuable.”
All he could say was this and he could now die in peace.
More

The desire to add something valuable to life is a deeply human aspiration. We all want to make a positive impact on the world and leave behind a legacy that will be remembered long after we're gone. It's a natural and noble desire, and it's something that can give our lives meaning and purpose.
But there's also a flip side to this desire. When we feel that we haven't lived up to our potential or that we haven't made a significant contribution to the world, it can be a source of deep desperation and regret. This is especially true when we near the end of our lives and realize that time is running out.
Chris Johnson was exactly in the same situation and he was desperate to do something about it.
***
The man was sitting in the doctor's office, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He had been experiencing unexplainable fatigue and pain for weeks, and he finally decided to see a doctor. However, the news he received was not what he expected.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson," the doctor said, his voice somber. "We found that you have cancer, and it's in its late stages. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do."
Chris felt his heart drop to his stomach. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was only in his early forties, and the thought of his life being cut short was too much to bear.
"How long do I have?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The doctor hesitated before answering. "I'm sorry to say this, but you only have about six months."
Chris felt like the room was spinning. He couldn't believe that he had only six months left to live.
He stood up, feeling a sense of numbness wash over him, and left the doctor's office without saying another word.
As he walked outside, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. He couldn't help but think about everything he still wanted to do with his life. He had dreams of traveling the world, starting a family, and making a difference in the world. But now, all of that seemed impossible.
He got into his car and drove home, feeling lost and alone. When he finally arrived, he sat on the couch, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"I have cancer," he whispered to himself, tears streaming down his face. "I have cancer."
Chris had always been ambitious and hardworking. He had started his own business when he was only twenty-five, and over the years, he had worked tirelessly to make it successful. He had amassed a great deal of wealth, but despite all of his accomplishments, he still felt like something was missing.
He just couldn't shake off the feeling that he hadn't contributed anything of real value to the world. He had spent his life chasing success and wealth, but he didn't feel like he had made a meaningful impact on anyone's life.
As he was sitting in his luxurious home, surrounded by all the trappings of wealth and success, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He realized that all of his material possessions couldn't fill the void that he felt in his heart.
"I have everything," he said to himself, looking around the room. "But what have I really accomplished? What have I done that is truly valuable?"
He knew that he had to do something to change the way he felt. He had to find a way to make a real difference in the world, to contribute something of value that would outlast him.
The following day, a heavy burden weighed on Chris's heart. He knew he had only six months left to live, and he was desperate to make the most of the time he had left. He decided to go for a walk in the nearby park to clear his head and to seek solace in the beauty of nature. The morning sun cast warm, golden rays on the city, and the scent of fresh dew on the grass greeted him as he stepped out of his home.
As Chris walked, he took in the vivid details of the world around him. The vibrant petals of the flowers danced gently in the breeze, and the leaves of the towering oak trees rustled softly above. He listened to the melodic chirping of the birds and the distant laughter of children playing in the park. Every sensation seemed more intense, as if he was experiencing them for the first time.
Lost in his thoughts, Chris approached the edge of the park. He hesitated for a moment, savoring the anticipation of stepping into the serene haven that awaited him. Suddenly, a powerful engine roared in the distance, and a car came careening around the bend at an alarming speed.
The world seemed to move in slow motion as the car hurtled towards Chris. The horrified expressions of the pedestrians etched into his mind as they shouted in warning. In an instant, the car slammed into him, throwing him onto the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud.
Gasps of shock and fear filled the air as the pedestrians rushed to Chris's side. The driver, with wide eyes and trembling hands, stumbled out of the car, mumbling apologies and pleading for forgiveness. But for Chris, everything faded to black as the pain enveloped him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he could feel pain but it was mild. He slowly stood up, and carefully examined himself, expecting to find injuries, but to his surprise, his body was unscathed. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized he had somehow escaped the terrible accident.
The driver, unable to make sense of the situation, stammered out an apology.
"Oh, my God! Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" the driver exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.
Chris, still in disbelief, replied, "I... I think I'm fine. I don't know how, but I'm not hurt."
The driver, relieved but still puzzled, agreed. "I'm just glad you're alright." With that, the driver returned to his car, and the crowd dispersed, still murmuring about the event they had just witnessed.
As Chris resumed his walk, something was odd. The street around him somehow had changed.
The city was full of colour and energy. Bright posters and graffiti decorated the walls, while gleaming convertibles cruised down the roads. Bicyclists zipped through traffic, while pedestrians were walking around with enthusiasm and purpose.
The streets were lined with colorful, graffiti-covered walls, brick buildings, and bustling shops. There was a variety of vehicles ranging from old classic cars to the newest models. Strains of all genres of music echoed in the air from passing cars and speakers mounted on corners.
The streets were alive with people of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds. The men and women were wearing brightly-colored clothes and hairstyles. On the sidewalks, old-fashioned metal boomboxes played a variety of music from rap to disco. The buildings were a mix of classic brick and modern glass, with neon signs highlighting the night sky.
Strains of laughter and conversations could be heard from storefronts, while street vendors peddled their wares in an enthusiastic chorus. The quiet hum of traffic blended with the sounds of sirens and honking horns. Faint music permeated the atmosphere, reverberating off the walls and buildings in a steady rhythm.
It wasn’t his city. He was somewhere else.
As he looked around, he noticed a quaint newsstand nestled between two towering oak trees. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, drawing him closer. An old-fashioned bell chimed as he approached, announcing his presence to the vendor.
The newspaper displayed on the counter caught his eye, and Chris felt a shiver run down his spine. The date on the paper read May 25, 1983. He picked up the paper and scanned the headlines, finding that they all aligned with events from that era.
PRESIDENT REAGAN PROPOSES 'STAR WARS' MISSILE DEFENSE SYSTEM
BREAKTHROUGH IN TECHNOLOGY: THE FIRST MOBILE PHONE CALL MADE
LEBANON'S CIVIL WAR CONTINUES TO ESCALATE"
RECORD UNEMPLOYMENT RATE: US ECONOMY FACES STAGNATION"
SALLY RIDE PREPARES FOR HISTORIC SPACE FLIGHT AS FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN ASTRONAUT"
ATARI UNLEASHES 'STAR WARS' ARCADE GAME, BECOMES INSTANT HIT"
FLASHDANCE FEVER: THE BOX OFFICE HIT TAKES AMERICA BY STORM"
Confused and alarmed, Chris wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time.
The vendor, a gruff middle-aged man with a bushy mustache, eyed Chris with suspicion. "You gonna buy that paper or just stand there gawking at it?" he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.
Chris hesitated, still trying to process the situation. "Uh, sure," he replied, reaching into his pocket to pull out the appropriate amount of money. He handed the bills to the vendor, who immediately scoffed.
