INT. ROADSIDE - DAY
Exhausted, Mark drags his feet along the dusty roadside under the harsh sun. His face, streaked with sweat. He pauses, gasping for breath, and leans against a faded road sign: "WELCOME TO PINE BARRENS, NEW JERSEY."
Gathering his strength, he trudges onward. Up ahead, salvation — a lonely rental car glistens under the sun as Mark approaches the rental car, he spots CASSIE BROWN(25), a picture of weariness, her eyes shut, using a magazine to fan herself in the stifling heat. With a sudden pound on the window, Mark startles her awake
CASSIE
(shocked)
What the hell?
MARK
Get out here.
Mark storms to the trunk of the car, dropping a heavy jack with a clunk. He crouches to inspect the damage—a mangled wheel that speaks of recent troubles. Cassie, catching her breath, joins him.
MARK You completely fucked this wheel up.
CASSIE
It’s not my fault.
MARK
Yeah?
CASSIE
Yeah.
MARK
(sarcastic)
Alright, whose fault is it then? ‘Cause I sure as hell wasn’t driving. And God definitely wasn’t behind the wheel, because if he was, we’d probably be riding on fucking clouds instead of sitting ducks on this godforsaken road!
CASSIE
First of all, do not yell me. I did not see the fucking pot hole, okay? Can you fix it?
MARK
Yes.
CASSIE
Good, please do so. So we can get the hell out of Jersey and away from each other.
MARK
Sounds like a plan.
(starts to rummage through the trunk)
I’m just saying, I would’ve never fucked up this bad.
Mark grabs a tire iron and a lug wrench. He props up the car with the jack with precision, aligning it methodically. His movements are deliberate, each action punctuated by his simmering anger. He then begins to unscrew the wheel with the lug wrench, each turn a release of pent-up frustration. Cassie turns to him, her eyes narrowed in disbelief.. She's had enough.
MARK What?
CASSIE
(bitingly)
You are a self-righteous prick!
MARK
(dismissively)
Hmm. Yep. Okay.
CASSIE
Act like you don't care, but it's true. You are a complete ass. With a grunt of effort, Mark yanks the last bolt free and tosses the mangled wheel aside. It clatters against the asphalt.
MARK
(turning abruptly)
Great. Is there anything else you'd like to bitch about!? CASSIE (sarcastic) I'm bitching.
MARK
Yep. Honey, you caused this—
CASSIE (snapping fiercely) Don't 'honey' me! Who do you think you are?
MARK
(leaning in, voice low and harsh)
I will honey you all day and fucking night.
Their voices rise, each word sharper than the last. They stand inches apart, pointing accusing fingers at each other, oblivious to the world around them. Cars whiz by, their drivers glancing briefly at the heated show unfolding by the roadside.
[I'd love a little feedback, as I write I'm content that everything I write sucks, so it'd be nice to know it doesn't.]

What started as a panicked attempt to get her over-intoxicated friend to a hospital ended up in a disastrous car crash that claimed the lives of her friends... and a careless God crossing the street. But Sammi's adventure wasn't about to end there. In her dying breath, the God curses Sammi to take up her mantel. Now with her three friends resurrected as ghosts, Sammi has to navigate the tricky world of godhood.
Previous Chapter Next chapter coming soon!
Start here! Patreon (up to chapter 9)
I love houses. House flipping, house hunting, crazy properties in town, gorgeous exotic vacation destinations. I think in a past life I was a real estate agent. Or a carpenter. Interior designer, actually, probably. Maybe just rich?
Doesn’t matter. I love houses, and I was gonna get myself the best digs in town.
“Best digs in town might be a liiiiittle suspicious?” Joni said as I began adjusting the filters of my favorite search: Lottery houses.
“So do you… we’re looking for a house?” Cara was leaning over my shoulder, watching as I pushed the Rooms, Cost, Square Footage, and Bathrooms options as high as I could. “Cause if you don’t even own a place, I feel like saying you’d answer my questions when we got to New Olympia is kinda a blow off.”
“Not a blow off,” I said. “This probably won’t take too too long. I just don’t want to kick anyone out of their house that, like, is a regular person living their life.”
“Kick them out?”
I paused and looked up at Cara, eyes serious. “Please. The parroting. It’s making me nervous.” Then I looked back down and began sifting through various mansions, penthouses, lake houses, villas. “For sale or for rent?”
“For rent,” Blair said immediately. She propped her head up on her chin as she watched me scroll. “Then you don’t gotta kick anyone out.”
“She’s got a point,” Christopher said. “Both from a, like, humanitarian point of view but also from a logistical point of view. Whoever’s moving needs the money pronto to buy a new house and they’re gonna constantly be dealing with banks and shit. You’d need a new lie a day just to keep them off you. But with rentals and all, first off, landlords renting out ten grand a month properties are already making bank off other units. Yeah you’re screwing them over, but not as bad. They got a buncha others. Second, you pay monthly, so you really only gotta fend them off once a month.”
My thumb jammed the “For Rent/For Sale” switch, and I cranked up the rental price. “What else are we thinking for criteria?”
“Middle of town’s a bad idea,” Joni said. “Too easy to find us.”
“We don’t have to, like, hide though,” Christopher said. “Just say you’re both out on bail. I mean, the point is to find Miller and bring him to justice, right? That’s gonna take time. There’s no place far enough out of town that we could hide in for long.”
I squinted at him, tearing my eyes away from a sexy seven bedroom manor with two pools. “What?”
He sighed, as if convinced that I was in the wrong for not understanding what fuck he just said. “Like, think about it Sammi. We’re not actually gonna be able to hide. Or if we are, it’s gonna be in an alley or some shit.” He wrinkled his nose at the same time I did. “They’re cops with detectives and shit, and they think we shot someone and broke someone else out of jail. They’re gonna find us. We’ll have to lie, not hide, to avoid being put back. So may as well be local to all the action.” With this, he pointed directly at a lofty unit in the center of town.
Hmm. He brought up a valid point, so I checked it out.
A five bedroom penthouse with three terraces giving outdoor views of the entire city. Bathrooms that put the hotel to shame. Closets the size of my old bedroom. A pool deck. Appliances with fancy brand names I only ever heard on episodes of “Dream House” and hadn’t actually realized existed in the real world. Enough bedrooms for me, Cara, and the ghosts to each sleep separately.
For a moment, the enormity of it washed over me. Not just the enormity of the house, though it was enormous, but the reality of what I could accomplish. This apartment was twenty five thousand dollars a month. I’m not entirely sure I’ve made that much money in my life. Or, okay, probably around that, but that’s my point. This was the kind of unit rich people showed off in out-of-touch blogs or escapist shows about the lifestyles of famous people. And it could literally be mine if I could play my cards right. Or not even right. Just not catastrophically wrong.
Cause I was a God. And for the first time since becoming a God, I was using my abilities, my status, my familiars and shit to do something cool. Not rob a TechShack of some earpods or break in or out of a hospital.
This was a big yield.
As I had my little epiphany, Cara had taken over scrolling my phone, much to the relief of my ghosts, who’d started grumbling about the static screen while I zoned out.
“Okay.” Cara looked at me. “I’m not gonna ask any of the questions you know I want to ask, cause that’ll just piss you off.” Thank God she was learning. “So we’ll skip that for now and ask the really important question. How are you gonna get your hands on this place?”
–
Step 1 was to get to the place, which kinda sucked, given we were still at Pizza Dogs. It just wasn’t a very cool start to the coolest scheme I’d ever pulled off. Luckily Pizza Dogs closed at 9, so a solid number of people were leaving the restaurant. I was able to wave down a waitress who’d just checked off of her shift and convince her she was a taxi driver.
“You’re really loving this whole taxiing thing, huh?” Christopher said.
“At least she’s not talking like a robot trying to use slang.” I grit my teeth at the memory of Cops Cop and Taxi Service.
“No, you just told her she was mute.” Blair stuck her lip out. “That’s mean, Sammi.”
“I told her she couldn’t talk. That’s different.” I gave Cara a weak smile, but she hadn’t even commented on my ghost talking. She just buried her face in her hands. See? Learning.
Step 2 was gonna be actually getting in the unit. The listing on HouzeHunting didn’t exactly have the name of the landlord on it, so I was gonna have to get creative getting in touch with them. What it did have was ‘24 hour doorman service,’ which meant getting in would be easy peasy.
Finally we pulled up to the address I’d given our driver. 1732 East Windham Street. She leaned out the window, looking up the seventy story building.
“It’s totally appropriate for you to talk now,” I said as I scrambled out, towing Cara with me. No sense in actually making her mute for life.
The woman nodded. “You, uh, live here or visiting? If you don’t mind me asking.”
I flipped my wad of black hair over my shoulder, wincing at how singularly it moved. I shoulda combed it after my bath yesterday.
“Live here, obviously.” I gave a rich person kinda snort, nose in the air and all.
“Huh.” She looked back at me, rubbing the back of her neck as if it was sore from craning up so high. “But you needed a taxi to get here?”
“Uh.” Rich people used taxis, right? On the ladder from Sammi to Bill Gates, someone had to use them, and if I couldn’t afford a taxi normally, then the typical passenger must exist somewhere above me. “My fancy personal car got towed cause I was parking it in a fire lane.”
The woman didn’t look convinced. Not that she thought I was lying, but she still looked at me like I was dumb as dirt. “You don’t have, like, a personal driver?”
I cocked my head at her, trying to mirror Joni’s sassy tilt but probably just looking confused. “Are you offering?”
Her lips parted, and I could see her brain chewing on this question. “What do you… wait, are you being serious?”
Was I? Suddenly I wasn’t sure. Having a personal chauffeur could be kinda great. Someone always available to text or call when I needed a ride so I wouldn’t have to keep remembering where I left my car. Besides, driving made me nervous. I’d never been a particularly bad driver, no prior accidents, never really hit anything in the past, unless we’re counting bumper cars. Which we’re not, cause I’m a menace in bumper cars. But that’s like the point.
Or, no, the point was, I wanted to minimize driving, and this woman could be key. Of course, I knew nothing about her. What if she had a family at home and I told a too strong lie and she never saw them again?
But then, she wouldn’t be offering if she wasn’t serious, right? Sure I’d lied and told her she was a taxi driver, but the average every day taxi driver didn’t just ditch their families to be rich people’s chauffeur’s.
“Uh. Yeah.” I looked at the ghosts. Two thumbs up from Christopher, one from Blair, and two thumbs down from Joni. That was a total of one thumbs up, if my math was right. “Yeah, I pay ten thousand a month.” We could figure that out later.
The woman’s eyes shot open. “Okay, you’re actually fucking with me. You’re actually offering to hire me for ten thousand a month.”
I nodded. “Yeah. And you can… I mean, if you got your own place, you can stay there obviously but you could also stay in one of my bedrooms. I got some extra ones I was gonna give to the gho–uh, dogs. But I don’t have dogs, so you were next on the list. Well, a chauffeur was next on the list. But also if you’ve got–do you have a family?”
Each of my statements plunked out of my mouth like gumballs out of a broken candy machine. But she just kept nodding like this was a normal proposal.
“I mean, I had a boyfriend.” Her face flushed crimson. “Kinda embarrassing to say at my age. Thought we were–” She took a deep breath. “Thought he was the one. I’m not gonna say I was looking to have kids or anything, so I suppose age doesn’t matter, but that doesn’t mean I really want to start over. Five years wasted is all, and at my age, the well starts to dry up a bit. People look at you a bit…” She blinked. “I’m sorry, that’s not really what you asked, was it.”
It wasn’t entirely, but I was kinda hooked on the story now. “Yeah it was,” I said. “It was the first question in the interview, and you’re nailing it. Uh, you actually already passed the first round. Let’s take the rest inside.”
The woman let out a shaky breath and smoothed her frizzled hair. “Right, of course. Thank you so much!”
Cara had, thank God, kept her mouth shut this whole interview process, so I just towed my newly formed posse towards the doorman.
“My key got lost,” I said confidently and too quickly, noticing way late that there weren’t any visible keyholes anywhere on the door. “Uh…” I looked nervously at the ghosts.
“Just tell him someone said he should let you in,” Joni said.
“Yeah.” Blair smiled. “Carl from management.”
“No–”
“Carl from management said you should let me in,” I said, bowling over Joni’s protests. “I own that top penthouse suite. Suite 72. The one for rent. Or, not for rent cause I’m renting it now. And I called earlier because my key is broken and Carl your manager said–”
I stopped finally because the doorman had long since stopped frowning perplexedly at me and had just tapped his card against the door.
“Haha,” I said, verbalizing the laugh a little too hard. “Look at me, talking too much as always.”
He frowned again, but nodded nonetheless, before holding the door open for me. “Here you are.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, stepping in like a real fancy lady. “I’ve got it from here.”
And, because I was stupid and always spoke without thinking, he nodded and shut the door behind me.
So technically Step 2 ‘get in’ was done, but it was like, barely done. Like when your mom says ‘go to your room’ so you sit in the doorway. Cause I wasn’t really close to my new apartment yet, which meant a new step on the list. Step 3? Get into New Olympia.
Somehow a little sneaky ‘Step 3b, interview your new chauffeur’ had snuck on the list too, but that would be easy to finish once I got to the actual unit.
It was literally impossible to keep my jaw in its socket as we walked through the lobby. I was actually straight up speechless at how fancy it all was. There was a bar in the lobby, like this was some hotel! Given my experience with rich people things, it was either totally free or thirty bucks a glass. Still, it was pricey enough that I should probably have been charged just for looking at it. Even Cara and the driver had their mouths gaping open as they looked around, taking in the mirror shiny marbely floors and columns.
I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath, and really tried to capture this moment of peace and quiet inside the lobby of my new home.
“Blair stop humming, they’ll be able to hear you.”
“I’m using my regular humming, not my banshee humming.”
“My bad, shoulda clarified. I’m able to hear you, and you’re annoying me.”
“Joni, why are you always so mean.”
“She’s, like, kinda got a point. You need to get that stick out of your ass.”
“I’ll get the stick out of my ass when Blair stops humming.”
“Bro, it’s totally more than the humming, and you know it.”
“Is singing okay?”
“No.”
“What about–”
“Why don’t you just whistle, Blair?”
“That’s not nice. You know I can’t whistle.”
“Kinda my point.”
“Hey, be nice to Blair, Joni.”
Peace and quiet were overrated anyway. We were here for schemes.
My eyelids snapped open. In front of me was a big old reddish wood desk. The sign on it said “Main desk, open 7AM to 9 PM.” Next to it was another, more temporary sign, “Partial Service After Hours. Ring Bell For Assisance.”
My eyes drifted hungrily to the shiny golden bell. It was the kind you see in movies and shows, you press down a few times to summon the waiter or whoever sits behind the desk.
“Just once, Sammi,” Joni said, already reading my mind. “You ring it once.”
“But Joni,” I whispered, hand hovering over it, “I’m a God.”
DING DING DING DING DING DING DING
Seven was overkill. The man was there after the first two rings. But I couldn’t stop. It was too satisfying.
He regarded me with pained eyes. “Ma’am, you didn’t have to ring it that many times.”
“I didn’t,” I said confidently. And just like that, the pained look vanished. He didn’t look comfortable though, probably because I didn’t look like I should be there. Time to fix that.
I jutted my chin out. “Is there, like, a master key to all the elevators and units you can give me.”
The guy blinked rapidly. “I’m… sorry, you want what?”
“Lies, Sammi. That was a request!”
This is why we needed Joni and the stick up her ass.
“Uh.”
“Tell him that… I don’t know, someone from management said you could borrow a skeleton key.”
I smiled. “Carl from management told me I could have a skeleton key. A, you know, a key that opens all the doors.” I gave Joni a panicked glance.
She motioned her finger in a repeating loop and mouthed ‘go on.’
“And.” I swallowed. “You said you would give us one.”
The concierge sighed. “I know. I know. I just.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Carl doesn’t manage my department, so if this isn’t the right call, Sandy’s gonna have my head.”
I eyed the ghosts nervously. The lie had worked but it didn’t seem to fully convince him. “Sandy said…”
“Keep it simple,” Joni hissed.
“...that you would give me a key to let me in?”
“Right, please hold a moment, it’s almost done transferring.” The concierge paused and looked at a key card on his desk. He squinted before picking it up and beeping it against a little card pad. It flashed red. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The transfer didn’t go through right. One moment please.” Then he typed on his computer for a few very long minutes while Cara, the driver, and I all stood frozen by the elevator. After several breath-holding moments of silence (yeah, now the ghosts decide to shut up) he tapped the card again and it flashed green. “There we go.”
I let out a long breath before scuttling over to pick up my card. “Thank you!” I said, a cheery forced grin on my face. “Thank you so much! Remember, this came from, uh, Sandy’s boss, and she told you not to tell Sandy, so keep it zipped!”
He mimed zipping his lips as I waved again before rushing to the elevator.
Soon we were zooming up dozens and dozens of levels as my breathing came more and more naturally. Even the elevator was fancy. All golden mirrors, which Blair was staring at, disappointed that she couldn’t see her reflection in them.
There was no one on the seventy second story and ther was only one door, at the end of a gleaming hardwood hallway. My black boots clomped awkwardly as I escorted the driver–still in a bright orange shirt with a barking dog and a slice of pizza on it–and Cara–still in an orange jumpsuit–towards the door at the end.
Once I got there, I tapped my card, and we were in.
I don’t really have good words to describe the place. Huge, for one. Empty for another. Those were the two big ones. I could have gawked at it all, but I was a little tired of gawking, so I filed away ‘tour my house and get it fitted out’ for later. Besides, I had all my gear and shit still in my car… somewhere. I’d get it up here eventually and then the real decorating could start.
But there was a first step. Well two first steps. Okay, technically only one could be the first step, so we’ll do that first.
I waved Cara to join me in one of the bedrooms.
“I’ll finish your interview in like, fifteen minutes,” I said to the driver. She nodded.
“Okay,” I said, closing the door behind me and plopping down on the ground.
Cara stood awkwardly, eyeing the big ass empty room with a big ass empty bathroom off to the side. “Okay,” she said, still standing. “Do I need to–”
“No no, I said I would…” I trailed off, lips pursed and confused. “You wanted… Or… I was gonna tell you–”
“Oh shit yeah.” Now suddenly Cara was on the floor across from me, leaning in. “You’re telling me what the fuck is going on.”
My breath rushed out in a long woosh as I contemplated how to start this. Joni had made a snarky comment at one point like ‘pushing this off won’t make it easier’ and I’d responded with a ‘I’ll come up with a plan while I delay’ which of course I hadn’t, and now I was angry cause Joni was right.
“So the problem is,” I said, starting slowly. “Everything I tell you, you’ll believe.”
“Obviously,” Cara said, believing me instantly.
“But no one else but me knows what’s going on. So I can’t help but…” I trailed off again, noticing Cara nodding animatedly. This wasn’t working. I wanted her to believe me cause she fully understood and accepted my story, not cause of magic. But to get that, I couldn’t be the one to tell her, and the only other people who knew about my godliness were the ghosts and–
I smacked myself on the face. Sammi, you’re a genius. An actual, mensa accredited whiz kid.
“Blair,” I said, smiling. “I think I’ll offload this to you.”
Blair frowned, scrunching her nose up for a moment, before pointing at herself. “Me?”
I nodded confidently. Blair knew everything but lacked the Verity Tongue. This would be a sinch.
“Cara, how do you feel about a little ghost story?” I shivered a bit, getting goosebumps at my own words. Now that lead-in was brilliant. ‘A little ghost story’, who came up with that? I was getting smarter by the minute.
“Oooooooooooooh.” Blair zoomed around the room, and Cara leapt to her feet.
“What the fuck?”
“Bewaaaaare moooooortal,” Blair droned, pitching her voice low. “For the story you’re about to hear is both dreadful and awwwwwful. Fear for your soul for those who hear this story are cursed and will find themselves in an early–”
“Blair!” I shouted. “Stop that. What the fuck? Literally not like that. Like literally anything but that. You need to start with–”
“Yo, Sammi, dawg, chill.” Christopher patted my back. “We’ll help her out.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to taint the story with your god powers,” Joni said. “We’ll sort Blair. You interview the pizza waitress.”
Suddenly my genius felt like the opposite of genius. Yeah, delegation was important, but I did want to hear what the ghosts were telling Cara. Didn’t I need to know? What if they told her something totally wrong and stupid? Or what if they said something mean? Like what if they really played up the part about my reckless speeding? What if they lied about something? Made me look incompetent.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Christopher just gave me an icy pat again.
“Look, you’re gonna jump in to correct something we say, and it’s just gonna fuck up Cara.” He gave me a serious look, one of the most serious looks he’d given me since this whole ordeal. Which was honestly kinda stupid cause of all the times to pull out there ‘seriously, Sammi’ face, he was picking now? Was this really the right time for this? “Seriously, Sammi. We got this.”
I didn’t believe him at all, but they were absolutely right about me likely fucking this up with my motor mouth. No way was I sitting still while Joni made snarky comments about me, like, eating gross bagels or telling cops to steal poop.
“All right,” I said. “Come out when you’re done. Or if you need hands at all. Like if she passes out and you need to check for a pulse.”
“Are you talking to me?” Cara said.
“No. I’m talking to the ghosts.” And with that I closed the door.
Looks like Sammi's got a house! And maybe a minion or two on top of her familiars. Let's see how Cara takes all of this...

