My name is Josh and like the title says I know what music or specific kind of energy I want my music to have which is the FooFighters and Raue. However when I pick up my guitar pumped up, happy,excited to make that feel good music, I can’t. I feel like there’s something in the way(nirvana lol) but I feel like there’s a wall blocking me, I wouldn’t call it writers block unless it is but I can’t figure out why this is happening.

So we came home to our Rokus randomly not connecting despite saying connected on the Home Screen. All results on google after doing all the typical solutions suggested we hard reset the router. I did a hard reset, changed it back to its old name and password but unless we’re plugged in via Ethernet the wifi is essentially unusable. Prior to the error with the Rokus all other devices were working great. After the reset however it went to crap.
I tried to check my network settings, everything seems normal. I even enabled the 2.4 GHz/5 GHz/6 GHz. We have Verizon, I haven’t gotten a chance to call but they usually just do the typical “turn it off/turn it on” solution which we’ve done 6 times. The router model is (CR1000A)
Any advise would be amazing. We don’t have cable so we can’t even watch TV.

My friend (f 27) just called me and told me she got caught with some items outside a big company store by a undercover security guy. He knew she stashed the stuff under a bag and asked for a specific bag. She was nervous so she gave him all the stuff that she didn't buy (150$) and kept the stuff she did buy with receipt. She gave him a fake name and the guy just dialed the police but gave her the option to walk away. He didn't follow heask for ID and her car was parked far away. How likely is the police to knock on her door tonight?

for context , last week another girl across the class sits next to one boy, (I don’t rlly know him and I don’t talk to him. he’s the quiet type) he also doesn’t speak English well.
i have 2 classes with him and he sits across from me in both classes.
she told me while we were transitioning classes last Tuesday that he was taking pictures and videos of me, zooming in on my legs and feet. she said that he was saving the photos on his snap and also to his gallery on albums. she told me that she briefly saw a bunch of recent pics of me and other girls on albums. some named “hot leggings” “camel” “tall” “cross legs” * From what she told me *
over the next few days I’ve been kinda on edge and paying more attention.
well, on Thursday I caught him aiming his camera at me in the other class.
i got up to act like I was going to ask the teacher a question and as I started walking, he was panning his camera as if he was following me.
i confronted him in front of everyone by asking “why are you filming me” out loud and he seemed to panic and he was fumbling on his phone and he said “I’m not”
i walked to him and i asked him directly to show me his open tabs he was looking at (he was on his Home Screen) and he refused and asked “why”.
i then told my teacher that he was recording me and he kept refusing. i was getting rlly upset and demanding him and pretty much yelled at him to show me his snap memories and his gallery. so she told me to go in the hallway bc I was “irate” (leaving him behind) and spoke to us one by one.
from what i heard during that time he was back on his phone.
to sum it all up, she called the administrator and sent me to the office.
after talking to her and telling them everything they opened a investigation, and interviewed ppl.
long story short, today they said that there’s nothing they can do other than to switch MY CLASSES if my grandparents want since they said that they can’t prove it. she said that he showed his gallery and they found nothing.
and they basically said that even if he did take pics, it’s not a crime. they don’t have “probable cause” for a warrant and the school policy allows phones at the “teacher discretion “. at the time he “broke no rules”.
i feel humiliated, scared and unsafe knowing that there’s a creep walking among us AT SCHOOL and there’s no consequences.
i am genuinely freaking out…
is there ANYTHING we can do legally? there has to be something. what if his pictures of me floating around to creeps on the internet?

There are many questions on here about a similar issue;
-Who is the best dynasty analyst?
-What's the best dynasty podcast?
-What's your prediction for X player?
I have found, that when in doubt - Vegas gives the best options. Draft Kings updated today with a bunch of rushing and receiving numbers for the upcoming season.
.
.

Player Name	Rushing Yards
Christian McCaffrey	1150
Saquon Barkey	1125
Josh Jacobs	1000
Derrick Henry	999
Zack Moss	850
DAndre Swift	850
Tony Pollard	800
Jonathon Brooks	775
Blake Corum	500
Trey Benson	500
Jayden Daniels	500
MarShawn Lloyd	450

.
And receiving
.

