So I started new meds and a new job back in October and have gained a shit ton of weight. Like I have never been so big in my life and I hate it.
I’ve mostly been working nights lately and I feel like my mental health was doing a lot worse. But the past week I’ve been walking my dog more and doing more day shifts and I’ve lost a bit of weight! Anyway! I’m just proud of myself
I have a job interview tomorrow, which although it’s a very similar job, I’ll be working 8 hours a day instead of 12. So I’m hoping that this will help both my mental health and weight loss! I’m also taking some summer classes to try and improve my chances in grad school. I sometimes get really discouraged, but idk today I just am feeling hopeful!

I kindly request your understanding if my writing is not at its peak in this instance.
I have subscribed to Airtel Black (a combination of fiber and postpaid services), which has unfortunately been experiencing broadband downtime since the 11th of May, resulting in over five days of interrupted service. I had initially opted for this service in February 2024, after a disappointing experience with Jio, which included four days of service outage without any compensation. I had hoped that switching to Airtel would spare me the chaos often associated with dealing with Internet Service Providers’ field engineers.
Regrettably, Airtel’s service also faltered, and I found myself once again in the all-too-familiar cycle of chasing after the ISP. My attempts to resolve the issue have been largely fruitless !!!
My experience so far :-

• I reached out to Airtel Black’s customer care, only to be met with unhelpful responses. Supervisors would disconnect calls after an hour of empty assurances and requests for 24 hours to escalate the issue
• Email started with 121 but then i added -

[ceo.india@airtel.com](mailto:ceo.india@airtel.com),
[airtel.dotcomplaints@airtel.com](mailto:airtel.dotcomplaints@airtel.com),
Net net@airtel.com
[cc:ir@bharti.in](mailto:cc:ir@bharti.in),
121 121@airtel.com,
appellate andhra appellate.andhra@in.airtel.com,
[ombudsperson@bharti.in](mailto:ombudsperson@bharti.in),
[compliance.officer@bharti.in](mailto:compliance.officer@bharti.in),
[cfo.india@airtel.com](mailto:cfo.india@airtel.com),
appellate southabts appellate.southabts@in.airtel.com

• The field engineers, who are not supposed to defer a call or delay a visit without informing the customer, appear to have discovered a loophole that allowed them to postpone their visit three times.
• Every escalation team I interacted with offered the same tired excuses and narratives.

Now ,
Is there someone from HYD who handles field engineers that can help me get this sorted out OR any advice on who should one engage for escalations . If you had an experience and managed to get your issue rectified.
Thank you for reading this useless rant as well as any suggestions you may have.

How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III

I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.
There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.

I'm organizing a Silent Disco at Grange Park on May 25 at 4 PM!
If you don't know a silent disco is a dance party where participants download a 1.5 hour long mp3 track, get together with headphones, press play at the same time and dance! It's a great way to have fun in a low stress environment and get endorphins flowing through dance.
Tickets are FREE and you can find all the info and tickets at: The Instagram page @silentdiscosquadto The Eventbrite https://www.eventbrite.com/e/may-toronto-silent-disco-tickets-892540521727
Hope to see you there!

How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III

I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.
There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.

