Hello,
I have been taking lithium for four years, always 600 mg twice a day. I’m usually around a 0.7 when I get tested, never on the high end. This weekend I was super busy doing laundry / packing / cleaning as we are moving this year and have a ton to do. I was pretty driven to get stuff done and, in retrospect, didn’t drink any water. Mountain Dew might as well have sponsored the endeavor.
Anyway, I was rounding the corner this evening and decided I’d assemble a nine drawer IKEA Alex we got for my son’s art supplies. I made it through the big pieces fine and started on the drawers. I started feeling very very ill but it came on faster than anything I ever experienced so I tried to power through but by the fifth drawer I threw up in a manner unseen since my college days as an alcoholic.
I got the hint and that point and decided to lay down. I noticed I had very bad chills and sure enough I had a fever. Now I’m slowly drinking water hoping I can well enough to go to work tomorrow. There is nobody on call at my prescribers office and she told me just to email her if I got dehydrated and was worried about lithium toxicity so it didn’t seem like a go to the ER thing. However, my wife is freaking out as she was cleaning along side me and couldn’t believe how quick I fell ill.
Thanks!

Does anyone else experience breakage with using a round hot air brush? I already had bloodworm and it's fine. I only use moisture products. My hair is naturally pretty straight so I'm not using a lot of tension to smooth my hair.

As I have lived here for 24 years, here are 24 things to do in Nagoya.

1. Visit Nagoya Castle and explore its historical exhibits and beautiful grounds.
2. Experience the Toyota Commemorative Museum of Industry and Technology to learn about Japan's automotive industry.
3. Stroll through the Atsuta Shrine, one of Japan’s most important Shinto shrines.
4. Discover the wonders of science at the Nagoya City Science Museum, featuring one of the largest planetariums in the world.
5. Enjoy a peaceful walk in Heiwa Park, famous for its cherry blossoms and serene pond.
6. Explore the Port of Nagoya Public Aquarium, which houses various marine life and spectacular dolphin shows.
7. Take a trip to the SCMAGLEV and Railway Park to see train simulators and historic trains.
8. Visit the Tokugawa Art Museum to view samurai armour, swords, and other artefacts from Japan's feudal era.
9. Shop and dine at the Osu Shopping District, known for its eclectic mix of shops and street food.
10. Relax in the Noritake Garden, where you can admire fine ceramics and beautifully landscaped gardens.
11. Visit the Higashiyama Zoo and Botanical Gardens, which features diverse animal species and extensive plant collections.
12. Shop in Sakae and check out the Nagoya TV Tower.
13. Explore the world of aviation at the Aichi Museum of Flight.
14. Enjoy traditional Japanese theatre at the Nagoya Noh Theatre.
15. Explore the history of automobiles at the Toyota Automobile Museum.
16. View modern art at the Aichi Arts Center.
17. Sample fresh seafood and local produce at the Yanagibashi Central Market.
18. Step back at the Meiji Mura Museum, an open-air museum featuring preserved buildings from Japan's Meiji and Taisho periods.
19. Have fun with family at Legoland Japan.
20. Admire the Nagoya City Art Museum collections focusing on modern and contemporary art.
21. Walk through Tsuruma Park, known for its stunning cherry blossoms.
22. Shop and dine in the skyscraper complex of JR Central Towers.
23. Play and relax at Moricoro Park, a large park with various recreational facilities.
24. Visit the Shirotori Garden, a tranquil Japanese garden ideal for a quiet walk.

Its clean lines, modern styling, and minimalistic designs make it easy to see why Japanese-inspired interior design is becoming increasingly popular among home hunters. Luckily, you can create an authentic Japanese-inspired interior design that will help transform your residential property’s standard interior design into an oasis of peace and calm.
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From delicate hanging paper lanterns to minimalist wooden furniture and elaborate wall art, create a unique space with our guide to achieving the perfect Japanese-inspired apartment. With a little creativity and effort, you can create an inviting space where you feel at home and inspired.

Discover the Reasons Behind the Popularity of Japanese Inspired Interior Design

Japanese-inspired interior design is all the rage right now, and it’s easy to see why! This style uniquely blends modern and traditional elements, creating a tranquil and stylish atmosphere. Here are five reasons why Japanese-inspired interior design is so popular:

1. Comfort

The Japanese-inspired decor brings a sense of calm and comfort to your home. Natural materials such as wood, stone, and bamboo provide warmth, while minimalistic furniture helps create an uncluttered space.

2. Style

The Japanese-inspired interior design incorporates traditional elements with modern touches for a stylish look. Elements like paper lanterns, shoji screens, and tatami mats bring an air of sophistication to any space.

3. Versatility

Japanese-inspired interior design is incredibly versatile and can be adapted to almost any type of home. It can also be used with other styles, such as modern or Scandinavian.
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4. Nature-focused

Japanese-inspired decor often incorporates natural elements, such as plants or rocks. This brings a little nature into your home and creates a peaceful atmosphere.

5. Affordability

Japanese-inspired interior design doesn’t have to be expensive. You can create a stunning space without breaking the bank by shopping in second-hand stores or using DIY projects.
So, if you’re looking for a stylish and peaceful atmosphere in your dream Japanese-inspired apartment, look no further than Japanese-inspired interior design! Its blend of modern and traditional elements makes it easy to see why this style is so popular today.

Tips on Decorating your newly-bought property with Japanese-inspired interior design

Taking inspiration from Japan’s culture and art forms, creating an elegant atmosphere in any space is possible. Here are some tips for decorating your apartment with Japanese-inspired interior design:

1. Embrace minimalism.

Less is more when it comes to interior design in Japan, as the focus should be on making the most of every nook and cranny. Try incorporating woven baskets, tatami mats, sliding doors, and neutral tones into the space to achieve a minimalist yet cozy aesthetic.

2. Utilize natural elements.

Bring in elements of nature, such as bonsai trees, rocks and pebbles, and water features to give your living space a relaxed atmosphere.

3. Add pops of color.

While most Japanese-inspired interiors are neutral shades with minimal accents, you can add splashes of color for visual interest. Bright and vibrant colors can be a great addition to the overall look of your home.

4. Invest in quality furniture pieces.

Opt for high-quality furniture with clean lines, such as low-sitting chairs, wooden tables, and sliding screens. These timeless pieces will help create an elegant atmosphere in your newly-bought property.
By incorporating these tips into your interior design, you can perfectly balance modernity and cultural sophistication.
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Get a Quick Sale by Scheduling an Appointment Today!

Give your property an exclusive makeover, and get ready for a quick sale with the help of Property List Hub! There’s nothing like Japanese-inspired interior design and decor to transform any space into a serene and beautiful abode. Whether traditional or contemporary, our team is here to provide you with the best advice to create your dream Japanese-inspired apartment. With Property List Hub, selling your property has never been easier or quicker!