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 5-13-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 5-13-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

Crazy beach experience Ok I’m writing this down so I don’t forget because I had the craziest experience today
The experience started with me getting rung by my friend asking if I wanted to go to the beach so he drove and picked me up on the way I opened a beer and had a 3.5 rips on the thc we had after that point shit started getting crazy i know i sound insane but I had the most intense deja vu experience it was like going back to when I was ten i will explain further
After a short drive we pulled up to the beach which is a beach I regularly went to with my family when I was younger as we pulled up I got an intense feeling of deja vu I remembered the car park and I swear to God it looked like the exact same cars were there on the day I was remembering so after my friend pulled up he got out of the car and told me to get ready but in the exact same tone and wording that my mum used at this point for me my friend and mum were the same person because I was tripping so hard it took me a second to prepare to get of the car which was interrupted by my friend shouting at me Harris get out of the bloody car ( in the exact way my mum did) so naturally I did as I was told but then shit started getting insanely trippy since i knew exactly what actions and words me and my friend would make since it was the exact same as when i was a child firstly I started packing up my bag and my friend told me to hurry up because our friends were waiting but in my deja vu he was referring to my brother and sister and there friends when I packed up my bag I took the exact action I used to take making three manoeuvres to get my stuff into the bag at this point I was getting tripped out so I tried to break out of the trance by walking away from the car but it turns out I had done this aswell in the past and watched as two boys walked past whiz of course also happened i then looked at the women in front of me which I Remember watching as a kid as she got ready for the beach with her husband I tried again to break free and turned around only to be met with the realisation I had done this aswell looking at the car park which seemed to have the exact same cars colours position and all next came the angry shouting of my friend saying hurry up of course this also happened in the past in the case of my mum at this point I could hear a script of exactly what I was going to say in my head but in my mothers voice as if she was putting me to sleep it was real weird shit but at this point I can’t remember the exactly things I was saying but I swear to god it was a perfect match to what i used to say like some sort of sleeping ritual (my thoughts are that my mum used to say this to me to put me to sleep) anyway I said these strange words but my friend didn’t bat an eye like you it was normal but I kept going with my nonsense stuff like nina (my sister) …something… something …. My friend responded in the exact same way as my mother in the end I got my stuff out but forgot my swim shorts which I Rember happening on the day (obviously I didn’t realise at this point that I forgot them) finally we get leave the car and I look back at the women who is now in a bikini I know it sounds strange but it’s what I did as a child we then left to go to the nearby cafe to meet our other friends ( or my siblings in my head) we met up and it was clear to me which person was my brother and sister and there friends ( bearing in mind I had never met some of these ppl which is exactly what it was like in the past since I didn’t know my brother and sisters friends) next we all had a conversation which normally in the past I was just zone out so in my memory I just remember looking at everyone’s legs like they were mannequins but I thought of way to break free my vape I used it and briefly escaped so this time I could hear what they were talking about this time (cannot for the life of me remember what) next we walked down to the beach but the crazy thing is it was clear everyone was avoiding me just like how my older siblings used to do I Remember them talking about friends what and they were up to but they deliberately moved away so I didn’t hear this exact thing happened with my friends today I could even recognise names which i could swear my siblings were taking about on that day eventually we got to the beach and found somewhere to sit bearing in mind the actions are still happening exactly as they were in my memories with only brief moments when I was hitting the vape where things felt slightly different but it always returned to this ominous feeling of deja vu I remember the day so clearly because I didn’t really enjoy myself because it was just me my mum and my older siblings with friends so I felt alone which was a theme I felt for the whole day today I was excluded from most conversations and when someone talked to me it was as if they were older than me and I was just ten ( it’s important to note I’m currently 17 with my friends being a similar age) ( this is exactly the age my siblings were when I was abt 10 ( could be younger but that’s just what I’m using since it makes the most sense) ( the other weird thing to mention is that it feels like I have had dreams of that day also aswell as multiple days which feel the exact same when going to the beach as a kid ) I won’t get into more details but the rest of the day played out pretty much the same till i sobered up but my memories of this part are more hazy)
I can imagine if anyone is reading this it will be hard to believe but I swear to God this happened I can’t even explain the feeling it’s surreal the details were all the EXACT same although I’m having trouble to remember I know I sound crazy but I feel like I must be having recurring dreams due to the strange rhymes that I could perfectly remember in the moment that my mum used to sing to me ( only thing is for the life of me I cannot remember these rhymes but I know I recalled them word for word it’s insane because all of my friends response were like my mothers but it all rhymed together perfectly. Today was the most insane experience I have ever had and I want to look into it more and see if can find some proof that this day happened I think I will ask my mum if she remembers singing a rhyme. To me as I slept as a baby I’m just writing words to further explain but this crazy situation but I just can’t the words in my head were like a rhythm which also brought intense stimulation in my head of very specific feelings
Ahhhh I feel like I’m going crazy I now i need to go back so I can Rember again as scary as it was

(Sorry for terrible wording and spelling I’m still on the comedown from this experience)
Crazy beach experience Ok I’m writing this down so I don’t forget because I had the craziest experience today
The experience started with me getting rung by my friend asking if I wanted to go to the beach so he drove and picked me up on the way I opened a beer and had a 3.5 rips on the thc we had after that point shit started getting crazy i know i sound insane but I had the most intense deja vu experience it was like going back to when I was ten i will explain further
After a short drive we pulled up to the beach which is a beach I regularly went to with my family when I was younger as we pulled up I got an intense feeling of deja vu I remembered the car park and I swear to God it looked like the exact same cars were there on the day I was remembering so after my friend pulled up he got out of the car and told me to get ready but in the exact same tone and wording that my mum used at this point for me my friend and mum were the same person because I was tripping so hard it took me a second to prepare to get of the car which was interrupted by my friend shouting at me Harris get out of the bloody car ( in the exact way my mum did) so naturally I did as I was told but then shit started getting insanely trippy since i knew exactly what actions and words me and my friend would make since it was the exact same as when i was a child firstly I started packing up my bag and my friend told me to hurry up because our friends were waiting but in my deja vu he was referring to my brother and sister and there friends when I packed up my bag I took the exact action I used to take making three manoeuvres to get my stuff into the bag at this point I was getting tripped out so I tried to break out of the trance by walking away from the car but it turns out I had done this aswell in the past and watched as two boys walked past whiz of course also happened i then looked at the women in front of me which I Remember watching as a kid as she got ready for the beach with her husband I tried again to break free and turned around only to be met with the realisation I had done this aswell looking at the car park which seemed to have the exact same cars colours position and all next came the angry shouting of my friend saying hurry up of course this also happened in the past in the case of my mum at this point I could hear a script of exactly what I was going to say in my head but in my mothers voice as if she was putting me to sleep it was real weird shit but at this point I can’t remember the exactly things I was saying but I swear to god it was a perfect match to what i used to say like some sort of sleeping ritual (my thoughts are that my mum used to say this to me to put me to sleep) anyway I said these strange words but my friend didn’t bat an eye like you it was normal but I kept going with my nonsense stuff like nina (my sister) …something… something …. My friend responded in the exact same way as my mother in the end I got my stuff out but forgot my swim shorts which I Rember happening on the day (obviously I didn’t realise at this point that I forgot them) finally we get leave the car and I look back at the women who is now in a bikini I know it sounds strange but it’s what I did as a child we then left to go to the nearby cafe to meet our other friends ( or my siblings in my head) we met up and it was clear to me which person was my brother and sister and there friends ( bearing in mind I had never met some of these ppl which is exactly what it was like in the past since I didn’t know my brother and sisters friends) next we all had a conversation which normally in the past I was just zone out so in my memory I just remember looking at everyone’s legs like they were mannequins but I thought of way to break free my vape I used it and briefly escaped so this time I could hear what they were talking about this time (cannot for the life of me remember what) next we walked down to the beach but the crazy thing is it was clear everyone was avoiding me just like how my older siblings used to do I Remember them talking about friends what and they were up to but they deliberately moved away so I didn’t hear this exact thing happened with my friends today I could even recognise names which i could swear my siblings were taking about on that day eventually we got to the beach and found somewhere to sit bearing in mind the actions are still happening exactly as they were in my memories with only brief moments when I was hitting the vape where things felt slightly different but it always returned to this ominous feeling of deja vu I remember the day so clearly because I didn’t really enjoy myself because it was just me my mum and my older siblings with friends so I felt alone which was a theme I felt for the whole day today I was excluded from most conversations and when someone talked to me it was as if they were older than me and I was just ten ( it’s important to note I’m currently 17 with my friends being a similar age) ( this is exactly the age my siblings were when I was abt 10 ( could be younger but that’s just what I’m using since it makes the most sense) ( the other weird thing to mention is that it feels like I have had dreams of that day also aswell as multiple days which feel the exact same when going to the beach as a kid ) I won’t get into more details but the rest of the day played out pretty much the same till i sobered up but my memories of this part are more hazy)
I can imagine if anyone is reading this it will be hard to believe but I swear to God this happened I can’t even explain the feeling it’s surreal the details were all the EXACT same although I’m having trouble to remember I know I sound crazy but I feel like I must be having recurring dreams due to the strange rhymes that I could perfectly remember in the moment that my mum used to sing to me ( only thing is for the life of me I cannot remember these rhymes but I know I recalled them word for word it’s insane because all of my friends response were like my mothers but it all rhymed together perfectly. Today was the most insane experience I have ever had and I want to look into it more and see if can find some proof that this day happened I think I will ask my mum if she remembers singing a rhyme. To me as I slept as a baby I’m just writing words to further explain but this crazy situation but I just can’t the words in my head were like a rhythm which also brought intense stimulation in my head of very specific feelings
Ahhhh I feel like I’m going crazy I now i need to go back so I can Rember again as scary as it was