I just really need to get this out somewhere. It’s like an every day occurrence that something crazy happens in my life and this sub has been so helpful to document what is happening.
Last night my BPD husband was splitting. He told me he didn’t want to talk anymore so I left him alone. It was a tense couple of hours with us arguing. A lot of accusations, my way and name-calling. Basically he split me black and once I realize there was nothing I could do, but leave him alone that’s what happened. I went to bed crying from loneliness.
He wakes up this morning and all chipper says ‘good morning!’ It’s obviously very confusing that he flip-flops so easily. So I said to him “I’m confused that you want to talk to me now. You’re saying good morning but last night you told me to leave you alone and you don’t wanna talk to me.”
This set him off again. Then it turned into Him saying that I shouldn’t be able to ask those questions because they are accusing him of being wrong and implying that he is wrong and my tone is wrong in the way I asked it and that by me even asking that question it’s inappropriate. I just repeated myself and said, I am allowed to ask questions in a healthy relationship. He then escalated and said that I’m wrong for asking questions. It’s the way I’m asking the question. I really need to look at my behavior and I am completely inappropriate. I again calmly repeated, I am allowed to ask questions in a healthy relationship. He told me that he doesn’t know where I got that idea. It must be my upbringing that has allowed me to think that questioning all the time is appropriate because it’s not and it’s actually just me questioning him as a way to abuse him.
Do you think he actually believes the bullshit that comes out of his mouth? Like does he actually think that me asking a question in a pretty level voice is all of the things he accused me of?
It’s so draining to constantly stay calm under this pressure. I am constantly being attacked and then accused of attacking him. He is putting me down and then accuses me of putting him down. This goes on and on and on day after day. It’s true crazy making. And the worst part is, I cannot get him to snap out of it, and he will literally deny things he said five seconds before. He will insult me, I will tell him that he insulted me, and he will not even acknowledge it. He will just flip it back around on me and say you insulted me. When I repeat what he said to insult me, he will say I didn’t say that. I feel like I am actually losing my mind. I feel like I live in hell with a crazy person who is lost complete touch of reality and me trying to point out there thinking patterns and inconsistent behavior makes me abusive in his mind. 🤯
I feel like the only thing he wants is constant positive attention despite bad behavior. I am his wife, not a mother to a two-year-old. He is a grown man and it’s very difficult to give him constant positive attention as we are both adults running a household and sometimes he makes me feel uncomfortable and I have to speak up about it. But to him that is the ultimate sin.
Is there any getting through to a pe mason like this? I feel like the only thing he wants is constant positive attention despite bad behavior. I am his wife, not a mother to a two-year-old. He is a grown man and it’s very difficult to give him constant positive attention as we are both adults running a household and sometimes he makes me feel uncomfortable and I have to speak up about it. But to him that is the ultimate sin.
I can’t leave. I wish I could I would be running out the damn door but I’m stuck in a life with this person for a little bit and I just don’t fucking get it. After eight years this is our our conversations. You’d think they get better but they don’t. Every day he behaves this way. On top of it if I make a comment to him like ‘I hope you feel better’ - which I did this morning after he kept telling me how awful I was for asking a question, he then uses that as a way to try to get back at me later. So for instance, he storms out on me in the middle of a conversation and says ‘hope you feel better’ in a sarcastic tone. It’s like every single thing is a weapon. Why? What the fuck is happening?

Are these astronomical prices the norm here??
I’m based on Long Island, NY and I expected to pay about $20k for my venue but it seems I’m off by about a whole $10k! 135 guest minimum and 235 a person!
I toured this gorgeous Gatsby era mansion right on the water, met the owner, and fell in love. I honestly wouldn’t have to do much in terms of decor. They even offer floral centerpieces that are included so I’ll save a couple grand there. There’s an onsite coordinator and bridal attendant. It also comes with a PACKED menu and cocktail hour — but I’m still reeling at the price.
They mentioned that there are no additional fees (except the ceremony fee of almost $2k), just sales tax.
NY Planners please chime in! How much did your venue cost?
Also what questions do you wish you’d asked ahead of time before booking your venue?

Was working on a word document on my macbook for a few hours today when I accidentally command Q'd. I had previously saved the document but the bulk of its contents were added after the last manual save file, which I still have. I have checked my word preferences, and it turns out I have AutoRecovery on, set to save a file every 10 minutes. But, of course, for whatever reason, this did not happen once. Is there any hope of recovering the file?

How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III

I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.
There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.

