Context: Me and her have been friends since freshman year of highschool. We started to become a thing around august of 2023 around when sophomore year of college started. and started dating around November of 2023 doing long distance. She’s one my exs good friends and they have a decently close relationship. My ex and I broke up over 2 years ago when we were in highschool and now we are entering our junior year of college this fall. Long distance hasn’t been bad at all. We both text a lot and both have good trust in one another. Overall solid relationship besides the occasional argument or disagreement.
For a couple months now I’ve been asking her every now and then when she’s planning to tell my ex girlfriend and when I can tell my friends that we are dating. I don’t want to have to keep on hiding it from all of them. Every time her reasoning for not telling her is that she’s scared that she’s gonna lose her friendship with her. I’ve assured her that if my ex stopped being friends with her, then she truly isn’t your friend. She’s also a very anxious person and has issues dealing with problems. I have zero issues with me telling my ex-girlfriend myself and she insists that I don’t do that which is understandable. She comes back next week for the summer and I’m planning on having a conversation with her about it at some point. I have also expressed to her that if we wanna continue dating that she needs to talk to her about it soon. I’m very worried that shes gonna keep putting off talking to her and that we are gonna have to breakup because she’s too worried she could lose her friendship. I really like her and I’m not sure what to do. I’m trying to figure out what my options are because everything about the relationship is completely healthy but this is the one part that really hurts.
Any advice on what I should say to her and what would be best in this kind of situation?
Sorry if this was written poorly. I’m not the best writer.

I posted this somewhere but I need some advice. Unfortunately a few months ago during the February processing weekend (for NY Troopers), I failed the 40 sit-ups in one minute portion which disqualified me and decided to train for the next few months until this upcoming one… trained push ups, abs and run timing… I tested myself again and I still can’t get to 40 sit ups in under a minute. I keep locking in at 36-37. Same as last time. Should I just defer instead of going to Albany, paying for a hotel and waste my money for what might be an obvious outcome?

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
First/Previous
Archive

We're all new to D&D in my group, and a couple weeks ago my DM sent us all a message saying that we need to be careful about what we wear to our sessions. There is only one woman in our group, and now that we're reaching Summer, sometimes she will come to our sessions wearing things like tank tops or shorts. This can be extremely distracting for our group, but we usually just make a few comments about her and then get back to focusing on the game. I guess our DM is upset about it because he said we all have to wear shirts with sleeves and if we wear shorts they have to go down near the knees.
Is our DM going too far by giving us a dress code? It kind of rubs me the wrong way that he thinks he can tell everyone what to wear to our weekly session.

For context, he's a neutered 3year old basset mix 71 pounds not considered overweight since he's fairly tall for his stubby legs. A week ish ago he had woke up one morning and was just limping on his back leg all the way to the back door. He ran after a squirrel in the yard, and was ’better'. But you could see he was hobbling on it a bit.
We went to the vet and got pain pills to see if it helps a long with some rest. For a few days the same limp would happen after he'd wake up and be gone as he moved more. He's out of pills now and no longer limps but is still hobbly. And its difficult to see.
It's the leg that he sits on his hip with. And he also turns it slightly inward when walking. The knee also clicks occasionally. The vet is leaning towards luxating putella if it doesn't resolve or possible acl tear which would be his second. I've noticed on our morning walks he no longer pulls nor does he play tug hard. He runs just fine and prior to the limp was hard core running after his dog friends. Its not quite how it happened with his other leg but it's similar and a previous vet had already diagnosed a luxating patella.
I'm really worried for my pup and I really don't want to face another couple of months of recovery. What makes this difficult is I have to be in office during the summer and can't work from home till August.
The next steps are x-rays. After his first round of X-rays for his previous ACL injury, his limp was noticeabley worse. Is it possible with either of these injuries to hold off on X-rays for a couple of months?
I'm trying to keep him mostly chilled out but he still gets sick of it and loses his mind after a couple rest days. I let him play chase after a few days of walking and gentle play. He was doing good after a few days on pain meds. Its been really hard to see his limp throughout the day but he no longer pulls on his leash which I don't think is good. He normally doesn't pull super hard but he likes to walk fairly fast and has just been going so slow. He doesn't flinch it away when I tried to touch his leg. It just seems super achey and today he had a bad hobble after chasing some squirrels on our walk.
Long shot, but Is it possible that he's just simply sprained a toe or something benign since it's not as pronounced a limp and he just needs strict leash walks for a few more days?
For now I've requested more pain meds. I called the vet but the receptionist couldn't give a straight answer, and I'm guessing all the docs were busy. I can't imagine the follow up will be productive without X-rays. Any advice helps thanks.