Hi friends! I’ve come here before with questions about my LOs eczema and you were all incredibly helpful. Hoping some of you might have some wisdom to share.
Like the title says my 5 month old has eczema. It’s not severe but it is there, enough for me to be trying everything to combat it. He is exclusively BF.
We are working with our naturopathic pediatrician to get it under control and we just ordered a new probiotic upon her suggestion (we had been doing that already but the biogaia probiotic only has one strain vs this new one has several). We also have used a variety of topical things but are very aware it’s in his gut and we don’t want to just bandaid the root cause.
Anyway, I am seeking guidance with my diet specifically. I already do not eat meat, fish, dairy, eggs, gluten, soy. And I’m realizing I may need to cut out nuts and beans 🤨 chickpeas in particular seem to really flare him up.
Ive been strict vegan for a very long time but with all of this cutting out of things… wtf am I supposed to eat? I’m so hungry and tired. Lol.
I am open to fish but read that could trigger eczema too.
Our lactation consultant said I’m going to drive myself crazy (trueeee, lol) and I shouldn’t change my diet because he will “grow out of it”.
Alas, I’d love to hear from anyone who has experienced something similar and maybe has suggestions for things to eat. I’m def a big time cook and kitchen whiz so I’m not afraid to spend time cooking and trying new things.
TYIA!

I’ve been digging into the Enneagram for about 14 months now. It started with being called a five by a five (a strong endorsement!), so I’ll begin there, and then move on. When I read the description I related to it very much, like “yea, that’s pretty accurate.” It seemed better than any of the other ones, but I was pretty damn emotional for a five, so probably a 5w4 and then in time 5w4 sx. I initially thought I was sp blind, but figured out I’m so blind after quite bit of time and that seems thoroughly accurate. I’m skilled in sp even if I’ve hit overdraft fees, run out of money and had no idea it was gone until “oh shit!” and I’m forgetful as all hell. I can lose pretty much anything.
I think a key feature of fives I related to was the fact that I intellectualized emotions. I was very skilled at it necessarily. It would be some time later when I learned what that is, why children develop that way, and that it’s basically a survival instinct and not anything to be proud of. I was very aware of them, could speak to them well, but I could also detach. When I wanted to I could tap into my emotions, which I enjoyed very much. Rather than plainly talk about them, I would prefer to use metaphor, tell stories, or write poetry–even compose a song on the spot. Just the lyrics and rhythm mind you. Words and emotions are my tools. Objective and emotionally detached, sure. Cautious and private, absolutely! You can’t trust anyone. Compartmentalization of relationships, like this friend knows about X and this person knows about Y but not X and so on. The stinginess…I wasn’t so sure. Avarice. Hm. I guess I’m a pretty healthy five and no other thing seems to fit.
I always had this strange connection with 8, like I’m not an 8, but I really understand the defended stance of 8. I intentionally built internal fortifications against the outside world, like I’m not kidding. You’re not getting in. The anger though. I’ve always had a tremendous amount of anger, and I’ve broken up a lot of fights. I’m good at exerting that kind of control over an environment, like “Knock it off!” and it stops. Maybe that’s the line from 5 to 8? Who knows.
I also figured that my absolutely wreckless and intentionally self-destructive early years could be 7, and also a big vote for sp last. I didn’t think about that too much.
I listened to a lot of podcasts and panels on Enneagram. I cried like a baby during one panel of fives when someone talked about how misunderstood they feel. YES!!!! Someone gets it! I’m not alone! WOW! That was impactful.
I was listening to a couple of people on a podcast talk about 3s and I had to stop it many, many times. I couldn’t get through it. I was just bawling my eyes out. Someday I’ll dig up my notes. I took extensive notes during panel interviews on all 9 types, capturing what resonated with me. I’m quite curious to go back and look now, but that would just make a mess of this post. So 3 hit hard. In my understanding, “3 ruined my life.” That was my takeaway, and also “I’m not a 3.” Things I identified with were the need for approval, like wanting to be loved and seen for who I am motivated everything I worked hard at. It’s what ruined me. I would feel like I needed to watch a movie or listen to a song and sure enough, I would just cry like a baby. Sweet emotional release. I guess that’s a pretty common 3 thing. I didn’t really run people over or care about statusy things, in fact I hated most of that. So a lot of the typical 3 things really didn’t appeal to me at all. I don’t care what award you got or your test scores or what your role is in what company. Unless it helped me directly, I didn’t care at all. I also didn’t care if I had any of that. So there were some pretty big disconnects with 3. Not a 3, but go to hell 3 patterns.
583 tritype I guess. Yippee!
Eventually I’m reading a book on 9s and just start laughing, like I do a lot of these really annoying things and always have. This is hilarious! I went from absolutely amused to “Congratulations! I’m the lame duck of the Enneagram.” LOL I was pretty bummed about that. Not about the type itself, but about its reputation. I’m going to understand the hell out of this right now! That’s when I started reading books. I was learning with a fury.
Reading Chestnuts book on the 27 types I about died during E2, like am I a 2? No way, my mom’s a 2, and I am not a 2! But oh that heart wound. Ouch. It resonated a lot. A lot of 2 did. 2 and 9 mistype a lot, so that’s probably it.
I was listening to a podcast interview with a 1sx and I got that guy, and I mean I got him. There’s no chance I’m a 1, and I mean zero. If I’m aware of rules, it’s so I know how not to get caught avoiding them and working around them. When I was a supervisor, if you transgressed, I knew all the shortcuts and you were screwed. I know all about breaking the rules and not getting caught, even when I get credit with my peers for doing it. I always had a sense of what I could get away with. I was playing baseball with a broom and a ball of shrink wrap with an 8 at work and we dented this big sign. It was hilarious! We’re supervisors. Shut your ass! LOL We totally got away with it, and for years after I got a chuckle every time I walked by that sign. We were peas in a pod.
Not a 1, but I get you 1sx, I get you! I figured 9w1 based on that. I felt 1 on the inside, and 8 on the outside if that makes sense. I see 8 and it makes perfect sense to me, but I feel 1 and feel it’s offness. The affinity with 3 can be explained by the triangle, 1 is a neighbor, and 2…I don’t know. Raised by a 2! That’s probably it, and 2’s and 9’s are pretty similar (not at all!). I’ll qualify that. A 9 is going to follow orders, but a 2 will run the show. Not out front, but let someone else be the front and they’ve got it. They can be an absolute force to be reckoned with too. I would never mess with an unhealthy 2, at least not much.
So I’m going to point out a couple issues. I had the least connection with 7, so if I was a five, that’s a problem. The next number I really didn’t get was 6, and I still don’t relate to 6. I understand it, but it’s from the outside like 8, and it’s illogical as hell. I am not confused about the patterns, focus of attention or why it yo-yos like it does, I just don’t relate to it at all. As I look back, there’s this problem with authority that 6sx has, but it’s for a purpose. My problem with authority was that they were authority and represented rules and obstacles between me and what I wanted, and I assumed they were there to harm me. The idea of a benevolent authority was unheard of for me. I also had a lot of conflict with teachers and all that. They almost universally hated me and provided plenty of feedback to my parents. I got great grades, aced tests, and did a ton of infuriating things. Citizenship was always my problem area. My classic maneuver was to be writing notes, talking to people, folding paper footballs, drawing or writing poetry, but I also knew the answer when they called on me. Just try and catch me! Anyways. 6’s are purposefully oppositional, and I was just oppositional. The other tie in is the desire to be wanted by that one person for the 6sx, sign me up!
So the disconnect with 6 is honestly a problem if I’m a 9. I had a lot of loopholes and mental gymnastics to make it make sense. Looking at it realistically, I should have related hard to 6 being unhealthy and that's where 9 goes in unhealth. It should have rang like a bell, but it was an empty spot.
My deepest ties were honestly with 1, 2, 3 and based on patterns of behavior 5. I really kept private and attacked every problem with thinking and knowledge. 3 was painful; I got 1, and I got 2 a little too well.
I’m going to say that knowing how the arrow lines is critical. Levels of health in Riso and Hudson's Personality Types was really helpful too. Now the problem with that book was that the 1 or actualized or top state was my aspiration, and down the line I related to every single health level for 4. I almost committed suicide out of anger against someone (I had a brutal plan), and went back on it because it would be them winning. FUCK YOU! I REFUSE TO DIE! I’LL LIVE TO SPITE YOU! It was a sad state of affairs, but I was willing to settle for it. I was plenty used to anger, so redirecting it a little was fine to me. No longer pointed at me and you, now it’s all in your direction. Good luck! I don’t know. Who commits suicide because they’re pissed off at someone? Anyways, that seemed oddly specific. Sounds like I could be a 4? I’m making zero decisions until I get through the book. Didn’t really relate to 9. I had previously said I’ll off myself if I’m a four, only half joking. Basically, hell no. I know what a four is and that’s not me! The irony is my oldest is a 4 and we butted head terrifically until I learned about the Enneagram and pegged him for a four right away. So I knew I wasn't one!
I’ve read this book and I’ve read a lot of other books by this point since I took a break from Enneagram, like 12 spiritual books and a few childhood trauma and recovery and all of that kind of books. All of that was immensely helpful. I learned a lot. Like the more I read the more I could absorb and I just didn’t stop. I have a huge book list and I’m going to crush it. So reflecting on this RH book some chickens start coming home to roost. My wife has said a lot of things I’ve flat out denied, like “That’s not a thing” and completely dismissed. Now I’m starting to worry about some of these things. “Everything always revolves around you and whatever kind of mood you’re in!” Things like that. We took a vacation with her parents last year and afterwards she basically said I ruined vacation and her parents were offended. Like what, I can’t sit outside and read? The kids were occupied, and nothing needed to be done. I played with them outside after, but I needed some time to sit in a lounger in the sun with a beer and a book! It was glorious. I went running on the beach in the mornings and watched the sunrise. Anyways, like her parents hadn’t been there and I’m explaining what places have good this or that and so if they want clam strips go here, if they want chowder go there, the crab sandwich here is great, so what do you want? I don’t know if it was the delivery or how I responded to their absolute inability to make a decision or what, but apparently I was grumpy and commandeered the whole thing. I also get a lot of feedback about being judgmental and not accepting normal things, like it always has to be the fancy one. This drives my wife nuts. She’s very humble, down to earth, and has honestly eliminated a lot of that behavior, but it’s still there. I go to 1 and lecture people, but less frequently with her help.
Anyways, there’s a lot of problems. A lot of feedback I just discredited immediately. “Sorry to say you’re wrong, but that’s not how I remember things. I was just trying to….” LOL I’m an idiot. A blind, dumb idiot, and being blind and dumb I had no idea. So like chickens coming home to roost, and this means I am looking at a lot of things differently. A LOT of things. It’s not good. It’s not good at all.
Let’s hit integration lines! 4s get stressed out and the 4 thing (wounded bird, rescue me or I’ll burn you alive) doesn’t work, so they resort to the 2 point. I can’t tell you how shocked I was when I was outlining everything I’ve done for her in an argument and she said “I never asked for any of that!” Mic drop. Damn. I knew what she needed before she knew she needed it and I was ready. She’s like “A hot drink sounds good” and I’m like “I made you this. Are you ready for it?” LOL Too much of a good thing is definitely a bad, bad thing. Holy 2 shenanigans.
I took a job I really don’t like to work on 1. I didn’t know Enneagram. I just knew that I rarely follow the calendar and am way too unpredictable for my wife and it stresses her out. You know what? I can work on that. I’m taking a job that requires a lot of admin, which I’m admittedly horrible at. I’m blessed with a wife who is a real whiz at it and doesn’t mind doing it since she knows it’s done right and won’t worry if I forgot to pay the electric bill. So I have a very boring job that I pretty much hated, but it’s good hours during the week, not at night, not super long days, predictable schedule, all things that work well for the family. Deal. The problem isn’t that I can’t organize or that it’s chaos, it’s that I am not motivated to do admin work. I see it and just deflate. My excitement balloon just went fizz and plop, dead on the floor. I begin work with a cup of coffee and about a half hour of procrastination. Once time is getting tight, I hit it hard. Then I get up and walk around. You know, regain some motivation. I chunk out my workload and when I’m ready, I take a break. I’m terrific with a “do the work on time and correctly and no questions asked” kind of scenario. I have a lot of flexibility on how, which is why I think I’m still doing it. There are other perks, but that’s not what this is about. I hate the work, love everything else about the job which is considerable. My favorite part is honestly creating macros and picking color schemes for my send-outs. I did one for Valentine’s day, another for Good Friday, Easter, Spring, and now I’m onto a bright summer palette. I’m gearing up for Memorial day, Fourth of July and then I’ll be in another area and have plenty of new to keep me busy for a while. I’m neat and clean for 1 I guess, and I have the talk style of 1 down. Plenty of feedback my way on that. I’ve probably enlightened a few too many people a few too many times, or corrected them a few too many times. People usually asked me to edit their emails because I write mine so well, but only one person ever was a repeat customer. “You’re brutal!” LOL I take writing seriously when it counts. My favorite college course was actually a capstone level English course and I was a business major and chose the class because it sounded fun. The professor asked if I taught English before and I said “Nope, never!” In fact, I almost failed the writing proficiency test to graduate high school. I still find that hilarious.
So basically, I’ve gotten a lot of feedback about 1 and 2 and sadly 4 behaviors, as well as 5.
I also have the pre-Christ era of my life I really don’t talk about. It’s like I was a different person entirely, but I understand it well now. I understand a lot now.
NOTES AND TIPS
Don’t rush to finding a type. The silent observer in Rohr and Palmer’s books are really the key, and I love Palmer’s book “The Enneagram” for it’s simplicity and focus on putting you on a spiritual path to self awareness. It’s not woo woo or dogmatic, but extremely practical, and short. With that you get to watch yourself and learn yourself.
Watch the arrow lines. You should identify with the disintegration arrow pretty strongly, integration as well, and then at least one wing should hit pretty hard. I would look at those more than the actual type based on my experience. 4 flew under the radar. I picked up the static of these other types long before 4.
I needed a lot of self-awareness and meditation. That internal equanimity was missing. I would shove emotions down in conflict because if I didn’t I was going to cry or destroy something. I’ve done a lot of damage to a lot of people (and property), plus I had a seriously unhealthy childhood which left me as an emotionally immature adult and just not equipped to deal with this stuff in a healthy way.
Without reading books on childhood development and recovery I don’t think the feedback on my moodiness and being a general pain in the ass would have gotten through. I’ve had emotions for a while, but now they’re…safe. Not a danger to me, and not a danger to anyone else. It’s pretty damn cool! I took a step outside last night for some fresh air before I went near anyone at one point, but I can do that now. I can pull the emotions into my body and place them, then air it out later. I think of like Naruto and the auras, emotions are like that for me. When I get hit with one, it’s like radiating out. I thought I was good at masking, but my face betrays me, which I think is on purpose honestly. I smirk a lot. If someone is up for an off-tilt joke, just ask what the smirk is there for. I’ll share. If you like it, come back for more. When I want to really suppress I can show nothing, but then I don’t feel the emotions and I really don’t like that. That’s a dangerous place. Hot emotions are a lot better than cold ones. Moderated ones are best of all though, and that's totally doable. Practice, practice.