"What kind of joke is this?" the vendor barked, holding up the money with disdain. "This ain't real money! The date says 2020! You trying to scam me, kid?"
Chris stammered his confusion mounting. "No, I promise, I don't know what's going on. This is the money I have."
The vendor glared at him, clearly not convinced. "Well, you can't buy anything with this whatever fake shit you gave me. Now, either pay up with the real stuff or get out of here!"
Feeling defeated and disoriented, Chris decided it was best to leave the newsstand. "Sorry for the confusion," he mumbled, placing the newspaper back on the counter and walking away.
As Chris wandered the streets, now he was more confident that he had been transported back in time. The people around him wore clothing styles from the 1980s, and the cars that drove past were all models from that era. He felt as if he had stepped into a different world, one that was simultaneously familiar and alien.
Desperate for answers, Chris approached a passerby, a friendly-looking woman in her 30s. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I know this might sound strange, but could you tell me today's date?"
The woman looked at him quizzically but answered with a warm smile. "Of course, dear. It's May 25, 1983. Is everything alright?"
Chris felt his heart sink, realizing that he had indeed traveled back in time. "Yes, thank you," he replied, his voice shaky. "I'm just a bit disoriented, that's all."
As Chris continued his journey through the past, he couldn't help but wonder how and why he had been transported to this time. He was determined to uncover the truth and find a way back to his own time, all while grappling with the reality that he had been given an extraordinary opportunity to experience a different era firsthand.
"Are you looking for something, Mister?" a curious child asked, sitting on his bicycle with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Chris, still lost in his thoughts about the miraculous incident, turned to the child and offered him a gentle smile. "Well, not exactly," Chris replied, still trying to process the events that had just unfolded. "I just experienced something incredible, and I'm trying to make sense of it all."
The child's curiosity grew, and he propped his bicycle against a nearby tree before sitting down beside Chris on the park bench. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes filled with wonder.
Chris hesitated for a moment before deciding to share his story. "I was walking to the park when a car came speeding towards me. It hit me, but somehow, I wasn't hurt at all. I don't understand how, but it feels like a miracle."
The child's eyes widened with amazement. "Wow, that sounds incredible! Maybe you have a guardian angel watching over you, or maybe you're just really lucky!"
Chris chuckled at the child's enthusiasm. "Maybe so. Either way, it's made me realize how important it is to cherish every moment of our lives. You know kid, life is a gift, and we should make the most of it."
The boy smiled, touched by the Chris’s wisdom. "You are right. When I grew up, I want to be a lawyer and protect the innocent. I think that will be a good way to make the most out of my time."
The child stood up and retrieved his bicycle. "I'm going to remember what you have said Mister, and try to live my life to the fullest too! I am Alex by the way," he said and with a determined expression and a wave, the young boy pedaled away, leaving Chris with a newfound sense of gratitude.
As Chris treaded further into the park, a sense of serenity engulfed him. He had no clue how he arrived at this place, yet it didn't faze him. All that mattered was that peaceful energy surrounding him. He plopped down on a nearby bench. Across from him, four boys were playing football near a wide lawn, throwing short passes under the watchful eyes of their parents and siblings who cheered them on. The grass rippled like a lush carpet being blown by a summer breeze, running from one goal to another. Overhead, clouds drifted through an endless blue sky as birds flapped their wings above them. Chris leaned back and soaked in all the sights around him.
But as he was sitting there quietly, his face was suddenly met with an airborne ball that connected with his skull. Then, everything faded to black.
Chris' eyes blinked open to find himself lying in a hospital bed. He glanced around the room, taking in the medical equipment surrounding him. He was in bad shape, and he wondered how he had got there. He wished he could go back to where he had been before waking up, then remembered his accident and realized travelling back in time must have been just a hallucination.
As Chris woke up, he tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating. Then, as he attempted to move his legs, he realized with horror that he couldn't feel them. Panic set in as he tried to move them again, but nothing happened. Just then, the door opened with a loud creak, and a doctor walked in.
"Ah, Mr. Johnson, I'm glad to see you're awake," the doctor said, glancing at Chris's chart.
"You were in a car accident and suffered a spinal injury, but we were able to perform surgery and stabilize your spine. The bad news is however…"
“That I can't move my legs," Chris finished the sentence, his voice shaky with fear.
“This is what I was afraid of,” the doctor said as he touched Chris's legs.
"Can you feel it?" Chris tried to move them again, but there was nothing.
"No, nothing. Is it permanent?" he asked, his heart racing with dread.
"I am sorry to tell you, but the nerve damage is so serious that I'm not sure you will ever be able to move your legs again," the doctor replied gravely.
Chris's heart sank as he heard the news. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. "What am I going to do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I have cancer, and I only have six months to live. How am I supposed to contribute to the world without working legs?"
The doctor looked at him with sympathy.
"I understand and I have seen your medical history. I am really sorry that you are in this situation, but it's important that you follow our instructions and allow your body to heal. Even moving around too much in bed could cause further injury or delay your recovery."
Chris felt frustrated and helpless.
"If I were healthy, I would probably kill the driver," he said, his voice full of anger.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "I understand that. We'll help you as much as we can, Mr. Johnson. For now, you will need to stay in bed for a while longer to allow your body to heal. Moving forward, we will make sure you have everything you need to be comfortable, including a wheelchair if necessary." Chris sighed, realizing that he had no choice but to listen to the doctor's advice.
“Oh and there is a man here who would like to talk to you,” the doctor said and left the room leaving Chris there in bed with his thoughts and his uncertain future.
A man wearing a sharp suit walked through the door. His sharp suit was pressed. The fancy clothes and haughty stare almost made Chris laugh—this guy didn't look like the kind of person who could help him out. He must have been some politician.
The man introduced himself as Alex Davis.
"I heard about your accident and I wanted to offer my legal services," Alex said, sitting down in a chair next to Chris's bed.
Chris was surprised but intrigued. "Legal services? What do you mean?"
"If you choose to sue, you could potentially receive financial compensation for your medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. The driver was under the influence of drugs. As for his ability to pay, there are legal options we can explore to make sure you receive the compensation you deserve."
"But as you see, I only have limited time here. There’s no point in suing the driver. With a wheelchair or without it, my life ends soon. Even with your kindness, we can hardly make my life any better.”
“Mr Johnson, I understand that but I became a lawyer because I want to make a positive impact on people’s lives. Someone once told me how important it to cherish every moment of our lives. Life is a gift and we should make the most out of it. Don’t just let it go. Not yet.”
Chris was taken aback when he realized that the words coming out of the boy's mouth were the same as he had said earlier.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing, boy. I am all right. It seems I have done something valuable.”
All he could say was this and he could now die in peace.
More