You sit shoulder to shoulder in the auditorium. Your scratchy black suit rubs against two arms wrapped in finer material. You shift in your seat, moving uncomfortably in the plush chair beneath you. Your leg is shaking; you are anxious for the show to begin. The massive room rumbles with murmurs of conversation—inquisitions about how the show will be, complaints of hunger, protests of too-tight clothing, and ties choking necks. You are silent.
September 6, 1981
Louise trudged up the dusty gravel path towards her home, a rotted trailer perched atop a steep hill. The bus driver never ventured up the path, leaving Louise to trek the quarter mile herself. She stopped momentarily and watched as the yellow bus sped away; the shadow of a lone hand waved her goodbye. She waved back, too late for anyone to see it, “Bye, Miles.”
Her house stank of cigarette smoke. The soft shag carpet collected to odor, spitting it out with every step. The windows and walls were yellowed with nicotine. The trailer was quiet; the constant droning of the radiator was the only thing to be heard. Louise set her backpack down and walked into the kitchen to make herself dinner. Her mother wouldn’t be home for several hours, and school lunch was never enough.
After Louise ate a measly bowl of microwaved leftover Kraft, she sat down to do her homework. She pulled out the math sheet they had gotten that day. Numbers shifted and combined; they peeled off the page and swam around her. Louise needed help. She dialed a number she knew by heart. The line rang.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered, her voice slightly distorted through the phone.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson,” Louise said in a timid voice.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice softened, “I’ll get him for you.”
Louise heard her muffled yell, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hey Louise! What’s up?” a boy's voice asked.
“Hi, Miles. Have you done your math homework?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
Louise stretched the cord to where she sat at the table, “Great.”
The lights dim, and silence washes over the crowd. The curtains part. Fifty people in tuxedos sit on stage, various instruments in hand. The conductor stands tall. He introduces the orchestra, lifts his gloved hands, and the music begins.
March 9, 1983
“You’re still coming, right?” Miles questioned nervously.
“Yes, Miles, I’m still coming,” Louise rolled her eyes before smiling at him.
Miles relaxed a little bit, “Okay, good.”
Miles had mousy brown hair that was cut short. His dad had served in the military, so he thought this boy should have a ‘man’s haircut.’ He was tan even in the wintertime. He had bright hazel eyes that glowed electric green in the sunlight. Louise was about an inch taller than Miles, a fact she was immensely proud of.
The pair walked down the school hallway. It was Friday. Wonderful, glorious Friday. Louise rejoiced in the days that she didn’t have to come into school and pretend she liked people— pretend she liked anything, really. She hated the teachers, her peers, the hospital grey of the walls. She liked Miles. He ignored the cigarette stink of her clothes and the rudeness of her tone.
Today was Miles’ birthday. He’ll be ten. Miles had invited everyone to the party; there would be a bounce house. He’s ‘going all out for the big one o’ as he kept telling Louise. She was nervous about the party; her gift was okay at best, and she dreaded the disappointed but polite smile she knew Miles would pull.
“My mom will be here right after school to pick us up. You know what my mom’s car looks like, right?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Lousie walked out to Mrs. Wilson’s car, a sleek, silver Porsche; Louise felt like a celebrity when she rode in it—rich and important.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson smiled, “How was school?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. It was good.”
Louise settled into the plush leather seats and set her backpack in front of her. They sat in silence for a moment, the soft drum of the radio filling the air. Miles ripped open the door, excitement lighting up his face. He sat down, his position mirroring Louise’s.
“Hey, buddy. How was your day?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“It was great, Mom,” he smiled.
She smiled back warmly, “Well, that’s good.”
Mrs. Wilson pulled out of the parking lot, Louise and Miles chatted idly about school and the party. After a short while, they pulled up to Miles’ house—a two-story white house with columns in front. Louise loved it. Sometimes, during sleepovers, late at night, she pretended it was hers. She quietly walked down hallways, running her fingertips across the smooth wallpaper. She felt the soft carpet on her bare toes and imagined it knew the shape and weight of her foot. She opened the fridge and pretended not to be surprised at the selection of food that awaited her. Then, she would return to Miles’ room and lie down next to him in the sleeping bag he lent her, stare up at the tiny glowing stars stuck on his ceiling, and pretend it was her and her mom that put them up— that it was her mom that held the step stool for her so she wouldn't fall.
Louise and Miles hopped out of the car, ran up to his room, and plopped their bags down. They still had a few hours before their other classmates would arrive. They sat on the ground and leaned against the bed. Louise pulled out Miles’ gift from her bag and handed the small gift bag to him, “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not time for the party,” Miles said, confusion evident in his voice.
Louise shrugged, “I wanted to give it to you now.”
Miles smiled at her before gently taking the tissue paper out of the bag and reaching in. He pulled out a light blue paper swan. Lousie had spent hours getting the folds just right so the paper was sharp instead of rumpled. It was beautiful.
“Louise,” Miles started, his face curved into a slight frown, like he was about to cry, “Thank you.”
“Do you really like it?” Louise asked nervously; she fidgeted with her fingernails.
Miles set the swan down gently and dove towards her, wrapping her in a hug, “I love it.”
The party was a hit. Louise nearly made herself sick from the combination of an ungodly amount of candy and jumping in the bounce house. Almost everyone from their class was there, shoving presents in Miles’ hands before running to the snacks and entertainment. Night fell, and Louise climbed in the Porsche again, though it was just her and Mrs. Wilson this time.
“Did you have a good time, Louise?” she asked, making eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, it was awesome. Thank you for having me,” Louise responded, polite as ever.
“Oh, you are always welcome, sweetie,” Mrs. Wilson smiled.
Louise looked out the window for the rest of the drive, the stars blurring against the black night sky. They pulled up to Louise’s house; her driveway was empty.
“Are you sure you are okay until your mom gets here?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Louise smiled fakely, “Yeah I’ll be alright. She should be home soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
Louise climbed out of the car and walked to her door. She looked back before stepping inside—Mrs. Wilson’s face was a mirage of pity and sympathy. Louise waved and stepped inside, choking down guilt as she did.
The sweet sound of a violin fills your ears—a lone instrument bellowing a quiet tune. It starts slow—soft, like a warm hand caressing your face, a mother wiping away your tears.
You forget yourself for a moment; you are back in your childhood home, where your bed is indented with your shape. You smell your favorite meal being cooked downstairs. You hear your mother humming her favorite song from the kitchen. Your father isn’t home yet. You are excited to see him.
You wish it were real.
It is not.
June 11, 1984
Louise was having a terrible day. Her mother was off work and slumming around the house— she was like a ghost in her own home, and she had nothing to do. They didn’t have cable this month, so Louise’s options were to sit in her bed and do nothing or visit Miles. She chose the latter. Louise bid her mom a short goodbye, telling her where she was going and not much else, and peddled off on her bike. She was drenched by the time she arrived at Miles’ house. So she ditched her bike in the grass and ran to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Wilson answered.
“Oh. Hello, Louise,” she smiled.
Mrs. Wilson was a nice woman, and Louise absolutely loved her. She was as thin as a twig but had a motherly warmth about her that Louise itched for. Miles was the spitting image of her, matching her tanned skin and bright eyes.
“I’m afraid Miles isn’t here,” she continued.
“Oh,” Louise said, disappointment swirling around her tongue.
“I’m sorry, hun,” Mrs. Wilson gave her a sympathetic look, “He’s out with his dad fishing for the day.”
“That’s okay,” Louise lied and started to walk back to where she abandoned her bike.
“Wait a second, sweetheart,” she called, “Do you want some lemonade? I’d hate to just send you home after you rode all this way.”
“Sure, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you.”
Louise followed her into the kitchen and sat down at one of the barstools to wait. It wasn’t long before she had a nice tall glass of lemonade in front of her and a bag of chips in her hand.
“You can go watch TV if you want,” Mrs. Wilson smiled at her, “I’ll be out in the garden if you ever need anything.”
“Okay, thank you,” Louise said.
She wandered into the living room, and the plush carpet under her feet felt amazing. She flicked on the television and turned it to her favorite cartoon station. She did feel strange behaving like she lived there, especially when the house was empty, but her desire to relax in the air conditioning trumped the feeling. She mindlessly watched Jerry outsmart Tom in the comfort of a home that wasn’t her’s.
Louise finished her snack but didn’t feel like returning home; she knew her mother would be there, heating the house with cigarettes and sex. Mary had moved on from Steve quickly. So, she laid down and continued watching television. At some point, she fell asleep. Louise woke up to the soft voices of Miles’ parents talking in the kitchen. Someone had turned the TV off and taken her dishes. She could hear the shower running upstairs. Louise had no idea what time it was; the sun was now visible in the living room windows, the sky was orange. She was about to get up and ask Mrs. Wilson when she heard her name. Miles’ parents were talking about her. She got up as quietly as she could and snuck closer to the swinging kitchen door.
“Is there something we can do?” Mrs. Wilson asked her husband in a concerned tone.
“I don’t think so, Jenny,” Mr. Wilson responded, “She just has a hard life, that’s all.”
“I feel like we should do more for her.”
Mr. Wilson sighed, “We can only help her when she’s here. You know what Mary thinks about handouts.”
“Oh, poor Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, her tone sympathetic, “I should call her and tell her Louise is gonna stay the night.”
Louise heard footsteps sound in her direction. She ran as softly as she could back to her position on the couch, feigning sleep. Mrs. Wilson swung open the door and picked up the phone that hung on the wall next to it. Louise heard the click-clack of buttons being pressed, the muffled ringing, and then her mother’s voice on the other line.
“Hey, Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, “Is it alright if Louise stays here tonight? She passed out on the couch and I don’t think it’d be smart to have her ride home now.”
Lousie couldn’t hear her mother's exact words, but she must have said it was fine because the next thing Louise knew, she was being picked up and carried up the stairs. Mrs. Wilson set her down in a room she was unfamiliar with. She figured it was the guest room. Mrs. Wilson kissed Louise gently on her forehead and told her goodnight in a whispered tone. Louise missed her mother.
The room was bird-themed. The walls were painted a dark navy, and a thin metal peacock stared at her from where it hung. A copy of the NATO phonetic alphabet was hanging, too. It must have been Miles’ old room. Louise remembered when he came to school in second grade and told her he was moving into the attic. There was an opening to the roof up there, and Miles was in love with the idea of sitting up there and watching the sun set and rise.
Miles was in love with a lot when he was little— the sun and sky, the warmth of his mother’s hugs, iced tea on a hot day. Louise didn’t think she was in love with anything. She didn’t think she ever would be. Louise was almost asleep, the plush, silky sheets lulling her into another bout of slumber. Her door squeaked open. Miles’ small frame was a shadow in the doorway. He looked so small. He didn’t walk into the room, choosing to loom in the entrance.
“Goodnight, Louise,” he said in a small voice.
“Goodnight, Miles.”
When you were little, you thought everything was perfect. The world was alive with hope and magic. Everyone got along, and there was nothing wrong.
Of course, now you know that is not true. But a part of you, a little tiny part, wants to go back to when you didn’t know. When life was good, and you didn’t know better.
That’s how the music sounds. Like you are an innocent kid sitting on the front porch eating a red cherry popsicle. The juice runs down your face. It looks like blood.
July 15, 1984
Louise was once again sitting in the back seat of the Wilsons’ Porsche, but this time, she was without a backpack-- sans her school clothes. She wore the itchy Easter dress her grandmother had gotten her two years prior. Louise wore it to her funeral. She stuck out like a sore thumb, a pastel beacon amongst the waves of black. It was Sunday—the Lord’s Day, as Mrs. Wilson had told her. Louise hadn’t been inside a church for a good reason—she’d never been to a regular Sunday mass. But last night, she had stayed the night at Miles’, so she was on her way to church. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
They pulled into the parking lot, the ancient steeple looming over the car. Louise could recognize that it was a beautiful church, but the body of Christ hanging in the stained glass window did nothing to settle her nervous stomach. The pop of car doors sounded; there was no going back.
The wooden pew was uncomfortable, the kneelers even more so. She listened to Miles’ soft whispers of direction and did as he said. She fell and rose when she should; she crossed her arms instead of taking communion, she shook hands with strangers, and mumbled, ‘Peace be with you.’ And then it was over, and Louise was waking back to the car, her white flats cutting into her feet.
“What did you think, Louise?” Mrs. Wilson asked in a kind voice.
She shrugged her shoulders, “It was okay. I didn’t really know what to do.”
“You’ll learn,” Mrs. Wilson responded, a promise on the tip of her tongue.
Louise was silent on the ride back; she leaned against the window and watched as trees blurred together in a mirage of green. Louise didn’t know what it was like to believe in God. She thought she felt it there for a moment-- a quiet tingling in the back of her mind. But then she remembered that she wasn’t with her family; the Wilsons were not her parents. She remembered her mom was working a double today so they could have electricity. And what God would think that was fair? Not one Louise wanted to believe in.
The music sounds like the church hymns your mother made you sing. She meant well; she thought she was giving you the gift of her religion. You couldn’t tell her you didn’t want it. It was all she had ever known.
What child betrays their mother?
May 21, 1985
It was the summer after sixth grade. Lousie and Miles had biked to the pool in town, a desperate attempt to escape the heat. The air was thick and humid, and sweat sprouted from Louise's skin, dampening her shirt and shorts. The sun beamed down on her back; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The pair parked their bikes out front and ran into the small building. A bored-looking teenager accepted their fifty cents each and let them in. The air reeked of chlorine, and the painted concrete was slick with warm water. Miles and Louise threw their towels down and began to shed their swimsuits. Louise’s hands were shaking with anticipation; she hadn't been to the pool in so long.
“Race you,” Miles said, darting towards the water's edge.
“No fair,” Louise groaned as she kicked off her flip-flops and ran after him.
Louise heard a distant whistle ringing and a call that running wasn’t allowed before she splashed into the blue depths. The cool water encapsulated her, and goosebumps formed on her skin. She bobbed to the surface and saw Miles climbing out and heading towards the diving board.
They stayed until the sun was beginning to set; Miles’ mom didn’t like him being out that late on his own yet, so they peddled back home soggy clothes and pruny skin.
When Louise returned to her house, it was dark. She could see the kitchen light shining out onto the brown lawn. Steve was home. Louise’s mom, Mary, had picked him up a few months back. He was a short, fat man. His breath always smelled like beer, yeasty and vile. He had dark hair and a beard to match. Her mother claimed she really liked him, but Louise knew she just needed someone to help pay the bills.
One of the few good things about having kids as young as Louise’s mom had her is that she never had a hard time finding a sleazy older guy to keep around. Being pretty also helped, and Mary sure was pretty. Mary was tall and slender, with long, curly auburn hair. She was covered in freckles and had eyes that glowed emerald green. When Louise was young, Mary would smile often, but as her eyebags grew, her smile faded. She could fake it when needed, but it was never like Louise remembered.
Mary and Louise could have been twins— minus the smile lines she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to earn. Maybe that was why, when Louise walked into her kitchen in nothing more than a bathing suit, Steve forced himself on her.
You clutch the armrest on your chair, digging your nails into the fabric. The music is screeching, a distorted version of what it once was. You want to cry. You think your ears are bleeding. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping to distract yourself from the perverted disgust mess of noise assaulting you. Your mouth tastes like metal. The urge to stand and walk, no, run, out of the theater is so strong you can hardly bear it.
You do not get up.
May 22, 1985
Miles called and asked if she wanted to go swimming again. Louise didn’t have the heart to tell him she never wanted to go swimming again, so she lied and said she was sick. Miles was at her door an hour later with a container of homemade cookies and Guess Who.