How to win puppy keep on shein without buying anything:
*Approx. 95,000g of puppy food required to fill your heart meter 100% or about 3,200g/day. (9,500x feeding 100g puppy food.)
*Daily freebies: 3,300g puppy food/ day from clicking all the freebies on average. (100g clicking exit ”active reward”, 300g “tomorrow reward”, between 200-684g “sign-in reward”(300g/day average), 200g browsing reward, 400g “mealtime reward” every 3 hr 4x/day between 9am-7pm PST, 150g “daily free food”+ “2x reward for share”, 1450g “feed reward” 8x/day every 3-6 times you feed your puppy receive 150-200g, and 400g for “food generator reward.”)
*Daily Invitation rewards:5750g/day total possible. 150g/ day for 3/3 x50g “existing app users”, 2000g/ day 10/10 x200g “new puppy keep users”, 1500g/day 3/3 x500g “new app users”,(extra 1800g, 600g x3 when they choose their “free item” and feed their puppy 3x.) and 300g /day 10/10 x30g “friend feed reward.”
*Trading invitation codes/links: Various Facebook groups dedicated to trading shein app game links/codes dedicated specifically to puppy keep.
*Conclusion: If your not using multiples devises to trade invitation link clicks it will take almost all 30 days to complete puppy keep only using the free puppy food. About same as daily check-in on shein takes to collect $10 free credit which is great for investing a few minutes to play every few hours during the day.
[If Anyone is interested I can share screenshots of my own games to show how I came up with the required daily feedings etc. or any other specific questions feel free to ask or if anything should add to make a better guide I’ll be sure to update it. Thanks hope this helps you get something you might have wanted off shein.]

I've been playing Sky a few months now, and I have a decently new phone about a year old (Galaxy A54)...
Up until extremely recently, I've never had overheating issues unless I cranked up the graphics to maximum - I could play on standard graphics with no issues and even save some battery life going low resolution (which is honestly just fewer FPS, but whatevs) - I literally played hours of Sky on my phone with zero hardware issues.
...with this most recent update, I've noticed my phone begins heating up immediately - regardless of graphics level... It's gotten to the point where 5 minutes of playing Sky is making my phone hot to the touch, and this is with minimum graphics, no Bluetooth, and sound silenced... 😶
Has anyone else had problems with overheating recently too?? To reiterate: I've been playing Sky for months with zero hardware issues, but now simply turning om Sky makes my phone overheat...
Is there maybe an error in optimization from the most recent update on Sky for Android users?? Has there been extra processes added to Sky making my phone overwork itself?? Is this simply bad timing and it's an issue my phone just recently started having with Sky?? 🤔
Other mobile players (specifically Android), I'd love to hear your experiences and the devices you are using... if it's something on my end, I'd like to be able to play Sky again for longer than 10 minutes... 🤕

I'm finding myself running out of time on verbal. I'm using the GregMat dedicated reading strategies and they are helping, but I'm finding that the thought process of rephrasing without repeating sentence by sentence OR just summarizing the sentence (since I'm not fully developed on those skills yet) are taking too long. Does anyone have any tips on how to not run out of time? I ended up guessing frantically and randomly on a few. I did expose myself to all, but to not spend too much time on one question I kept moving on those I couldn't answer right away.
The good news is, I'm doing OK/at/near the absolute minimum with this problem. I'm hoping that once this is fixed I can get even higher. Bad news: I've technically taken the PowerPrep exams before (6-8 weeks ago), and I reset my Mentor Course study pack and did all the vocab on those before the exams (so I remember too much most of the vocab).