Me and my cousin live in different countries but this summer shes coming here for about 3 weeks. She was diagnosed with BPD (i believe she has quiet BPD) about 2 years ago. We used to fight alot when we were kids but she is my best friend and we never disagree on anything anymore. I know she is severly depressed, very low energy at times, but whenever we hang out she is super sweet and never talks about how she is feeling. We did however have a deep talk last time i saw her about how her life feels with bpd.
Anyways, as i said shes coming here for 3 weeks and we will be home alone. I really want to make this a great time for her, now that she can just get away from all the stuff in her hometown that contribute to her depression. But if she gets low, which she probably will, how can i be there for her? Is there anything specific i should think about to make life as easy and fun as possible while she is here? If she opens up about her feelings, what can i say to make her feel validated? What is it that people with bpd want to hear from others?
Im sure we are going to have a great time but i really want to make it as special as possible for her. I wanna show her how great life can be and that she isnt doomed to have a miserable life because of her disorder. So i would be super greatful for any advice🙏

In the vast countryside, away from the busy city of Savannah, exist hills as tall as buildings and green as emeralds. There was also an aura of calmness, with a few birds twittering away in dispersed trees, followed by the gentle swaying of the wind.
Then, out of nowhere, came a small, lonely girl wearing a once-lily-white summer dress with a striped long-sleeved t-shirt underneath it. She was also wearing a dark blue and cream-white baseball hat with the letter D on the front of it. She was moving wearily, with a pistol in one hand, and wiping her damp eyes with the other.
She knew what happened to make her weep. According to her, it was her fault that she got him killed; she was convinced by a towering man who said he knew her parents. But that was a brainless, childish lie that got Lee killed. She shouldn’t have run off. At least, Lee taught her how to use a gun and what to expect in the future before his tragic passing. But now she was all on her own.
Eventually, she came to a log, which was next to the rusted shell of a car. Anyway, she proceeded to sit down on it. Throughout all of this, she was as quiet as a mouse, only looking at her feet and wiping her blood-red eyes. She noticed that on the floor next to the log was a mixture of bullets—some shell casings and some unfired ones. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and examined it before exhaling deeply, which is when she noticed something else. Something she could just about make out if she scrutinised her eyes—something on the nearest hill—looked like two figures. One followed the other, and they looked like they stopped to look at her, making her start to hyperventilate as her eyes extended to the size of oranges. Was it someone she knew? Was it a threat to her? She didn’t know.
"Lee said I needed to find Omid and Christa before he got killed because of me." She said to herself, still looking sad, as she noticed that the two figures were now coming down the prominent hill—they didn't look like walkers. So she clasped her gun tightly until the figures came into view. She ended up not firing the gun and running towards the figures, as it was Omid and Christa, and they were alive!
Omid was a tall, slim Persian-American man with short dark-brown hair and a beard to match.
Christa, on the other hand, was a slightly taller African-American lady. She also had jet-black hair tied up in a ponytail, and she was Omid’s girlfriend.
"Clementine, honey, where's Lee?" Christa asked, kneeling to the nine-year-old.
"H-h-he's...dead." She answered with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
"Oh, Clementine, we’re sorry," Omid said, who started to kneel to her height as well.
"W-where's Ben and Kenny?" Clementine asked, still with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
Omid and Christa then looked at each other without Clementine noticing, and it was Omid who told her what happened to Ben and Kenny.
"So, it’s just us three," Clementine responded, now looking at Omid and Christa with her eyes dry again, a short while later.
"I guess, Clem, I guess so." Christa replied, "Come on, let’s go somewhere safe."