Player Name	Receiving Yards
Tyreek Hill	1375
CeeDee Lamb	1350
JaMarr Chase	1300
AJ Brown	1300
Justin Jefferson	1275
AmonRa StBrown	1250
Puka Nacua	1200
Garret Wilson	1200
Mike Evans	1125
Michael Pittman	1050
Devonta Smith	1050
MHJ	1000
George Pickens	1000
Stefon Diggs	928
Zay Flowers	925
Travis Kelce	900
Malik Nabers	875
Calvin Ridley	875
Diontae Johnson	825
Xavier Worthy	800
Ladd McConkey	775
Brian Thomas Jr	750
Keon Coleman	750
Jerry Jeudy	725
Rome Odunze	700
Brock Bowers	650
Adonai Mitchell	650
Xavier Legette	600
Christian McCaffrey	500

.
.
You can also find more interesting stuff here on DKs site if these odds are your thing.

I will link the video in the comments, as it seems reddit is finicky about including links, up here I will put the video name and channel that uploaded it:

Video Name: Would you like to play?
Youtube Channel: Fayine CC
Here is the video I uploaded as a small child, I remember having this file for this song on my old computer (original file is lost now), but I remembered I uploaded a small slideshow video using the song on Youtube long ago. At the time I thought it was a Boards of Canada song but the few comments state otherwise, (although I know Boards of Canada have a lot of lost albums which I have also dug through and cannot find anything that matches this). I've tried using different audio identifying stuff like Shazam and Soundhound but nothing seems to recognize it or give me a correct answer, only song I found that sounded similar was a song called Umami by Mind Soup but that is because it had similar drumming, and I have since gone through all of Mind Soup's discography and have narrowed it down to not be something from Mind Soup, anyone got any better detective skills than I that could help out?
I am assuming it is something released between the late 90s to mid 2000s, and latest early 2010s, but I feel like it's before then considering I uploaded the video in 2012, and I remember having access to the song as an unnamed file on my PC long before 2012. It was something I pulled off an unlabeled CD mix my sister made when I was younger, I've asked her about it but she doesn't recognize it.

add_filter( 'plugins_loaded', array( 'FootballPoolExtensionRankingTemplate', 'init_extension' ) ); class FootballPoolExtensionRankingTemplate { protected static $items = array( '$50', '$40', '$30' ); protected static $item_counter = 0; public static function init_extension() { // Laat een bericht zien als de Football Pool plugin niet geactiveerd is. if ( ! class_exists( 'Football_Pool' ) ) { add_action( 'admin_notices', array( __CLASS__, 'no_fp_plugin_error' ) ); return; } // Verander de template. add_filter( 'footballpool_ranking_ranking_row_template', array( __CLASS__, 'change_template' ), 10, 2 ); } public static function change_template( $ranking_template, $type ) { $ranking_template = ' %rank%. %user_name% %points% %league_image% '.self::$items['%rank%'].' '; return $ranking_template; } public static function no_fp_plugin_error() { $plugin_data = get_plugin_data( __FILE__ ); $plugin_name = isset( $plugin_data['Name'] ) ? $plugin_data['Name'] : __CLASS__; echo "
De Football Pool plugin is niet geactiveerd. " . "Zorg ervoor dat je het activeert zodat de extensie plugin '{$plugin_name}' nuttig is.
"; } } 

I'm trying to make my first smaller adaptation plugin for a plugin. The code is as followed. The problem i have is that (i assume) change_template is called only once with placeholders and i want to add a variable from the array $items in the last TD of each TR.
I cannot seem to get this to work. The table shows which is good but my values from my array does not. First TR should show $50, next one $40, etc...
Anyone able to help a noob in this? Thanks in advance.