Why
I relied on my mom as a kid. I always thought I could trust her, but she had unaddressed mental health issues that caused her a lot of pain. She didn't seem interested in getting help and instead turned to drugs and unhealthy relationships. When my sister and I were born, she isolated us from others. My mom hid her inner struggles and pretended to be perfect, but I knew deep down there were cracks in her facade.
I noticed people in my life trying to help my sister and me. However, any efforts were ultimately rejected or twisted by my mom. As her early-onset dementia progressed, her mask began to slip. Her unaddressed desires took control, manifesting as manic episodes. When my sister left to get married at 25, I was alone. It was a difficult decision, but understandable. Over the next four years, my mom's mental state deteriorated significantly. Her manic episodes became severe, escalating from yelling and screaming to pushing and even physical attacks.
One day, I reached my breaking point. I confided in my counselor, and CPS became involved. My mom, with her deteriorating mental state, saw it as a betrayal. In her mind, anyone who wasn't with her was against her. I became the enemy for exposing the truth. To silence me, she locked me in a hotel room for a week with no food or way out. The fear and confusion were overwhelming during those seven days.
The question haunted me: "Why is she doing this to me?" After seven days of fear and confusion in the hotel, I was finally released. But the nightmare wasn't over. My mom fabricated a story that I was suicidal and had me committed to a hospital, supposedly to disprove any accusations I might make. For four grueling months, I was shuttled in and out of these facilities. Thankfully, my sanity prevailed – they couldn't keep me there. However, my mom's twisted narrative persisted. Every time I tried to prove my side of the story, it felt like a losing battle.
Despite being innocent of the accusations, I held onto the hope of forgiveness and reconciliation. After all, she was my mom, and I had no other family. But her actions only worsened. The lies became more elaborate and malicious, all attempts to deflect blame for her own mistakes. Deep down, I yearned for a functional relationship, but her manipulative behavior reached a new low. This latest betrayal made me question my very existence. It was a horrible realization: the person I was trying to connect with was determined to paint me as the villain.
The situation escalated to the point where I found myself homeless for two weeks in the cold. Wracked with confusion, I kept asking myself, "Why? Why me?" Despite my efforts to do the right thing, everything felt broken. Eventually, I returned home, desperate for any semblance of maternal connection. My mom's sudden shift to a seemingly caring demeanor felt fake, but I clung to it, yearning for the bond I never had. Yet, the dysfunction persisted. On December 31st, 2023, she brought home a dying Chihuahua for Christmas. Despite being forbidden from interacting with the dog, I ended up cleaning and taking care of it all night. It was a bizarre situation – she was neglecting a dying animal while briefly showing me a kindness that felt hollow. This incident, two days after a birthday with no acknowledgment, was the final straw. When she asked if I wanted anything, I simply requested cake. Her response, "You don't deserve a cake...you keep contacting CPS," confirmed my suspicions. Disillusioned and frustrated, I retreated to my room to regain composure.
Terror surged through me as I heard her screams erupt like thunder. My heart pounded in my chest. Recognizing the signs of another manic episode, I retreated to my room, fearing another attack. She bellowed for my phone, but I clutched it tightly, my only lifeline if things escalated. The yelling intensified into a terrifying storm. With a sickening crash, she barreled into my door, shattering the already weakened frame – a physical manifestation of our fractured relationship. Screws littered the floor as she loomed closer, threats spewing from her lips. Her intent was clear: to take my phone and silence me.
: Exhausted from enduring abuse, I refused to relinquish my phone. When she lunged, attempting a bite on my shoulder, I stood firm. No more questions, just the will to take control. Frustrated, she retreated. The assault left me shaken, but resolute. With no lock due to prior incidents, I braced myself against the broken door. Ten agonizing minutes crawled by as she relentlessly pushed against it, the screws groaning in protest. Finally, the weakened frame gave way, snapping against her leg. A torrent of screams and curses erupted from the other side.
She descended into further chaos, hurling insults and comparing me to my dad, the source of our family's pain. But I was done. Looking her in the eye, I said, "I'm sorry you're hurting, you hurt yourself You hurt me. I don't feel safe, and I need to leave." With that, I grabbed my belongings and fled. Reaching my sister, I explained the situation and tearfully said goodbye to friends, fearing my mom's manipulations. My sister urged me to call the police, but I worried about their response to a mental health crisis. Determined to get help, I decided to call my best friend, possibly for the last time. I recounted the ordeal, expressing my gratitude for his friendship despite past mistakes.
Sirens wailed in the distance, then abruptly stopped. Officers emerged and questioned me. Reliving the night's events, I desperately hoped for help. However, to my utter confusion, they asked me to put down my belongings and handcuffed me. My rights were recited again, but betrayal and confusion clouded my understanding. Weren't they there to help? Instead, I found myself committed to another hospital for a month, forced to spend a lonely New Year's Day within its sterile walls.
Fueled by a burning desire to prove my innocence, I tirelessly pleaded my case. It felt surreal – I, the victim, was treated with suspicion. The worst part? The complete lack of control. Yet, I fought for what was right. The haunting question, "Why?" echoed in my head. Finally, my sister intervened, offering a safe haven. But my mom, consumed by her animosity, refused. Despite the fear, returning home seemed like the only option. It was a return to a broken reality – the same issues, different day. My resolve to escape solidified. I focused on getting emancipated, a job, anything that granted me independence. This defiance enraged her; she craved control, but I was done. The following two weeks were a tense stand-off...
My mom's manipulative tactics escalated. She made false police reports and withheld essential documents like my Social Security card to control me. Even simple requests for my Chromebook charger for schoolwork turned into arguments. Finally, during one episode, she stole the charger and called the police with fabricated stories. This time, the officer recognized her erratic behavior and my truthful testimony. I spent a brief stay in the hospital where they finally believed me. Released into my mom's care, I braced for another fight. Shockingly, she drove me to a police station, claiming I attacked her. But with the officer and my sister on speakerphone, the truth prevailed. They recognized her deteriorating mental state. The agonizing car ride became a desperate plea – why was she hurting herself and our family? Exhausted but resolute, I ended up at a friend's house for the night, then entered foster care the next day. Finding a welcoming home felt like a cruel twist of fate. Witnessing a healthy family dynamic at the ice rink only amplified my pain. My sister's husband arrived, offering a lifeline – a chance to escape the cycle of abuse. The decision was mine: get in the car or stay. As I walked to my friend's house, a healthy family dinner unfolded before me, a stark contrast to my reality. Finally, I confided in them about my situation. With their support and a secret code from my sister, I embarked on a daring escape. Two long, desert hours under the stars, navigating unfamiliar territory, led me to the school – my only beacon of hope. Exhausted and cold, I stumbled upon my brother-in-law, car just as he was about to leave. His familiar voice offered escape – "Get in if you want to change your life." With trembling hands, I climbed in, ready to embrace a new beginning
Reiners response
Despite enduring unimaginable abuse, I never relinquished hope. The kindness of strangers became my lifeline, reminding me that humanity persists even in the darkest of times. Through every hardship, I held onto the belief that doing the right thing matters. This journey has been a testament to the power of letting go, even when it means letting go of family. It's a painful truth, but sometimes letting go is the bravest and healthiest choice we can make to move forward. Witnessing firsthand the destructive power of abuse, trauma, and mental illness, I came to a difficult realization. As much as I hated her actions, I knew they stemmed from her illness. Hate breeds only hate, and I refused to become the monster she was battling within. The past can't define you. It's a heavy weight, but you don't have to carry it forever. All you can do is keep moving forward, one step at a time. Be the person you want to be, the person others see the potential in you to be. The future holds possibilities you can't even imagine yet. Embrace the journey, and never lose sight of the strength and hope you've discovered within yourself.