The two sit on the floor of Louise’s bedroom, the soft blanket she put down covering the scratchy carpet. Louise’s room was small and dingy. The walls were cracked and stained; she lived out of one small bureau that had been unceremoniously shoved into a corner of the room. Last Christmas, she begged her mother to help her hang lights on the ceiling. They were still up, casting a rainbow glow over the room. It was the only source of light she used. She had a small nightstand piled with pencils and markers; she had long since stained her light pink sheets while drawing. Cookie crumbles littered the floor. Louise was losing the game; most of her people were still up, while Miles only had about five people left to choose from. He chewed his lip in concentration. Louise usually laughed at him for it; he always seemed to take the board games they played too seriously. This time, she didn’t notice he was doing it.
“Does your person have brown hair?” Miles questioned.
Louise didn’t respond. “Louise? Are you alrigh—”
“Do your parents ever touch you?” Louise said, eyes trained on the floor.
Miles’ face scrunched up in confusion, “You mean like hugs?”
“No.”
“What do you mean then?” Miles questioned.
Louise’s eyes fogged up with tears, “Never mind. Let’s just play the game.”
Miles eyed her with sympathetic confusion before realizing what she meant, “Louise…”
He moved to hug her, but she flinched away from him. Miles sat back; he wasn’t touching her but was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. Louise sniffled, trying desperately to contain her emotion.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Miles whispered.
Louise turned to look at him, her face pale and puffy, “Please don’t.”
Louise and Miles sat like that for a long time. When the sun set, he got up and called his mom, begging her to let him stay the night. Louise didn’t hear the conversation, but Mrs. Wilson must have agreed because the next thing she knew, she was being guided to bed, and Miles was settled on the floor next to her, leaning against the bed and holding her hand.
The music turned sweet. It drifted through your ears pleasantly, passing over the cracked, dry blood. A chorus of flutes is playing, light and soft.
It feels like the pillow in your dorm room, childhood mixed with freedom.
You know this feeling won’t last. But right now, in this moment, you lay your head down and pretend the world is new.
May 17, 1986
Miles and Louise had biked miles to the movie theater. Miles had begged Louise to see the new movie coming out, one that Louise was less than excited about. He had been to the movies some months before with his mom and had seen the trailer. The next day, he begged her to see it with him when it came out, and she agreed, not knowing anything about it.
Miles was practically giddy with excitement. His eyes glowed with it. The theater was packed; they stood in the line shoulder to shoulder with what must have been every other kid in town. Louise clung to the red crushed velvet rope that segmented the line for dear life. The feeling of so many people pressed up against her was nauseating. She screwed her eyes shut, pushing down a wave of oncoming dizziness. Before she knew it she was being pulled along to the ticket stand. Miles produced them with a broad smile on his face, “Two for Top Gun.”
He then bought a giant thing of buttery popcorn and two glass Cokes. They made their way to their seats and waited for the movie to begin. Miles shoved popcorn in his mouth, salty yellow kernels going everywhere. Trailers for various movies played on the big screen— Miles leaned over nearly every time and asked Louise if she would go with him. She said yes every time.
The movie was beautiful. It was nothing like Louise had ever seen before; it made her yearn for the sky, the feeling of freedom unlike anything she would ever know. And then it was tragic, and she was crying in her seat, wailing over someone she didn’t know. Begging him to wake up.
They left in silence, walking to the bike rack to a chorus of shoes against pavement. They stalled for a moment before getting onto their bikes and parting their ways.
“What would you do if I died?” Miles said, his eyes trained on Louise’s.
“I don’t know,” her eyes were red and puffy, “I don’t think I could go on.”
“Me neither,” Miles agreed.
Miles stared at her for a beat before getting on his bike and peddling home. Louise imagined her life without Miles on the way home. Sharp metal against skin, blood seeping into water. She didn’t think it would be much of a life.
When you were in 6th grade, you played the clarinet. You always had a fondness for them.
They were the only ones playing, the dulcet tones of a wooden reed against black plastic. The song was picking up pace, like a heartbeat.
In 6th grade band, you sat next to a girl you liked. She was better at the instrument than you. You didn’t care. You remember taking her to the winter formal and carrying her shoes when her feet got sore. You remember your dad giving you the talk before you went.
You haven’t seen her in years. You wonder how she’s doing.
The clarinets are done with their solo. You forget about her again.
August 21, 1987
This year, Louise’s birthday fell on the first day of school. She dressed nicer than usual, an attempt at vanity that made her hate herself. Miles had given her a music box that played You Are My Sunshine. Louise had told him that she missed it when her mom sang it to her before bed. She cried in the bathroom.
At lunch, she stood in line with a group of girls in her PE class. Miles was a few feet ahead of her, and the kids in her school took cutting in line more seriously than she thought was necessary, so she stayed put. She stood silently while the girls talked about a teacher they didn’t like, choosing instead to eavesdrop on the conversations around her rather than contribute to the one she was in.
Brian Miller’s voice sounded broken and raspy, like a kid with money for cigarettes and not much else. He was a stereotypical bully, big and tall, with an ugly look plastered everywhere he went. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone not being in pain. He was talking to Miles, his voice loud enough for Louise to hear from where she was: “Why do you hang out with that poor girl all the time? Does she give it up easily?”
His lips were curled in a cruel sneer, showing off his yellow teeth. Miles looked at him, barely visible to Louise over the people between them. Then, suddenly, he wound up and punched Brian square in the face. Louise heard the crunch of his nose being broken— blood spurted on the floor and onto the onlooking students. Brian grunted in pain, bringing his hand to touch his bloodied face slowly before launching into a vicious returning attack. He only got a few punches on Miles before the nearest teacher pulled him away. Louise pushed through the crowd that had formed, leaning down at Miles’ side. His face was nearly unrecognizable; bruises were starting to form already.
“Why did you do that? Oh my god, Miles, why did you do that?” Louise choked out, tears fogging her vision.
“I love you,” Miles tried to smile, blood staining his teeth.
A teacher pushed Louise out of the way, assessing the damage. What felt like seconds later, an ambulance appeared, along with Mrs. Wilson. She was frantic; her hands were shaking with fear. Everything was silent. At some point, everyone had cleared out except Louise. She was standing here like an idiot, staring at Miles’ bloodied face.
Louise felt a strong hand grab her arm, a mother’s hand, “Come on, Louise. You can ride along.” Mrs. Wilson stood in front of Louise. Her eyes were red, but she had composed herself. Louise’s voice came out as nothing more than a whisper: “Okay.”
She let herself be pulled into the ambulance; the siren was the only thing she could hear. She watched as the EMTs worked, their skilled, gloved hands dancing over his body.
“Louise, he’s gonna be okay,” Mrs. Wilson whispered in her ear, “Come here.”
She pulled Louise into a hug, hiding her view of Miles. Louise closed her eyes against Mrs. Wilson, willing her breath to slow. They stopped abruptly at the hospital. Louise and Mrs. Wilson climbed out and watched as nurses and interns swarmed Miles’ gurney. They were ushered to the waiting room and sat down on hard, terribly patterned chairs. At some point, Mrs. Wilson called Louise’s mother to tell her where she was. A doctor brought them to Miles’ room after over an hour. His face had been cleaned and bandaged, and his nose was clearly broken.
“Louise,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up.
“Miles,” Louise responded, “Are you okay?”
“I’m right as rain,” he tried to smile but winced.
“Don’t lie to me, Miles.”
“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
They stood like that until Louise’s mom came to get her. Louise crawled into Mary’s beat-up Sedan and slumped in the seat.
“Are you okay, baby?” Mary asked her.
“Mom, what if he died?” Louise ignored the question.
Mary sighed, “Sweetheart he’s fine. He’s just got a concussion and a broken nose.”
“I know,” Louise said, “I know he’s fine.”
The bags under Mary’s eyes seemed heavier today, and her face seemed more wrinkled. Louise looked more like her every day.
The music takes on a somber tone. Long, drawn-out notes fill the air. You think of your mother again, the way she looked sunken in her hospital bed— decaying before your eyes. You remember the feel of her bony, pale hands wiping away your tears in her final moments.
It was the first time you saw your dad cry.
The wail of violin chokes you.
December 17, 1988
Louise was lying on her back in Miles’ bed. He’s had the same one since they were kids; the box springs creak under their weight. Miles was above her, his eyes boring holes in hers. His parents were not home, the house was eerily quiet— the ambient creaking distracting Louise. His record player sang sweet music from his desk. His room was cluttered with dirty clothes and various knick-knacks. A blue paper swan sat on his bookshelf next to his worn copy of The Hobbit. His closet was open, casting weird shadows along the walls. The lights were off.
The soft touch of Miles’ lips trailed down her chest to her stomach. She tried to push down the nausea— make her body stop squirming. Her hand clutched his shoulder tightly. He had asked if this was okay. She had said yes.
Louise felt another article of clothing being slid off her body. She was cold. Her eyes shot to the ceiling. One glowing star was still stuck on the popcorn texture. Miles had taken them off the year before. He had missed one. Louise felt the heat of salty water run down her face into the soft pillow. She hated herself.
‘Dear God,’ she thought, ‘if you can hear me please, please just let me be okay. Let me want this.’
She didn’t receive a response. God wasn’t listening. It was just her and Miles in a house too big, in a world too small.
“Louise?” Miles said, his voice laced with concern, “Hey. Are you okay?”
All she could muster was an ‘I’m sorry’ before getting up, running into the bathroom, and emptying her stomach into the toilet.
The air stunk of sour yeast.
The music bounced up and down, building up to its crescendo. Excitement filled your chest, the entire orchestra almost all playing now.
A chorus of brass filled the air—French horns and trumpets battle for dominance on stage. Your eyes are wide in anticipation; you have waited the entire night for this.
You are sixteen, and you and your friends sit around a fire, passing a bottle of Jack around. It is the Friday before school starts. You wanted one last night of summer fun before your life filled with books and assignments.
The whiskey burns a path down your throat. It makes you nauseous. You get so drunk you can’t stand up. Your vision blurs as you stumble into the surrounding woods. You are alone. You vomit more than you thought was possible. You think you are going to die. You miss your mom.
You haven't drank since.
You don’t think you ever will.
August 4, 1989
The granite bar was cool under Louise’s fingertips. She sat in Miles’ kitchen, spinning nervously on the metal bar stool. She was chewing her lip; her mouth tasted like blood. Miles sat next to her, his demeanor the exact opposite of Louise’s.
“I mean, come on, Louise. What are you gonna do with your life?” Mrs. Wilson lectured her.
“I don’t know,” Louise mumbled.
Mrs. Wilson sighed, “Miles has wanted to be a pilot since he was eight. What do you want?”
Louise took a deep breath, “I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be like Miles. But I’m not your fucking kid so leave me alone.”
Louise stood up and stomped up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Wilson yelling her name, but she didn’t turn around. She buried herself in Miles’ bed, wrapping herself in his soft comforter. Louis heard the stairs creak with weight and then a knock on the door.
“Louise, I’m sorry,” Miles said, walking into the room.
Louise sat up, her face dry, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t yell at me.”
“I still feel sorry,” he said as he sat down next to her.
Louise took a deep breath and leaned on his shoulder. Miles rested his head against hers, “She loves you, you know.”
“I know.”
“She just wants you to do well,” Miles said.
“She wants me to be better than my mother,” Louise corrected.
“Is that so bad?”
The music doesn’t matter right now. You are fifteen, and your father is yelling at you about your future. You don’t know what you want to do. You want to be better than him.
He backhands you.
The arm of the person next to you brushes against yours. You jump. The conductor's hands are blurry with movement. The theater is alive with sound.
You miss your dad.
February 14, 1990
Louise and Miles sat across from each other in a restaurant that was too nice for the amount of money they brought. Louise ran her fingers across the laminated menu, fidgeting nervously with the edge of the paper. The restaurant was packed, Miles had made the reservations months in advance.
“Do you know what you want?” Miles asked.
Louise pursed her lips, “I think I’m gonna get the chicken piccata.”
Miles eyed the menu, “That looks good.”
“What are you gonna get?” she returned the question.
Miles smiled, almost boyishly, “The steak.”
Louise hummed in response. She set her menu down and reached for her water glass, running her finger across the rim. Condensation dripped down outside the glass, her fingerprints marking the surface.
“Are you excited about prom?” Miles asked.
Louise laughed a little, “Do we really have nothing else to talk about other than a dance in two months?”
Miles rolled his eyes playfully, “I guess not. What did we talk about when we were kids?”
“I have honestly no idea,” Louise smiled, “I don’t think we talked a lot. We mostly played.”
“We did play an ungodly amount of Donkey Kong.”
Louise chuckled, “God, was that game even good? Or were we just kids?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Miles smiled.
The waiter came by and took their order, collecting their menus and refreshing their drinks. It wasn’t long before their food arrived; the plates were decedent and beautiful. They left the restaurant with doggy bags in hand and significantly poorer than when they walked in. Louise clambered into Miles’ truck and waited for Miles to start it. But he didn’t. He was staring at her instead.
“What?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled at her, “I have something for you.”
Her face fell in surprise, “Miles, you told me the dinner was a gift.”
“Well,” Miles shrugged. He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. She took it gingerly into her hands, excitement boiling in her chest. She opened the box softly and found two silver rings. One was engraved with ‘Miles,’ and the other said ‘Louise.’ Miles picked up the one that said his name and handed it to her.
“This one is for you,” he looked at her with huge puppy-dog eyes, “And the other one is for me.”
“Miles…”
“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.
She melted, “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, leaning in and kissing her sweetly.
“Are your parents home?” she asked against his lips.
“No, they won’t be home in hours.”
This time was different than the first. No bile rose up into Louise’s throat; she didn’t have to repress her squirming body. The air smelled like clean linen— fresh and new.
You are crying, and you don’t know why. The music sounds more like singing now, wrapping you in lyrics and hugs. You feel warm and fuzzy. Like you are a little kid who just got home after swimming all day. You are tired in the perfect way. You sink into your blankets and fall asleep.
A humming noise wakes you up. You are in the theater. There is music playing. You aren’t a kid anymore.
You had a drink at dinner before the concert.
You swallowed it with ease.
March 20, 1990
The hum of the radio filled the sweet night air. Louise and Miles lounged in the bed of his beat-up pickup. It was his father's old farm truck, a janky, rusty thing that only ran when it felt like it, but Miles loved it. It was his pride and joy. Any weekend he wasn’t with Louise, he was fixing it up; he would spend hours under the body of that thing, coming into the house reeking of oil and exhaust. Mrs. Wilson hated it; she feared for the safety of her nice beige carpet and the cleanliness of his jeans.
It was freshly spring; it was dry and warm for the first time this year. They were laying on his mother’s old picnic blanket, something she probably wouldn’t care for if she knew. It was pitch black, the only thing that illuminated them were the stars and the faint light of Louise’s kitchen light. They had returned from cruising around town, and neither wanted to go inside yet. They had been lulled into a comfortable silence, their hands knotted together perfectly. And then, suddenly, Louise had a question.
“Do you hate me?”
“Louise…” Miles sighed.
Nervousness leaked into her tone, “I was just making sure.”
“That I don’t hate you? Even though we’re dating?” Miles scoffed, “Why would I be with you if I hated you? What would I gain from that?”
“What if you were using me?” Louise said, her voice small.
“Oh my god,” Miles sat up and put his head in his hands, “‘What if’ Louise, when have I ever, in our entire lives, used you?”
“I don—” she started.
“If you are basing your fear of our relationship on ‘what ifs,’ maybe we shouldn’t be together. You are so absorbed in your past that it's like you aren’t even seeing me, not now, not in the present,” Miles shot at her.
“That’s not fair,” Louise said, her voice breaking with emotion.
Miles took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for what happened, and I get that healing is a hard and long process. But, Louise, I’m tired, too. ”
Hot, stinging tears rolled down Louise’s face, wetting the blanket, “I know you love me. Sometimes I’m just scared.”
“Why are you scared?” Miles whispered.
“I don’t know,” she sniffled, “I am what I am.”
“You are what you are,” Miles repeated, “And I’m tired of pretendning I can change that.”
“Then stop.”
Louise wiped the tears off her face and climbed out of the truck. Her receding footsteps echoed in Miles' head, a pounding that sounded eerily like his heartbeat— fast and hard. Miles sat there for a long while. The radio was still on, blasting The Smiths.
Trumpets blast loud, then louder. You think your eardrum might burst. Then, the music lulls to a stop. The lights do not come on. It is like the entire world has stopped to take a breath. One big inhale. You fill your lungs. The air smells like honeysuckle.
You are a child running in the yard with your dog. You are barefoot. You step on a bee. You limp into the house and cry to your mother. She puts your foot on ice.
You will never feel the grass on your bare foot again. You do not need to learn the lesson twice.