The desire to add something valuable to life is a deeply human aspiration. We all want to make a positive impact on the world and leave behind a legacy that will be remembered long after we're gone. It's a natural and noble desire, and it's something that can give our lives meaning and purpose.
But there's also a flip side to this desire. When we feel that we haven't lived up to our potential or that we haven't made a significant contribution to the world, it can be a source of deep desperation and regret. This is especially true when we near the end of our lives and realize that time is running out.
Chris Johnson was exactly in the same situation and he was desperate to fo something about it.
***
The man was sitting in the doctor's office, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He had been experiencing unexplainable fatigue and pain for weeks, and he finally decided to see a doctor. However, the news he received was not what he expected.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson," the doctor said, his voice somber. "We found that you have cancer, and it's in its late stages. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do."
Chris felt his heart drop to his stomach. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was only in his early forties, and the thought of his life being cut short was too much to bear.
"How long do I have?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The doctor hesitated before answering. "I'm sorry to say this, but you only have about six months."
Chris felt like the room was spinning. He couldn't believe that he had only six months left to live.
He stood up, feeling a sense of numbness wash over him, and left the doctor's office without saying another word.
As he walked outside, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. He couldn't help but think about everything he still wanted to do with his life. He had dreams of traveling the world, starting a family, and making a difference in the world. But now, all of that seemed impossible.
He got into his car and drove home, feeling lost and alone. When he finally arrived, he sat on the couch, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"I have cancer," he whispered to himself, tears streaming down his face. "I have cancer."
Chris had always been ambitious and hardworking. He had started his own business when he was only twenty-five, and over the years, he had worked tirelessly to make it successful. He had amassed a great deal of wealth, but despite all of his accomplishments, he still felt like something was missing.
He just couldn't shake off the feeling that he hadn't contributed anything of real value to the world. He had spent his life chasing success and wealth, but he didn't feel like he had made a meaningful impact on anyone's life.
As he was sitting in his luxurious home, surrounded by all the trappings of wealth and success, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He realized that all of his material possessions couldn't fill the void that he felt in his heart.
"I have everything," he said to himself, looking around the room. "But what have I really accomplished? What have I done that is truly valuable?"
He knew that he had to do something to change the way he felt. He had to find a way to make a real difference in the world, to contribute something of value that would outlast him.
The following day, a heavy burden weighed on Chris's heart. He knew he had only six months left to live, and he was desperate to make the most of the time he had left. He decided to go for a walk in the nearby park to clear his head and to seek solace in the beauty of nature. The morning sun cast warm, golden rays on the city, and the scent of fresh dew on the grass greeted him as he stepped out of his home.
As Chris walked, he took in the vivid details of the world around him. The vibrant petals of the flowers danced gently in the breeze, and the leaves of the towering oak trees rustled softly above. He listened to the melodic chirping of the birds and the distant laughter of children playing in the park. Every sensation seemed more intense, as if he was experiencing them for the first time.
Lost in his thoughts, Chris approached the edge of the park. He hesitated for a moment, savoring the anticipation of stepping into the serene haven that awaited him. Suddenly, a powerful engine roared in the distance, and a car came careening around the bend at an alarming speed.
The world seemed to move in slow motion as the car hurtled towards Chris. The horrified expressions of the pedestrians etched into his mind as they shouted in warning. In an instant, the car slammed into him, throwing him onto the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud.
Gasps of shock and fear filled the air as the pedestrians rushed to Chris's side. The driver, with wide eyes and trembling hands, stumbled out of the car, mumbling apologies and pleading for forgiveness. But for Chris, everything faded to black as the pain enveloped him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he could feel pain but it was mild. He slowly stood up, and carefully examined himself, expecting to find injuries, but to his surprise, his body was unscathed. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized he had somehow escaped the terrible accident.
The driver, unable to make sense of the situation, stammered out an apology.
"Oh, my God! Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" the driver exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.
Chris, still in disbelief, replied, "I... I think I'm fine. I don't know how, but I'm not hurt."
The driver, relieved but still puzzled, agreed. "I'm just glad you're alright." With that, the driver returned to his car, and the crowd dispersed, still murmuring about the event they had just witnessed.
As Chris resumed his walk, something was odd. The street around him somehow had changed.
The city was full of colour and energy. Bright posters and graffiti decorated the walls, while gleaming convertibles cruised down the roads. Bicyclists zipped through traffic, while pedestrians were walking around with enthusiasm and purpose.
The streets were lined with colorful, graffiti-covered walls, brick buildings, and bustling shops. There was a variety of vehicles ranging from old classic cars to the newest models. Strains of all genres of music echoed in the air from passing cars and speakers mounted on corners.
The streets were alive with people of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds. The men and women were wearing brightly-colored clothes and hairstyles. On the sidewalks, old-fashioned metal boomboxes played a variety of music from rap to disco. The buildings were a mix of classic brick and modern glass, with neon signs highlighting the night sky.
Strains of laughter and conversations could be heard from storefronts, while street vendors peddled their wares in an enthusiastic chorus. The quiet hum of traffic blended with the sounds of sirens and honking horns. Faint music permeated the atmosphere, reverberating off the walls and buildings in a steady rhythm.
It wasn’t his city. He was somewhere else.
As he looked around, he noticed a quaint newsstand nestled between two towering oak trees. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, drawing him closer. An old-fashioned bell chimed as he approached, announcing his presence to the vendor.
The newspaper displayed on the counter caught his eye, and Chris felt a shiver run down his spine. The date on the paper read May 25, 1983. He picked up the paper and scanned the headlines, finding that they all aligned with events from that era.
PRESIDENT REAGAN PROPOSES 'STAR WARS' MISSILE DEFENSE SYSTEM
BREAKTHROUGH IN TECHNOLOGY: THE FIRST MOBILE PHONE CALL MADE
LEBANON'S CIVIL WAR CONTINUES TO ESCALATE"
RECORD UNEMPLOYMENT RATE: US ECONOMY FACES STAGNATION"
SALLY RIDE PREPARES FOR HISTORIC SPACE FLIGHT AS FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN ASTRONAUT"
ATARI UNLEASHES 'STAR WARS' ARCADE GAME, BECOMES INSTANT HIT"
FLASHDANCE FEVER: THE BOX OFFICE HIT TAKES AMERICA BY STORM"
Confused and alarmed, Chris wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time.
The vendor, a gruff middle-aged man with a bushy mustache, eyed Chris with suspicion. "You gonna buy that paper or just stand there gawking at it?" he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.
Chris hesitated, still trying to process the situation. "Uh, sure," he replied, reaching into his pocket to pull out the appropriate amount of money. He handed the bills to the vendor, who immediately scoffed.
"What kind of joke is this?" the vendor barked, holding up the money with disdain. "This ain't real money! The date says 2020! You trying to scam me, kid?"
Chris stammered his confusion mounting. "No, I promise, I don't know what's going on. This is the money I have."
The vendor glared at him, clearly not convinced. "Well, you can't buy anything with this whatever fake shit you gave me. Now, either pay up with the real stuff or get out of here!"
Feeling defeated and disoriented, Chris decided it was best to leave the newsstand. "Sorry for the confusion," he mumbled, placing the newspaper back on the counter and walking away.
As Chris wandered the streets, now he was more confident that he had been transported back in time. The people around him wore clothing styles from the 1980s, and the cars that drove past were all models from that era. He felt as if he had stepped into a different world, one that was simultaneously familiar and alien.
Desperate for answers, Chris approached a passerby, a friendly-looking woman in her 30s. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I know this might sound strange, but could you tell me today's date?"
The woman looked at him quizzically but answered with a warm smile. "Of course, dear. It's May 25, 1983. Is everything alright?"
Chris felt his heart sink, realizing that he had indeed traveled back in time. "Yes, thank you," he replied, his voice shaky. "I'm just a bit disoriented, that's all."
As Chris continued his journey through the past, he couldn't help but wonder how and why he had been transported to this time. He was determined to uncover the truth and find a way back to his own time, all while grappling with the reality that he had been given an extraordinary opportunity to experience a different era firsthand.
"Are you looking for something, Mister?" a curious child asked, sitting on his bicycle with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Chris, still lost in his thoughts about the miraculous incident, turned to the child and offered him a gentle smile. "Well, not exactly," Chris replied, still trying to process the events that had just unfolded. "I just experienced something incredible, and I'm trying to make sense of it all."
The child's curiosity grew, and he propped his bicycle against a nearby tree before sitting down beside Chris on the park bench. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes filled with wonder.
Chris hesitated for a moment before deciding to share his story. "I was walking to the park when a car came speeding towards me. It hit me, but somehow, I wasn't hurt at all. I don't understand how, but it feels like a miracle."
The child's eyes widened with amazement. "Wow, that sounds incredible! Maybe you have a guardian angel watching over you, or maybe you're just really lucky!"
Chris chuckled at the child's enthusiasm. "Maybe so. Either way, it's made me realize how important it is to cherish every moment of our lives. You know kid, life is a gift, and we should make the most of it."
The boy smiled, touched by the Chris’s wisdom. "You are right. When I grew up, I want to be a lawyer and protect the innocent. I think that will be a good way to make the most out of my time."
The child stood up and retrieved his bicycle. "I'm going to remember what you have said Mister, and try to live my life to the fullest too! I am Alex by the way," he said and with a determined expression and a wave, the young boy pedaled away, leaving Chris with a newfound sense of gratitude.
As Chris treaded further into the park, a sense of serenity engulfed him. He had no clue how he arrived at this place, yet it didn't faze him. All that mattered was that peaceful energy surrounding him. He plopped down on a nearby bench. Across from him, four boys were playing football near a wide lawn, throwing short passes under the watchful eyes of their parents and siblings who cheered them on. The grass rippled like a lush carpet being blown by a summer breeze, running from one goal to another. Overhead, clouds drifted through an endless blue sky as birds flapped their wings above them. Chris leaned back and soaked in all the sights around him.
But as he was sitting there quietly, his face was suddenly met with an airborne ball that connected with his skull. Then, everything faded to black.
Chris' eyes blinked open to find himself lying in a hospital bed. He glanced around the room, taking in the medical equipment surrounding him. He was in bad shape, and he wondered how he had got there. He wished he could go back to where he had been before waking up, then remembered his accident and realized travelling back in time must have been just a hallucination.
As Chris woke up, he tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating. Then, as he attempted to move his legs, he realized with horror that he couldn't feel them. Panic set in as he tried to move them again, but nothing happened. Just then, the door opened with a loud creak, and a doctor walked in.
"Ah, Mr. Johnson, I'm glad to see you're awake," the doctor said, glancing at Chris's chart.
"You were in a car accident and suffered a spinal injury, but we were able to perform surgery and stabilize your spine. The bad news is however…"
“That I can't move my legs," Chris finished the sentence, his voice shaky with fear.
“This is what I was afraid of,” the doctor said as he touched Chris's legs.
"Can you feel it?" Chris tried to move them again, but there was nothing.
"No, nothing. Is it permanent?" he asked, his heart racing with dread.
"I am sorry to tell you, but the nerve damage is so serious that I'm not sure you will ever be able to move your legs again," the doctor replied gravely.
Chris's heart sank as he heard the news. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. "What am I going to do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I have cancer, and I only have six months to live. How am I supposed to contribute to the world without working legs?"
The doctor looked at him with sympathy.
"I understand and I have seen your medical history. I am really sorry that you are in this situation, but it's important that you follow our instructions and allow your body to heal. Even moving around too much in bed could cause further injury or delay your recovery."
Chris felt frustrated and helpless.
"If I were healthy, I would probably kill the driver," he said, his voice full of anger.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "I understand that. We'll help you as much as we can, Mr. Johnson. For now, you will need to stay in bed for a while longer to allow your body to heal. Moving forward, we will make sure you have everything you need to be comfortable, including a wheelchair if necessary." Chris sighed, realizing that he had no choice but to listen to the doctor's advice.
“Oh and there is a man here who would like to talk to you,” the doctor said and left the room leaving Chris there in bed with his thoughts and his uncertain future.
A man wearing a sharp suit walked through the door. His sharp suit was pressed. The fancy clothes and haughty stare almost made Chris laugh—this guy didn't look like the kind of person who could help him out. He must have been some politician.
The man introduced himself as Alex Davis.
"I heard about your accident and I wanted to offer my legal services," Alex said, sitting down in a chair next to Chris's bed.
Chris was surprised but intrigued. "Legal services? What do you mean?"
"If you choose to sue, you could potentially receive financial compensation for your medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. The driver was under the influence of drugs. As for his ability to pay, there are legal options we can explore to make sure you receive the compensation you deserve."
"But as you see, I only have limited time here. There’s no point in suing the driver. With a wheelchair or without it, my life ends soon. Even with your kindness, we can hardly make my life any better.”
“Mr Johnson, I understand that but I became a lawyer because I want to make a positive impact on people’s lives. Someone once told me how important it to cherish every moment of our lives. Life is a gift and we should make the most out of it. Don’t just let it go. Not yet.”
Chris was taken aback when he realized that the words coming out of the boy's mouth were the same as he had said earlier.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing, boy. I am all right. It seems I have done something valuable.”
All he could say was this and he could now die in peace.