Hello,
Looking for year round private hunt club near Summerville up to 2 hours away. Would like to have turkey, hog, and deer (maybe a catfish pond) but will take deer at a minimum.
Thanks!

Hello,
Looking for year round private hunt club near Summerville up to 2 hours away. Would like to have turkey, hog, and deer (maybe a catfish pond) but will take deer at a minimum.
Thanks!

Hey you! Yes you, the one reading this message. I hope you like this message and here is a bit of information about me:
Who the hell I am?

• Healthcare assistant for learning dissabilities, my sleep schedule is variable, my work shifts are from 7 to 12 hours, either day or night.
• Future Graphic Designer (In a long future), I love it and I'm taking it as hobby right now. In love with art and every day learning a little more about it.
• Music lover. I listen to almost any genre. I am ready to find the music that is missing in my life and that I want to play every day.
• I'm a bit at a gamer, but I'm not obsessed with it. Lately I'm mostly playing on Nintendo Switch
• I love movies, we can talk about many films. My favorite movies are The Godfather (both the first and the second one), Interestellar, The Green Knight, Grand Hotel Budapest, Before Sunrise and Princess Mononoke ( I have more haha)
• My family says I'm special. I don't know if they say it in a good way or a bad way, but I'm happy with it.
• I Iove reading, it allows me to experience and live many different lives. My favorite book is Name of the Wind.
• Extension of the previous point: Basically I read any book that catches me interest. (Fantasy, fiction, poetry, etc.)
• I love learning new things, exploring new ideas and figuring out how everything works in detail.
• I'm learning to draw (Right now I really suck) and taking up writing again.
• Future writer of a book that I don't even know what it will be about, maybe written in prose? maybe in verse?
• I'm a bit introvert, but once I feel confidence, you won't even notice it.
• I don't mind exchanging pictures if we both want to do it.
• If you wish I can make a powerpoint presentation about me. I do not promise that it will be serious