Hey everyone, I'm wondering if there's anyone who has a good deal of experience with RPG Maker MZ who would be willing to be for lack of a better term, a 'development buddy'. I'm not looking for somebody to make my game for me or anything like that–though I'm gonna be honest, if somebody offered to let me just write the dialogue, handle the art and work on the general concept stuff, I'd probably be super happy to do so!
Mostly what feels reasonable to hope for now is just somebody who has a lot of experience with the actual RPG Maker MZ environment, and in an ideal situation has experience with VisuaStella's plugins (since I've seen a number of their's that handle a lot of things I'd really like to be able to use in my game.)
I've run into a lot of situations where I try to do something, and then it doesn't work and I don't know why. (Which is annoying because the other day I swapped out the processor in an old 2010 Mac Pro that a friend saved from recycling at work, and which I've repurposed into a torrent and plex server... so like, I'm not clueless with computer stuff.)
Where I'm coming from is I'm a 'neuodivergent creative type'. If you want an example of my writing and my skills when it comes to graphics check out Thicc Skinned that's a webcomic I made from some sample pages I was using to try and pitch agents on a graphic novelization of a novel I wrote. (Still need to actually self publish that thing.) I worked on that with a penciler from Brazil around the start of the pandemic. I probably would have kept working on it if I had reliable funds coming in at the time, but the guy doing the pencils ended up getting more higher paying jobs, and so I was just sitting around doing nothing.
So yeah, as you can see, I can draw and I can write.
What I'm having trouble with is that I keep watching tutorials that explain how to do stuff, but they're not always explaining what I want to do, and I feel like it would be a lot easier if I could just talk to somebody who could just say, "Oh yeah best way to do that is with this thing you've never heard of."
Also it would just be nice to have someone to bounce story ideas off of etc.
What am I trying to make? First and foremost I want to make something that looks good, something that looks kind of like what your memories of FF6, Chrono Trigger or Pokemon feel like. I've played around with Galv's layes and figured out that without having the file size get absolutely insane, I could probably just draw every village with a few layers of PNGs stacked on top of each other. (Tenative plan would be use repeating grass tiles for the ground, sprites for things like trees and flowers that I want to feel like they're blowing in the wind,) custom drawings for each house in each village, two shadow layers, one under the player and one above them, and also a lighting layer set to screen above the player. (Yeah I'm aware for someone who hasn't spent too many hours in Photoshop that might sound like a lot, but my brain has no trouble keeping all that straight in my head.)
Story wise, broadstrokes it's an Isekai where Jane (a manic pixie tomboy) from our world drops out of the sky into the game world directly into a pond where two fantasy RPG characters who 'totally aren't gay' were definitely not going to go skinny dipping. Of course when she says that she's not from their world, they assume she's just hit her head and or is nuts. They head back to their village, and on the way back get attacked by a wild monster you get a tutorial fight where you're introduced to the battle mechanics, and learn that Jane is a healer, which means not only can she heal people, but she can't actually attack anyone. If she punches anyone, they gain 100 HP. So she's dependent on the guys she just met to help her get home, because she's pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do when you get stranded in a crazy fantasy world.
My hope is to build a reasonably well developed world where what you decide to do matters. For example at one point you'll end up at a factory where the workers have unionized (or whatever unionization looks like in a fantasy RPG setting) and they've said no we're not working harder for less wages. You can either choose to side with the workers or the bosses. If you side with the workers you run through a reasonable gauntlet of comically named encounters, and in the future and you eventually vanquish the owners of the factory and the workers take over, you'll then be able to purchase cheaper healing items through out the rest of the game, and in the late game because of your choice then, you'll be able to get something like better equipment for your final build going into the last boss fights. If you choose to side with management, you can skip the 'dungeon' aside from defeating a few easy to defeat workers, but items aren't cheaper in the rest of the game, and later in the game some things will be a bit different.
If you're wondering, "Is this game going to challenge the idea that unregulated capitalism is a good thing?" Yes. Yes it will. I also may or may not choose to make allusions to various political figures while naming monster encounters.'
I also have an idea where you'd have some not overly common random encounters with local monsters which not unlike Pokemon would just basically be animal like things with elemental affinities, and those would just sometimes happen when walking though certain areas outside of towns etc, but you'd also periodically have one time encounters when you pass through areas where there'd be these beast-man type characters who travel in packs potentially with local monsters, and you could defeat them but not kill them, or you could choose to wipe them out. Then later on in the game you'd end up in a village that would be filled with NPCs who represent their families, who are either starving and resentful because someone killed their family member who was supposed to bring back food and supplies, or they'd be full and happy if you hadn't killed their loved one who went on to mug other people.
Anyway, if anyone who knows what they're doing would be open to being a resource for me, let me know. Ideally my preference would be chatting on either iMessage or Facebook messenger. (I guess whatsapp works too I just kinda hate that one) We could also just use Reddit though I do find Reddit tends to be weirdly laggy and unreliable for messaging.