I’ve been working at a mid-sized software company for the last six years. It was my first job out of university, and I’ve enjoyed my time here immensely. I was also fortunate enough to be in line for a promotion when my former department head was about to retire, and the bosses upstairs decided that I would be a fine choice for his old position.
About eight months ago, the company hired a young woman, Shauna. Shauna was hired fresh out of university, just like me.
I didn’t know what it was, but from her very first day at the company, Shauna seemed to truly dislike me. Despite the fact that I outranked her, she never treated me with an ounce of respect, would flat-out ignore me when I talked to her, and would interrupt me when I was talking to someone else.
Well, last Friday, my workplace was having a little after-work gathering. Both Shauna and I tagged along, although I did notice her intentionally sit at the opposite end of the table from me. Well, the conversation turned to how we got hired, and everyone told their story. When it was my turn I started explaining my process, and Shauna interrupted me, sarcastically saying, “step one: be the company owner’s relative.” Everyone was incredibly confused, including me.
I asked Shauna what she meant, and she snappily responded “Yeah, enough from the nepo baby.” I finally figured it out at that point. The company owner and I share the same last name. It’s in the top 20 last names in the USA, so it’s not exactly a huge coincidence, but Shauna assumed that I was hired/promoted because I was his son, nephew, or something.
I loudly out, “Dude, you think I’m related to the owner? Is this why you’ve hated me all this time?” The woman next to her explained that the owner and I aren’t related in any way, shape, or form, and Shauna kind of laughed about it. Then I said, “Yeah, that’s also rich coming from a diversity hire.” Shauna got really upset about this, and 10 minutes later excused herself.
The other women at the table said that I went too far, to which I answered that I was treated like dirt for eight months because she was too stupid to consider the possibility of our identical last names being a coincidence. Shauna called in sick today.
Was I the asshole here?

Had an echocardiogram and I see two numbers under a heading called "Aortic Root - End Diastolic." One number is for "Sinus of Valsalva" and the other is for "Ascending Aorta."
Which number is the one people are usually talking about when they talk about a dilated aorta?

I'm almost finish with my crud using prisma react-hook tanstack , zod and nextjs. I have here problem wherein the Patch function is not working properly.
Before I ask this question, I tried to create a DELETE and GET SINGLE DATA call, it's absolutely working fine, but when I tried to create PATCH it doesn't work properly or either interacts with my api.
EventDetailPage.tsx

export default function EventPageDetail() { const router = useRouter(); const [success, setSuccess] = useState(""); const [isPending, startTransition] = useTransition(); const { id } = useParams(); const { data: eventData, error, isFetching, } = useQuery({ queryKey: ["id", id], queryFn: async () => { const res = await getDataById(id); return res; }, }); const { mutate: updateEvent } = useMutation({ mutationFn: (updateEvent: Events) => { return axios.patch(`/api/edit/${id}`, updateEvent); }, onError: (error) => { console.error(error); }, onSuccess: () => { router.push("/admin/calendar"); router.refresh(); }, }); const form = useForm({ resolver: zodResolver(formSchemaData), }); if (isFetching) { return ( <>   ); } const handleSubmit = () => { form.handleSubmit(updateData)(); }; const updateData = (values: Events) => { updateEvent(values); }; return ( <> 
   (  Title      )} />  Update     ); } 

So what I did here is I get the ID directly using params, and then pre-render the value I get from database and set is a defaultValue
This is my API route.
app/api/edit/[id]/route.ts

interface DataProps { params: { id: string } } export async function PATCH(req: Request, data: DataProps){ try { const {params} = data const body = await req.json() console.log(params.id) await db.appoinmentSchedule.update({ where: { id: params.id }, data: { title: body.title } }) return NextResponse.json({message: "update successs"}, {status: 200}) } catch (error) { return NextResponse.json({message: "could not update"}, {status: 500}) } 