Following this guide to install Bazzite, my only other Linux gaming experience is with the Deck. Installation file for Fedora Media Writer is named bazzite-stable.iso straight from their homepage. A couple months ago I installed Fedora on an older desktop PC with an extra SATA port / spare 2.5" SSD available and got it running, but never got around to any of the initial setup tedium and inevitable driver headaches.

Pre-Installation

I'd almost made a huge mistake and installed it over my laptop's SSD with Windows installed, which as much as I'd like to move off, will most likely need to keep for a few niche uses. Luckily I caught that the only visible drive in the installation screen was 1TB and the drive I'd installed in the 2nd SSD bay was this model of 2TB. I tried swapping SSD bay ports, going into the laptop's BIOS upon reading suggestions to switch hard drive modes to AHCI (only to find that the only available option in that menu), cloning the laptop's 1TB M.2 SSD to the 2TB drive, and trying to switch installation media from a portable SSD to a 256GB USB 3.0 thumbdrive but failing to get FMW to cooperate with said thumbdrive -- nothing could get the installer to detect the SSD. I'd purchased this SSD some time ago with the laptop, intending to use it at first as a second storage drive and then as a second boot option once I learned about the possibility of Linux getting along with AMD GPUs, but had just recently purchased a bunch more storage and found that despite the lesser brand and price, this model of SSD is detected just fine. I'd purchased it just to have as external storage with an enclosure, so hopefully I'm making a good call by swapping around the initial purpose I'd gotten these for.

SSD Weirdness

"Install bazzite-40" is the only main install option from my installation media (SanDisk Extreme Portable 2TB SSD connected w/USB-C). It doesn't pass the "Test this media and install" option you can run from the boot menu but I'm not sure what else to do about that if anything, since the only suitable USB stick I have at the moment isn't cooperating and the install option starts as intended (about to go run whilst following what little amount of help the guide offers as close as I can). At first I had the WD_Black SSD I'd initially purchased for the laptop as the installation media itself, not realizing I needed a separate device like when making a fresh Windows install. At one point I'd formatted the WD_Black SSD to NTFS, but this didn't get it noticed by the Fedora installer either. It dawned on me that there's probably one of several partitions on the laptop's Windows 11 drive making it detectable, but I have no idea how that could be the case for the KingSpec SSD being detected right out of the box while the WD_Black is undetected no matter what. I'm probably missing some critical info about SSD specs that I couldn't glean from the respective product pages.

Bazzite versions

Whatever way I'd set up that SSD as installation media before realizing my mistake included many more install options like bazzite-gnome and bazzite-deck. The Bazzite homepage suggests bazzite-deck for an experience closest to Steam Deck that can apply to Home Theatre PCs, and I would like to at least have the booting into Game Mode part of that, but I recall reading elsewhere that this is a bad thing if not installing the distro on actual Steam Deck hardware. The install guide refers to entering Steam account info to make Game Mode possible upon initial boot, so hopefully if it's not enabled by default it's a simple enough setting to change if it's something included in this bazzite-40 install (I've searched and founding getting the opposite, i.e. automatic boot to Desktop Mode on actual Steam Deck hardware ,is a lot more trouble). Maybe some Linux whiz can share how to set it up for an even better HTPC experience than a SteamOS lookalike -- not that I have any complaints about the appearance of Valve current's offering, although operability has been a different story sometimes.

SteamVR question

Would also like to know if anyone has tried SteamVR with Bazzite or a similar distro and has anything to share about that experience. The reason I ask:

I have a rather stupid but funny and interesting idea to use my Valve Index I got a few years ago with the laptop on my back instead of tripping over the the stupid cable hooked up to my desktop PC or hanging it on some ceiling-screwed pulley-suspended abomination (would buy a mesh backpack like this and DP cable adapter, maybe make some existing holes in it bigger for more adequate airflow). I need a portable battery with AC outlets to power the headset anyways, so not sure if the default power setting in Bazzite will affect performance in VR, or if that's easy to tweak. I have a portable battery that could decently accomodate both the headset power cable and laptop plugged in, but the huge power brick adding to the weight of the backpack will make it even more of workout to play than just the laptop and portable battery.
EDIT: found this dongle I happened to have not in use, combined with a set of AC plug adapters I got very recently, one of which may be just the right size for the Index's power cable to combine with a cable like this and my portable phone charger. Could skip buying the USB-C to DP adapter and lugging the portable AC battery entirely. (before that though I have to test if my Index can work with SteamVR in Bazzite hooked up normally, then with a normal-sized AC adapter plug with the size-adjustment plug...already liking the fact that even with the need for a wall outlet I can still move a laptop more easily than my hugeass desktop)

Even if this ridiculous idea doesn't work I'll at least have a beefy gaming laptop with a Linux distro that hopefully suits it well.
Last question is pretty simple, want to know if SD cards formatted for Steam Deck with games installed can go straight into a PC installed with Bazzite and be ready to play. (EDIT: quickly tried this, making a Steam install directory in regular Bazzite make a SteamLibrary directory on the SD root, while the Deck has game files in a steamapps folder, which for Bazzite is inside the SteamLibrary directory. To get Steam Deck SD files for a game onto Bazzite you probably gotta move SD:/steamapps/common/[game directory] into SD:/SteamLibrary/steamapps/common/, start installing the game from Steam desktop with that SD location selected, then pause the download and verify files for it to find everything you just moved.)
Few more laptop specs:

• RX 6850M XT 12GB GDDR6
• Ryzen 9 6900HX
• 32GB RAM

“Where’d you get the black eye?” my wife said to me when I got home that evening. She was making a classic dish from her homeland, and I was starving. But before dinner, it was time for a confession.
“I got into a fight at a strip club,” I said. She knows instantly if I fib, and I gave up trying years ago.
“You were at a strip club?” The fight and the black eye meant nothing to my wife; the strip club was all that mattered to her. But I was sure I was on safe ground; I’d been at the club for a perfectly good reason. I opened my mouth to explain, but she held up a wooden spoon like a weapon. “Let me guess. You’re about to tell me that you were there with clients. That you were there for business.”
I had been about to tell her just that. “If you hear me out, I promise you that you won’t be mad at me.”
“Promise?” she said. My wife was angry, but she loved my stories. I could tell from the look on her face that she suspected a good one was coming.
“Pinky swear,” I said, “but I can’t tell you until tomorrow.” I had almost been out of trouble, but this comment got her even more angry.
“Oh, so you can’t tell me because it’s privileged? Is that it?” My wife knew about the solicitor-client privilege thing, and that I never talked about anything other than what happened in open court, on the record.
“I can tell you all about it when it’s this time tomorrow,” I said, “it’s a privilege thing, like you said.”
“Privilege, my ass,” my wife said, dropping the wooden spoon to the counter where it landed with a loud clatter, scattering droplets of what I was sure was a delicious sauce. “You come home with the biggest black eye I’ve ever seen, and you tell me you got it in a strip club. You drop that shit on me, and then you say the rest is privileged. Well guess what? Your dinner is privileged, too, and you just lost your dinner privileges.”
“But I’m hungry,” I said, “and my face hurts. Don’t do that, please,” I said as my wife picked up the pan with the night’s dinner. “Please don’t,” I said, as she opened the garbage bin. “Look, if you’d--” The dinner hit the bottom of the bin with a loud blurping sound. “It’s pizza night for you,” she said.
I slept on the couch that night, and not the living room couch, but the basement couch, where my only company was an old black and white t.v., the internet not yet having yet been invented.
When I woke up the next morning I slunk out of the house silently, like a criminal, and arrived at the courthouse unshaven, in my second best suit and a shirt that was missing a button. When I looked in the bathroom mirror before going to court, I saw that the black eye had spread. Not even sunglasses could hide it. I would have to go to court and face the crown’s witness, the man who had given me the black eye. It was going to be an interesting day.
* * *
A few weeks earlier I’d been at the Jet Set, but only to pick up some cash. I had picked up a few of the bouncers there as clients, and my guy was waiting at the door with an envelope.
“What’s with the car?” I said to Sebastian as he passed me the envelope. He was the Jet Set’s head of security, which was a fancy way of saying he was the club’s bouncer-in-chief. We came from the same part of town, and got along great, but I was wary of him, because he was also the most vicious man I’ve ever met. I wanted to count the cash, but I didn't think that was a good idea around Sebastian. I shoved the envelope in my pocket.
“The Boss is doing a charity thing,” Sebastian said. The car was on blocks, its tires removed, and a sign on top said that all proceeds went to one of the local hospitals.
“Who would buy an old beater like that?” I said. It was an old Mustang, maybe late 70s, and it looked like a complete wreck.
“The car isn’t for sale,” he said, “it’s a fundraiser. You pay ten bucks, you can hit the car with a hammer. A hundred bucks gets you a shot with a sledge hammer. And for five hundred, you put on a welding mask, and use a blow torch.” That explained the burn marks. “Looks like a lot of people got their money’s worth already,” I said. Sebastian nodded. “I’d give it another few days, and then it’s off to the wrecker. Care to take your best shot at it?”
“No thanks,” I said. I needed cash to keep the office lights on; I had to take a pass on a charity, even if that meant missing out on the chance to take a sledgehammer to a car.
“At least take a hammer to it,” a voice said from behind Sebastian. A man stepped through the door and joined us outside. He was an older guy, big, and going to pot, but still a tough customer, bald and with a graying goatee. He looked like an aging biker.
“Peter,” the man said, shaking my hand, “I’m the Jet Set’s owner.”
“Calledinthe90s”, I said. Peter picked up a hammer that had been sitting just inside the door, and told me to take a swipe. It would only cost ten bucks, he said. I took the hammer from him, and took a swing at a side mirror that dangled loosely. I took two more little swipes at it, but it refused to fall off. I handed the hammer back to Peter.
“That’ll be thirty bucks,” he said.
“Thirty bucks? I thought it was only ten.”
“It’s ten bucks per swing,” he said. I opened the envelope that Sebastian had given me, and pulled out one of the G-notes it held.
‘I’ll need change,” I said. Peter gave the bill to Sebestian, and told him to get change, and I watched as Sebastian, the toughest, meanest man I ever met, said, “Yes, Boss,” and departed to get me change.
“Sebastian told me how you got him off that assault thing.”
I’d defended Sebastian on more than a few of his ‘assault things’, and so instead of saying, ‘which one,’ I feigned ignorance. “You know the one I mean,” Peter said, and I did, but I had to make him say it first; that privilege thing again.
“You know the one I’m talking about,” Peter continued, “the one where he beat the shit out of five guys.”
“You heard about that?” I said.
Peter laughed. “Everyone’s heard about that.” Sebastian had committed a violent assault, all of it caught on a video that one of his buddies made, but the trial ended with my client walking, the crown enraged, and me receiving a nice five grand fee, the last of which was now in my pocket, minus the thirty buck tax that the hammer thing had cost me.
“Sebastian showed me the tape, and now he’s showing it to everyone else, and charging ten bucks to see it. Better than any Bruce Lee shit, I told him. Sebastian’s the best. Am I right or am I wrong?” When it came to beating the crap out of people, I had to agree that Sebastian was the best, and said as much. Sebastian returned, bearing seventy bucks in change.
“I need a lawyer,” Peter said. I asked if he wanted to make an appointment to see me at my office. “Nah, we can talk in my office. Come on in.” He threw open the door and we headed inside.
The place had no windows and most of the lights were off. “We don’t open for a while,” Peter said as Sebastian and I followed him down a hall. He opened the door to a small office and gestured for us to have a seat. “I need a lawyer,” he said again, when we settled in.
“For yourself?” he nodded. He must have caught my glance towards Sebastian, because he added, “Sebastian stays. I tell Sebastian pretty well everything.” Having a non-lawyer present could prevent the conversation from being protected by privilege, and I said as much, but Peter said it was fine.
“So what do the cops say you did?” You never ask a client what he actually did; that was like asking him to confess. Instead, you always asked him what the cops said he did.
“They say I slapped my son in the face.” That was a change from the rough stuff that Peter’s bouncers were always getting charged with. It must have been one hell of a slap, otherwise why would the cops even bother?
“Any witnesses,” I said.
“I saw it,” Sebastian said, “plus Earl. He was on door duty that night, plus a couple of dancers.”
“Anyone else?” I said. If the only witnesses were Peter’s faithful employees, then it would be Peter’s word against his son’s, and in an assault case, you were half-way to a not guilty if there were no independent witnesses.
“Three cops,” said Sebastian, “they were hanging around there, just waiting to bust someone from the club.”
“This is gonna be a tough one, I know,” Peter said, turning towards the wall safe behind him. He spun the lock three times with practiced fingers, without giving more than a glance,and the door fell open.
“Here’s five for a start,” he said, counting out fifty G-notes, which he me made me count back to him. “And there’s five more if you do for me, what you did for Sebastian.” Ten Gs for common assault? It sounded too good to be true.
“It’s only a slap,” I said, “and I don’t normally charge that much for something that small.”
“I want you to fight for me the way you did for Sebsatsian. I gotta win this thing. The liquor license guys are always up my ass, and if I get so much as a speeding ticket, they’ll try to pull my liquor license. So fix this for me, Calledinthe90s.”
“Fix this for me,” Peter said again, “the trial’s in a month, and I need a lawyer, and you’re the guy. Do for me what you did for Sebastian.”
“But they have three cops who saw you do it,” I said.
“And the cops had a videotape of me, when I beat those five guys,” said Sebastian, “but you still got me off.” This was true, but I had done some serious outside the box thinking, plus taken some personal risks, to get Sebastian out from under a slam dunk crown case.
“I’ll do my best,” I said. I asked for paper and pen, and in Peter’s small office, I listened to the story of why Peter had given his son a big slap in front of some cops.
* * *
“I’m proud of my son, but when he was growing up, sometimes I had to straighten him out. Give him the big slap now and again.” I could tell that Peter really was proud of his son, Bruce; I could hear it in his voice. Peter’s pride came out loud and clear as he spoke of Bruce, how he’d been a whiz at math in high school, a star athlete (boxing and judo), did good in university, and was now an actuary in some huge insurance company downtown.
“I was so proud of that kid. I even bought him a car when he graduated, even the insurance was prepaid.” Bruce had been proud of his success, too, maybe too proud, and his success had gone to his head. He was a young man with a wealthy father and money of his own and a new Porsche 944, and he drove up and down the strip, hitting clubs on the weekends, partying with the dancers, spending his money.
“Which is all good,” Peter said, “after all, what’s a young guy gonna do when he’s got money in his pocket and girls to help him spend it?” But Bruce had been banned from some of the places on the strip, for being too handsy with the dancers, and one place had thrown him out, none too gently. “Those five guys Sebastian beat? That was me who sent him there. I sent Sebastian there to straighten them out, after they roughed up my son.” For the first time I understood why Sebastian had gone to the club just up the street and beaten five bouncers unconscious.
It wasn’t long before there was only one club left that Bruce could go to: the Jet Set that his father owned. “But I had to ban him, too,” Peter said, “he was all over the girls, all the time, and I can’t have that.” Peter was protective of the women who worked for him.
“So how did that lead to the Big Slap?” I asked.
“He showed up in that car of his, squealing tires in the lot,” Peter said. Earl had been the bouncer on duty and had denied him entrance, there being standing orders in place to keep Bruce out. “Bruce dropped Earl with a sucker punch, and walked in,” Peter said.
I raised an eyebrow. Earl was another client of mine, a giant of a man and I knew that no sucker punch of mine would ever knock out Earl. I raised an eyebrow. “Your son can handle himself,” I said.
“Bruce’s is no slouch when it comes to that kind of thing,” Peter said, and again the pride showed in his voice. “Just like his old man. Not in Sebastian’s league, but still, he’s not a guy to mess with.”
“Was Earl ok?”
“It’s hard to tell. Good bouncers are like big dogs; they never let you know when they’re hurting. Irregardless, the guys are teasing him, getting knocked out like that, sucker punched before he even raised a hand.” After Bruce had bulldozed his way into his father’s club, the other bouncers had tackled him, and dropped him outside, gently enough, and unscathed.
“What happened next?” I said.
“There were cops in the parking lot,” said Sebastian, “they like to hang around sometimes, watching for drunks, so that they can get them for impaired.” I took notes, and listened to the narrative, sometimes Peter talking, sometimes Sebastian, and together they told me the rest of the story. Bruce got back on his feet, and tried to push past the bouncers, but he was getting nowhere. Then Peter came out, and when Bruce pushed again, Peter gave him the Big Slap, a hard open hand that had rocked his son. That brought the cops out of their car, and in no time at all Peter found himself under arrest for assault.
“Typical cops,” Sebastian said, “they miss Bruce knocking out Earl, they miss him trying to force his way in. All they seen is the slap to the face. Bullshit charge, and Bruce doesn't even wanna testify, but the cops got him under subpoena.”
“Tunnel vision,” Peter said, “they got tunnel vision. They’re always trying to find a reason to shut me down.”
That was the story Peter and Sebastian told me, but from the way the cops told it in the disclosure I read, they’d been quietly minding their own business in the parking lot of a strip club, when suddenly and without warning my client stepped up to his son, and for no reason at all, slapped him across the face. Maybe the liquor license guys weren’t the only ones who had it in for Peter.
Not long after that, I was at court for a set date. The court was packed, and we were following the usual routine: a case is called, counsel steps forward, a date is set, the judge calls the next case. The judge was taking no shit from delaying defence counsel, and he was moving his list along with impressive speed, until my case with Peter was called.
“Calledinthe90s,” I said, putting my name on the record, as Peter stepped up from the body of the court. The crown had been powering through the list, but when he heard my name, his head whipped around. His name was Polgar, and he looked at me with hate. He’d been the crown at Sebastian’s five-bouncer case, and he was looking for revenge.
“The case is complicated,” I said to the judge, “with lots of witnesses. We’ll need at least an hour for the pretrial, and the trial itself will be a couple of days.” I hadn’t thought of a defence, and the more time the court gave me to think of one, the better.
“Skip the pretrial, and the trial will be a half-day,” the crown said. “In fact, let’s triage this thing. Expedite it.” I objected, and spoke of the number of witnesses, the long history between father and son, the importance of a fair trial and time to prepare. The judge looked at me like I was an idiot. Like I was a lawyer using delay tactics, which of course is exactly what I was.
“It’s a common assault charge,” the judge said, “a simple slap across the face.” He marked it for a half-day trial, and gave me a trial date in two months. That was super fast, but the Askov case had recently come down, and the courthouse was trying to move things along, otherwise cases would get dismissed for delay. The court recessed after Peter’s case, but before I could leave, Polgar the vengeful crown collared me.
“You pull any shit like you did last time, I’ll complain to the Law Society.” Last time he’d been upset that his victims had all recanted before trial, and had not thought to mention this to him, not even when examined in chief at Sebastian’s trial for beating them senseless.
“Trying to be tough like your Daddy?” I said. Polgar’s father was the Crown Attorney for the County. For decades the elder Polgar had courted a reputation as the toughest Crown in the land, but all he had achieved was massive delay in the courthouse, and a reputation for obtaining convictions, sometimes wrongful convictions, at any cost. Polgar Junior ignored my taunt.
“You know what I mean. If you so much as whisper to the victim, contact him in any way, I’m gunning for your license.”
“Put that in writing, or fuck off,” I said. Peter and I left the courtroom and parted ways. I head back to my office, wondering how I was going to get Peter a not guilty verdict, but I’d been thinking about that for weeks, and I had no idea.
* * *
Trial was a month away, then a week, then two days, and then one day, and I still had no idea how I was going to defend Peter. Three cops had seen him slap his son, and I had no idea what to do.
I was sitting in my office, a beautiful office the loss of which I mourne to this day. It was the only office I’d ever been in that had balconies and doors which opened out to them. It was ten o’clock on a beautiful summer morning, and I was sitting on the balcony with Peter’s file in my hand, and wondering what to do. I read through the crown brief again, and flipped through my Martin’s, a book that I’d fallen in love with when I was fifteen years old, but I found nothing in it that inspired me. Sure, I could argue that Peter had merely been defending his property, preventing a trespass. That was an ok defence, a decent defence, a defence that might fly in front of the right judge, if the evidence came out right. And that would be my defence, if I couldn’t think of anything better.
But I knew there was something better. I was certain of it, and it was driving me crazy that I hadn’t figured it out. I think best when I have a pen in my hand and I’m making notes, so I went through my file for the fifth time that morning, looking at each statement, checking out the Information for flaws, trying to find an angle. In frustration, I went to the notes that I’d taken when I first spoke to Peter, back in his office, after he’d made me pay thirty bucks for charity.
“I was so proud of my son, I bought him a car,” I had noted Peter as saying. I read that again, and the questions about the car that had followed, and how Peter paid for the insurance, on the car, too, and then my brain lined up some dots and connected them, and I gave Peter a call. We spoke, I put my plan together, and later that day I was at the Jet Set, hanging around Peter and his bouncers.
* * *
It was after six p.m., and the sun was thinking about getting ready to set, maybe an hour or so to go. I chilled with Peter and his guys, sitting on lawn chairs outside the Jet Set. Peter was telling stories about the old days, about the times he got robbed, about the cops hassling him, about the liquor license assholes and about the trial next day, and that if he got convicted, the liquor license assholes would pull his license.
“You sure this is gonna work, kid?” he said, putting a massive arm around me.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but it’s worth a shot.” Peter put his arm down, and looked at his watch.
“The charity event starts in twenty minutes, but I could still call it off.” Peter was nervous; the stunt I was pulling was a bit much, even for me, and I could tell he was worried. “We still got time to pull the plug. Let’s run through this again, ok?”
“Ok,” I said. The parking lot was busy, lots of people buzzing around for the charity. The old Ford Mustang had been taken away to the wreckers. But the Mustang was only a warm up. It was time for the main act, and unlike the aged Mustang, this car was new, a shiny black Porsche 944 that club regulars recognized on sight. It was Bruce’s car, a car famous up and down the strip that ran near the airport.
The shiny 944 stood on blocks, its tires removed, ready to be sacrificed for charity. A large, happy crowd, a slightly drunk crowd, milled around the car. Some were laying claim to a window, others to a door or a light. One man said he was going to torch his name into the hood.
“I should have thought of this earlier,” I said to Peter. I got up, and asked him to follow me. We moved away, and were able to speak with a bit of privacy despite the busy parking lot, because Sebastian and Earl stood guard, and no one tried to get past them.
“What made you think of this thing now, the day before the trial?” That’s what Peter wanted to know, and I didn’t really have an answer for him.
My best ideas come to me randomly. Sometimes they come to me the instant I open the file, giving me a path to a win that I know must follow. I loved it when the dots connected for me right at the start. But what really sucked, was when the dots connected too late, after the case was over, and when that happens, my gift for thinking outside the box is a curse. There’s no point in having a great idea after the case is over.
Defending a criminal case is often like being down a goal in the third period. You’re going to get only so many shots on net, so you better take them when you can, and I hated not taking shots, I hated not taking shots a lot more than I hated missing them. So of late, I’d started forcing myself to think, to examine the facts, to review them over and over again, in the hope of finding a shot.
“I should have thought of it earlier,” I said again.
That’s what I’d said to Sebastian, when Peter had loaned him out to me to fulfill a mission. He dropped by my office to pick up a letter that I wanted him to deliver. He already had the spare set of keys for Bruce’s Porsche, and my instructions on repossessing it. “Once you get the Porsche,” I continued , “park it in another building, then go back to Bruce’s office, and leave this letter for him at reception.”
“What does the letter say?” Sebastian said, and I repeated it from memory:
Dear Bruce,
I am your father’s lawyer, and your father is the owner of your car, a car that he has now repossessed. Your father told me to give you this letter, to let you know as a courtesy that you will have to find some other way home.
Your father will not be letting you drive the car again. No one will ever drive the car again, because your father intends to give it to charity, tonight, at the parking lot outside the Jet Set.”
“Is this even legal? Sebastian said.
“It is a bit like a kidnapping,” I admitted. “But legal. Perfectly legal. Call me from the club when you drop off the Porsche.”
* * *
“My son was pretty pissed when he got the letter,” Peter said, as we waited together for the pending sacrifice of Bruce’s 944. “Yup,” I said. My receptionist had received a series of threatening calls from Bruce, with him promising to fuck me up real good the first chance he got. I was gonna eat that fucking letter, Bruce had said in another message. After he fucked me up real good, he added in another. Bruce left a lot of messages for me.
He left messages at the club, too, and for his father, and they were all the same, that he was coming to the club, and if anyone touched his fucking car, he would kill them.
I saw a yellow cab roll into the parking lot, and a young man jumped out, a young, very angry man. His suit was sharp and his shoes gleamed. He paid the driver in bills, with quick flips of the wrist, the bills falling through the air as the driver snatched at them. Then the young man turned, and stormed towards his father, and towards me. Sebastian and Earl closed ranks, but Peter told them to back off, that he would deal with his son. “This the lawyer?” Bruce asked his father. “Sure am,” I said, standing up. I was ready for him. I’d been in my share of fights in high school, and I knew that I could handle myse--
I felt no pain when Bruce’s hard fist connected with my face. There was a flash, like a lightbulb going off inside my head, and I went down in a heap.
“Guy’s got a good left hook, I’ll give him that,” Sebastian said when he sat me up, “he laid you out real good.”
The right side of my face was already swelling. I opened my mouth to make a witty remark, a manly aside to show my indifference to pain. “It hurts,” I moaned, and it hurt, it really, really hurt. “It really hurts,” I said again, realizing that I’d never actually been in a fight before, and that those fights back in high school weren’t real fights, just me and another kid pushing each other while the other kids yelled ‘fight fight fight’ over and over again.
Earl came over, and together he and Sebastian helped me up. “Never been knocked out, I’m guessing,” Sebastian said. I nodded, and then regretted nodding.
I turned, and saw another figure being helped up. His shoes were now scuffed, and his suit was wrecked, but even with both his hands over his face, I knew it was Bruce.
Peter went over to comfort his son, but Bruce slapped his hand away, and I saw that his face was a bloody mess, like he’d gone a few rounds while keeping his hands down. The cab he’d arrived in was still there. Bruce stumbled over to it, got in the back, and then he was gone. As I watched the cab drive away, I tried to clear my head.
“The Boss is gonna fire me, for fucking up his son,” Sebastian said quietly.
“He’s gonna fire me, for not stepping in to save him,” Earl said. They exchanged looks, and then glanced at me, as if they were about to ask for advice about wrongful dismissal. But my head was starting to clear, and despite the pain, I was happy, I felt good. I felt stoked. My plan had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.
“You look look pretty happy for someone who just got knocked out,” Peter said to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and for any Americans reading this, in Canada ‘sorry’ has a lot of meanings, and in this case, ‘sorry’ meant that I was delighted, that I was over the moon with joy. “I really regret that I have been turned into a witness, even a victim. I don’t see how I can do your trial tomorrow, Peter,” I said to him, “I have a conflict of interest.”
I hadn’t planned on getting punched in the face. I hadn’t expected to have a black eye, either, but when I realized what Bruce had done, I knew that I had a shot at delaying the case, and back then, like it sometimes is now, delaying a case was almost as good as a win.
Delaying a case even a few months could be as good as a win, because the courts were dismissing cases like crazy if they took too long to get to trial. If I could string out the case for a year, it was sure to get bounced. I was so stoked that when I got home I forgot about my black eye, until my wife asked me about it when I walked into the kitchen, and we had our fight that ended with me sleeping in the basement. I went into court the next day feeling low, and looking worse, because my wife hadn’t waited around that morning, and I was pretty sure she was still mad at me.
“Not my fault I was at a strip club,” I said resentfully to myself as I drove to the courthouse, saying things that I hadn’t had the balls to say to my wife. “Not my fault that I got punched in the face, either,” I said, but that was not quite correct; it was my fault, actually. Totally my fault.
* * *
“This is all Calledinthe90’s fault,” Polgar the Crown said the next morning, when at ten o’clock sharp Judge May walked in and his court started like it always did, on time and the parties ready to go, or else. The courtroom was small and the gallery almost fully occupied by young women from the Jet Set, mostly dancers but a few servers as well, along with a few of the bouncers. The court door banged every time it closed, and it stopped banging when the last of the dancers arrived, dressed like she was in a club, dressed for a night on the town.
The dancers attracted a lot of attention, as usual, except from Bruce. Bruce wasn’t looking so good. His face had stopped bleeding at least, but it hadn’t even started to heal, and he was a mask of purple and red and black.
Everyone shut up the moment the judge came in, and in the silence I repeated what had made Polgar so angry the first time I said it.
“I have a conflict,” I said again. My face ached, but I was having trouble suppressing a smile. I gave the judge a brief account of my attendance at the Jet Set the day before to supervise a charity event, when Bruce, the Crown’s key witness, suddenly and without warning or provocation, punched me in the face, hitting me so hard that I almost fell down. When I finished speaking I heard the courtroom door bang behind me, and I turned to see what caused the interruption, and what I saw surprised me. It was my wife.
“Sorry, Your Honour,” my wife said, in quiet apology for the interruption.. She looked around for a seat. Some of the girls from the club shuffled over, and my wife joined them. “Thank you,” she whispered, settling in. I tried to catch her eye, but she looked past me, like I didn’t exist. I gave up when I heard Polgar the Crown start to complain again.
“Nothing ever is normal when Calledinthe90s is involved,” he said, “there’s always something.” He threw his pen onto the counsel table as he spoke. “But this excuse is the worst I’ve ever heard. He gets himself punched in the face, and now he wants an adjournment.”
“And you are opposed to that request?” Judge May said, his raised eyebrows revealing his surprise.
“Yes, I’m opposed. There’s no reason why this trial can’t--”
“Your key witness gave defence counsel a black eye,” Judge May said, “and I think that’s a pretty good reason.” He shuffled some papers in front of him, and closed a file. “I’ll remind you that a lot of cases are getting dismissed for delay, and anything we can get off the docket is a big help.” The judge stood, and so did everyone else. The judge turned to me, and then back to the Crown. “I’ll recess for fifteen minutes, and when I come back you two will tell me that you’ve sorted this out.” The court stood frozen as the judge exited. I was trying to catch my wife’s eye, but she was still ignoring me. Polgar grabbed my jacket and pulled me around.
“You did this deliberately,” he said, “you provoked him by stealing his car.”
“Exercising a lawful act of repossession is not provocation under the law, otherwise repo men would always get the shit beat out of them.” I was using the legal part of my brain to talk, but the rest of my mind was wondering why had my wife come to court? Why today of all days? Did she not trust me? Did she not think that I would be honest with her when I got home, and tell her about everything that happened at court that day?
“Repo men are different. It’s their job to repo. It’s just not the same,” Polgar the Crown said, but the argument that followed was weak, not worth refuting.
“Fuck repo men,” Sebastian said from behind me, “I hate them as much as cops.”
“Not here, Sebastian,” I said, and then I focused my attention back on the Crown, and almost forgot about my wife. “You heard the judge,” I said, “he’s not gonna make me do a trial. He’s gonna give me an adjournment.”
“Fine,” Polgar the Crown said, “but only one, and peremptory.”
“Oh, not at all,” I said. I laughed slightly, ignoring the pain in my face. “The first adjournment is required for medical reasons, to see if I am concussed.”
“So we’ll come back fast, next week, on a set date. I can arrange it.”
“But if I’m concussed,” I continued, “we might need another adjournment. Maybe two, while I get my bearings.”
“Fine. Six weeks, max, then we set a trial date.” He asked the clerk for dates, but I told her to hold off.
“Once the doctors say I’m fit, we’ll need to schedule a motion I’ll be filing, seeking a declaration on whether I’m in a conflict or not.”
“But you already said you were in a conflict.”
I smiled. “I might be wrong. It’s safer to get a judge’s opinion. And that might take a while. Especially if one of us appeals.”
“But you’re just dragging this out, trying to Askov the thing.” Of course that was what I was trying to do, but an important part of Aksoving a case, of getting it dismissed for excessive delay, is never to admit that you’re deliberately causing delay.
“What’s more embarrassing,” I said, appealing to Polgar’s practical side, “having the case dismissed for delay, or having it dismissed because your witness, your so-called victim, punched defence counsel in the face? It’s getting dismissed, one way or the other and it’s only a slap. Common assault. Why don’t you take the easy route?”
When the judge returned Polgar the Crown took the easy route. He stood, and told the judge that the Crown had decided to drop the charge.
I ought to have been thrilled. I ought to have been ecstatic. That’s how I feel when everything goes according to plan, when the last dot gets connected.
But my wife was angry, and when my wife was angry at me, nothing else seemed to matter. I felt as bad as if I’d lost the case, that I’d gotten myself punched out for nothing. But then Judge May, that great man, came to my rescue.
“Dropping the charges, you say? Good idea. So recorded.” Then the judge turned to me.
“Calledinthe90s, will you be filing any charges at the man who gave you that shiner?”
I’m a little ashamed of what I did next, but not really, because my wife was watching and I did what I had to do. I let the judge’s words hang for an instant, and then I turned manfully towards Bruce, the man who had injured me, the man whose face was battered and bruised far worse than mine. “No need, Your Honour, he and I settled things last night. I’m satisfied, if he is.” Sebastian was trying hard not to laugh, and so was Earl, but I kept a straight face. Bruce, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to explode.
“I should think so,” said the judge, “next case.”
I walked out with Peter and Sebastian and Earl, and we waited outside as everyone else came out, all the servers from the club, and the dancers and a couple of more bouncers, and then my wife came out last of all.
“Who is that,” Peter said, ‘Is she one of my girls?”
“That girl is my wife,” I said.
“Is that why you said that stuff at the end, where you kinda implied that you beat the shit out of my son? Trying to impress your wife?” He smiled at me, but I pretended I didn’t understand.
My wife took me home, gave me tylenol and put me to bed, and when I woke up, I told her about what happened, about the dots that I’d connected, about the things that I’d done and the money that I’d made, and how I’d made it. I told her about the rules that I almost broke, and the customs that I hadn’t followed. I confessed everything, or at least, almost everything. I did leave out the odd little bit.
“Did they teach you how to do that in law school,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Beat the shit out of people, like that guy in court.”
“It was just guy stuff, settling a score, that’s all,” I said, like what I’d been through was nothing.
She took me downstairs, and settled me on a couch. I basked in her attention as she fussed over me, brought me soup and a cup of tea.
“I had no idea you were so tough,” she said as she joined me on the couch. I would have replied, but she shushed me when the show was about to start. By now I knew that I was forgiven, that the squall had passed, and I settled contendly on the couch, despite my black eye and my throbbing face. But then my wife hit the mute button.
“One more thing,” she said, pointing the control at my head like a gun, “You go near that strip club, for any reason, and you’ll be sleeping in the basement for a long, long, time.”
“But--”
“No buts. I saw those girls in the courtroom. I don’t want you hanging them. If your bouncer clients need to see you, they can see you at your office, like any other client.”
“But--”
“No buts.” She turned the volume back on.
“Ok,”I said.
“Ssshhh. It’s starting,” she said.