With this, the trio (Clementine, Omid, and Christa) began to walk, with Clementine tagging behind while Omid and Christa were in front. They were busily talking away, apart from Clementine, who was still looking at her feet, along holding the gun in her hand. As a result of this, she wasn't engaged in the conversation that they were having. She was too melancholy about what happened today. With her being kidnapped, seeing her walker parents, Lee dying, and now Kenny and Ben dying as well.
It was a lot for her to take in.
* * * * *
Sometime later, the trio found an abandoned house that had been abandoned for decades, as thick ivy hugged the walls. Furthermore, it reminded Clementine of that house they stayed at in Savannah; it was hard to believe that was a month ago.
Anyway, they succeeded in getting into the house rather than struggling, so now they could search within it.
Clementine, honey," Christa said, kneeling to her. "Omid, and I believe you can search parts of this house on your own. Just remember, if someone, walker or not, tries to hurt you, you got your gun. If you run out of bullets or are in a tight place, call us, and we will help you if you get into trouble. Do you understand?"
“Yeah, I do, Christa; I will be careful."
“Good," replied Christa, "let me know if you find anything."
With this, Clementine strayed a little by searching for anything useful on her own, though she stayed close to Omid and Christa.
As usual in the kitchen, she found faded, rusted cans with nothing but spoiled food inside. So she decided to head upstairs, and it seemed like they creaked with every step; as Omid and Christa were searching the enormous living room. Once she was upstairs, she clasped her pistol tightly and opened the door with one of her hands and the other on the pistol. Nothing. The room was that of a bathroom, with its normal interior—a bath, sink, toothbrushes, and some cupboards—which was stripped of life.
So she closed the door, walked to the next door, and proceeded to open it in the same manner she did for the bathroom. This room was that of a child’s room, which made Clementine remember her room back in Georgia, with its toys and books. It felt like she was just coming home from school and wanted to play with her dolls until supper time; it was hard to believe that was a year ago. Yet, here she was searching for anything useful in terms of survival—and not searching for a certain toy she wanted to play with at present.
“Just as well Lee found me when he did.” She said to herself as she glanced over at the room, trying to remember simpler times. When she went to school, she watched cartoons all day and rode her bike in the park with her parents. When she was thinking about this, she noticed that there was a medium-sized lump near the wall, cloaked in dust. It was a doll, and there was a string attached to its back, and when Clementine pulled it, it produced the word "Mama”.
Clementine remembered the doll that her mother gave her for her sixth birthday; it was probably still in the back of the wardrobe.
Eventually, she found an old pocket-sized backpack with a few flowery stickers, along with a dark-blue hoodie in her size.
“Have you found anything, Clementine?” called out Christa.
“Yeah, a backpack and a hoodie," answered Clementine, walking towards the edge of the stairs where Omid and Christa were.
“Just remember to check the bag, Clem; they might have something useful." Replied Christa.
“Ok," Clementine replied, unzipping the bag and then putting her hand into it, but not looking into it. Lo and behold, she found a working lighter, and it looked like it had a decent amount of fuel for a while.
Clementine then walked to the conclusive door upstairs, and like what she did before, however, the door required a little exertion to open. As a result of this, Clementine noticed that the noise she made alerted her to the presence of a walker heading towards her. This, of course, made Clementine a little timid, but she knew what to do. As her heart started to ram against her ribcage, likewise, a thick seal of sweat began to form on her hands, transferring onto her gun.
Always aim for the head," Clementine said to herself as she exhaled deeply and fired the gun. BANG!! The walker fell with a deafening thud, and Clementine was astounded at herself for shooting the walker that was coming towards her.
I did it, I did it," she exclaimed in a loud whisper. Which is when the door bursts open to reveal Omid and Christa with perturbed faces.
"Is everything OK, Clem? Are you hurt?" Asked Omid.
Yeah, I’m fine; I’m not hurt. Replied Clementine, as the trio all stood in stupefied silence at the walker that Clementine gunned down. "Did you find anything? Clementine asked after a minute of silence.
"Yes. We have found two cans of beans and some water." Christa replied.
"Oh."
“Well, let’s keep moving on, Clem. People might have heard the shot and might come here.” Omid said.