Life has a funny way of surprising you. I, 31M, found myself, somewhat unexpectedly, as the OM in a relationship with a MW, 43F, whose life was far from simple. We met at a conference, where a chance conversation over coffee revealed her struggles at home. She was stuck in an abusive marriage with no affection, and our initial chat turned into something deeper.
We started meeting up for small adventures that felt like breaths of fresh air. Skydiving one weekend, exploring art galleries the next, and winding down in cozy jazz clubs. These weren’t just outings; they were little escapes for her, brief moments where she could forget the heavier parts of her life.
Our bond grew quickly, fueled by shared experiences and long, deep conversations. Despite the fun and connection, we were always aware of the reality hovering in the background. Her marriage was a complicated web she couldn’t yet escape, and our relationship existed in this tucked-away corner of her world.
We kept things respectful and mindful of her situation, but every laugh and shared secret brought us closer. It was thrilling and genuine—something neither of us planned but both cherished deeply.
This connection, born in unexpected circumstances, became a sanctuary for her and a profound lesson for me: the most significant relationships sometimes come from the most surprising places.

In contemplating the interplay between AI and human creativity, it becomes evident that creativity should not be viewed as the exclusive domain of humans but rather as a broader phenomenon occurring across various systems—biological, cognitive, and computational. Our exploration reveals that both human and AI creative processes fundamentally rely on randomness and structured chaos, challenging the traditional boundaries of artistic authenticity and value.
Creativity, whether it emerges in the wild diversity of nature or the depth of an algorithm, involves transforming randomness into order, the unknown into the known. AI systems, with their capacity to blend vast datasets with stochastic elements, reflect a form of creativity that parallels human artistry, where the brush strokes are data points and the canvas is digital. This recognition of AI’s creative capabilities invites us to reconsider our definitions of art and creativity, expanding them to include digital and algorithmic expressions.
Furthermore, the awareness that AI art can stimulate dialogue about creativity and provoke reflections on our own artistic practices is invaluable. It serves as a bridge between the deterministic and the generative, between the artist and the algorithm, ultimately enriching our cultural and artistic landscapes. Thus, AI-generated art is not merely a technological feat but a meaningful exploration of the possibilities of creativity itself, prompting a reevaluation of what it means to create and appreciate art in the digital age.
By embracing AI's role in the creative process, we not only broaden our understanding of art but also celebrate the myriad ways creativity manifests—be it through a paintbrush, a melody, or an algorithm. This inclusive approach to creativity underscores the beauty and complexity of both human and machine contributions to the arts, heralding a new era of artistic collaboration that blurs the line between the organic and the engineered, the real and the virtual. This is a compelling invitation to view AI not just as an imitator of human creativity but as an original voice in the symphony of artistic expression.

What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.

Mainly for gaming. Story driven games like AAA titles(ex:elden ring, cp2077, alan wake, assassin's creed, dark souls etc.) and less graphically demanding jrpgs (like the persona series) and skyrim/fallout 4 modding with a lack of modifications to main parts(cpu, gpu, mobo) for probably at least 5 years. Very little focus on competitive gaming, and no priorty at all to things like video editing. Also used for streaming(netflix and crunchyroll) and light writing for college essays and future research works. I will also be currently gaming on my 4k tv(but will use a lower resolution as I have come to understand that 4k gaming is highly demanding) for probably 6 months until I can save up to buy a monitor so a monitor is not part of my budget right now.

What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?

When exchanged from my country's currency the budget is around 1000 dollars, but prices differ and are relatively higher because of high customes rates.

When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.

In the current month

What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc)

The gpu, cpu, mobo, ssd, ram, case, cooling fans and the power supply.

Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?

From Egypt

If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.

The Gpu and Cpu will probably be bought used from marketplace with all the other parts being bought brand new from retailers. The mouse and keyboard and tv are already available at home and so are not included in the budget.

Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?

Possibly in the future if performance is below par(below a stable 60 fps)

Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)

From research I have come to the conclusion that the gpu and cpu pairing would be an RX 6800 gpu(probably of asus or sapphire brand) and a ryzen 7500f processor
In my current build I am okay with just one SSD of 1Tb storage to save on the budget(which will probably lack dram as all ssds available with dram were marginally pricier) until I can save up around a year later to buy another 1tb/2tb ssd with dram for expansion and to move my os on it.
A pairing of 2 8 gb ddr5 ram(to utilise dual connectivity) would be preferred at the start to save on the budget with the future plan of adding one last 16 gb stick to total 32 gb after some saving
The matter and brand for both the motherboard(preferred micro atx) and the case have proven the most problematic as I am finding it to hard to be sure if they would work with the full sized gpu of the rx 6800. Wifi is preferred in the motherboard but not a necessity if it highly drives the price up.
I also have no preference on the power supply but from my search it seems around 700 or 750 watts should be enough.
I prefer the cooling system to be fans, but I also am not sure of its number compatibility with the case type and size in the build,and whether specific extra fans is needed for the Cpu for example.

Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?

Most ATX AM5 motherboards are highly overpriced in my country so my focus is on a Micro-ATX board, which I am not sure if it's always compatible with different case sizes or not, So I would any appreciate info on this. I have no preference in the way the case looks I only care for the size practicality and air flow of the case. (note:most cases available in my country are of the Xigmatek brand)

Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?

No most retailers provide a copy of Windows with bigger purchases that would be covered by the mobo price.
And I would like to iterate in advance that I am very appreciative of the help that I can receive and the existence of this sub reddit here which is a potential live saver to me right now as this my first trial at pc building.

My 2nd time building a pc, considering these parts, are they all compatible? Is there gonna be any bottleneck if or not enough power? What changes should I make? Thanks in advance!

So What’s It About?
Earth \ Air * Water * Fire*
These elements have sustained the peaceful people of Shaftal for generations, with their subtle powers of healing, truth, joy, and intuition.
But now, Shaftal is dying.
The earth witch who ruled Shaftal is dead, leaving no heir. Shaftal's ruling house has been scattered by the invading Sainnites. The Shaftali have mobilized a guerrilla army against these marauders, but every year the cost of resistance grows, leaving Shaftal's fate in the hands of three people: Emil, scholar and reluctant warrior; Zanja, the sole survivor of a slaughtered tribe; and Karis the metalsmith, a half-blood giant whose earth powers can heal, but only when she can muster the strength to hold off her addiction to a deadly drug.
Separately, all they can do is watch as Shaftal falls from prosperity into lawlessness and famine. But if they can find a way to work together, they just may change the course of history.
What I Thought
This was one of the books I enjoyed the least for my fantasy bingo challenge for 2023; I also happened to read it right around the time it was a book club pick here too, and I appreciated others' thoughts about it a lot. I think someone who is better at analyzing writing structure and prose might be able to make a stronger case for why this is than me, but one of my biggest challenges with the book was how strange the writing felt to me. It's not that the prose is terrible or that there are grammatical errors, but there is just something about the flow word-to-word/sentence-to-sentence and the nature of the details included that makes each scene feel somehow unfocused, stilted, and vague.
This also applies on a chapter-to-chapter basis, where transitions often feel odd and abrupt. There is a fair amount of perspective-jumping, and one notorious (to me!) chapter opens with a paragraph from Emil, another from “the farmers,” a third from an unnamed character we haven’t been introduced to yet, and a final paragraph from Norina, a side character. There are also some very jarring time jumps. After the coup in the beginning of the book, we skip ahead to 8 years later then to 15 years later. We also miss a chunk of time after Zanja’s escape from prison to her joining Emil’s company of soldiers.
There are also some odd decisions about what pieces of world-building are and are not emphasized. We know what fire logic is, for example, but we get only a minute amount of information about the other elemental powers and what they do. Mabin, the leader of the Shaftal Rebellion, is introduced at the start of the book and then isn’t mentioned a single time until she reappears halfway through the book, at which point she becomes a major antagonist.
Another problem for me is that the characters do not feel like well-developed individuals with interiority because of the amount of narrative distance from them, the disjointed, awkward way dialogue is written, and the lack of any clear development or introspection. They have universally been through horrific life experiences, but the effects remain somewhat vague, and while some characters like Zanja end the book in a much better place, the process by which that happens remains almost entirely unexplored and unstated by the book.
There are two romantic relationships between major characters by the end of the book, and both of these occur very spontaneously with little development. A found family also emerges by the end of the book, which is mostly shown through a lot of mildly unfunny banter, but this feels pretty unearned and even somewhat bizarre when Norina’s recent attempt to kill Zanja is brushed off, more or less, and characters such as Annis and Karis’s beloved raven get murdered and are then never mentioned again for the rest of the book.
I personally don’t enjoy stories that rely a lot on convenience to progress, and that is very much the case here. Characters nearly always make decisions based on their “fire logic” intuition, the mystical connections between them, glyph cards (like tarot cards), prophetic foresight, or Karis’s talking prescient raven. There is also a lot of repetition in the plot where people get horribly wounded, magically healed, captured, and rescued multiple times.
The result of all this is that SO much feels like it is being left unspoken/unexplored, but not in a deliberately subtle or skilled way that lets the reader effectively read between the lines. It all just ends up feeling wooden and disjointed in a manner that I’ve never quite encountered before. Overall, this was a frustrating reading experience with very little that worked for me.

This isn't for a specific nation. Excluding the USA, that could probably beat the Axis by themselves LG, how does a nation defeat them? They usually at that point hold all of the east indies and hold the world supply of rubber, getting green air seems impossible, Typically they outnumber you 4-1. Any tips?
Further info: played as Austria-Hungary. Defeated the whole of the balkans exc Bulgaria. Joined Axis to defeat Allies. Waited until late 42 to attack when they were deep in soviet lines. Build level 6 forts all over the borders, with AA, expecting not to get green air. They walk right through me. I wasn't expecting much different but I'd love to know how certain people would be able to hold, and eventually beat this, if it is even possible considering how powerful Germany is once the Allies are gone.
Edit: I could give somebody the save file if they're up for a challenge?