hello! sharing my story because it was *super* encouraging reading other positive stories during my recovery. firstly, I am 21F. i had my tonsils removed because they were very large after I had covid in the summer of '23. sometimes they caused me pain and sometimes they didn't. they were always uncomfortable, just got used to it. i was def questioning whether or not I needed the surgery because my situation wasn't exactly dire. now that I'm 25 days post op, I'm relieved I got the surgery done sooner rather than later.
day 1 (surgery day) - I had my surgery in the morning, so I'm counting it as day 1. this was the worst day for me. surgery was a breeze. , got adenoids out too. was given liquid hydrocodone at the surgery center. was prescribed oxy and tylenol for the pain. i absolutely could not handle the oxy. i felt too nauseous to eat anything. threw up twice, slept, woke up for a drinking alarm at midnight and pretty much instantly threw up two more times. this def freaked me out, a lot. i had a moment of regret during these hours. my stomach is typically pretty strong. before this surgery the last time I had thrown up was in 2021. so I think that says something. i was worried that throwing up would cause for hemoraging- my biggest fear throughout the healing process.
i stopped taking oxy after day 1. took tylenol only and drank ice water CONSTANTLY. i had an alarm *every* hour throughout the night to remind myself to drink water. the most physical activity I did each day (day 3-6) was a ten minute walk outside.
days 2-6 - i started trying to talk on day 3 because i heard the sooner the better. it hurt to talk a lot. but i did it whenever i could. i was eating barely anything because most things were uncomfortable and a hassle. cold things were preferred here. smoothies with peanut butter, banana & plain yogurt were good for a bit, til bananas started to suddenly burn my throat terribly. could not handle applesauce at all. a lot of popsicles. scrambled eggs were uncomfortable but worth it because they actually made me somewhat full. ramen the same.
day 7 was when things started to look up. i remember i kept trying to make certain things to eat because i was so hungry, but i would try and it would fail over and over again. tried making tofu... i was able to eat it, but it made me burp a lot so i had to stop. tried making ramen, again, kept bothering my throat. oatmeal, which was good before, was now awful. i was losing hope on a meal, until i had the sudden glimmer of hope in a pasta side (those cheap half premade sodium filled things). That pasta side was the best thing. Ever. i was somehow able to eat ALL OF IT. and boy did i. i continued to opt for pasta sides and pasta dishes for the rest of recovery.
day 8-10 was taking 30 min walks each day. talking more but it was def still uncomfortable/sometimes painful. hurt to laugh, tried to not laugh as much as i could. definitely did laugh at times. extremely concerned about hemmoraging. i never looked at my mouth to see the scabs, hurt too much to open my mouth and i was also afraid i would make matters worse by doing so. i never felt any scabs come off. they must've dissolved. i continued to drink insane amounts of ice water and barely sleep throughout the nights because i was so worried. thankfully my dad was taking care of me throughout recovery so i didn't really have to worry about being tired throughout the day, because, well, there was nothing for me to do except rest.
day 10- post op appointment. dr looked at my scabs and told me they look normal and my uvula is still swollen, which i had no idea about. seriously felt no discomfort there.
day 12- went out into the world for a concert. Yep. i had already bought my ticket months ago and decided it was worth going to because of how easy of a concert experience it was. it was an outdoor venue, sat on the lawn with two of my friends, we saw the opening act (the only one we wanted to see, i know, strange) and then left. we were probably there for an hour and a half total. i did accidentally shout once, but to my surprise it didn't cause any pain. i was certainly more tired than i expected to be from the whole experience. like, really tired.
day 15- went out into the world again. got my hair done. felt SUPER dehydrated after not constantly drinking water for two hours.
day 16- i would say i was 75% normal now. i went to a friends house to prepare for the next FOUR DAY music festival. slept through the night with no alarms for the first time since surgery, it was amazing.
day 17- music festival all day (we camped too). i danced and jumped around for probably 6 hours straight. i had alcohol- just one twisted tea, which was all i needed. was able to talk completely normally with no pain. was able to sing as well. was able to shout, laugh, ate a beautiful peanut butter sandwich (first time having bread since surgery).
day 18- i was super tired throughout the day because of lack of sleep from previous night. danced a bit too hard and started to suddenly feel nauseous/overheated. was super worried i was going to have a sudden hemmorage, felt really silly for not exactly taking it easy. i did not have any alcohol. considered going home, but i found ice and chomped it down and slept early instead.
day 21- went back to work. i work 13 hour days where I'm on my feet constantly, so I'm glad i took time before going back.
yes this was a super long recovery story, but these are the posts that allowed me to sleep while i was on day 7-12. so i'm hoping this will help someone else out there in need for a good story!
random notes:
i had no problem brushing my teeth (i read that others had issues)
the weird smell from my scabs was gone by day 7. never really bothered me too much either.
yes it was painful when i would wake up from my alarm to drink water, but after a couple gulps the pain would go away. i think because of how cold the water was, it almost had a numbing affect.
i stopped taking tylenol completely by day 10.
tongue was numb until day 12 or 14.
was able to speak full sentences beginning day 5 or 6.
for me, the pain was honestly never that bad. i don't think anything ever came close to the discomfort/miserableness i felt on day 1 after throwing up so much.
pancakes were AMAZING. had pancakes on day 6 and they probably changed my life because of how good and easy to eat they were. dipping the pancakes in honey was perfect. i ate pancakes every single day from day 6-12. Not kidding.
i lost 6 pounds from recovery lol.... prob all back now tbh
right after the surgery I stopped snoring, stopped sleeping w my mouth open. also, i frequently have sleep paralysis episodes. before surgery it would be especially scary because i always felt like i couldn't breathe during these episodes. but now, since surgery, i had sleep paralysis recently and i could breathe just fine throughout it. a lot less scary when you can breathe.
pasta was also super easy to eat, surprisingly.
welp that's all i got. ketchup still burns my throat lol. let me know if you have any questions at all.