Have you decided to talk to me yet? Maybe these opinions will help you
He is a really handsome boy - My grandmother
My brother is special and crazy, don't talk to him. - My brother
I want to make him mine, break up after a few months and write a song about him. – Taylor Swift
I wanted him as my padawan, but they imposed Anakin Skywalker on me and you know how it ended. - Obi Wan Kenobi
He was going to be the model I used for my sculpture David, but he's neither as handsome nor as strong. - Michelangelo
I was about to select him to play Sebastian in La La Land, but he can't sing well or play the piano, Emma Stone preferred him to Ryan Gosling. - Damien Chazelle (La la land's Director)
I turned down Ted Mosby for so many years because I waited for him, he never came and in the end I had to stay with Mosby. - Robin Scherbatsky
I'd like to see him die in one of my movies - Quentin Tarantino
He has a good musical taste and at least he does not put the music to full volume - My neighbor
If you think we can get along, do not hesitate to send me a message or a chat invitation, you are pretty welcome. The chatting app that I use most now is Discord, but I can use any other app if you prefer or just chat on reddit. Please include some information about yourself in your message. If you're not sure how to break the ice, ~throw a iceberg at me~ include an interesting question you've been thinking about lately, a song you love or any interesting thing, if you can't think about a question, this is my question for you, What would be the last song you would listen to if you knew today was your last day on earth?

Hey guys. Currently around 1200 miles away from home on a summer work trip until September. I'm a casual player wanting to keep up what little skill I have until I get back home, and I'd like to reward myself for working all these 12 hour shifts with a new horn. I have a King 602 cornet from the mid '70s at home that plays great, but is cosmetically in horrid shape. I hope to get it overhauled and refinished in satin lacquer or raw brass in the far future.
Anyways, I want something new and good quality to get me by without breaking the bank. My budget is around $500. I know that there's a lot of amazing used student horns for that price, and I have considered it, but I'd really like something I can start new with and have the finish show my own playing journey over time. I looked around at all the mass produced junk stencil horns and thought that I may just have to get a used student horn, but then I stumbled upon Austin Custom Brass.
They have some student horns and pocket trumpets that fit within my budget and they seem to be well regarded in terms of their quality and customer service. Does anyone have experience with them? If so, what are the benefits and drawbacks of their low cost models? Thanks!

I'm officially 6 weeks post op, Left Total Hip replacement, April 2, 2024. 49yo female- Fell on ice 2 years ago and severed the nerve to my hip. Fastforward 2 years and I am now recovering from Left THR- postterior. I had my 6 week appointment with my surgeon yesterday and was told that I am ahead of schedule on my recovery! The BESTEST BESTEST advice that I was given by a friend before surgery was to start water aerobics as soon as I was able. That is exactly what I did! At 4 weeks, my inscison was closed and good to go. At this point, I had a lot of damage to my left upper leg muscles prior to the surgery. After the surgery, those upper thigh muscles were not wanting to fire again, at all. My adductor pain was actually the worst pain that I was experiencing at that point. I signed up for the YMCA and started water aerobics that Monday at week 4. I would do the 2 basic level aerobic classes, back to back. As soon as I got in the pool on that first day, the muscles that had not been working immediatly started firing again! It was amazing! Before the class and in between classes, I would get in the pool and just walk laps. I would do this on MWF's and would spend a total of 2.5 hours in the pool on those days. I also went to land physical therapy 3x a week, and have done this since my surgury. Once I started seeing the benefits of the pool, I started using my friends pool on the days that they didn't offer the aerobics and incorporated what I was doing at aerobics in their pool. I would also just walk/trot laps in the shallow end. My limp was mostly gone by 5 weeks. By the end of my 5th week, I was putting in about 10/12 hours in the pools a week. It was a complete game changer for me. My surgeon and physical therapists have been amazed! I went back to work this week, just under the start of week 6. I am an elementary special education teacher and on my feet a large part of my day. I have been tired in the evenings, but not fatigued! I haven't been in the pool this week and I can tell the difference, for sure! I am still doing my land PT 3x a week and will hopefully be back in the pool this weekend. Unfortunatly, our YMCA only offers morning water aerobic classes. But, if this is something that you are able to do in your community, I HIGHLY recommend it! Game changer!!!! Good luck!!!