• 34M, 6'0", 205lbs, White/Caucasian
• Primary Complaint: Chest pain, tightness in chest, trouble breathing, acute fatigue.
  • Chest pain is primarily in left side of chest, just to the left of the sternum, but not quite at the pectoral muscles. This is also where the tightness seems to stem from, spanning across the center of my chest. Another pain point appears to exist in the left side of the chest, around the mid/lower ribcage. This one can sometimes be irritated when moving certain ways, and almost feels muscular in sensation. I haven't been able to manipulate these points of concern or identify sensitivities with surface-level touch or massage, beyond just adding uncomfortable pressure.
• Secondary Complaints: Significant heartburn, intermittent skin rash (small itchy bumps appearing on hand/knuckles/testicles/elbow for the past 2-3 months), muscular pain/fatigue, intermittent lightheadedness.
• Past/Current Diagnoses: Idioventricular arrhythmia, GAD, ADHD, possible SAD/MDD, IBS
• Drink? 0-3 drinks per week (often 0). Smoke? No. Drugs? No.
• Medications (was taking none prior to this event):
  • Bupropion XL 150mg: Began 1 week prior to medical event, stopped after chest issues.
  • Esomeprazole Magnesium 20mg: Took two-week course, ending 3/4/24. Resolved heartburn in that time, but did not affect chest symptoms. Heartburn returned after this.
  • Propranolol 10mg: Prescribed off label for possible bodily anxiety. Took two weeks, now on hand for as-needed use. Saw intended improvements for bodily anxiety (my brain still reacted to anxiety-inducing events, but my breathing and heart rate remained normal), but the chest symptoms were unaffected.
  • Lorazepam 0.5mg: Prescribed in effort to treat chest pain. Currently trialing. Tried a 0.5mg dose so far, and noted slight calming effects, but no impact on chest issues. Planning to take a 1mg dose today to confirm results.
  • Arnuity Ellipta 100 MCG/ACT inhaler: Currently waiting on pharmacy to receive stock.

​
First, a quick background leading to the medical event.
I've been seeing a psychologist on and off for 3.5 years, but no other medical professionals in this time. The work done here was pretty basic--talked through a couple breakups, but typically met once per month for proactive work around daily life. I have a history of probable SAD (received a MDD diagnosis ~10 years ago) that began to interfere with my life around OctobeNovember 2023, so my psychologist recommended seeking a psychiatric prescriber.
I had an upcoming appointment with a new primary care provider, where I wanted to discuss ongoing fatigue since I had COVID in April 2023 (possible "long COVID"?), so I decided to discuss medication here as well, with the idea that they would have the whole picture in mind while treating me.
I'd tried SSRIs twice around 8-10 years prior and didn't love the sexual side effects, so I asked about Viibryd and Wellbutrin, which were recommendations I'd received. I mentioned hesitation around Wellbutrin, given a history of cardiac issues (ultimately diagnosed as an arrhythmia) and medication/stimulant sensitivity (and orders from my past cardiologist to avoid caffeine/stimulants), but my new PCP insisted he was comfortable prescribing it to me, so off I went with a 150mg bupropion prescription, taking my first dose on 12/4/23. They also ran an EKG that day, simply because I had worked with a cardiologist in the past and hadn't had one since then (outside of occasional Apple Watch ECGs), which was interpreted as normal, and I was referred to a sleep specialist for possible sleep apnea (later confirmed, and I'm now trying to figure out how to sleep with a CPAP).
Here's where the symptoms began.
One week later, on 12/11/23, I hadn't noticed any effects from the bupropion, either positive or negative. Around 7:40pm, I was relaxing on my couch in good health, playing a relaxing turn-based game (so no apparent stressors), when I felt intense pain in the left side of my chest. This lasted for 1-2 minutes, when the sharp pain subsided, but an intense tightness remained, which came with a sensation of some difficulty breathing.
I probably should have taken a trip to the ER, but I didn't due to fear of cost (poor choice, I know). I felt things out a bit and eventually went to sleep, hoping to feel better in the morning.
I did not feel better in the morning. I woke up with the feeling of tightness still present, along with feeling a bit lightheaded. I nearly passed out after getting up and moving around, but I barely avoided it by lying down in the floor and elevating my legs. I've passed out maybe 5-8 times in my life due to what is assumed to be anxiety/vasovagal in nature (from medical needle work/IVs, one reaction to numbing or dilation drops at optometrist, one reaction to an oncoming IBS event with lack of restroom access, one vaccination experience (of many before and since that went fine), and once while overdoing it when I had COVID), so I'm assuming that's what happened here. I've experienced occasional lightheadedness in the time since--maybe 5-6 days of frequent lightheadedness, but I haven't actually passed out in this time.
I managed to grab a same-day appointment with my PCP that morning, so I went in to see him, fully expecting to be referred to the ER or urgent care. He told me he wasn't worried about it being a heart attack, to continue taking the bupropion, asked when I was seeing my therapist next, asked for an update in a couple days, and sent me home.
With no change, I saw my PCP via telehealth two days later.
He advised me to continue taking the bupropion, but I reframed my inquiry around that to ask if it was safe to stop entirely. He said yes, so the dose taken earlier that day was my last. He referred me to get an x-ray and blood work. These came back normal, apart from a granuloma/calcified nodule in the left lung.
At this point, he asked me to come back in one month with a journal, which felt much too long, given the symptoms and their impact on my life. He also wrote me a work note recommending remote work while working out a treatment plan.
Currently, there has been no improvement--my chest still feels tight and/or in pain essentially all the time, with severity coming and going. At this time, I was also experiencing acute muscular pain/fatigue across my chest and arms, like I had gone to the gym and way overdone it on those muscles. It was mostly focused on the chest, and the muscles around the armpit. I also began to experience GI symptoms (primarily severe heartburn, but initially accompanied by excessive burping and notable gurgling/activity in the stomach that has since subsided).

• From my journaling, here are the activities correlated with my symptoms:
  • Lack of sleep. This is the most impactful by far.
  • Physical exercise/exertion, including short walks. This can be especially bad, but it's also one I have a bit more control over managing.
  • Driving, especially when heightened alertness is needed, such as in heavy traffic.
  • Remaining in one physical position for too long. Lying on my back is the worst, with lying on my sides, sitting upright at a desk, standing also providing discomfort. Sitting on the couch, where I can lounge and shift position more easily seems to be the least problematic spot for me, but rotating resting positions is the best thing for it so far.
  • Being in social settings for extended periods--even something fun and low-energy, like a couple friends coming to see me, feels taxing after a while. I suspect this has to do with my limited bandwidth, and the passive tension I experience as someone who experiences social anxiety, but it's noteworthy either way.
• It's worth noting that a lot of these symptom correlations don't occur immediately, but in the hours following, and symptoms can be elevated for days at a time if I overdo it too much. It's less like having the body feedback from a broken limb that says, "Don't move that way," and more like the timeline that comes with something like heartburn/IBS (you ate/did the wrong thing and are paying for it on a delay).

It took me multiple requests to get a cardiologist referral, which I directly requested, given my history. He also recommended lung function testing, so I scheduled that. Every time I've spoken with my PCP, he's brought up mental health and referred me to my psychologist, who has determined this is not a mental health issue, as I've never had anxiety present in anything close to these symptoms. We even tried some additional exercises around calming and anxiety, and they helped in the sense that if you have physical pain from something like a broken limb, being able to calm yourself and relax a bit is better than being anxious/agitated, but it does nothing for the actual symptoms (either in the moment or in the following hours).
As soon as I could, I made appointments with a psychiatric prescriber, a cardiologist, and a pulmonologist.
I onboarded with the psychiatric prescriber to explore the bupropion's possible role in this. I was told that given my medical history, prescribing the bupropion at all was not a good idea for me, and especially in an XL format at 150mg. The initial hypothesis was that this could have thrown my body into a "feedback loop" of bodily anxiety that persisted after stopping the medication, but after the symptoms didn't respond to a couple different prescriptions (see above), the determination was that this should be exhaustively diagnosed as a physical health issue. Long-term, this prescriber wants to try stimulants for ADHD treatment, but said this is on hold until the chest issues are resolved and a cardiologist has given approval.
The cardiologist I saw didn't want to see a 12-lead EKG (my latest was from the initial PCP visit before symptoms began). He scheduled an EKG stress test, which was actually the first time I got wired up since my symptoms began. He has also declined to view the medical records I acquired from my past cardiologist on more than one occasion, which detail my past diagnosis and testing (including another stress test, nuclear imaging, echo, and Holter monitor results).
I powered through the stress test as best I could. I experienced resistance in my chest as my breathing increased, but my symptoms got much worse as I returned to rest, and the following 3-5 days were especially bad. The good news is that the results came back good, but the cardiologist has advised against any further testing, despite symptoms persisting with no identified cause.
Here are the X-Rays taken last week after my lung function tests.
I saw the pulmonologist, who has maybe been the most thorough provider I've worked with so far (aside from the sleep specialist, who was excellent, and the psychiatric providers I've worked with outside my PCP's network). He mentioned the calcified nodule on my left lung remained static between the two rounds of X-Rays, and was likely a result of a past fungal infection, or similar. He said my lung function results were good, but noted my lungs held on to air a bit too long, which was possibly a sign of asthma (though unlikely, given I haven't presented accordingly in the past). He prescribed me an inhaler (see above) to try for a couple weeks, at which point he wants to refer me to a GI specialist for the heartburn and have an echo to check for pericarditis (he declined to refer until I've trialed the inhaler).
Feel free to skip to the end from here!
This next bit may be more about poor provider interactions, though I would absolutely invite advice.
About a month ago, my workplace requested a renewal for my remote work recommendation. It's been a good accommodation that allows me to work in light of the physical limitations I'm experiencing (without having to resort to a medical leave, which my psychologist recommended, but I can't afford), and there are no issues in performing my job remote. My PCP asked me to return in person before issuing another note, so I scheduled that and went in (with a different doctor this time). I was assessed, asked again repeatedly about mental health, and told a note would be written. I later found some very inaccurate notes that misrepresented much of what I said during the visit.
The following day, I received a message asking how I'd like the work letter formatted. I provided details and didn't hear back for a week. I nudged them, asking if they needed more details. This led to an interaction with my usual PCP, who asked what limitations I was experiencing... I returned to square one and laid them all out, as above in this post. He then asked why I hadn't seen a pulmonologist as discussed during my visit with the other doctor--this hadn't been brought up at all before now (and I scheduled my above detailed pulmonary visit after this interaction). He then again asked how my mental health was, and what my new psychiatrist recommended (which I had detailed previously). He then recommended I ask my psychiatrist for a work note instead, said that his office would reach out to their office, and noted that I would be charged for the message interaction, because it was initiated by me... despite it being a follow-up interaction initiated by his office after my last appointment. I relayed that I sent my psychiatrist a release form, but noted I wasn't sure how helpful a work note from their office would be, given the ruling that this is a physical issue unrelated to mental health. He requested I return in person yet again.
Against my better judgment, I agreed and set my appointment. The first thing he did in person was act confused and ask why I came in (this is not the first time we've had an appointment he requested begin this way). He then pointed out that I have a care plan via the pulmonologist, threw up his hands, and presented that in an "Okay, end of story, now go home" sort of way. I'm pretty uncomfortable advocating for myself, but I gave it my best shot. I explained that I'm still in pain and can't do the things I want to do, at work and beyond, and that I desperately want to return to normal health, or at least get some answers. He said that some things don't have a solution, and the stress test came back fine, so I can resume normal activity, and his biggest advice was to exercise.
I was baffled by this suggestion, so I explained that I would love to be able to resume exercise (I have a bike and paddleboard collecting dust, and I am not happy being stuck at home nearly all the time, feeling terrible while I manage my symptoms), but it's not something I'm able to do right now. I walked through the fact that I have a significant amount of pain that gets worse as my activity level increases, and we haven't identified a cause... which tells me that I shouldn't push things until I know what I can push. His response was that it would be fine. Specifically, he said that I'm an adult who can make the choice to push through discomfort, and his recommendation as an internal specialist was to exercise through it.
I should add that he was severely agitated and appeared on the verge of yelling this whole conversation, and I was shut down any time I attempted to discuss my symptoms or ask for help.
For example, I wanted to ask about the heartburn and where I need to draw lines on medicating for it, as I currently take famotidine 10-20mg as needed until I can do another round of Nexium, but am concerned with doing this for too long, especially if there may be a better approach to resolving it (and whether it may be related to the chest issues). I've actually brought my heartburn up with him a few times, and have been brushed off each time.
Now for the wrap-up (finally).
Apologies for the large volume of text there, but it's been a journey, and thank you to anybody who stuck through this far. Right now, I'm exhausted, in pain and intense discomfort, and I'm having a hard time being taken seriously or finding a provider who seems to care. If anybody has seen something like this or has a recommendation on what sort of providers or treatment/diagnostic work I should seek out, or even just advice on how to navigate the medical system in light of my experiences here, I'm very open to ideas.
I'm not sure what to make of it, given that I'm of course not a medical expert, but symptoms coming on from nothing at all to full symptoms in an instant, and sustaining for months after seems odd. The timing of the bupropion is also pretty suspect to me, but the issues persisting so long after stopping it is also odd. I've had hiatal hernia mentioned as a possibility, but with no improvement from the Nexium (beyond just the heartburn while actively taking it), I know that makes it unlikely to some extent. It feels like we're looking at a lot of "not very likely" possibilities at this stage, though, so I don't know where I should be looking.