I’ve been on some preeeeetty weird first dates, some cringe, some headbangingly bad and some just..strange.
Here’s mine - I was at a gig and met this person in the crowd, seemed quirky wearing a tasseled skin tight jumpsuit, assumed it was to do with the white snake cover band they were in (they were hot.. I looked past it) they also wore a collar and white cowboy boots, again, thought it was show attire.
Got their number and planned a date within the week.
They arrived at my home in a vintage bmw in an all pink jumpsuit, boots and all. As we were planning on drinking it was a better idea to ditch the car but not before they offered to drive it back to their home and walk from there as it was closer.
I was invited in as they forgot something and so I took a leap of faith and stepped in.
The house was entirely decorated in cat themed clutter, printed curtains, pillows, mugs, even a tv that resembled Garfield. I looked around to find cat bowls and when asked if they had a cats I got a very short ‘no’.
I should’ve left there.
We headed for the bar, suggestion in which they tried to get me day drunk and only accepted orange juice because “I don’t like being drunk on a first date”
I was weirded out and mainlining wine because I thought I was in the twilight zone, that’s when I made the mistake to ask about the collar.
It was velvet with what appeared to be a bell, in short found out their cat had been run over by a car and they kept the shattered bell as a token to wear.. for three years.
Proceeded to cry into their orange juice not before trying to force feed me bar peanuts because I looked like I ‘needed salt’.
To clarify I was freshly 18 and socially awkward. It took me three hours to call it quits.