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 4-29-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 4-29-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 4-22-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

When off reddit you can access this list via this web site: www.freeLARentals.com
These listings are sourced from the MLS, I'm a Realtor and pull from that system. As such these are all verified and legitimate listings and can be trusted. No, I don't make any money off this, I'm just doing it to help people. And while I'd never ask, donations are accepted and appreciated.
New L.A. County rental listings, week of 4-22-2024.
Search maxxed at $5K.
Key for abbreviations is at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Find more details on any listing by simply googling the info or you can copy the listing ID # (or MLS#) and entering into a site like this one and selecting "For Lease" in the dropdown.
It's always a good idea to use a MIMO form (Move In / Move Out) when renting. It's a checklist of a visual inspection made on the unit at the time you move in that you and your landlord sign off on and verifies condition of varying aspects of the unit. You'll use it again when you move out to verify condition and hopefully everyone agrees.
Also be sure to check out the interactive version of this spreadsheet at WhereToLive.LA courtesy of cheeze_whiz_dot_com, my thanks to him.
Meanwhile, need some work done around the new apartment? Check out my list of recommended service providers for home appliance repair and purchase, landscaping, insurance and more.
Lastly, if you're in need of low cost, Section 8, transitional or other affordable housing please check out Housing Rights Center Project Place Rental Listings, updated monthly.
Good luck and happy hunting, L.A.

Hey friends and swappers of sharp things, abrasive rocks, and stuffz. I could only manage to sell the DUK in my previous post, as I knew there would be a time needed to grieve (exclusively); however, it was purchased by the legendary, TPK (Transparent Knives). I have such an appreciation for his work and the discourse he brings to the knife community, it made the process enjoyable and interesting! I'd like to express my gratitude to the entire community here on KS, as everyone I've traded, bought, and sold knives to/with has brought such a positive experience.
As I dwindle down more of my collection (only to eventually build it back up again, of course), I'm posting a few knives for sale that I've enjoyed, appreciated, but I've never really used any of them. So, Marie Kondo style, I'm passing along some really cool knives!
Payments via PP F&F Only.
**Please shoot me a chat with any offers. Not really looking for trades, but if one of these peaks your interest - send me a message with anything you're interested in trading. I'm interested in getting a We Nefaris, any cool/wear resistant steels on folders, Japanese gyutos (any fancy hard carbon steel), cool santukos, or user benchmade 940s :).
JUST A HEADS-UP, I'LL BE IN AND OUT OF COMMS ALL DAY FOR VARIOUS ACTIVITIES. I'LL GET BACK TO YOU WHETHER IT IS A YOLO OR CHAT, IT JUST MAY TAKE A BIT ONCE THE FAM GETS UP AND ROLLING

Timestamp

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Hinderer Jurassic - Magnacut - Triway - Stonewash - Slicer - Coyote G10

Custom Wooden Scale
Custom Wooden Scale Beside the G10 Scale on Table
SOLDSOLD
Received this in a bundle purchase. Very interesting knife, and the ergonomics have grown on me. I dig it. Very cool and, size wise, sits right in between the XM-18 3in and the XM-18 3.5in. Wonderfully sized knife for EDC, but my preference is closer to the 3.5-4in range (unless it's one of those damn Asher Spiros - geez I love them). Overall, this Hinderer Jurassic is a phenomenal knife and in excellent condition. Still has the factory edge and it is still "hinderer sharp," but this Hinderer sharp is actually much sharper than the XM-18s I've got from the factory.
DETAILS:

• Unsure on the number of owners, I believe I'm the second or third owner.
• Perfectly centered
• Much slicier than the XM-18s I've owned - Not sure if it's actually thinner BTE, but the blade height from edge to spine, being a little taller than the spoons and slicers I've owned, probably helps the geometry a bit (my scientific wild ass guess). I've only tested its cutting abilty once or twice on single wall cardboard. I was impressed.
• I have not disassembled this knife, I don't know if the custom made wood scale was ever put on it by anyone else or not... I'm assuming so? I just never tried it out. If you'd like me to put it on for pics or something - let me know - we'll do it live.
• I couldn't take it, I had to know. Removed the front scale and added the custom wooden scale (did it live)... Its... Actually really comfy... Feels pretty good. I think it could use some sealant and some polishing/stain, but the fit seems phenomenal and looks pretty good.
  • If this one doesn't sell, I'll probably stain and seal this scale and maybe keep this guy? Pretty neat, I must say.
• I can never tell whether Hinderer's working or SW finish has snails or scratches or not. I tried to show in the two videos in the link that I think there is a very small scratch on the lockbar between the clip and thumbstud. Other than that, appears to be in perfect condition.
• It does not appear that anyone has cut with this knife - I just see no indication of it.
• Comes with all original packaging and other triway washers/liners - currently running on hinderer bearings.

SV 330 OBRO
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Null Raikou - Full Ti Stonewash - s90v

Sold sold I do love me some Null Knives! So far, the Voodoo is my favorite, but it was mostly due to my love for those odd shaped, comfy thumbstuds. The action on the Raikou reminds me of the Raiden, but I do think the major improvement here is the notch in the fuller allowing such easy reverse flicking. Overall, great knife and I love the blade steel choice here by Null. Even though the action is fantastic, most of the Null knives I've owned have benefitted from Skiffs a good deal, and I do know that most say Skiffs don't actually improve the action (other obvious advantages though) - adding skiffs certainly made a difference in a couple of other Null's I've owned. That being said, I'm not sure this one needs it. I don't use this one, love the asthetics and ergos, but it needs a new home.
DETAILS:

• 2nd owner
• May have tossed this in the slacks a couple times running off to work, but never really carried outside of the house other than those couple of days. (fun fact - I often drive home to have lunch with wife - nearly always swap knives during the lunch trip - this is especially true if I see the mail has already run for the day. I wish I was kidding.)
• Cut a few slits in some single wall cardboard to test the slicey diceyness (does very well)
• Fantastic action and sharp edge (I hear their s90v holds a great edge after a couple of sharpenings - nearly ALWAYS the case with any knife I've experienced)
• Comes in original packaging with papers and sticker
• Hasn’t been sharpened
• I've never disassembled - can't remember if other owner had or not
• Perfectly centered
• Can't really find any blemishes or scratches at all - it was sold to me in like new condition and I would certainly say it still is - again, with the working finish and heavy stone was portions of the blade its tough to tell. If something catches your eye in the video we'll definitely inspect

SV 310 OBRO
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Chaves Ultramar 229 Rendencion - Drop Point - m390

SOLDSOLD sol Great knife. Recieved this in a bundle as well. Has a typically sharp factory Chaves edge. I think this is one of the earlier generations of the 229 Rendencion that on came with the skull clip only, which I've always liked, but I know there are those who aren't a fan - so please take note of this. I'm assuming the plain clips for later versions would fit, but don't take my word, do a bit of research on this piece if it matters to you. I wouldn't put it in a full "user" category, but it has certainly seen some light use. A few light scratches on the blade and a couple on the clip side of the knife. The Ti handle doesn't show wear super easily, but the belt satin finish on it will show scratches, especially under heavy use. That being said, I feel the Chaves knives scream to be used hard, much in the way Hinderer, McNees, and Les George knives scream to be used.
DETAILS:

• No idea on number of owners of this guy.
• Appears to be the factory edge and still sharp (if someone sharpened this, they did a wonderful job keeping the original grind lines. Lol.)
• Has been carried and used by previous owners to some degree (obviously not too much since factory edge is still on the knife/still sharp - m390 isn't magic). The knife was certainly never abused.
• I did cut a single piece of cardboard testing the edge. Slicier than expected with teh deep hollow grind.
• I have never disassembled this knife, but assume previous owners did disassemble the knife.
• Tried to show all the wear under bright overhead lights. In some lighting conditions they're barely visable, and, in others, they are more noticible. Feel free to ask for addition video/pics.
• Overall the knife is in great condition, wonderfully strong detent, flies open with the thumb or reverse flick, drops shut with a little wiggle (great unless compared to a Eutsler - it still hurts)
• Perfectly centered
• Comes in original packaging (NO PLAIN CLIP INCLUDED)