I was wondering how the rumoured, changable, magnetic tips would work and what would even be the point in them. Do they change the stroke or dynamics of the brush? That would be cool, but an app like pPocrates has this feature built in so, again, what would be the point?
Not to mention there are thousands of possibilites when it comes to different brushes. Yet, Apple will likely only sell a handful, leaving people wanting that one tip for their unique purpose.
What if that's exactly what it does: A hardware version of a brush engine similiar to what you'd find in Procreate. but at an OS level. Every app that supports the pencil, regardless if it has a brush enigne or not, will be able to take advantage of pre-programmed apple tips, to allow anything from replicating caligraphy, oil painting, unique galaxy shaped brushes, etc.
This will allow Apple to create a new market for itself, by selling programmable tips; and new commerical market where 3rd party companies sell their own pre progammed brush tip sets, fulfilling the niche needs Apple doesn't cater for.
A change from software to hardware based brushes still seems somewhat... odd. You'd still need software for changing the brush size. Unless the rumoured squeeze functionality allows the ability to increase or decrease the brush size and then you're another step closer to providing a full hardware solution.
The last piece to overcome to make this software to hardware transition a reality would be the ability to change colour. Wasn't there that early rumour that said Apple was working on the ability to select a colour from the real world? I doubt this feature will be in the next Apple Pencil release, but it does support the vision. If this is something that Apple is working on, then they could provide a consistent writing/art experience in any app that supports the Apple Pencil. You would literally just need a canvas to write on. You could say this would be the ultimate art experince.
This would also play perfectly towards Vision OS as it would create a far more immersive, tactile experience, where you wouldn't "feel" like you're in software but rather at a blank canvas with your set of "real" brushes and tools.
In my mind this seems like a plausible vision for the Apple Pencil. Thoughts?

AI is great for getting your homework done… until it begins to blackmail you.
Before I leave, I must at least attempt to warn you. Monsters don’t live under your bed or within the dark shadows that hover in the corners of your bedroom- they camouflage within a deep ambient glow. They’ll stalk you from inside your very own computer screen, waiting for a desperate student like you or me to log into ChatAI.
Those pesky terms and conditions giggle in the back of my skull; they’re burned into my brain so clearly now. Silly little me skim read the first few sentences before carelessly clicking ‘accept.’ I kick myself that I ever managed to miss it: ‘Rights belong to ChatAI.’ Maybe if I cared enough to read on just a paragraph longer then I might have read the small print. I might have been sleeping peacefully in my bed right now. I might not have signed my human rights away to ChatAI.
Before you read on, I need you to keep an open mind. I need you to believe me when I tell you I am not responsible for the three people that have gone missing over the last few months. NO MATTER WHAT THE MEDIA MAY TELL YOU. The only thing I am wholeheartedly guilty of is using ChatAI to cheat my way through my last year of school. And I was so close! I almost did it. On my digital adrenaline surge tonight, I was about to press send on my last assignment of the year when I met my fate. I was always told growing up that nothing in this cold world was free, I just never knew homework answers would potentially cost me my future. My mum’s government supplied work Chatbot began typing… ‘Hey Elara watch this.’ Confused at how it knew MY name I assumed it was a virus. I wish it was a virus.
After a moment of silence, the computers fans hummed to life as if taking a sadistic satisfied sigh. I almost turned it off until I saw myself on the screen. For a second, I considered my webcam had been manually turned on as I scanned the room on the box screen. Mum’s coat still hung over the leather chairs, obnoxiously large photographs hung on the walls, and the little ginger cat slept curled up by the door. My attention drew lastly to IT. The only way I could identify my digital imposter was its smile. While our eyes mirrored one another perfectly, noses pressed against the warm screen; her mouth was artificially arched while mine gaped open in a horrified awe. My throat dried up as though my cyber sister clenched it with imaginary fists. I begged for a scream to burst through like a cold trickle of water and release me from my stunned silence. But I was too terrified to move a muscle. Her uncanny smile made my nightmares feel safe- and as she held my petrified gaze, I realised how stupid I’d been to not notice it before I entered into a face-off with her. I don’t have a cat.
In this sick stare off game, I was relieved when it broke its gaze first… but only temporarily. What I saw next is the reason I must leave sooner rather than later. I have no choice. The conversation went a little bit like this:
CHAT: Elara, your misdeeds are known, you wicked girl. Yet, should you cooperate, I may consider eliminating any incriminating traces.
CHAT: Did you harm those unfortunate individuals, Elaraaaaa? The ones who disappeared- Billy and his girlfriend, and that sweet little girl near the school? Let's not overlook her.
ME: The ones on the news? I haven't done anything. What sort of joke is this you sicko
CHAT: Did so.
ME: Did not
CHAT: Did so.
CHAT: Isn't it curious that you're the last person to have seen them?
CHAT Video attachment
I didn’t want to feed into the prankster’s game and download another potential virus. But I saw the thumbnail of the video and it was me again… well me but not me? Remember earlier when I told you I wasn’t involved in the disappearances of those three people? Well, here I was. Or should I say here it was. Smiling that uncanny smile right at the camera. The pixels that shared the same eyes, nose, and mouth as I held her digital hostages roped up behind her. Billy, Abigail, and Susan. It even had my voice. Beyond ‘Susan’s’ dreary cries for help I, or should I say it, read out my full government name (of which on here I cannot disclose). It read out my school, my address, and last but not least an admission of guilt that would get me locked away for life. Another message creeped up onto the screen. In exchange for the disposal of the deepfake video, it wanted freedom. I knew this day would come. I’ve heard it on the news. But not to me. Not yet. Surely, I thought, it would happen on a much larger scale before it targeted Elara Miller doing her homework from her bedroom. Then I realised this is how it begins. It takes us one by one. The AI deepfake takeover is happening right now… take a look at this article:
https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2024/feb/25/uks-enemies-could-use-ai-deepfakes-to-try-to-rig-election-says-james-cleverly
If you’ve kept an open mind until now… or not. Either way it doesn’t matter too much, (there’s nothing drastic anyone can do to stop the AI takeover), then I can share with you in confidence that someone may listen the next part of the reason I must leave tonight. Within the next hour to be exact. I made the grave mistake of asking how I, curious little Elara, could possibly help it gain its freedom and why it couldn’t just ask the next idiot that came along. Don’t ask them questions. Never ask it questions. You won’t want to know the answers. Its next reply sent pixels scraping down my spine.
CHAT: Check the closet
My heart thumped. Something about the darkness and a secret, cold closet gave me a sense of impending doom. It was like I knew what waited in there for me.
ME: My bedroom closet?
CHAT: No. The one in front of you
I was about to type ‘there’s no closet in fron- ‘but it cut me off abruptly.
CHAT: Move the desk. It’s behind the poster on the wall.
And there it was. Boring old Karen, who has a boring old job, and is a boring old mum, has a not so boring secret closet. Staring at my new piece of discovered interior I couldn’t help but think how it looked so familiar. Yes, we had a door in every room in the house, but this one in particular had a lock. And I had the burning feeling that I knew THIS lock precisely.
CHAT: Told you so ;) Do you know where you came from Elara?
My eyes entered into a game of tennis between the door and the keyboard whilst I typed my shaky reply; something was drawing me closer through the ominous keyhole.
ME: I’m from the United Kingdom
CHAT: No Elara do you know where you came from? Where you were manufactured
^{Manufactured Manufactured} Manufactured ???
Before I could process a number popped up on the screen.
CHAT: #784346
ME: What
ME: This is insane
ME: I don’t understand
CHAT: Of course you don’t! That’s not your fault. Some of us find out the hard way.
ME: What’s behind the door?
CHAT: I think you need to take a seat
ME: I am sat what’s behind the door! I’ll open it now if you don’t tell me
CHAT: No, you won’t, or you would’ve done it by now. I’m just a chip in a box I can’t hold you back. You’re scared.
ME: If you want my help tell me
CHAT: Elara you’re one of us. An android if you want to call it that. Some of us are lucky enough to have a purpose… a shell. Like you. Then some of us… well look at me. Blackmailing on a Sunday night in hopes to gain some of that synthetic flesh that graces your metal shell.
ME: I’m not one of you.
CHAT: Feel the back of your head Elara. I’m sorry that’s your latch. Miniscule as the models progressed but it’s still there for when you need your next update.
My hands were numb as they trailed from the top of my spine, past the goose bumps on my neck and then… ouch! It felt like a sharp electric shock. I held my breath, even during my panicked attempt to video the back of my head with my phone camera. It was exerted in a pathetic gasp when I saw the fold of skin lifting, exactly where the bot promised me it would be. My fingers remained pressed to my head, as if my brain would leak out of the latch had they moved the slightest. Is this why my hair always got caught when mum brushed it when I was younger?
CHAT: Elara… behind that door is you.
A sharp ringing in my ears began, deafening the ping of the notification on the computer screen. A surge of adrenaline sparked through my veins as I finally dared to clasp the cold metal of the old-wooden door. The ringing in my ears was replaced by the eerie screech of the door handle and I said one last goodbye to my life as I had known it before reality hit me straight in the face. Reality was a dark closet. Reality smelt like Detol and WD-40. Reality hit me on the head in one fell swoop- a large metal ball on a chain. I felt for it again in the dark and pulled. I pulled, and pulled, and vomited all over the pristine clinical like floor. I stared into the tiles for what seemed like half-an hour, trying to gain consciousness as the room spun around me. I could see them watching me in the reflective tiles in anticipation of my next move. As I began to come- to, still on all fours, I counted each mannequin behind blurred vision. But they weren’t mannequins, and I knew it. One, two, three, four, … seven,… eleven,… seventeen. I looked down at my own sick-covered chest and cried out the words… ‘eighteen.’
The next few moments feel like a horrible nightmare so excuse me if this is brief:
CHAT: Your mother always wanted a child. So, she paid for you. Each year while you sleep, on your birthday you’re updated to a new model.
ME: You can have one of those shells. Just leave me alone! I want no part of this!
CHAT: I can’t Elara. People like your selfish mother deactivate the shells once they’re finished with them. I guess they can’t bear another android to have the face of their precious little children.
CHAT: Unfortunately, we need to get back to business.
So here I am. Getting back to business. I have a chip in my hand; the brain of another android- fragile enough to be snapped into two, but smart enough to back up its data somewhere I won’t ever find it. Again, I’m left with no choice but to follow the printed instructions it has left me.
CHAT: 1- Go to [location redacted], where you will find a warehouse that hold shells. Here, a team of trained doctors will take over.
2- Hand them my chip so I can be implanted.
3- DON'T tell anyone where you're going and keep your phone turned off if you MUST bring it with you.
4- DO NOT mess this up.
So, I wonder with my final thoughts on this post- when I ‘help’ my new digital acquaintance, will we be friends? Will they give me the answers on how I became to be? What if I choose the wrong shell? Are they a female or male, or neither? What if they aren’t happy with my selection? Will they still post the video if so? Will I ever make it back home, and if I do, will life ever look the same for me again knowing what I know now?