Becoming a father is the easily the best thing that's ever happened to me, but it's not always easy. Below is my attempt at trying to normalize the challenges of being a father:
"What's it like having three kids?", or "The Soccer Shitgoblin"
People ask me sometimes what it’s like having three children. Most of the time, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. Sometimes, it’s… challenging. Other times, it can be hard to put into words. So here’s a recent example:
This happened to me a couple of days ago. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. As much as my wife and I love our three boys, parenting can be such an utterly relentless job. Having brief periods of respite can work wonders for the soul. My oldest had soccer practice on a Thursday evening. My middle and youngest children expressed interest in coming. I warned them, “It’s going to rain. Are you sure you want to come?”
The two youngest children nodded their head in agreement so vigorously, I’d need to take them to a physical therapist next week. I told my wife I’d be happy to take all the kids so she’d have the tiniest modicum of downtime. Pretty simple, right?
Or so I thought.
As the four of us leave our house, the sky is gray and menacing. It’s not a question of whether or not it’s going to rain, it’s a question of how bad it’s going to be. At least the fields are only a mile or so from my house, so it’s a quick drive. I’m a pretty laid back parent. I really embrace the “Don’t sweat the small stuff” mantra. As I’m parking, the only guidance I give my oldest is to carry the soccer ball through the parking lot. He’s gotten really into soccer lately, so he can barely contain himself to start practicing.
No sooner had he gotten out of the car (actually, it was before he had even gotten out), he starts bouncing the ball between his hands and loses control. It rolls in front of the largest pick up truck ever manufactured. The driver slams on his brakes, with a quite unnecessary flair for drama, and shoots me the nastiest stinkeye, as if my “lack of supervision” (despite my best efforts) is the moral equivalent of me having just murdered his mother.
I contritely wave my hand and scoop up the ball. This epitome of human compassion lays on the horn and flashes me a single-finger salute. My six year old asks me what the gesture means, and I mumble something incomprehensible as we cross the street. Never mind the Herculean effort of getting three children, the twenty five pound diaper bag full of water cups, snacks, books, and other forms of entertainment, and three lawn chairs out of the car, without having any of the children get run over by a car.
We get to the sidelines, and my eight year old joins his team on the field. As I’m setting up the chairs, my two year old and six year old get into a kerfuffle over whether Bluey is a boy or a girl. (She’s a girl). I give them the opportunity to gain experience in conflict resolution while I pull out a coloring book for one and a sticker book for the other.
About eight seconds after we sit down, it starts to drizzle. No, drizzle is too strong of a word. It is a light sprinkle. You would get more wet crossing the street in a thick fog. “Dad,” says my six year old. “It’s raining.”
“I know, bud. I told you it was going to rain.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I sigh. “It’s pretty light. Let’s just keep playing with the books, and if it gets much worse, we can take refuge in the car.”
“Dad,” said the youngest. “Wnasdlkjasdioasjdosadnsklj.” At least, I think that’s what he said. He has a speech delay, so it was either that, or “Wet. It’s raining, and I’m getting wet.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s just water, you’ll be okay.” Then, something magical happened. My two youngest children joined forces, combining their hatred of a light drizzle into a force of nature that was completely unstoppable.
My protests of “Do you guys remember when I told you it was going to rain, and you wanted to come anyway?” were met with a profound indifference that can only be rivaled by that indescribable feeling of apathy an exhausted father meets at the end of a day that compels him to say, “Fuck it,” and skip brushing his children’s yet again..
The rain does not abate, but my boys get distracted by a pair of airplanes flying overhead. C'est la vie.
For awhile, practice actually goes fairly well. Small and Middle behave themselves, have fun with their books, and I get to be engaged and watch my oldest work on passing and shooting.
With about ten minutes left in practice, my six year old taps me on the shoulder with the cutest smile, says, “Dad, I have to go poop.”
“Can you hold it? We’ll be home in 15 minutes.” His answer is immediately apparent with his body, which exhibits a unique amalgamation of the pathognomonic “potty dance” of which all parents are well-versed combined with a writhing ballet reminiscent of an exorcism.
No, he can’t hold it.
Communication with my eight year old is precluded by his presence on the far corner of the soccer field. I scoop up the two year old and jog, hand in hand, with my six year old, to the port a potty. The six year old waddles like a duck on the precipice of defecation, which is not too far from the truth.
I don’t believe in miracles, but making it to the port a potty in time was nearly a road to Damascus moment for me. My relief was short-lived, as entering that forlorn cave was like stumbling upon a crime scene. A ripe feculent aroma assaulted my nose before I had even stepped inside. Flies were buzzing through the air, trumpeting a warning sign: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
By some stroke of luck, the toilet seat happened to be clean. To his credit, my six year old ripped his pants down and hopped up to the plate. Willing myself to be impervious to the abject horror of my surroundings, I focused on stopping the two-year old from running his finger through a strip of something on the bottom of the porta potty that I can only hope was mud.
I glanced at my watch. Practice would be over in six minutes. We had to hurry - I refused to leave my eight year old on the field at the end of practice without a parent at his side.
With four minutes to spare, my son looked up at me and said, “Dad, I’m done.” Victory!
Or was it?
I reached under the plastic toilet paper holder and found, lo and behold, an empty cylinder. Fine. It’s not ideal, but I can scoop up his pants and we can get cleaned up at home ten minutes from now.
But as he stands up and turns his back to me for the customary ass check, I am greeted by a monster so horrifying, Tolkien’s balrog would flee in terror. The fierce brown demon smote me to my core, threatening eternal damnation of my very soul. It was a foul material whose consistency was a mixture of peanut butter and steel. No, I couldn’t just leave it there until we got home. I love my children, and I could not do that to them.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Lock me out, and don’t open the door until you hear my voice again.”
I scramble to my car with the two year old. There’s a box of tissues in the glovebox. I suffer a brief moment of guilt as I ask myself if it’s acceptable for me to toss a few tissues into the porta potty. But then the image of my son’s shitgoblin screeches to the forefront of my mind, and I snatch the box of tissues.
As the two year old and I navigate the parking lot, I check my watch. Three minutes until practice is over. I can’t be late getting back to the field. Perhaps it’s my own unresolved trauma from objectively minor incidents from 30 years ago, but I won’t subject that same fate to my son - to a child, being left behind is terrifying.
Once across the parking lot, I’m scampering through the grass with my two year old. The rain has picked up some, and the ground has turned into an ice rink. Not in temperature, mind you - just in regards to the complete absence of any traction. In my haste, the ground betrays me. I slip in the mud, and I’m tossed to the ground, where I figuratively eat shit. Given the scene that awaits me in the porta potty, I’m grateful that it’s only figurative shit involved at this point.
I suffer no serious injuries from my slide, but my two year old gets so scared, he promptly initiates a reenactment of the shower murder scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. At least 40% of the people there probably think I’m kidnapping him.
We get to the porta potty, and I knock on the door. “Hey, bud. It’s Dad. Can you let me in?” I ask with a knock.
“Dad who?” asks my six year old.
God dammit.
“Please let me in. We need to hurry up - your brother’s almost done with practice.”
“But he’s two!” says Medium. “Two year olds can play soccer?” Ah, the classic switcheroo. In any other circumstance, I’d be proud of his sense of humor. But not now.
“Hilarious. Please let me in - we really need to go.”
He unlocks the door, and I pounce in.
In my absence, the shitgoblin has started to make a break for it, heading straight to the floor. Of course, this means the path he took was down my son’s leg. I pull out a tissue and start wiping. Somehow, despite the poop being runny enough to drip down my son’s leg, wiping it is like trying to make a sculpture out of stone with a Kleenex.
Hope nearly abandons me, but I persevere. “Wiping” is not an adequate word to describe my mortal combat with the shitgoblin. It’s more like I’m a lion, feinting first left - then right - scratching at his throat, using the tissues as feeble armor for my fingernails. The armor rips and tears, and the shitgoblin begins to devour my hand.
The absurdity of the situation is not lost on me. I want to throw in the towel on fatherhood, but I refuse. I remind myself to not sweat the small stuff, so I decide to make light of the situation - mainly because, if I don’t laugh, I’m going to start crying soon.
About a week before this happened, we went to the zoo and saw an orangutan hurl his poop at us. The boys thought it was hilarious, of course. So as I’m chucking shreds of shitgoblin-covered tissues into the porta potty basin, I start making sounds like I’m a monkey. Not subtle, subdued sounds, but loud, over-the-top, ridiculous sounds. If someone walked by the porta potty at that time, I’m certain they would have thought that a wild monkey had found his way in.
My two year old starts laughing. It’s an adorable little laugh, and I can not resist its infectious nature, though I try. At first, I smile. My smile spreads ear to ear, and I start laughing. It really brightens my mood, and the stress of my present predicament melts away.
As we’re just about finished cleaning up, the laughter spreads to my six year old. He is typically a quiet, reserved introvert, but when he has feelings, they’re big feelings, and this time is no exception. His chuckle starts at the tip of his lips, dives down into his throat, and erupts into a fit of belly laughter.
As he guffaws, a splurt of shitgoblin viscera explodes from my son’s butthole, showering most of my body with the vile substance.
At that moment, there is a knock at the porta potty door. I pride myself on being the master of my emotions, but this situation is beyond the pale. “Occupied!” I scream, like a rabid racoon.
“Dad?” asks my eight year old. His voice is small and frightened. My heart sinks. I feel like I’ve failed as a father. “Are you in there?”
I glance at my watch. Practice ended four minutes ago.
Fuck.
“Yeah, sweetie. I’m sorry - we’ve got a bit of a, uh, situation in here. We’ll be right out.”
My answer seems to satisfy him, and I cross my fingers that I haven’t further perpetuated the intergenerational trauma of the abandoned children of suburbia.
I do my best to salvage my middle son’s dignity, but the cause is forlorn. By this point, I am completely disgusting. I feel queasy in my own skin. I tentatively depress the nozzle for the hand sanitizer and am pleasantly surprised that it’s not empty. Unfortunately, my hands work faster than my brain, and before I know it, I’ve spread the mixture of shitgoblin-Purell all over myself.
Finally, I say, “Fuck it.” Out loud. I assemble the crew, and we high tail it to the car, a line of four people holding hands to stave off the dangers of traffic. When we get home, we’re all just going to hop into the shower.
Two of the boys need help getting buckled into their car seats, and as the shitgoblin leaps from my fingers to their seatbelts, an apathy more profound than any I’ve ever felt overwhelms me. I simply don’t care. If we can just get home, I don’t care. I can clean out the car tomorrow.
The drive home is uneventful. As we burst into the house, I ask the two oldest to run upstairs and hop in the shower. My beautiful wife, glass of Cabernet in hand, smiles.
“Thank you so much for taking them. I didn’t do the dishes - I’ll take care of them tomorrow. I just… needed a break.” A tiny part of me wants to resent her, but the part of me that loves her with all my being and wouldn’t wish my hour of hell on my worst enemy is grateful that I spared her from this fate.
“Don’t worry about it - I’m glad you got at least a small break.”
“So - how did it go?”
I respond in the only way I can - by cackling maniacally. I laugh long and hard, until my face and chest and ribs hurt.
“Mama,” says the two year old. “Fuck it.”
THE END