“Ok," responded Clementine. "I said already, but I found a backpack and a hoodie."
“Put it on, Clem; it’s starting to get colder, and we get going."
“Ok, I’ll put it on now."
Clementine then took off her hat, gave the gun to Omid, put on the dark blue hoodie, put her hat back on, and took the gun back from Omid. After that, Clementine followed Christa and Omid downstairs and out of the house and walked on.
* * * * *
Some short weeks later, the trio now situated in a substantial-sized forest under a thick canopy of leaves with Omid tending to a fire. Clementine and Christa, however, were sitting down on some nearby log around the fire.
Christa was busy talking to Omid about her pregnancy, whereas Clementine was busy herself by looking at the stars. The stars flickered and danced in the sky like a million tiny flames, casting a shimmering glow over the forest below. Furthermore, the sky itself was filled with low oranges, along with a mixture of light blues. Which were progressively getting into the realms of dark blues, purples and then full-on jet-black. Moreover, there seemed to be a chorus of crickets hiding somewhere in lush grasses, chirping away harshly.
“I would say that rabbit is cooked now, Omid.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” replied Omid, as he began to take the cooked rabbit off the spit – and handed it out to Christa and Clementine, then to himself.
"Thank you very much," Clementine said as she reached for the rabbit meat before going back to look at the stars. She thought to herself as she ate: "How many are there? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?"
“Hm, what – sorry Christa; what did you say?”
“Omid and I said that we are going to rest here tonight and get going in the morning."
"Ok, as my legs still ache from all that walking we did today."
"Well, get some rest, you're going to need it," Omid said, rising from poking the fire.
"Ok," responded Clementine, getting up from the weather-worn log, wishing Omid and Christa a good night before she got onto the floor near the fire and began to close her eyes. She then began to dream about what she would be doing tomorrow, what would happen, and what she would see.
The next morning was filled with colours ranging from warm yellows trickling through the gaps in the trees. Clementine rubbed her eyes before getting up from the harsh, tough ground and walked to the log where she sat last night, where she saw Omid was cooking again.
"Morning, Clem," Omid said. "How did you sleep?"
"Ok, I'd rather sleep in a bed than on the floor."
"Yeah, I don't like it either, but it's necessary until we get to Wellington."
"Where's Christa?" asked Clementine, now looking around the campsite as she noticed Christa wasn't there.
But then, five minutes later, after Clementine had eaten, Christa came back - and with this, the trio began to walk on; with her now near Omid and Christa. Yet, like last time, Clementine's fingers were still wrapped around her pistol as if it were a part of her. But instead of looking at her feet, she was looking around the pensive clearing.
The clearing was serene, where only a few walkers were roaming around, but they could be seen more evidently through a few hacked trees. The trio strolled down the lane through dappled light filtering itself through the trees; moreover, the sound of the leaves rustled in the weak wind. There was also an occasional bird twittering away on a pile of stacked logs near the broad track Clementine, Omid, and Christa were walking. There was also an infrequent number of signs that littered the road.
"TWO MILES UNTIL TRUCK STOP", Clementine read as she walked on with Omid and Christa.
"How about...Isabella?" Christa said aloud.
"Nah," scoffed Omid, "James is far better."
"That's if it's a boy, Omid. Clementine, do you have any name ideas?"
"What about...Carley?"
"Yeah, that's a good name." Responded Omid, with an expression of puzzled thought in his voice.
For the next couple of miles, they (primarily, Christa and Omid) talked about what seemed to be endless baby names for Christa's child; to pass the time. Clementine wondered if her parents had this amount of difficulty when they chose her name.
Eventually, Clementine stopped a little as Omid and Christa walked on regardless; as she noticed there was a blackbird perched on a nearby tree which cawed before flying into the lush forest.
"What do you think?" asked Omid, as he poised at the truck stop over the abandoned road before crossing it with Christa and Clementine.
"Omid, you can't be serious," answered Christa.
"I am."
"We are NOT doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because one of you is enough!"