I tried to look up previous posts so I’m not repeating the same questions, but it’s hard to find the answers to all my questions together under similar circumstances so I apologize in advance.
I was planning for a solo trip for 3 days, 4 nights so I could REALLY take my time, especially since I’m visiting in June and I know summer months can get crazy. Well, our crawl space just flooded with water with all the rain we’ve gotten (💸) and so now I’m trying to see if I can still go while being super budget conscious- make it just a day trip.

1. Is one day TRULY enough to see both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley? Some blogs I’ve read say you can do it in 6-8 hours, some say you need at least 2 days. I wonder if this is dependent on if you’re traveling with small kids/a big group? When I’m on my own, I move fairly quickly. (I do know there are a lot of great things in Universal besides HP, but that’s my priority. I’ll plan a bigger trip in a few years when the new park has opened and has time for the crowds to settle a bit, and hopefully money isn’t so tight.)
   
2. Opinions on single rider lines vs express passes? I’ve read that the single rider lines are hit or miss with some, esp Hagrid’s. I also read that in joining the single rider lines, you miss a lot of the views/details, like Gringotts and such? Is this true, and do you miss the same things with an express pass? I wanna see it all and feel immersed, but I don’t want to feel rushed because I spent 2 hours in a line.
   
3. How crowded does it normally get during the early admission hour? I’m debating spending a little extra to stay at Dockside Inn to get that extra time, but if it’s generally still pretty crowded it may be better to just save the money. I was thinking that early admission time would be the best to get on the popular rides.
   
4. What would your general itinerary/recommendations be? I’ve seen things like suggesting the Hippogriff ride at night to see Hogwarts lit up and to opt for Ollivander’s in Hogsmeade for the wand-choosing ceremony.
   
5. This a super random question, and one I know is really hard to answer because the crowd is different every single day. But given I’m going in June, I have a 🏳️‍🌈 HP shirt (it says “no one should live in a closet”)….. what is the general opinion? Will it be appreciated, or will I find myself with a lot of stares/comments?
   

Feel free to add any other tips/secrets! Thanks so much.

I'm not quitting, I love this game and will return. But I have 1000+ hours and am still hard stuck at B. So I think it's time to play one of the other mech games I own. (For the first time.) Or should I look at emulating older AC titles?
Mech games I own but haven't played: Mech Warrior Legends (might get MW5) Battletech Mechabellum Daemon X Machina Hawken Reborn (heard a lot of bad things) Gundam Breaker (or any Gundam games?) Also who's excited for "Mecha BREAK"?
If there are any other great Mecha games I haven't tried yet feel free to enlighten me. Hope y'all have a great Thursday!
I know I should make up my own mind but I've been not doing that for weeks so what's everyone's favorites?

I'm 22 years old and currently working as an electrician in industrial automation, from build a panels to electrical installation. I had the opportunity to program something, let's say a small project with help and it got me very excited. Currently considering a career as a PLC programmer.
I'd like to ask a few questions about what the job entails

1. How do you guys get around? Are you maybe 50% of your working hours out of the office?
2. How many years does it take to become a good programmer?
3. Do you work independently on assignments or do you have colleagues or a plc team?
4. And why did you choose this job?

Thank you, I'm hoping I can create this topic in this subreddit