We are downsizing and need to get rid of tons of things most of it is in good condition. I’m willing to let it go for cheap. I started posting on KSL and OfferUp, but is there an easier way?? Both have no hits so far and it’s cumbersome to load up each item.
Items: -Mid-range Crate&Barrel furniture (dining set, living room chairs, outdoor furniture) -Holiday decor (Christmas garlands, ornaments, lawn decorations) -Miscellaneous… tires, luggage, ps4 and 5 games, game night games, men’s medium clothing, storage bins, garage fridge, etc.
Also happy to reasonably donate to a good cause, not particularly fond of Deseret industries though.

1. Fascinating Animal Kingdom Facts:

• Dolphins have names for one another and respond when called by their specific names.
  
• Female hyenas have pseudo-penises that are almost indistinguishable from male genitalia.
  
• Cows have best friends and get stressed when they're separated.
  

1. Unusual Historical Nuggets:

• The Great Wall of China was not built in one continuous construction phase but was constructed over several dynasties.
  
• Ancient Romans used urine as a mouthwash due to its ammonia content.
  
• The oldest known recipe is a 5,000-year-old Sumerian beer recipe.
  

1. Science and Technology Oddities:

• A nanosecond is one billionth of a second.
  
• The human eye can distinguish up to 10 million different colors.
  
• The Eiffel Tower can be 15 cm taller during the summer due to thermal expansion.
  

1. Language and Linguistic Quirks:

• The word "hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia" means the fear of long words.
  
• The sentence "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" is a pangram, containing every letter of the alphabet.
  
• The word "facetious" contains all the vowels in alphabetical order.
  

1. Geographical and Cultural Tidbits:

• The Dead Sea is so salty that people can easily float on its surface.
  
• Russia has a larger surface area than Pluto.
  
• The Amazon Rainforest produces half the world's oxygen supply.
  

1. Human Achievements and Records :
   • The longest time spent in hula hoop spinning is 74 hours and 54 minutes.

• The record for the most pull-ups in 24 hours is 7,306.
  
• The largest gathering of people dressed as Smurfs had 2,762 participants in Ireland.
  

1. Food and Culinary Marvels:

• Honey never spoils; archaeologists have found edible honey in ancient Egyptian tombs.
  
• The world's most expensive coffee, Kopi Luwak, is made from beans digested and excreted by a civet.
  
• Peanuts are not nuts; they are legumes.
  