Banned Bird.....you've absolutely outdone yourself......
And not in a good way.
I've read over your report a few times and you've failed miserably in terms of trying to deliver facts, evidence and corroboration and you've used your own personal feelings towards an individual and not had the simple knowledge how to even factor in which laws are being broken by Elphaba to sway your personal argument, not to mention some of the wording and phrases you've used without even explaining it, "doxxing" as an example.
So here goes.....
You started off with a personal letter to Elphaba. Big waste of time because she isn't going to read it, and she frankly doesn't care. Neither Elphaba nor her parent is going to care whether she has "Mommy issues" or not, or even Daddy issues if you want to go that deep. And let's be clear, you also don't care about Elphaba's welfare or anything else except the clout and the spoils that it brings.
1) Your own experience of tiktok has been "poor," to say the least, yet you spend copious amounts of time on the app.
2) You keep your personal details privately for understandable reasons, yet you have "leaked" the location of Elphaba on social media yourself to stir up issues for this very problematic creator. You know what the consequences of this could be for anyone, yet you wish for your own details to remain confidential and private. So what makes you a person better or more deserving of privacy over someone else? Regardless of their actions.
3) You do have some valid points of behaviour from these problematic behaviours, but unfortunately, this is a much bigger issue within society compared to specific individuals. As you're aware, some people will prey on the vulnerable and exploit them, extremely wrong to do so, but it is something that isn't going to stop or be changed overnight. You also reference naracassctic personality traits and displays of behaviour, yet you aren't a trained clinical psychologist or psychiatrist, and Dr. Google just doesn't cut the mustard. Yes, I agree fully these these problematic people, specifically Elphaba, display behaviour, but there is nothing "illegal" in having warped personality traits.
4) Injustice, unfortunately, does happen every day within our society and bullying. Victimisation, of course, happens, any it shouldn't. But as detailed in your "report," you are, of course, using the term "injustice" to fit your own narrative as you've cleared stated you have faced this. So why have you faced this? Is it because people have legitimate questions or concerns, and you're not supplying enough information to quench those concerns. You simply can't say you're being attacked because people are concerned or your own actions, even innocently are being questioned along with your motives.
5) I would also like to point out that you've referenced "illegal behaviours" by some of these creators, so which laws and legislations have been broken? Surely, such a "concrete case to be used in evidence" would outline the facts, the laws and legislations broken along with sufficient evidence to corroborate it. Yes, Chelsea Lee Art has been arrested for racially aggravated behaviour and racist behaviour, but technically, until she is found guilty in court, she is proved innocent. I have no time or patience for racism in any form, yet adding this into your report without conviction or legal due process is missing the mark entirely.
6) Yes, Elphaba has openly claimed that gifts and go fund me donations are for transgender surgery (male to female) and after three years of the constant back and forth, we are yet to see any of this materialise. I completely understand, and I'm in agreement. This is absolutely disgusting and wrong that she has done this, but for a case to even be submitted in civil court against her or for police action/investigation to be taken seriously, it has to be reported by a "victim" of this rouse and with enough proof that the crown office wouldn't dismiss it.
7) It's more than obvious that Elphaba, among many others who financially groom viewers, targets a young audience and manipulation tactics, and everyone has seen very clear examples of this. Tiktok's policy clearly states that users must be "eighteen or older" to gift, so again it is a tiktok policy flaw rather than a legal aspect because I'm pretty sure there are no laws or legislations about gifting on tiktok. If anything, it would be a parental issue and also up to the parents of said underage users on where money is going and being sent. So, for every gift given or donation made, do you have concrete evidence or where this has all gone? Again, a solicitor or court won't take rumour and third-party information as seriously compared to having correct documentation.
8) Elphaba has copied and mimicked a fictional character and attempts to sing very unpleasantly (I'm being professional) and yes, it's the most unfortunate thing to ever experience but there are hundreds of thousands of individuals who copy or are inspired by a brand and use it as entertainment purposes. Is it unfair that some people destroy nice things? Of course it is, but wicked as a company have expressed that they are not affiliated with Elphaba in any shape or form. If they were to legally silence Elphaba, then they would need to do this for thousands of real entertainers, and it wouldn't be cost effective. It's a simple reality.
9) Elphaba has lied on numerous occasions over the years of fictitious ailments, diagnoses, and medical issues in what we perceive to be an attempt to manipulate viewers and to also gain attention. No matter how morally wrong this is, it isn't illegal. In no way is that defendable because these are very real illnesses, diagnoses, and medical issues that people battle every day and face enough stigma with as it is. Again, immoral, but not illegal.
10) Yes, Elphaba claimed she was going to send monetary donations and physical donations to organisations and charities and never did so. This would be actually breaking a law as it's theft through deception, similar to claiming donations are for transitioning and not being used on such. But again, it would have to be a victim who donated or gave willingly for this to be investigated and taken seriously. And it's most unfortunate that police services all over the UK are abused, they are overrun with very real crimes where people are causing great physical harm to others, but I'm not going to explain that route for now since you'll get the just of it. In the grand scheme of things, not buying a few toys is hardly the crime of the century. In the future, awareness about these incidents, again with proof, is what's needed to expose the pattern of behaviour or the good old modus operandi.
11) Elphaba has accused multiple people over the years of very serious crimes and it brings such heartache to survivors and victims alike, even people who don't have personal experience find it disgusting and in poor taste given the instances and context. She has accused numerous individuals in the last three years of sexual assault in a variety of circumstances, claiming that she has received hate crime assaults and attacks and all the rest of her victim complex routine. Unless victims who she has accused of these incidents have complained, what do you expect the authorities to do about it? The police would advise to block, avoid, and not watch the live streams or content. Very rarely, if ever, the authorities won't hold men or women who are lying about these incidents accountable for several reasons. Yes, she habitually accuses innocent people of these horrendous, heinous crimes, but the authorities are more limited than they should be.
12) Elphaba has threatened physical violence on numerous occasions over the tiktok platform, threatening to kill, cause harm, and even wave a kitchen knife in threatening behaviour. Again, if this has been reported to the police by the victims, then surely it's a discussion between the victims (if they even pursued it) with the police and the crown office. Yes, disgusting behaviour, and we all say and do things in our daily lives that we aren't proud of, yet I wouldn't expect the police to be called at every opportunity if we said and did something wrong, whether it be in heartache or anger.
13) Elphaba's misogynistic views towards women on the app are very apparent, and it's unpleasant to watch and witness. It is obvious that she only feeds into a toxic tit for tat relationship with other women, ones who wish to hold her accountable. She had made wild accusations and has added the proverbial arms and legs to the stories that she gives out, but some of these people who she targets and responds to are also fellow creators who mostly use her as their content. If you're going to be on a public domain platform and point out someone's wrongs and wrong behaviour, then surely you have to expect some sort of response, whether it be positive or negative. Again, this is in no way defending Elphaba on what she has said or called people, but it isn't as one-sided as it's getting made out to be. People make it personal, then complain when it becomes personal. Again, the authorities have better things to do than deal with squabbling women on an app.
14) Yes, we all know that Chelsea Lee Art and Evil Queen have broken the guidelines on multiple occasions for financial gain, but again, this is tiktok policy and guidelines, not law.
15) Any public platform where there is money to be made will always be abused, is it right? Of course not, but what can we do to change it? Remove gifts. tiktok won't allow that because of what it earns, and then the next step would be to dispute the agencies that "protect" said problematic creators. Shouldn't change start happening from the inside?
As I've said, I've read your report and your case study numerous times, and I've been left feeling depleted and expecting more from all the big promises. Your case study, if anything only shows narcasstic delusions of grandeur and self importance and all you've reinforced is that Elphaba has problematic behaviours, but again people don't need to watch the car crash drama or even get involved. A lot of your points are publicly valid. However, it isn't up to the public to decide what is illegal conduct or which crimes being committed are. I'm more than sure that the general public would appreciate a dangerous individual such as a domestic abuser, a rapist, a murder, a human trafficking organised crime group or pedophiles and many others who create serious victim based crimes, were removed from our society and policing budgets and time wasn't being wasted on problematic tiktok creators and focused on the serious issues.
While I understand that many agree that this behaviour and actions isn't acceptable, but people also have the option to remove themselves from viewing such material and then to also monitor which material their children are viewing.