}
In the patch method, I even tried to console.log, but nothing is working.
I tried running it in my postman and it works, so I was guessing it's in front side, also, I'm using zod and react-hook-form, I was wondering if it's affecting the call. Should I tried to put the eventData as a defaultValue in form This is my schema

export cosnt formSchemaData = z.object({ title: z.string().min(2, { message: "title must be at least 2 characters.", }), email: z.string().min(2, { message: "email must be at least 2 characters.", }).email(), fullName: z.string().min(2, { message: "The person who requested the event", }), contactPerson: z.string().min(2, { message: "Contact Person / Event Handler" }), department: z.string().min(2, { message: "department must be at least 2 characters.", }), // set 2 dateOfEvent: z.string(), // Assuming dateOfEvent is a string in the desired format startingTime: z.string().min(2, { message: "staring time must be set.", }), endingTime: z.string().min(2, { message: "ending time must be set.", }), purpose: z.string().min(2,{ message: "Please choose a purpose of the meeting.", }), // Set 3 doesHaveDryRun: z.enum(["yes", "no"], { required_error: "Please select if yes or not" }), dryRunDate: z.string().optional(), dryRunStart: z.string().optional(), dryRunEnd: z.string().optional(), doesHaveTCETAssitance: z.array(z.string()).refine((value) => value.some((item) => item), { message: 'Please select at lease on the option' }), tcetOtherAssitance: z.string().optional(), //set 4 meetingTypeOption: z.enum(['meeting','webinar','hybrid','documentation', 'training']), meetingTypeServices: z.array(z.string()).refine((value) => value.some((item) => item), { message: 'Please select at lease on the option' }), meetingTypeServiceLink: z.string().optional(), cameraSetup: z.string().optional(), }) export type Events = z.infer 

I once had diamond hands, but they turned to soft, crinkly paper years ago. I lost my way in late 2021; bought a house, settled down, married a nice woman with no boyfriends, had a couple kids. DFV became a figment of a life I had once known; an elusive ghost, relegated to my dreams. My brain, once smooth, developed well defined gyri and sulci; I excelled at my job, sold my stonk and bought ETF's and mutual funds, and focused on my 401k (up 6%). I even bought a toyota camry, it's a sensible vehicle.
Then suddenly today I open reddit and see DFV's post, the war cry, the call to arms. I felt my hands harden, my heartbeat quicken, heard a strange man's voice calling my wife's name. I thought, can this be real? Am I ape? IS THIS REAL?
I find myself at a cross roads. Where is this going? Should I get back on the rocket? Is there really diamond under all this paper?

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

How was it for you before diagnose?
I am nearing 40, on waitlist for assessment. Started diagnosis with a couple of places a few years ago after a doctor thought I showed some traits when I came in for depression. I left that referred place because they shamed me for having symptoms of trauma after a break up ("a break up doesn't count as traumatic" ok I don't know, you fucking asked about my recent dreams and panic attacks and I answered!?) and then cancelled/left me with different interns asking the same basic questions the next appointments. I unintentionally left another after they said my blood tests showed too high alcohol consumption, "come back later", and then moving house&job&life in general happened and I called back a year later, which was apparently too late and I had to start from scratch.
My fear is that this is just another thing to rule out as an explanation to why I am as I am? My ex asked me once whilst exasperated about me being horribly depressed (and honestly drinking too much to handle a parent's death and working and trying to be quadlingual and feeling so fucking isolated) "what is so terrible about your life?"
And he was right. I have studied, worked, travelled, moved countries, I have aquired an air of competence and selfconfidence/-sufficiency. I always leave jobs with invitations of returning, never fired (apart from one short internship that I honestly wasn't good at).
I keep thinking "adhd could explain so much" but at the same time "everyone feels this way, this emotion is literally a mainstream meme" and whilst I feel like I am reading my own thoughts sometimes here in this sub, sometimes I'm just like "can't relate at all" and go look in the mirror saying once more to myself "it's just life, you just have to get better at it, there's no solution or explanation or point to anything if you don't try harder".
It feels like there's so much news about "x% higher rate of adhd diagnosed this year, 60% higher than numbers of last two years combined" "adhd meds unavailable due to shortage, x amount people affected" and I'm just here feeling... apologetic? Attentionseeking like I'm asking to join riding the wave?
Also I feel angry. I have 3 close family relatives with a diagnosis of adhd/autism (all incredibly intelligent, creative and productive in society since that's a thing to point out) and if so many people in the world are diagnosed with brains that are set to a different way of doing things efficiently, how the fuck was the norm set to be a robot in the working world when (for alot of people) our bodies and brains perform better with flexibility and time off to recharge? Are these news out to shame anyone that dares have a brain that fits even less into the already tight box of the work week?
Ok this unexpectedly turned into a spiral of me looking into the horrors of capitalism, but yes anyway.
If anyone could bear reading this far, I would appreciate to hear about your journey, especially if you came across the thought about adhd/autism as a grownup.