SV 225 OBRO
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WE High Fin - 20CV

SOLDSOLD
Acquired this in a trade. TBH, I cared nothing about owning this knife due to size and dlc blade; however, the stonewash DLC actually looks fantastic and will not show wear easily. After having it for a bit, it has grown on me a bit, but it's just not my style of knife, other than me being a warncliff fanatic. It's a little bit small for my ogre paws. This guy has be sharpened by the previous owner I THINK, and he's actually a professional sharpener, and, as always, he did a wonderful job on this knife (if it was sharpened). It's more polished than most factory edges I've seen. Either way, edge is in great shape. The action is surprisingly good. Thumb flick and reverse flick work flawlessly, and not a guillotine but does drop shut with a little wiggle. Thin BTE, great blade shape, the stonewash DLC will wear really well, and my guess is this thing is an amazing slicer. Haven't seen many of these pop up on the swap, but it is an excellent little knife. I think the handle and the blade will hide wear and blemishes very well. The only true blemish I see is in the middle of the clip, which I point to in the picture.
DETAILS:

• Unsure on number of owners, but I think only one previous owner.
• Blade length at 2.98 in, handle lenght at 4 in.
• Has been shrpened very well, I think? From pics online, it seems their factory edge has a very high polish. Regardless, it's very sharp, and if it isn't the factory edge, it looks fantastic and symmetrical.
• I've never disassembled it.
• Should be an excellent slicer, but I have cut zero things with it.
• I've never put this knife in a pocket at all.
• Assume previous owner cut and carried, but I don't see much evidence of it at all. Only the snail/scratch on the clip. Check the pic and video closely and feel free to reach out with any requests for information/pics.
• Appears to be in excellent condition, but I haven't spent a ton of time with this knife.
• Comes with all original packaging - pouch, papers, stickers, box, etc (it's We - they add the swagz - wonderful pouch btw)
• Great action
• Perfectly centered

SV 165 OBRO
​
YOLO > chat/dm
All items will be shipped USPS priority insured on Monday.
I'm terrible with pictures and video. Please disregard any heavy mouth-breathing, and feel free to reach out if you need additional photos. Be happy to accommodate

https://www.theplayerstribune.com/bposts/carta-matheus-pereira-cruzeiro-estrelas
Translated from Portuguese to English below.
People might say that I'm fine today. Yes, I am. Or that I'm better. Better than before, no doubt. But I suffered a lot until I recovered. It's hard for others to understand because nobody is inside me. And honestly, I have no idea how things got to the point where I wanted to throw myself off the 19th floor of a hotel in Abu Dhabi. I think almost everything comes down to football, I don't know. My voids, the things I did to fill them, my downfall, my salvation...
Salvation, actually, because football saved me several times.
The first time I was only two years old. I was in hospital with pneumonia that the doctors couldn't cure. My body didn't react to the antibiotics. In our family, when they remember those weeks of anguish and prayers, they say that I was "between life and death". And that I only slipped to the side of life because one afternoon my father turned up with a football and it filled me with the energy I needed to heal.
It seems that the first time I kicked a ball inside the ward I broke a window. And it was a general joy, a party. After a while of being "disillusioned", another word that has been ingrained in our family history, I was on my feet. "Matheusinho is going to be a footballer! And he's going to bring us a lot of light," said my father. He was right. But who would have guessed that along with the light would come so much shadow?
Shortly afterwards, we moved from Belo Horizonte to Governador Valadares. My parents and our five children. My father's job as a car consortium salesman wasn't going well, my mum was a cleaner in a family home and we were on a tight budget. In Valadares, a smaller and cheaper city than the capital, we would be able to make ends meet.
The hospital's miracle ball went with me. I couldn't let go of it. It was my best companion. But it didn't cross my mind to go for a trial, a sieve, to try out for a career, none of that. Just playing football was fine, it made me happy. Then I joined the academy of a club called Filadélfia and, in the midst of the pleasure that football gave me, there was a twinge of sadness every day. The monthly fee my father could pay only entitled me to football. So, at the end of training, while the other boys in the team went to the swimming pool, I'd watch from outside the gridiron. It was a journey from joy to sadness in a few seconds.
After a while, as I excelled with the ball, the teachers at the school, two angels called Bruno and Marcelo, got me access to the whole club.
It was a good feeling to discover that there are people who reach out and care. That gesture from Bruno and Marcelo did us a lot of good, it was a new breath of fresh air, because my father's consortium sales had reached zero and in the evenings, at dinner time, the talk was always about moving city again.
And indeed we did move, in a process that further disrupted our lives and made me become a professional footballer.
Firstly, my father went alone to Portugal. I didn't really understand what was happening or how it was going to end. I just missed him taking me to the football school. That was another sadness. One day I had my father by my side all the time. The next, I didn't know where he was or if I was ever going to see him again.
After a year my mum went to meet him. She left me and my brothers living in Belo Horizonte with our deaf and mute grandmother. Just think. I was 11 years old, my parents had moved to Lisbon and my education from then on would be the responsibility of an old lady who neither spoke nor heard. To top it off, some of my uncles who also lived there were involved in drug trafficking.
I didn't play much football during that time. I spent more time on the streets picking fights and getting into trouble. Once I spent a few days locked in my house because an older boy had sworn to kill me. The situation got worse quickly and reached my parents in Portugal. They knew how things worked there when they left me behind, but human beings always hope, always think it will work out, don't they? But it was going wrong.
There was a big risk that I would follow in my uncles' footsteps. So my mum flew to Brazil. The plan was to take the five of us and go back to Portugal. "Are you mad? A woman with a bunch of small children? It's obvious that everyone will be deported," she was told.
But what could my mum do? What other way out did she have? We arrived at Lisbon airport and it was no surprise: the six of us went to the immigration hall. They gave my younger brothers paper and pencils to draw. They immediately drew a man.

• Who is that?" asked the Portuguese officer.
  
• That's Dad.
  
• And where is he?
  
• He's travelling.
  

There wasn't even time to tell the lie our mother had rehearsed, to say that we were on holiday, just sightseeing. The officer said:

• You don't have to lie. We just want to know the truth.
  
• OK. The truth is that my husband and I were desperate and came here to try and find a better life. We left the children in Brazil, but they started to be in danger there and I went to get them so that we could all be together again. Dad is out there waiting for us.
  
• He's fine. Since you told the truth, we'll let you in. Good luck in Portugal.
  

Really? What are the chances of this happening? One in a million? But it did. And if I thought my life had already changed too much for a boy who was about to turn 12, in an endless back and forth that prevented me from putting down roots, making good connections and feeling safe, the storm was just beginning. And the wonder too.
I spent a lot of time high. I also drank a lot and spent what money I had left on clubbing. Afterwards I felt like crap, miserable.

• Matheus Pereira I started training at a club called Trafaria, on the other side of the River Tagus. It was there that one day a scout saw me and took me to Sporting. It was José Meirelles, who God allowed to be in the most unlikely place possible to direct me to a sifting period at a great Portuguese club.

I spent two years at Sporting just training. I couldn't play in competitions because I was an illegal immigrant. It's an uncomfortable condition, one of fear and insecurity. On the other hand, I was an illegal immigrant who just wanted to have fun at a club that believed in me. Mainly because I was so good in training and played a lot, confirming that the scout's eye was really good.
When I finally got a residence visa, I signed my first contract at the age of 15 and went to the club's treasury to pick up my first cheque. That's when the chips fell.
Holy shit, I do this for pleasure, to feel happy, to feel like someone, and the guys still pay me that kind of money? I'm just going to jump in, because this is my chance to change everything, to get to the top.
I remember this image I'd built up in my head: getting to the top. I just didn't realise that it could be a dangerous place for me.
Everything was going well on my journey as the new great of Portuguese football. Nobody expected a new Cristiano Ronaldo, of course, but they had a lot of faith in me. Today, reflecting on everything that happened and still not fully understanding it, I wonder if that pressure, which was perhaps only in my head, may have helped me sink into darkness. Frankly, I don't know. I really don't know...
The situation at home wasn't going well. A while after I signed for Sporting, my parents split up and I had to move again. Now on my own: I moved to CT and almost lost everything.
Ever since my days with my deaf and mute grandmother, I had felt a great dissatisfaction inside me. A rebelliousness that I didn't know where it came from, a need to defy, to disobey, a restlessness that consumed me. Living in CT, once again without anyone looking out for me or telling me about the important things, I went to play on the edge of the abyss.
I joined the weed ring and spent a long, long time high. I also drank a lot and spent what money I had left on clubbing. Afterwards I felt like crap, miserable. I blamed myself in an unbearable way when I imagined how sad my parents would be if they knew. They gave me a Christian upbringing, I come from a Christian home, nothing to do with that.
How could I be capable of losing myself like that just when God was opening the doors of football to me? I don't know. I'm going to owe you that answer too.
Back in Alcochete, where I had some "friends", Fridays were our day to get stuck in. At the end of the afternoon, we'd gather in a corner and I'd be in charge of rolling the joint. It made me feel like the man, strong, knowing all the answers. There was a Friday when I rolled the joint, passed it around and, when it came back to me, I looked at the whole scene and it gave me a rush. I think it was the Holy Spirit whispering in my ear...
"No. I don't want drugs today," I said to the kids, who teased me. "Tomorrow there's a game against Benfica and I want to play well."
The guys laughed.
The next day, I missed the game and was drawn for anti-doping. Imagine that! If it had been any other match of the season, it would have been shit. Not then. Again I thought about my chances.
What are the odds of an illegal immigrant signing a contract with one of Europe's biggest teams, sorting out his family's life, losing himself in drugs and getting away with anti-doping? At that moment I think God spoke to me: "Matheus, I'm looking after you. But if you don't help, it will be difficult. Okay, Lord, I understand. But I'm not capable of helping myself. I never have been.
There came a time when Sporting lost patience and, in order not to let me go, decided I'd better get some fresh air out of there. I had to move again. I was loaned out to Chaves, where Luis Castro was the coach.
For the first time in my life I was living completely alone. The town had nothing, it was very small and quiet. I'd train in the morning and spend the rest of the day with nothing to do. I started to feel that restlessness coming back. Soon I was going to get caught up in something. But this time there was something different.
Instead of being rebellious and distressed, I felt sad. A deep sadness that wouldn't let me leave the house. In this situation, sadness attracts sadness and, in my case, it always ends badly because I can't help it. I began to think I was a fake.
Wow, that's José Meirelles' pupil?
The great promise of Portuguese football since Cristiano Ronaldo?
This guy who did everything wrong and ended up here at the end of a world that doesn't even have a shopping centre?
There was no chance of me playing well with my head like that. One day, after another bad training session, I knocked on Luis Castro's office door. I felt distressed, like my chest was going to explode. I told him everything.

• Professor, I can't do it. It's all too much for me.
  
• Kid, in life, sometimes when you can't manage on your own, you have to let someone else guide you. Stay calm. There will always be stars lighting up the sky, even if you can't see them because of the cloudy days.
  