1. Entertainment and Pop Culture Trivia:

• The shortest song to ever make it to the Billboard Hot 100 is "PPAP
  (Pen-Pineapple-Apple-Pen)," which is only 45 seconds long.
  
• The first music video aired on MTV was "Video Killed the Radio Star" by The Buggles.
  
• Actor Tommy Lee Jones was roommates with former US Vice President Al Gore in college.
  

1. Legal Quirks and Odd Laws:

• In Switzerland, it's illegal to mow your lawn on a Sunday.
  
• In France, it's illegal to name a pig Napoleon.
  
• In Denmark, drivers are required to check under their car for sleeping children before starting the engine.
  

1. Miscellaneous Intriguing Facts:

- The longest recorded flight of a chicken is 13 seconds. - The first oranges were not orange; they were green. - Octopuses have three hearts. 

Any ideas on how to make this work? I debated about getting some dollar store pots, put dirt and rocks in, and putting the stakes in the pots. Anyone got a better idea?

This is just a looong vent as I know I'm lucky enough to be having a baby shower in the first place and I don't want to seem ungrateful BUT...
Months ago, at the beginning of my second trimester my sister asked if we planned to have a baby shower. This is my first baby and the first baby in my friend group, I've never been to a baby shower before, so I didn't realize at the time it was customary for a baby shower to be thrown in your honor. All I knew was that while I do like hosting parties, I was already exhausted, and I knew I would most likely not be in a place mentally or physically to plan and host a party in my third trimester as well as us saving as much as possible for the actual care of our baby once she's here...So no, I wasn't planning on having one and honestly wasn't thinking we would need a whole lot of new stuff for the baby (there's SO much on FB marketplace) so I wasn't really worried about getting registry gifts (I also dislike being on the receiving end of things generally). Sister said we should have SOME kind of celebration and send out a registry as this is the first grandchild for my in-laws and that I shouldn't feel guilty about new things for our first baby. So, I said okay in that case I wouldn't be opposed to a baby shower, but really don't want to host one. Sister said she would plan one and figured other women in the family would probably like to help throw one and that I could just let her know what I wanted/was comfortable with.
A few other women in my family did end up joining the baby shower planning committee (aunts, grandma, mil). I added everyone to a group chat just saying I really appreciated that they were all excited and interested in putting on a shindig (maybe taking the lead to create the group chat was my first mistake?). My aunt offered to send out invites, but she had to be overseas for work for almost a month soon after offering. I wanted to give people considerable time to rsvp so I decided it would probably be easiest for me to gather the emails and send out the evites rather than wait for her return (maybe my second mistake taking the lead). I told my sister a casual garden party vibe simple, tasteful, not expensive or too much fluff is perfect. No official plan had been made about this... so I just went for it and filled in a simple Paperless Post invite that kind of outlined what we discussed - a casual baby brunch lawn party that would take place in my husband and my backyard because we are kind of the middle ground with the largest outdoor space (even though I explicitly didn't want to host... so I shot myself in the foot because no one else seemed to be making any plans or offering much). I set forth a loose plan, a blueprint concept in the invite- it would be co-ed, simple finger-foods and grilling, drinks and simple activities like onesie decorating and lawn games. Just a casual celebration of our baby girl. ....Weeks go by...Months go by...crickets in the group chat. I'm totally in the dark about what's happening and if there's any prepping being done at all or if it's normal and baby showers don't take much planning maybe? I don't really know, but I'm not too worried at this point and totally focused on preparing myself physically, mentally and spiritually for labor and of course dealing with the highs and lows of pregnancy. 45-50 people have RSVP'd at this point, mostly family and some friends.
A few weeks ago, my sister let me know that she took a job the day before the shower and so won't be able to come until the night before the shower. The date we chose for the shower was based around my sisters work schedule under the understanding that she would be able to come a few days early (she lives out of state) to help figure out decorations and food prep so I wouldn't have to shoulder it myself. I totally understand she needs to work, but I just feel like now I'm doing this 100% alone and feel confused.
.....Now we're one week away and I'm trying to figure out food, drinks, seating, procuring activities and setting everything up and feeling quite anxious about the complete lack of a plan and the fact that no one is hosting this...except I guess me??
I called my best friend to ask for her help and she expressed that she was pretty upset and angry to hear that I'm planning my own baby shower at all. It kind of clicked for me then...that I am lol. Don't get me wrong I love to plan a party and wouldn't have minded planning my own, but I really didn't want to have to...I would rather just not have one if I knew I'd end up with me hosting the whole thing. I don't know if that sounds shitty. My friend offered to help bring some energy to the group and try and get things going and so I added her to the group chat. She texted the group saying she'd love to help in any way, fill in any gaps or do whatever needed doing!
I called my sister yesterday to just get an update and she kind of just made light of everything saying things like "there's basically nothing that needs doing", "we don't really need to be bringing other people into the groupchat", "It won't be hard to toss together some platters", "how many chairs and tables can so and so provide?", "are you able to ask so and so for that?", "you really don't want to do anything?? like it's not hard to do that..." and other slightly passive-aggressive comments. Hard to explain, but she's kind of making me feel like she's shrugging this off on me and that it's not a big deal and I shouldn't feel any type of way about it. I'm a bit upset because she came in with big-boss energy, but only feels comfortable managing me and giving me tasks... the one person that really didn't want this in the first place, but every time I suggest delegating some responsibilities to my aunts she gets cagey and brings it back to "us" just taking care of it, but again she won't even be here until the night before...so I guess "us" means me? I'm just feeling kind of gaslit (if I'm using that correctly) and frustrated but mostly TIRED AND TOTALLY UNMOTIVATED exactly as I predicted I would feel at this point (33 weeks). But I also really don't want 45-50 people to show up next weekend to no food and not enough seating.
Part of me had low expectations because my sister is having the hardest year of her life this year and I was honestly surprised she would want to do this in the first place and on top of that she has a pattern of having a wonderful vision, but not really following through or waiting until the very last minute. But I'm also feeling let down and frustrated by the other women in my life that said they wanted to do this and then just didn't. Today when I called around to my aunt and MIL about any tables and chairs they might have we could use my MIL even expressed that it doesn't seem like there's really a leader in the group and that she feels sorry that I have to be involved in the planning of this. It feels like they're all afraid to talk with each other or something and I have to be the coordinator.
Anyway, I'm just feeling generally a bit let down and upset with myself for putting myself in this situation when I honestly should've seen it coming. Ultimately, the baby brunch will be great because I know the friends and family that have rsvp'd are genuinely happy and excited about the baby and for us and it will be so fun to celebrate with them whatever that looks like! Also, we have certainly been showered with some nice registry items so far, so that's been a real plus too!
So sorry for the wall of text and it's possible I sound ungrateful, but it did feel good to write it all out. So thanks for the patient ear Reddit!