My current number, which I began using in 2018, USED to be associated with individuals involved in the Young Thug RICO case. The State just publicly broadcast these numbers in court today. I've received 10+ calls from random individuals watching the case. Is this legal?

Need Ferrystones. Have more portcrystals than the game will even allow me to use. Also have an extra eternal wakestone. Let me know if interested. If anyone has extra ferrystones they don’t mind sharing here’s my info, thanks!
Gamertag: xKitsuneOMG Pawns name: Cassian Pawn ID: GL5BZL074XMU (that’s the number zero after the second letter L it’s not a letter O)

If you were opening a daycare run by military stay at home moms and wanted a fun, catchy name what would you call it?

I won’t be using real names as I don’t want anyone to find out at the moment. This is extremely unusual and complicated that I really need an outside perspective.
During my sophomore year of high school, about seven years ago, I met a guy whom we'll call Charlie. At the time, we were both in separate relationships, but we hit it off as great friends despite having very little in common and polar opposite personalities.
Over the next year, we both became single and decided to pursue a romantic relationship. He was my first true love, and we essentially grew into adulthood together. Everything was great, we had LOADS of inside jokes and great trust in each other. Despite our strong bond, we constantly fought over little shit and struggled to see eye to eye. When I got emotional, Charlie would often withdraw, "I'm done talking to you until you stop crying." He was more logical and less emotionally supportive, which created friction between us. Our differing life goals further strained our relationship. I wanted children at a young age and dreamed of moving out of state, whereas Charlie preferred to stay put and have children much later in life.
This led to three breakups over four years, with long periods of separation each time. Despite our differences, we always found our way back to each other as friends, like magnets. But would then re-enter a romantic relationship. Looking back, I realize we were better off as friends, but Charlie always wanted more. I repeatedly entered romantic relationships with him because I feared losing him for good.
Our last breakup was in October 2022, and surprisingly, I felt nothing. I moved on quickly, focusing on my new job and dating other guys. In November 2022, I met my now-fiancé, and our relationship progressed rapidly, resulting in an unexpected pregnancy just 3 months in. I'm genuinely happy with my fiancé and our life we built together and wouldn't change it for the world. However, over the past six months, thoughts of Charlie have consumed me. I dream about him every night, but these dreams are not romantic—they simply involve us talking, as if no time has passed at all. This has significantly impacted my mental state, and I'm unsure how to move forward.
I don’t miss Charlie romantically, we were not compatible on that level. What I miss deeply is our bond, our inside jokes, and simply talking to him as a friend. I am confused as I was completely fine for over a year and now suddenly it feels like a heavy weight on my chest. I’m constantly on the verge of tears, grieving Charlie as if he died. I want to reach out to him, to know how he's doing, whether he got his dream job, but I hesitate because I fear Charlie may resent me for moving on so quickly. I also don’t want to disrespect my fiancé and our relationship.
This is consuming me, and I can’t tell anyone I know because they will misunderstand my feelings. How do I cope? How can I get over this lost friendship and this person I will probably never talk to or see again? I’ve never had a bond like me and him had. Charlie was my platonic soulmate and he’s now forever gone. It’s breaking my heart. I desperately need help.

LIBRA ZODIAC PREDICTIONS MAY 2024

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