Football once again reached out to me. I realised that the "other" who would guide me was God. I clung to this, reconciled myself with my faith and, little by little, got better.
I don't know if that's exactly what Castro was talking about. But it made me feel less alone and screwed up. Twelve months later, when my loan at Chaves ended, I returned to Sporting with a different mindset.
Now I want to break through. No more promises. I'm going to happen. I'm going to make the gift I have count, the gift that people believe in and admire in me, I'm going to get out of this hole I've got myself into and establish myself in life, in Portugal, in football.
But as soon as I arrived back in Lisbon, I had to move again. Germany. I went on loan to Nuremberg. I didn't speak any German, English, French or any other language apart from Portuguese. So it was the quietest period of my life.
Luckily, I had just got married and my wife helped me cope. I had a good season and, even playing for a team that was fighting relegation, I was considered one of the best young players in the Bundesliga. My part was done. Well, I'm ready to go back and start again at Sporting, I thought. It was my wish.
But no.
They wanted to loan me out. I collapsed again. That weight, that feeling that the world is against you, that difficulty breathing, that certainty that you're useless. The achievements - and I had many, despite everything - meant nothing to me. I just sank. It's no use: I'm this guy who keeps dripping from one side to the other and doesn't get anywhere.
OK, I know it's hard to understand from the outside. I can't even explain it myself. I can only say what I felt: sadness and failure eating away at every part of my body.
I ended up playing in the second division, but in England. My new club was West Bromwich. Although it was yet another change, and I was fed up with them, I jumped at the chance. The project was very good - and financially too. There was a clause in the contract that obliged the club to buy me for a lot of money if I played 30 games or if the team went up to the Premier League. Both things happened. It was my best professional moment.
I played well, I felt important to the team, to the fans, and the crazy odds of life were on my side again: a Croatian in the team, Krovinovic, who had played for Benfica and spoke Portuguese, helped me a lot. The craziest thing was that we were playing in the same position. Despite this, at no point did he pick on me or stop reaching out to me.
He was another angel that football brought into my life. That voice of God, remember? "Matheus, I'm looking after you." Only one thing bothered me: the relationship with my family was bad and, in order to keep my focus on my career and have peace, I had to make a very difficult decision: to move away from my parents for good. We stopped talking, I cut off all contact.
In both seasons, I was a standout at West Brom. I performed with a regularity I'd never had before. But that didn't stop the team going back to the second division. It was the time of the Covid pandemic, and the clubs decided to hold off on investment. An absurd offer came in from Al-Hilal in Saudi Arabia and I moved again.
I was afraid of what this new move would do to my head, but it was very good financially. I spoke to my wife and we decided to accept. It didn't take long for the psychological decline to reappear. There isn't always a specific cause, I think it's more the whole of a lifetime, but living in Riyadh, I missed my church.
In West Bromwich we were part of a small Christian community and that strengthened me, I was supported. In Saudi Arabia, there was none.
I also began to miss my parents and couldn't find a way to get back in touch with them. Then one day I woke up and darkness had settled over my soul.
My wife did what she could. She was a warrior, she never left my side and she was right to call a friend of mine to stay with me all the time, to be my driver in Saudi Arabia. But it was no use.
Firstly, in an attempt to find some encouragement, we started going to Portugal every day off. We'd stay on the beach, see some friends, I'd get back on my feet and... I'd collapse again when I got back to Riyadh. Then I thought it would be a good idea to drink again - a lot. Maybe when I'm drunk I'll forget a bit about myself? Of course I got worse. And it got even worse when the hangover wore off and I felt guilty for what I'd done to myself and for not being able to get better.
If there were stars even in the cloudy sky, as Luis Castro said, they were extinguished for me. My life was a repetition that I couldn't stand anymore. I asked to leave Al-Hilal without knowing where to go. At that point, I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want anything, I didn't enjoy anything anymore, I was no good at anything. I was nothing. I'd already given up playing football.
It was at that time that the possibility of going to Corinthians came up. My friend and my wife thought that, in the state I was in, playing for a big team in Brazil with so much media focus could make everything worse. They were right, but I wouldn't admit it. I just wanted to get out of Arabia at any cost.
And that's how I ended up in Abu Dhabi, against my will. Ah, let's try it one more time. It might be nice. A lesser-known footballing country, they say it's good to live in, safe and all that. "It might be good for you to decompress." Human beings always have hope, they always think it's going to work out, don't they? I already knew that film. Before anything else, I knew myself. I knew the size of my pain and I became afraid of where it was taking me.
The club was Al-Wahda, who put us up in a luxury hotel on the 19th floor. To this day my wife says that the view from up there was beautiful. I don't remember ever looking at it. It was all darkness and despair for me. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of being tired. I wanted to get rid of so much suffering that I didn't even understand where it came from. Some nights I drank three bottles of wine. I trained drunk several times and was admitted to hospital many times with hypokalaemia, taking IVs to treat the lack of potassium in my blood, because I didn't eat, I just drank alcohol.
Then one day I opened the window of our flat with its spectacular view and only didn't throw myself out because my wife was quicker. She grabbed me, pulled me inside and we spent a long time crying hugging each other on the living room floor, knowing that it wasn't the end - not mine, not my suffering.
I went to counselling, four sessions a week, and it helped me like nothing I'd ever been able to do before. But it took time for me to give up on dying. For a while, there was only one word in my head: death, death, death. The only thing I could see was death. My driver friend would even concentrate with me before matches. Alone, I was a threat. I could harm myself and others.
One night when I relapsed at home, I grabbed my car key and ran out. I ran down the lift, got the car from the garage and drove like crazy. I didn't care about the destination, as long as it was the end.
Then my mobile rang. It was my little sister. I answered crying. "I can't take it anymore, I can't take it anymore, I can't take it anymore. Help me, for God's sake! I want to kill myself. I need to kill myself." She had called to share with me the happiest news of her life: she was going to be a mum. And there I was spoiling everything - everything near or far from me.
We talked a lot, my sister said that the baby would need a star uncle to teach him or her to play ball. This moved me a lot and brought me a momentary happiness, but it wasn't enough to silence that urge to die in my head.
I had stopped in the car park of a snack bar called Shake Shack, located on Abu Dhabi Bay, to pick up my sister. As soon as I switched off my mobile phone, I wanted to go to the Hudariyat Bridge. What if I threw myself from there? That's it. I'm going to throw myself off that bridge. That's it. That's it. I started the car and it wouldn't start. I tried again. Nothing. I spent about 10 minutes trying to get the car to start and I couldn't. I kept trying, but it wouldn't start. It felt like something was holding me back. Then my wife appeared, opened the car door and gave me a hug.
That night, driving home with her, I felt that it was the Holy Spirit who held me there in the car. And that somehow, whether it was my sister's call or the key stuck in the ignition, God was still guiding me. Even so, I was determined to end my suffering in another way: by giving up football.
Football was to blame, it had to be. This life he's given me is good, but very complicated. I don't know how to deal with it. I can't even talk to my parents again. So it's over. That's it. I don't want to go back and forth anymore, I don't want to give assists anymore, I don't want to score goals anymore, I don't want the fans to cheer me on anymore, I don't want any more money. I'm going to stop and then, if I survive, I'll see what I do with my life. For now I just want to stay at home, quiet and safe.
My loan contract with Al-Wahda ended and I went back to Portugal. I was sure that away from football, with time, I would be fine. It worked for a few days. I was fine. Or better... Better than before. I didn't need football for anything. The miracle ball was as big a lie as I was. Goodbye, football.
At that point, I had already promised my wife and myself that there was no way I was going back to Arabia and I wouldn't fulfil the remainder of my contract at Al-Hilal. But then the Brazilian national team played a friendly against Senegal at Alvalade, Sporting's stadium.
Well, you know what? I'm here on holiday, with plenty of time, so I'm going. I bought a ticket and went to watch. Suddenly, sitting in the stands, I find myself getting emotional. I feel my heart beating differently. I started fantasising that the coach was going to call me up and I was going to take to the pitch to help the national team.
I let myself be carried away by these thoughts and ended up in the Belo Horizonte of my childhood, when life was more difficult but less complicated. The whole family was together, as we always were before we left for Portugal, and I was just a little boy surviving pneumonia playing in the street with my brothers and my friends. It seemed such a simple feeling, so silly and so genuine, that on that day I realised: the best things in life are the simplest, the most authentic.
Would I be able to find an authentic life in football again? Would there still be time? Where would that be possible? Which way?
The five most beautiful stars in the sky showed me the way. Those five stars that shine over an infinite and glorious blue. When Cruzeiro came to me, I imagined the five stars shining over my heart and said: "Wow, that's it!". What could be more authentic in my life than Cruzeiro?
I've always been a Cruzeiro fan. Before it all happened, when football was just an immense and true joy, I played ball wanting to be Alex, wanting to win the Triple Crown, even though all my family members supported the rival.
If it could work, if there was any hope, Cruzeiro was my only path. I got my things together in Portugal and, anxiously, for the first time I made a big move of my own free will.
In Cruzeiro I found more than peace. I found myself again. It sounds silly, but it's not. Because in the midst of darkness, and I've been there a lot, the hardest thing is to recognise yourself. And that makes an already bad situation even worse. You no longer know who you are.
Reaching a state of mental degradation in which you annul yourself to the point of wanting to die is a violent and complicated process to get out of. It brings a lot of pain to you, to those you love and to those who love you. Nobody gets out of it on their own. You need to ask for help and believe in Luis Castro's words: "There will always be stars lighting up the sky". I know it's not easy, but please believe and ask for help. Life doesn't give up on us. It insists.
I'm here to prove it. Therapy helped me a lot, and God showed me a light at the end of the tunnel. In my case, the light of the stars, which guided me through the darkness and put the sparkle back in my eyes. It was football reaching out to me - yes, once again.
That's why, when I crossed the Toca gate in July last year, I promised to hold on to that hand with all the strength in the world, to be eternally grateful and to repay the trust of my heart club with achievements.
I hope my testimony can help other people who are suffering. Today I'm fine. Better than before. And I still have things to resolve and heal.
But finally, I recognise myself again: in the relief of no longer having to hide everything I've been through, in the reunion with my boyhood passion where it always was and, above all, in the Mineirão full of Cruzeirenses on a starry night, where I can see myself sober, whole and happy to keep my promise.

2024-01 Security Update for Windows 10 Version 22H2 for x64-based Systems (KB5034441)
The error is 0x80070643.
Have repeatedly attempted - first just when it came up, then I closed everything and attempted, and then I shut down to power off and brought it back up - same results afaik.
My OS drive has 144 Gb free (NTFS). My machine is a MSI Codex R. I'm running Windows 10 Home Version 10.0. 19045 Build 19045. System Model H410-PRO Codex R. Intel Core i5-10400F CPU 2.90 GHz 6 cores, 12 processors. BIOS Mode UEFI. Installed Memory 32 Gb. Available Virtual Memory 67.7 Gb. Page File 35.8 Gb.
Recent Events:

• Session "Microsoft.Windows.WindowsUpdate.RUXIMLog" failed to start with the following error: 0xC0000035
• The application-specific permission settings do not grant Local Activation permission for the COM Server application with CLSID {2593F8B9-4EAF-457C-B68A-50F6B8EA6B54} and APPID {15C20B67-12E7-4BB6-92BB-7AFF07997402} to the user DEEPBLUE\TomB SID (S-1-5-21-550177731-67088784-3658851144-1002) from address LocalHost (Using LRPC) running in the application container Unavailable SID (Unavailable). This security permission can be modified using the Component Services administrative tool.
• Installation Failure: Windows failed to install the following update with error 0x8024200B: 2024-01 Security Update for Windows 10 Version 22H2 for x64-based Systems (KB5034441).

Perhaps someone has any idea what this means?
If any info related to the services (state, startup settings) are available, I can transcribe them if someone tells me which ones (other than BITS) that might be involved.
I'm fairly computer savvy (programmer) but not an IT whiz (at least not at the pace things are running lately).

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07:30 – Google Machine starts chiming. I yell at it to snooze ten minutes. It ignores me. Cat is under the covers beside me. He has the worst morning breath. It’s like a cadaver stuffed with fish.
07:35 – Bounce off walls into washroom to shower. I warsh all the important stuff and towel off. The mirror robs all of my self-image. I should shave.
8:00 – Decision time! It’s Ocrevus day, that one day every 6 months where I get those sweet, sweet monoclonal antibodies. So, do I drink enough to plump my veins and risk peeing myself, or do I count on the heating packet to do its magic? My wife made coffee. I stop thinking about anything but that.
8:10 – Cat sits on my lap. I consider designating him as an emotional support animal. It would be fun to watch him play with all the IV lines.
8:20 – Caught up on email. Now that I’m medically retired, there’s not much to catch up on – mostly newsletters from MS sites. I’ve stopped reading them long ago. They’re all about miracle-cures so far down the road they won’t make any difference to me.
8:30 – Still haven’t drank water. Grab a jug of Flow Alkaline Spring Water and a pee pad thingy. I stick the pad thingy in my underwear and curse when it sticks to some pubic hair. I yelp, my wife laughs.
8:36 – Finish chugging the 500ml bottle of Alkaline water. It’s peach flavour. It’s good.
8:45 – Whiz out the water. Curse again as more pubic hair is dislodged.
8:51 – Stick portable hand warmer thingy in the crook of my arm. My sweater holds it in place. It’s uncomfortably hot, but I suck it up.
8:52 – Wife is taking the scenic route to the clinic. It’s a pretty drive. Green shoots are winning their struggle to pop up in places.
9:12 – We’re at the clinic. No place to park, because why would there be? Wife drips me off at entrance. I whack all of the entrance buttons with the tip of my cane, and they dutifully open their connected doors.
9:14 – I’m one minute early. Same two nurses are there that are always there: the malnourished one and the surly one. I like the surly one. All business, no chit chat. One of these days it’ll be like an episode of Cheers when I walk in and the nurses will yell “CARL”, but today is not that day. The surly one (score!) asks my name, tells me to grab a chair, and goes to grab my bags of stuff.
9:15 – The questions start. Between my tinnitus, hearing loss, and the overall background din of the HVAC and medicine coolers combined with my intense disinterest, I read the expected answers on the surly nurse’s face, and parrot them back to her.
9:18 – Apparently, I passed my quiz because we moved on to inserting the line into the crook of my left arm. The nurse questions the redness of my skin. I tell her about the heating pad thingy. She cracks a small smile. She is either approving of my cleverness or rolling her eyes. I am indifferent. Nonetheless, she expertly slides a 22 gauge, blue tipped catheter into my veins. She hands me 1000mg of Tylenol and 50mg of Benadryl. I suck ‘em down with the aid of my embiggened 1 liter box of Flow Alkaline water.
9:20 – Two bags are hanging from my pole and hooked up into my lines. The first is saline, the second is prednisone. The bag doesn’t say ‘Prednisone’, but it’s definitely a steroid.
9:22 - My infusion mate comments on my alkaline water. We make small talk, but our 35-year age difference becomes apparent, and silence ensues.
9:30 – Steroid bag is empty. The nurse efficiently adjusts the line plumbing and takes the empty bag away. She takes my temperature and blood pressure. Baselines, I presume. Now I sit and cook for half an hour to let the steroid do its work.
9:45 – Benadryl kicking in. My head feels heavy, and my brain feels fuzzy. Benadryl is masking whatever I'd be feeling from the steroid. Book isn't boring but eyes are heavy, and my mouth is getting dry. Eyes have pressure behind them.
9:55 – Getting hungry - definitely the steroids. I'll wait for the Ocrevus to start and then I'll eat a Lara bar. The nurse stops the saline drip.
10:00 – Ocrevus bag show up, emblazoned with ‘600mg, CARL’ in big, scrawled, felt pen letters that you could read from a mile away. The nurse adjusts the line plumbing and the Ocrevus starts dripping into the SIGMA SPECTRUM V8 gizmo that measures precisely how fast the Ocrevus falls into me. I do some quick math: at 300ml/hour I’m costing Blue Cross about $120/minute.
10:01 – Next blood pressure and temperature check. I click on the QR code that says, “GET MANUAL FOR SIGMA SPECTRUM V8 HERE”. After 2 pages I remembered why I don’t read manuals. But at least I had something that I could use to remember the gizmo’s name.
10:02 – I note my infusion mate is on the slow push. Ugh, she’s got 4 hours of hang out ahead of her.
10:06 – SIGMA SPECTRUM V8 is beeping like crazy, the nurse comes over and chides me. Apparently, I bent my left arm too much and backed up the flow of sweet, sweet O.
10:20 – Small headache starts.
10:25 – Headache gone.
10:30 – Another BP and temperature check. I must have passed.
10:33 – I’m fucking hungry. I could eat a cow.
10:44 – Ate a Lara Bar. It was lemon. It was good but I would have preferred a cow.
10:48 – SIGMA SPECTRUM V8 beeps like a banshee reminding me to straighten out my left arm. Nurse ‘tuts’ but does not investigate.
10:50 – There’s a lady a few seats down from me. She’s sallow and doesn’t feel well. Her husband is holding her hand. I think she’s getting chemo – the stuff dripping into her is pink.
11:00 – Next BP and temperature check. Blood pressure machine errored out. I must have misaligned the cuff when I went spelunking for my Lara Bar.
11:07 – Scalp getting itchy.
11:08 – Scratched my head, itchiness went away. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
11:09 – Desperate to eat my second Lara Bar. Make a deal with myself to wait until 11:15.
11:16 – You know I did!
11:17 – Notice saline bag is empty. Now wonder I have to pee. Untangle lines and slip out of BP cuff and hobble my way to washroom.
11:32 – BP and temperature check, along with a new bag of saline. Watch bubbles flow through catheter and into my vein. How much air does it take to die of an embolism?
11:34 – Still alive. Inner ear is itchy. Damn, it’s one of those places you can’t scratch without a dental explorer and a lot of blood. Time to cowboy up and suffer through it.
11:38 – Forgot to check if ear still itched. It doesn’t.
12:02 – Ocrevus bag is almost empty. Time to phone for my ride home.
12:12 –The nurse removed the catheter and I leak for a few minutes. She reverts to plan ‘B’ and sticks a regular band aid over the hole and pushes on the centre until it clots. I like her. Kinda person you would wanna be in a foxhole with.
12:15 – Stand outside with the sun on my face. It’s cool, maybe 15C, but the sun feels warm.
12:25 – Hop into the car and we’re on our way home.
1:00 – 4:30 : eat everything, especially the delicious chicken soup my wife made.
5:00 – Start choking on Nachos. I should know better, it’s too late for solid food. I whip up a smoothie and binge watch ‘Fringe’ with my wife until it’s time to go to bed.