Hi everyone, I had ER 1 month ago with 40 follicles and since then I have been so full on exhausted, out of breath, etc. I have ohss and am just as bloated as the day of retrival.
I have endometriosis which was made worse by the ivf drugs for sure. I'm having to go to bed at like 8pm, feeling light headed, dizzy etc.
When did you feel normal again?

So I bought this laptop around 6-7 months ago, no problem at all til recently. Basically i feel like the laptop going bad.

1. Around 1 month ago, I noticed that when I open game and alt tabbing to stream youtube/twitch , it then stuttering so bad and shut down automatically after a while. For this I can still boot my laptop normally without an issue
   
2. 2 weeks ago I noticed there is a warning icon on my security windows, telling me about core memory integrity is off. So I click it to turn it on, it required restart, so i did it. I couldnt boot it up. When I press power button my keyboard light up but then it going off again after like less than 1 min. (couldnt even see the "Republic of Gaming" logo). I just let it cool down for like 30-40 mins and then I can start my laptop normally again
   
3. Yesterday I tried to change my GPU in Ghelper to ultimate mode(I already uninstalled armory crate and MyAsus) and it require me to restart again. I did it, and until now my laptop cant boot up same with #2 case.
   

Right now I already bring my laptop to service center.
Can anyone help me about this? Does anyone have same problem with me?

There are number of xboxseriesx game will be released in 2024 like first-person shooters, action-adventures, horror games and the much-anticipated Elden Ring DLC . Some game have confirmed released date while others are still a mystery.

Games	Release Date
Metaphor: ReFantazio	11 October 2024
Senua's Saga: Hellblade 2	21 May 2024
Still Wakes the Deep	18 June 2024
Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree DLC	21 June 2024
Black Myth: Wukong	20 august 2024
Star Wars Outlaws	30 August 2024
STALKER 2: Heart of Chornobyl	5 September 2024
Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine 2	9 September 2024
Visions of Mana	Summer 2024

About a year ago I started to get close to my friend(21F), we will call her Grace. Grace and I (21M) have been hanging out in the same circles for 3-4 years and have worked together every summer for 4 years. Until last year she had been a friend of a friend. Until last year when we started to hang out together most weekends with a group of friends. We went out as a group one weekend and ended up having an amazing time together, and I started to think maybe there was something there. I started to invite her to hang out more and every time I did she would show up, but never one on one. One night after we had been drinking I ended up asking her out on a date. She said she would have to give me an answer when she's not drunk and I didn't push it anymore. I took her excuse as a polite way of telling me no and decided I wasn't going to pursue her anymore. However, as time went on, we were still hanging out most weekends and I only got more and more interested. I didn't say anything about it and ignored it until we both left for school. While we were split we did not see much of each other, and besides a few tictoks a week and the occasional short conversation didn't talk either. I did end up going to her city for a weekend to see her with a friend. While I was there we went out a lot, danced together, and had an overall great time. On the last night, we went out and ended up drunk on the beach with the rest of our group. She kept wanting to go into the ocean, and after many attempts to stop her, she ran off into the water. It was 45 degrees outside and the water was freezing. I ended up taking off a few layers and running in after her to make sure she got back to the beach okay. we ended up swimming out about neck deep, cracking up the entire time, then heading back to the beach. But there was a moment as we were coming back when a wave knocked her over and I caught her. We were just standing there looking at each other for a bit before we smiled and laughed at each other and walked back up to the group. After that night I couldn't stop thinking about her. Fast forward to about a month ago when we both came home for the summer and immediately started hanging out with our group, and ended up hanging out just the two of us for a few hours after everyone left. Since then I started to think about her more and more, every time I'm not doing a task she pops into my head.
The thing is I don't know what to do about it. It's been a year since I asked her out and she turned me down and the way I feel about her has only gotten stronger. However, I don't think she feels the same way as I do, and a mutual friend told me she had said she wasn't interested in me and only saw me as a friend before I went to see her in her city. So I guess what I'm asking about is whether or not I pursue it again. We're really good friends at this point and it may jeopardize that.
Usually, I don't get hung up on a girl for very long, most of them tend to not hold my attention for more than a few months. But for some reason, I haven't been able to move on from this one. I have considered that the reason I haven't lost interest in her is because she's one of the few who have told me no. People want what they can't have yk
What I want to know is if I should try and pursue her again, even if it jeopardizes my friendship with her.

About 3 months ago I was hit by an F-350 while waiting to turn on my bike. He was drunk and going about 40 mph. I don’t remember anything between leaving work and waking up on the street looking up at the EMTs. The impact tore off half my right ear and exposed my skull. It also broke 3 vertebrae and a few ribs. I can’t wear short hair now without patches of missing hair everywhere, my ears fucked up, and I’ll likely have permanent back issues. The guy was driving a company truck so we thought we might be set as far as settlement money. But the most my lawyers seem to be able to get right now is $125k, 100 through the company insurance and another 25 through geico or something. I don’t have auto insurance so there’s no route there. Between the lawyers’ cut of 30%, and the health insurance company recouping hopefully no more than 20% of the bills, that leaves me with about 65k. And I found out today that the hospital sent a lien to my lawyers for a bill of 80k. My lawyers are going to try to get them to bill my health insurance but if that doesn’t happen then I’d be left with like 30k. I feel like the damage is worth more than this. I dunno what to do.

About 3 months ago I was hit by an F-350 while waiting to turn on my bike. He was drunk and going about 40 mph. I don’t remember anything between leaving work and waking up on the street looking up at the EMTs. The impact tore off half my right ear and exposed my skull. It also broke 3 vertebrae and a few ribs. I can’t wear short hair now without patches of missing hair everywhere, my ears fucked up, and I’ll likely have permanent back issues. The guy was driving a company truck so we thought we might be set as far as settlement money. But the most my lawyers seem to be able to get right now is $125k, 100 through the company insurance and another 25 through geico or something. I don’t have auto insurance so there’s no route there. Between the lawyers’ cut of 30%, and the health insurance company recouping hopefully no more than 20% of the bills, that leaves me with about 65k. And I found out today that the hospital sent a lien to my lawyers for a bill of 80k. My lawyers are going to try to get them to bill my health insurance but if that doesn’t happen then I’d be left with like 30k. I feel like the damage is worth more than this. I dunno what to do.

Original post : https://www.reddit.com/managers/s/Xm3GmNAf0T
Once again, he did not reply to my messages and teams but instead send a long mail with our manager in ‘to’ to me basically blaming me.
What happened was customer asked for status update to me, and when I checked the order number, it belonged to him. I looped him in and asked him to advise. Cue, he sent a mail citing that he did not handle this order and to make sure I always check properly. I have been doing this for atleast 40-50 orders for customers since he joined, and not once did I make a mistake.
When I checked in the folder, his mails were there. I sent him a mail and to my manager attaching the mails. I also mentioned it would be really helpful if he could respond to my messages or calls or atleast an acknowledgment of some sort, since it takes a long time to sort out a simply mail.
My manager was also aware of this and set a call to discuss another order between us. She mentioned that its always important to acknowledge or let the other person know even if they are busy and they will get back to us. Apparently I am not the first person he did this to. He barely replies to others.
I did wish I brought this to my manager a while ago rather than last week.

About 3 months ago I was hit by an F-350 while waiting to turn on my bike. He was drunk and going about 40 mph. I don’t remember anything between leaving work and waking up on the street looking up at the EMTs. The impact tore off half my right ear and exposed my skull. It also broke 3 vertebrae and a few ribs. I can’t wear short hair now without patches of missing hair everywhere, my ears fucked up, and I’ll likely have permanent back issues. The guy was driving a company truck so we thought we might be set as far as settlement money. But the most my lawyers seem to be able to get right now is $125k, 100 through the company insurance and another 25 through geico or something. I don’t have auto insurance so there’s no route there. Between the lawyers’ cut of 30%, and the health insurance company recouping hopefully no more than 20% of the bills, that leaves me with about 65k. And I found out today that the hospital sent a lien to my lawyers for a bill of 80k. My lawyers are going to try to get them to bill my health insurance but if that doesn’t happen then I’d be left with like 30k. I feel like the damage is worth more than this. I dunno what to do.

Not seen many of these Aria Pro II XR ST-1's.... and I absolutely love it.. best $40 I've spent.. I picked it up years ago for $40, with a hardshell case and a Kahler Flyer, and the IBZ USA F2 pickup.. It will definitely shred..